"I was a prisoner in my little den," put in Dunter; "and I kept up the 'coo' till Mr. Lee came, for I could not open door or window though I heard your groans."
"Yes, Lee must be our first care. We owe our lives to him alone; understand that, all of you. He had us out before anybody else arrived," Mr. Hirpington went on, as he heaved up the fallen door and made a bridge with it from the table to the back of the substantial sofa, over which his gun was lying. From such a mount he could reach it easily. Was there anything else they required? He looked around him. Dunter had got possession of a boat-hook, and was fishing among the kettles and saucepans under the dresser. The bacon, which had been drying on the rack laid across the beams of the unceiled roof, had all gone down into the mud; but the solid beams themselves had not given way, only the ties were dislodged and broken, with the iron covering. All the crockery on the shelves of course was smashed. A flying dish had struck Mrs. Hirpington on the head and laid her senseless before the rain of mud began. But her husband had more to do now than to recount the how and the why of their disaster.
He was hastily gathering together such things within reach as might be most needed by the sufferer on the hills. A kettle and a pan and a big cooking-spoon, which Dunter had fished out, were tied up in the Christchurch blanket dislodged from the sack, and slung across Mr. Hirpington's shoulder. Dunter made his way into the bedroom, and pulled out a couple of pillows. Here, he asserted, some one must have been before him; for muddy footsteps had left their mark on the top of the chest of drawers and across the bed-quilt, and no mud had entered there ere the Hirpingtons fled. Yet muddy fingers had left their impress high up on wardrobe-doors and on window-curtains, which had been drawn back to admit the light. Over this room the roof had not given way. The inference was clear—some one had entered it.
Mr. Hirpington glanced up from the bundle he was tying, and spoke aside to Edwin: "You knew the man Ottley surprised in the house?"
"Yes," answered Edwin; "he was one of the rabbiters. I thought he was looking for food, as we were. Mr. Ottley did not say anything to me about his suspicions. Somebody else may have got in since then, Mr. Hirpington."
"Certainly, certainly," was the answer, and the three emerged again into daylight.
As they stood upon the roof shaking and scraping the mud from each other, Edwin looked round for Whero.
"Whoever filled these sacks," observed Mr. Hirpington, when he was alone with Dunter, "means to come back and fetch them. Be on the watch, for I must leave you here alone."
Dunter was no stranger to the Maori boy, and invited him to share in the good things he was unloading from the boat, thinking to secure himself a companion. Whilst he was talking of pork-pies and cheese, Edwin suggested the loan of a spade and a pail.
"A' right!" exclaimed Whero, with a nod of intelligence; "I'll have both."