“Not for our tribes here,” said the Englishman, laughing; “but I may as well be plain with you. If we went to war with some of the others, and they got hold of you—”
“Say, Mas’ Don,” said Jem interrupting the speaker, “I don’t like being a sort of white nigger aboard ship, and being kept a prisoner, and told it’s to serve the king; but a man can go into the galley to speak to the cook without feeling that he’s wondering which jynte of you he shall use first. No thankye; it’s a werry lovely country, but I want to get home to my Sally some day; and if we cut and run here, I’m afraid I never should.”
“You turn it over in your own minds, both of you, my lads. There, my pipe’s out, and I think we’ll go. Stop here long?”
“Do you mean the ship, or here with the boat?”
“Here with the boat,” said the Englishman, holding out his hand.
“Till our party comes back,” said Jem.
“I may see you again,” said the Englishman; and shaking hands, he said a few words to his companion, and then began to wade ashore.
The savage smiled and shook hands in turn, after which he patted Don on the shoulder again.
“My pakeha,” he said, sharply; “Maori pakeha—my.”
He followed his leader; and Don and Jem watched them till they disappeared amongst the abundant growth.