utton chops had to be trimmed and prepared, all
ready to be cooked when we got there. These were neatly folded up in
clean paper; and a little packet of tea, a few lumps of white sugar,
a tiny wooden contrivance for holding salt and pepper, and a couple of
knives and forks, were added to the parcel.

So much for the contents of the basket. They needed to be carefully
packed so as not to rattle in any way, or Helen, my pretty bay mare,
would soon have got rid of the luncheon--and me. I wrapped up three or
four large raw potatoes in separate bits of paper, and slipped them into
F----'s pockets when he was looking another way, and then began the real
difficulty of my picnic: how was the little tin tea-pot and an odd
delf cup to be carried? F---- objected to put them also in his pocket,
assuring me that I could make very good tea by putting my packet of the
fragrant leaves into the bushmen's kettle, and drinking it afterwards
out of one of their pannikins. He tried to bribe me to this latter piece
of simplicity by promising to wash the tin pannikin out for me first.
Now I was not dainty or over particular; I could not have enjoyed my New
Zealand life so thoroughly if I had been either; but I did not like the
idea of using the bushmen's tea equipage. In the first place, the tea
never tastes the same when made in their way, and allowed to boil for a
moment or two after the leaves have been thrown in, before the kettle is
taken off the fire; and in the next place, it is very difficult to
drink tea out of a pannikin; for it becomes so hot directly we put
the scalding liquid into it, that long after the tea is cool enough
to drink, the pannikin still continues too hot to touch. But I said so
pathetically, "You know how wretched I am without my tea," that F----'s
heart relented, and he managed to stow away the little teapot and
the cup. That cup bore a charmed life. It accompanied me on all my
excursions, escaping unbroken; and is, I believe, in existence now,
spending its honoured old age in the recesses of a cupboard.

After the luncheon, the next question to be decided is, which of the
dogs are to join the expedition. Hector, of course; he is the master's
colley, and would no more look at a sheep, except in the way of
business, than he would fly. Rose, a little short-haired terrier, was
the most fascinating of dog companions, and I pleaded hard for her, as
she was an especial pet; though there were too many lambs belonging to