"But I do not understand about this old schoolhouse," Mr. Lee was saying; "where is it?"
"Over the river," answered several voices. "The government built it for the Maoris before the last disturbance, when the Hau-Hau [pronounced How How] tribe turned against us, and went back to their old superstitions, and banded together to sell us no more land. It was then the school was shut up, but the house was left; and now we are growing friendly again," added Mr. Hirpington, "I thought all was right."
"So it is," interposed Mr. Bowen, confidently. "My sheep-run comes up very near to the King country, as they like to call their district, and I want no better neighbours than the Maoris."
Then Edwin spoke out. "Father, I can tell you something about it. Do listen."
They did listen, one and all, with troubled, anxious faces. "This tana," they said, "may not disperse without doing more mischief. Carry on their work of confiscation at the old school-house, perhaps."
"No, no; no fear of that," argued Mr. Bowen and the coachman, who knew the Maoris best.
"I'll run no risk of losing all my ploughs and spades," persisted Mr. Lee. "How far off is the place?"
"Not five miles across country," returned his friend. "I have left it in the care of a gang of rabbiters, who have set up their tents just outside the garden wall—safe enough, as it seemed, when I left."
"Lend me a horse and a guide," said Mr. Lee, "and I'll push on to-night."
The children, of course, were to be left at the ford; but Edwin wanted to go with his father. Dunter and another man were getting ready to accompany him.