Part 4

The cloud was by this time passing over one of the largest lakes, and very beautiful looked the soft shining waters surrounded by mountains, on the tops of which the clouds still rested. Then the cloud floated to the far end of the lake, and glided down a narrow valley in which the milky blue waters of a glacier-stream rushed and roared, though no sound reached the children, who could only see its fighting wavelets.

On they went, watching the clouds roll from the tree-clad depths and rocky heights, till at last they uttered cries of joy and wonder.

There, in front of them, the mighty snow-crowned hills pierced the grey clouds, catching the rosy rays of the now rapidly-rising sun. Vast ice-fields stretched far and wide, their rifts blue as the breaks in the sky above, their jagged peaks gleaming with a thousand diamond lights; and how soft and inviting looked the beds of snow in the hollows!

“The snow! The snow at last!” cried Hal and Cis, as they saw the hills and their gleaming sides and peaks; “oh! do let us get down, Mr. Santa Claus.”

“Wait,” he replied; and the cloud glided close to a gorge in one of the mountains, where a mighty foaming torrent[20] rushed down the rocky steeps to the valley beneath, the silver streaks thousands of feet overhead showing where the waters ran out from the glacier fields.

When the cloud stopped, the children jumped off and rushed to the edge of the waterfall, and, holding on to the trees at the side, were about to stoop down for a drink, when Santa Claus cried out, “Do not try to drink there, children, you will be swept away by the rushing waters. Come with me, and I will show you where you can get a draught of clear still water.”

Hal and Cis turned reluctantly, and Santa Claus took them where, in a dry water-course, amid big boulders, they saw clusters of the pure white flowers of the mountain-lily,[21] and their guide, pointing to these, said, “See there, if you are thirsty.”

“The flowers are very beautiful, Mr. Santa Claus,” said Cis, “but it is _water_ we want, and I am _so_ thirsty.”

“Look again,” replied Santa Claus.

There, below the flowers, were large cup-shaped leaves full of clear cold water; Cis and Hal darted forward to gather them and drink, when the leaves seemed to be shaken as if with the wind, but there was not wind enough for that, and, stooping down, they saw two little fat dwarfs holding the stems and shaking with laughter.

What ugly little fellows they were! Hal thought at first they were green frogs, for they were dressed in tight-fitting green coats, their big mouths reached from ear to ear, and their hands and feet were webbed.

“Hulloa!” cried Hal, “who are you?”

Instead of answering, they only laughed and choked, and choked and laughed.

“You seem to have got bad colds,” said little Cis.

“Perhaps, when you have done, you will tell us what you are laughing at?” continued Hal, in aggrieved tones.

Still they laughed and choked.

“I wish I were at home; my mother would give you some ipecacuanha wine, for I think you have got the croup,” said little Cis, in a troubled voice.

At this the dwarfs opened their mouths wider than before, and, at last, in low croaking voices began a duet:—

“My name it is Gup!” “My name it is Joke!” “We’ve got such bad colds (together) We can only croak.

“We are both so fat, (together) And we can’t tell why, Unless it’s because We live near the sky.”

“So close to the clouds There’s no need to climb,” Said Joke, “so all day I sit here and rhyme.

“I feed upon flies, And grumble and grunt, Or for nice fat snails Al night-time I hunt.”

“Be quiet,” cried Gup. “That I won’t,” said Joke; “Your voice is just like A pig’s in a poke!”

“And little care I If it is,” said Gup; “I’m tired to death Of holding this cup.”

“I like to be fat, I hate to drink dew, It’s a weak cold draught That nourishes few.

“Great poets, they say, Must live near the skies!” “That’s me!” cried out Joke; “I’m ever so wise!

“I know no grammar, I read no books, I have but studied Dame Nature’s looks.

“A poet to gain The top of the tree, Has to use long words, And drone like a bee.”

So we both make rhymes, And chuckle and grin At the people who listen, And cry, “What a sin

“‘These two clever boys Should not be extolled!’” “Stop! stop!” cried out Joke, “Where has the grub rolled?”

“What are you looking for?” asked the children.

“We are looking for our dinner,” replied the dwarfs, who, during the latter part of their singing, had been hunting under the leaves and down the slippery slope for a big fat grub which they had carefully stowed away for a meal, but which had disappeared.

