But young Bowen responded gaily, "Think me too fresh from Greek and Latin to supper a horse, do you? I'll shoe him too if occasion requires it, like a true-born New Zealander."
"Brimful of self-help," retorted Mr. Hirpington; "and, after all, it is the best help.— Well, well," he added, as he paused in the doorway, "to take the measure of our recuperative power would puzzle a stranger. You beat me hollow."
He had walked into the sometime workshop; but all the debris of the recent carpentering had been pushed aside and heaped into a distant corner, while an iron chimney, with a wooden framework to support it, had been erected in another.
"In simply no time," as Mr. Hirpington declared in his astonishment.
To which the old identity, Mr. Bowen, retorted from the other room, asking if two men with a hammer to hand and a day before them were to be expected to do nothing but look at each other.
Mr. Lee was reposing on a comfortable bed by the blazing fire, with Effie standing beside him, holding the tin mug from which he was taking an occasional sip of tea; everything in the shape of earthenware having gone to smash in the earthquake. The kitten was purring on the corner of his pillow, stretching out an affectionate paw towards his undefended eyes.
"I am reaping the fruit of your good deeds," smiled the sick man. "Is not this luxury?"
With a leap and a bound Edwin was at the foot of the bed, holding up the recovered belt before his father's astonished eyes.
Audrey peeped out from the door of the store-room. With a piece of pumice-stone to serve her for a scrubbing-brush, she was endeavouring to reduce its shelves to cleanliness and order.
"You here!" exclaimed Edwin, delighted to find themselves all at home once more; "ready for the four-handed reel which we will dance to-night if it does not make father's head ache," he declared, escaping from Effie's embracing arms to Audrey's probing questions about that journey to Christchurch.