But the poor women fled shrieking into the bush once more when they perceived the figure of a man advancing toward them.
"A friend! a friend!" shouted Ottley, hoping that the sound of an Englishman’s voice would reassure them.
There was a crashing in the bushes, and something leaped out of the wild tangle.
"It is Whero!" exclaimed Edwin, running to meet him. They grasped hands in a very hearty fashion, as Edwin whispered almost breathlessly, "How have they left your father?"
"You have come to tangi with us!" cried Whero, in gratified surprise; and to show his warm appreciation of the unexpected sympathy, he gravely rubbed his nose against Edwin’s.
"Oh, don’t," interposed the English boy, feeling strangely foolish.
Ottley laughed, as he saw him wipe his face with considerable energy to recover from his embarrassment.
"Oh, bother!" he exclaimed. "I shall be up to it soon, but I did not know what you meant by it. Never mind."
"Let us have a look round," said the coachman, turning to Whero, "before your mother gets here."
"I have been watching in the long grass all night," sobbed the boy; "and when the tramp of the last footsteps died away, I crept out and groped my way in the darkness. I got to the door, and called to my father, but there was no answer. Then I turned again to the bush to find my mother, until I heard our own horse neigh, and I thought he had followed me."
Ottley soothed the poor boy as best he could as they surveyed the scene of desolation. The fences were all pulled up and flung into the lake, and the gates thrown down. The garden had been thoroughly ploughed, and every shrub and tree uprooted. The patch of cultivated ground at the back of the whare had shared the same fate.
It was so late in the autumn Ottley hoped the harvest had been gathered in. It mattered little. The empty storehouse echoed to their footsteps. All, all was gone. They could not tell whether the great drove of pigs had been scared away into the bush or driven off to the pah. Whero was leading the way to the door of the principal whare, where he had last seen his father. In the path lay a huge, flat stone smashed to pieces. The hard, cold, sullen manner which Whero had assumed gave way at the sight, and he sobbed aloud.