“I’d rolled him all up just under this cup!” With a grunt cried out Gup. “Yes! grunt and croak, You pig in a poke; You’re to blame,” cried Joke. “I’ve told you full oft Not to gaze up aloft— That grub was _so_ soft! He was such a prize! A sight for sore eyes When made into pies!” And Joke heaved big sighs.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” said little Cis, “pray don’t quarrel over a grub.”

“Quarrel, indeed!” cried a voice out of the bushes; “they’re always quarrelling!”

It was a plump Maori hen who thus spoke, and she added, “If they’d leave off making rhymes, and attend to the business of every-day life, it would be far better. While they sat looking up at the skies, the grub rolled down, and I caught him and ate him, for it was a pity he should be wasted. In fact,” added the hen, with a satisfied nod, “as a rule, they find the grubs, and I eat them!”

At this, the dwarfs got so puffed out with anger, that the children were afraid they would burst, they rolled their eyes round and round, in search of something to throw at the Maori hen, but she ran away into the bushes beyond their reach.

“I should be glad if you’d give us a drink out of those green cups of yours,” said Hal; “and couldn’t you make some better poetry? if so, we’d like to hear it very much.”

The dwarfs then handed the children each a mountain-lily leaf full of cool dew, saying:—

“To you we hold the fairy cup, And bid you drink of sparkling dew, The stars have gone, the sun is up, Soon must we hide from mortal view. But ere we say good-bye, we bid Ye upward, ever upward go; Look to the Star that shines above, Though oft you cull the flowers below. ’Tis Christmas morn, the Bell-bird’s chimes Rise from the distant woods; o’er hills Where rabbits skip, there softly rings The music of a thousand rills. A merry Christmas! then we sing; A merry time for one and all! Let not the poor pass by your gates, Let from your hands the good gifts fall. We merry dwarfs have but one gift, To thirsty souls we hold it up, And bid them drink refreshing dew From out our cool green fairy cup. But ere we say good-bye we bid Ye upwards, ever upwards go; Look to the Star that shines above, E’en though you cull the flowers below.”

“I wonder if they mean our Star of Love,” said little Cis.

“Perhaps so,” said Hal, “though I don’t see it anywhere just now.”

Hal stooped down to where the little dwarfs were hiding themselves under the leaves, but somehow they and the big stalks seemed to get all mixed up, and he then could see nothing but the stalks, and began to think he must have dreamt all the rest.

Just then a Maori hen, with an inquisitive air, came out of the fern, and Hal, seeing it, cried out,—

“By-the-bye, old thief, where are those buttons of mine you stole?”

“I don’t know,” replied the hen. Indignant mutterings were uttered by some other hens gathering round:—

“_We_ never stole any buttons, it must have been some country cousin of ours; we never think of stealing anything,” protested the crowd indignantly.

“Well, you see,” replied Hal, “all your family have got a bad name; but there may be some honest ones amongst you.”

But the offended hens did not wait to hear more, and scuttled off into the bushes.

The children, seeing that Santa Claus was beckoning to them to go on, tried to get up the slope quickly; but how slippery the stretches of snow-grass were! they often stumbled, and had to hold on tightly to the silvery tufts to keep from falling backwards into the awful depths. Many a time did Hal help little Cis, for he still had the wand in his hand, and used it as a stick to lean upon.

“We shall soon get to the snow now,” said Santa Claus, waiting for the children, and pointing above them, where the eternal peaks were shining.

“What is that?” cried Hal, as he heard a loud thundering, as of a huge mass falling from some great height, waking the echoes far and near.

“You will know soon,” answered Santa Claus; and helping the children up the last steep ledges, they came in sight of the vast fields of snow and ice.

Proceeding in single file along the narrow path under his guidance, he at length placed them on a spot whence they could safely watch the avalanches thundering from the heights, down the rugged mountain side to the valley below, and how wonderful it was to see the huge masses of ice falling, sliding, dashing from ledge to ledge! Then from the clear sky above them they heard a voice calling, “Ke-a, ke-a. Come up, come up.”

“What is that?” asked little Cis, who had not spoken, but, sitting close to Hal, had been watching the wonderful scene.

