Page:Through South Westland.djvu/291



was Sunday. I looked out on a lovely still morning, the eastern light stole blue and silvery over the mountains to the river-bed; the streams and waterfalls sang hymns of praise. Not a leaf stirred; not a cloud was in the blue; absolute peace was over all things. There are days when the mere fact of being alive in the sunshine fills one with complete happiness: we sat eating our breakfast out of doors at seven o’clock, feeling it was very good indeed to be alive.

We laughed at the vagaries of the marauding falcon, who had been summarily chased from their shingle-spit by the terns, and was sheltering himself under the over-hanging bank of our creek till the storm rolled by. They could not make out where he was, and, after wheeling and screaming overhead, went back to their river, and as soon as