With what buoyant steps we followed Tiki along the way he knew beneath the fern palms and overhanging trees that skirted the beach! It was one of those clear, bright mornings which, on a shelving shore between the glistening bush and the sparkling sea, are only to be interpreted by the liquid song of the korimako, sipping dew and honey as he sings in the flowering trees, or by the merry fantail’s laugh, as with tail outspread she chases the gnat, which twists and turns in the sunlight.
“Tiki,” I said presently, “you go on ahead and tell Te Makawawa we are coming. We can find the way all right.”
On board the ship the sailors had fitted the Maori out with a civilised costume, and he looked supremely ridiculous, for neither had he been made for the clothes nor the clothes for him. As he vanished ahead of us I smiled, wondering what sort of a reception he would get from the old chief, whose ideas were of a most conservative nature.
“I should like to be present when Tiki stands before Te Makawawa in those clothes,” I said. “The old chief’s a gentleman of the old school: he will be scandalised.”
Hardly were the words out of my mouth when sounds of someone talking fell upon our ears, and presently we turned a bend of the path and came full upon Tiki face to face with the old chief. The latter had so warmed up to his subject that he did not see us, and partly shielded by the trees we stood and watched them in the open space before us. Te Makawawa’s attitude and picturesque garb, from the feathers in his white hair to the flowing fringe of his kaitaka, were in themselves a rebuke to Tiki; but his words added a sting to the rebuke, which made my poor faithful Maori look even more ridiculous than I had thought possible.
“Eta! you have not the dignity that belongs to our race. What have you done with it? Exchanged it for that pair of trousers, and they are put on wrong way now. What have you done with the mana of your ancestors? Given it away for that old coat, and it’s splitting under the arm. What have you done with the bravery and prowess of your tribe? Traded it for that shirt without any buttons, that collar fastened with a piece of flax, that hat which makes you look so beautiful. What have you done with the blood of the Rangitane which runs in your veins—of Toi our ancestor, and of Kupakupa, who made us Maori? I expect you have bartered it all for a bottle of waipiro. Eta! did our ancestors make scarecrows of themselves like this? Did they go to such foolishness to frighten the birds? Tiki, you’re a big fool. You’re like the stupid ones, trying to bring about the time when the Maori cannot hold up his head at all. You’re weak in the knees, and you put those trousers on to hide it. I think your whole backbone would scarcely make one good fishhook.”
“What a contrast,” whispered Crystal, who had understood the chief’s words perfectly. “I like the old fellow, even if he did steal my father and mother and myself. But don’t you think Tiki has had enough?” The poor Maori was trembling beneath the scorn of the aged one.
“I think so, yes,” I replied. “You stay here till I call you.” And I stepped out into the open space.
“Te Makawawa!”
He turned on the instant and came towards me. “He Pakeha!” he said, “the Friend of the Forest Tree. I saw the canoe coming in and came down to meet it. You have found the little maiden, Keritahi Kerei—good! Where is she?”