“I do not know,” said Hal, “but it looks like a big mountain parrot that I’ve seen pictures of in our new book on New Zealand birds.”

“Is that what it is, Mr. Santa Claus?”

“Yes, Hal, and it is a cruel bird,[22] for it will fasten its claws into the back of any sheep that has wandered away from its companions or is floundering in the snow, and then, digging its sharp beak through the flesh, it feeds upon the fat part it likes best. The poor sheep, driven frantic by the pain, rushes on and on, till it sinks down exhausted to die; and then the Kea, having got the dainty bit it wanted, leaves its prey, and goes off to seek a fresh victim.”

“How cruel!” said little Cis, her eyes filling with tears.

“But come, children,” said Santa Claus, “I must take you near the snow,” and he led them to where the snow lay white and pure.

The children rushed to fill their hands with it, and shouted for joy.

“How cold it is!” cried Hal.

“How beautifully white and soft!” said little Cis.

And the children began to pelt each other, their merry laughter ringing on the clear air.

“Let’s have a shy at Santa Claus,” whispered Hal to his sister; and, making a big snow-ball, their eyes sparkling with fun, they threw it suddenly at their guide, who was sitting on a rock near by.

But how astonished they were, when the snow-ball hit him, to see it gradually spread out and cover him.

“Good-bye, children! Good-bye! good-bye!” said Santa Claus in a low muffled voice; and then, all that was left of their kind guide was a heap of snow.

“Oh! what have we done!” cried Cis, as she looked round and round for Santa Claus.

She thought the heap of snow was something like him in shape, but then it was _only_ a heap of snow, and poor Cis sat down and cried.

Hal tried to look brave, but felt inclined to cry too, when he remembered how far they were from home.

“How shall we get down the mountain? How shall we get back to mother?” moaned Cis, and the tears ran down her cheeks afresh.

Then from out the snow-heap sprang hundreds of little long-legged sprites, with high pointed ice-caps on their heads, and wearing coats of sparkling snow, the icicle-fringe of which jingled merrily.

What round, rosy faces they had! What twinkling blue eyes! In their hands they carried frost lances or little crystal spades, which they flourished in the air as they sprang up from the snow, making flashes of light in the sun.

“Who are you?” cried Hal.

“Are you the children of Santa Claus?” asked little Cis, “and if so, can you tell us where he has gone, please?”

“We are his servants,” shouted they, “and he has sent us to help you; for he has started on his journey to the Old World, where the children will soon be looking for him.”

“Oh! is that where he has gone!” said little Cis with a relieved air, glad to find they had not killed him; “and will you help us to go home? because I think it must be Christmas morning, and mother will be expecting us;” and little Cis thought she could hear the Bell-bird’s chimes, as she had heard it many a time in the early morning.

“Yes, we will help you,” answered the sprites.

Just then they heard the bird circling over their heads, again crying, “Ke-a! Ke-a! Come up! come up!” and Hal, helping little Cis, and planting his stick firmly, step by step, in the snow, followed the sprites, who tripped lightly on, looking like points of dancing light.

At last, after hard climbing, they reached the ice-clad side of the highest peak. How beautiful the prospect in the bright sunlight! The clouds all gone; nothing but the clear blue sky above and around. All was still, save when the avalanches thundered down from the heights. The children stood and watched the huge masses of ice as they slid down, now here, now there from the shining peaks, to fall like powdered snow into the foaming glacier stream in the dim depths below.

Meanwhile the little sprites were hard at work digging, cutting, shaping a huge block of ice.

“What are you making?” asked Hal. “Can we help?”

“Yes, if you like,” said the sprites, and they gave him and Cis two little spades. The children were soon quite hot, working as the sprites bade them, loosening and shaping the huge block of ice; while every now and then they would all stop, and pelt each other with the powdered ice, and the sprites sang:—

“Pelt us, pelt us, we don’t care, We love the snow so crisp and fair; We will shape and we will dig, Till a chariot white and big We have cut, for those who’d fain Hasten to their home again. Slide and slip, and slip and slide, Thunderous roll, and mighty crash! In the chariot come and ride, Down into the depths to dash. Mystic trip for those who roam; One wild rush: Hurrah for home!”

