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about; he was very fond of the boy by now. He had never got over the unwarranted feeling that he owed him a start. As for Tony, he cared for Robertson more than he had for anyone since George Derwent, and even in his thoughts he honoured him with a “Mr.,” which was a good deal from Tony, who was not given to titles.

The first month or so on the P. and O. had revived his childish longing to be a sailor, a longing born on the voyage to Japan years ago, but by the time they boarded the Union steamer he was impatient for the end of their journey. Paranui meant all sorts of beautiful things to him—outdoor life, and liberty, and the chance of learning to be a man quite soon. Robertson had said that as soon as he could use it properly he could have a gun of his own; there were other boys about his age who had, and they shot rabbits and were paid for it too—fancy being paid for fun like that!

They changed at Wellington into the little coaster that went down to Picton, and Tony's silent excitement grew as they pitched southward against a strong head-wind. Rough weather did not worry him by this time. When he saw Paranui at last it was more splendid than his dreams, and quite unlike any of them. The station fronted on ten miles of sea, which meant that it had thirty miles of coast- line; crooked coast-line that wriggled like a shaken jig-saw puzzle—reaches of yellow sand, curly little sheltered bays, dark cliffs exposed to the shattering white breakers, inlets and reefs and rock-pools—Tony had never seen such a coast. Then, looking inland, miles and miles of grey-yellow tussock-land, wind-ridden and sweeping up to the gorges where small tough trees struggled for a footing. It was cold and beautiful; the gayest colours in the picture were the turquoise sky and the cobalt sea. The June air was keen and very clear; the sun glittered on the sea and the tussock-