212 
NAPIER 
CHAP. 
To-day the sun is shining its brightest ; for me the 
scent of gorse, of sea-cliffs, of wooded dells and hollows, 
made the memories grow stronger ; and now we rode 
under the self-same tree of snow-white blossoms where 
long ago I had pulled my first wild flowers and 
crowned my hat with them. There was the very spot 
where we rested to have lunch ; there in the distance the 
outline of the old home ; the dear sad memories were 
all too strong for me, and on the threshold I had not 
the courage to go on. 
Turning back, we went to see old Tom Bishop ; 
he was an old 43 rd hero, and what a welcome he gave 
me ! He had a comfortable little home, and his pension 
and all. Despite my repeated assertions that I didn’t 
want them, he insisted on picking me all his straw- 
berries, ripe and unripe, and between his smiles and 
his tears (every few minutes brushing his sleeve across 
his eyes) he reminded me how I had begged him oft 
from punishment, with many others, for “just this 
once.” Just this once came very often, and I laughed 
as the remembrance came back to me of his oft-repeated 
pleadings for leave to go into town to see a sick grand- 
mother, who must have died quite six times during the 
year. Then there was the bugler, who was always 
called “little Tommy,” and I recalled his quavering notes 
as he used to sound the calls. Thompson, another old 
soldier, was now, he told me, “ amicably prosperous ” ! 
Many of them were now rich farmers, hotel-keepers, 
and one the principal storekeeper at Urenui. Lloyd, 
an old one-eyed Maori, well known during the war, 
stopped to say his greetings, and several others nodded 
a recognition. We drove on to the farm of Mr. H.’s 
son-in-law : 600 acres of splendid grass land. The 
former owners had had recourse to a cruel way of 
clearing it. It was originally all covered with ferns, 