Tempting indeed looked the chariot; bright and sparkling were its wheels of ice, and some of the sprites had decked it with starry edelweiss gathered on the slopes below, and with handfuls of the red snow-lichen.

“Let’s get in, Cis!” cried Hal.

“Is it quite safe?” asked Cis of the sprites.

“Quite, quite,” answered they; “Santa Claus told us to make it for you.”

Taking hold of little Cis, the foremost sprite helped her to get in, and Hal jumped quickly in by her side.

Throwing down their spades, the laughing sprites rushed to the chariot wheels, ready to push them round, whilst others pelted the children with snow-lichen, shouting at the top of their shrill voices:—

“Slide and slip, and slip and slide, Thunderous roll and mighty crash! In the chariot those who ride, Down into the depths shall dash. Mystic trip for those who roam; One wild rush: Hurrah for home!”

Then the wheels began to turn, and Hal threw his arm round Cis, who was holding on to him, and looking with a little white face into the depths below.

But the wheels turned faster and faster, as the chariot dashed down the glassy slope. Hal looked at the sky above, where the Kea was still crying, “Come up! come up!” and he thought he saw the Star of Love shining faint and far; and then—— Hal remembered no more; and, with the words of the sprites ringing in his ears,—

“Slide and slip, and slip and slide,”

he—awoke,—to find he had tumbled out of bed, and that it was Christmas morn indeed. And there was little Cis, sitting up in her bed, and there were the stockings with their bulging sides; and Hal rubbed his eyes and wondered if he were awake or dreaming. But he and Cis hastened to dive into their stockings, to see what Santa Claus had put into them, and, what treasures they found!

For Cis there was a big doll, dressed like an angel, and fairy-like small ones, and beautiful furniture for her doll’s house, and a book with pictures of all kinds of birds and insects.

And in Hal’s, what treasures for his collection! Rare birds’ eggs in little glass-covered boxes, precious bits of many-coloured ores; and from the Terraces, about which his mother had often told him, were specimens of white encrusted sticks and delicate ferns. How he longed to put them in his cabinet with his other treasures!

But when Hal talked to Cis about Santa Claus and their night’s travels, she laughed and said,—

“You must have been dreaming, Hal, or perhaps the treasures in the stockings whispered it all in your ear,” which Hal indignantly denied.

“For I know it was real,” he said.

But the Bell-birds were singing their Christmas chime in the bush, and the morning sun was gilding the tree-ferns and the waves, and their mother’s voice was calling, “A happy Christmas, children! a happy Christmas!”

And whose was that other voice that called out the words too?

“Father! father!” cried the little ones eagerly, tearfully, as they rushed into the outstretched arms of their mother and _father_ too!

Yes, it was a happy Christmas morn, indeed, for the sea had brought its _living_ to their home. And as the children sat that evening in the little low room, their father told them of the shipwreck, of his life on an island with one other, carried like himself to its shores, and of their joy when a passing vessel sighted them and brought them home at last.

When the Southern Cross again shone down from the sky on the father and mother and happy children, Hal told them his tale of all he had seen the night before.

Although little Cis declared it was not so, Hal would never believe but that Cis and he had been with Santa Claus to see all the wonders of the Southern Cross Fairy-land.

FINIS.

NOTES.

[1] Bell-bird. Korimako. (_Anthornis melanura._)—A honey eater, the size of a sparrow; plumage dark green. It inhabits the outskirts of the forest. At daybreak the Bell-birds collect together in a favourite tree, especially on the Pohutukawa, or Christmas-tree, so called because it is in blossom at Christmas time, every little branch being then decorated with a tuft of crimson flowers, the cups of which are full of honey. One bird acts as conductor, making a snap with his bill, which is the signal to the others to begin the music, when at once a beautiful sound, like distant chimes, is heard; all the birds listen to the conductor, and stop or begin at his command. During the daytime they do not sing in chorus, but before retiring to rest they again gather together and with sweet music show their joy in life.—A. REISCHEK, F.L.S.

