"Much craft on the river here?" asked the man. "Any barges passing that would take a fellow down to the coast?"
"I am a stranger here," answered Whero; "I do not know." As he spoke, his quick eye detected the stains of the hateful blue volcanic mud on the man's dirty clothes.
"I'll be off," he thought. "Who are you? You are from the hills, whoever you are."
He gave him another great piece of the honeycomb, for fear he should follow him to ask for more.
"That is so old," objected the man; "look how dark it is. Give me a better bit."
But he took it notwithstanding, and tried to put it in his ragged pocket. The holes were so large it fell through.
"There is plenty more in the tree," said Whero. "Why do you not go and help yourself?" He took up his rushes and walked quickly to the canoe.
Edwin was making a screen for his face with the few remaining rushes. Whero saw that he was looking eagerly through them, not at the honeycomb he was bringing, but at the man on the bank.
"Do you know him?" asked Whero.
"Yes, yes; it is Lawford," answered Edwin, under his breath. "Look, he has got his rabbit-skins and his swag. How careful he is over it! He has set his foot on it whilst he gets the honey."