He led the way to where the barrel lay floating in the rising tide. That the ignominy of being ferried by a girl might not be repeated, he had brought from the wreck a piece of board with which to propel himself.
Perceiving his intention so soon as he was sitting cross-legged on the top of his strange craft, Amiria dashed into the water, seized the improvised oar, and threatened to drag it from his grasp.
“I’ll take you across myself,” she almost screamed. “Why should you think I don’t want to take you back?”
“All right,” said Jack, dropping his piece of wood, “have it your own way. I hand myself over to you, but let us get across quickly.”
Again the Englishman felt how mean are the conventions of the white man, how petty his propriety; again the Maori girl felt nothing but pleasure and pride in the part she played.
When they reached the further side, Amiria picked up her mat and threw it over her glistening shoulders, and Scarlett floundered over the slippery rocks towards the beach.
“You’ll come to the pa?”
“You’re too kind. I must get back to town.”
“But you’ve had nothing to eat.”
“I have my lunch in my wallets.”