Page:Our New Zealand Cousins.djvu/64

 by Kate, we crowd into the large whaleboat. There are eleven of us tourists, six brawny rowers, one crouching native woman and Kate. Altogether nineteen of a party. With a cheery cry, the Maoris dip their oars into the blue lake; and to the accompaniment of song and chorus and jest, they pull strongly and steadily for the open lake, and soon before a spanking breeze we are scudding merrily along.

"What a day we're having!" One excitable punster of our party, in the exuberance of his delight, and anxious to show his appreciation of a good chorus that has just been sung, tosses his hat high in air; and, of course, it at once becomes a sport for the breezes, sails away to leeward, and soon floats upon the tiny billows.

"Man overboard!" we yell. "'Bout ship! Man the lifeboat!" The Maoris grin, the ladies squeal, the gentlemen roar, and Kate claps her hands and yells out, "A fine! a fine! A bottle of whisky for the men!" For the moment we might have pardonably been mistaken for a small private lunatic asylum out for a picnic.

Away we go in pursuit of the hat. We have to haul down the sail, and we lose ten minutes; but under the promise of the "Barley Bree," the rowers strain at the oars, and soon the hat is restored to the bereaved owner.

On again we go. What a beautiful expanse! What a vivid green on the steep precipitous banks! Beautiful coves indent the coast, with here and there a fringe of sandy beach. Some giant