[2] The Cabbage-tree (_Cordyline australis_) is a characteristic feature in New Zealand landscapes. It receives its name from the arrangement of its leaves in tufts or heads at the ends of the branches. The tree may reach forty feet in height, and the tufts of stiff and sword-shaped leaves at the ends of the not very numerous branches gives it a peculiarly picturesque appearance. It is a member of the Lily order, and bears in the spring, feathery masses of small, white and sweet-scented flowers.—A. P. W. THOMAS, M.A., F.L.S., F.G.S.

[3] Kiwi. (_Apteryx mantelli._)—A bird about the size of a common fowl, with a long bill; it cannot fly, as the wings are extremely small and hidden amongst the plumage, being only 2½ inches long. The plumage of the Northern Kiwi is brown, and that of the South Island grey, the feathers are very much like hair, and when walking it steadies itself with its long bill. In summer it inhabits dense and secluded gullies, and in winter the spurs of the forest-covered hills. During the day the Kiwis sleep in burrows, under roots, or in hollow trees. As soon as the sun sets the shrill call of the male, and the croaking answer of the female, is heard, and it is amusing to see these creatures on a moonlight night, coming into the open spaces, and challenging any of their rivals who may dare to intrude into their favourite haunts. The challenge being answered, each bird makes a grunt of defiance, then the two rush together, and the fight begins. They strike forward with their strong legs at each other, and often roll over and over from the hard blows given. They are the most unsociable of all the New Zealand birds.—A. R.

[4] Parson-bird. Tui. (_Prosthemadera novæ Zealandiæ._)—A honey bird, the size of a blackbird; plumage black, with steel-blue and green shimmer, and two white tufts of soft curly feathers under its throat, suggestive of white bands, hence the name, Parson-bird. It imitates nearly every bird, and talks to perfection when in captivity and if taught. It alters its note according to the four seasons. In September, when the Kowhai is covered with bright yellow flowers, it is a remarkable sight to see the Tuis climbing among the blossoms, and sucking the honey from them, their dark plumage forming a beautiful contrast to the mass of brilliant golden flowers.—A. R.

[5] Pied Fantail. Piwakawaka (_Rhipidura flabellifera._)—A small fly-catcher; plumage greyish brown. While busily engaged catching mosquitos or sand flies, these birds steer with their fan-shaped tails, making fantastic evolutions in the air. When a fantail has spied out with its big black eyes the hiding place of the owl, in the daytime it will call its mates together and show them the spot where their enemy dwells, and then all the birds dart at the owl, and fly round and round, annoying it in every possible manner until they chase it away.—A. R.

[6] The little Brown Owl, or Morepork. Ruru. (_Athene novæ Zealandiæ._)—The size and plumage is the same as that of the European Stone Owl. As soon as darkness covers the land, the Moreporks appear silently swooping through the air, or darting suddenly after insects. Woe to any small bird which happens to chirp in its dreams, or to any rat which is taking a walk abroad, they will be sure to be detected by the bright yellow eyes of these nocturnal wanderers. On one occasion I saw one of these owls dart down on a large rat, fly with it high into the air, then let it drop, and, again darting down upon it, it repeated the operation till the rat was dead. The bird then proceeded most systematically to skin its prey, and, after feasting on the flesh, flew to the nearest tree, where it gave a few contented calls of “Morepork,” and then sat like an image, with its piercing eyes gazing on the ground in search of other prey.—A. R.

[7] North Island Crow. Kokako. (_Glaucopis wilsoni._)—A bird about the size of a jay; plumage of a slaty-grey. In the North Island it has blue wattles, in the South, orange with blue. This bird inhabits the secluded slopes of mountains, hopping swiftly through the forest, or hiding itself and peering through the boughs. Its note is melodious, and similar to that of a flute, and in the pairing season the male dances up and down on a branch, with his tail and wings out-spread, making at the same time a gurgling noise to attract the female bird’s attention, who sits near by, looking on in quiet admiration.—A. R.

[8] The Tuatara (_Splenodon punebatum_) is one of the peculiar animals of New Zealand. It is a lizard-like animal, rather less than two feet in length. It was formerly found on the mainland, but is now confined to a few of the outlying islands which are seldom visited. It has no near relative amongst existing lizards, and its nearest allies are certain fossil saurians of a remote geological period (_Lianic_). A. P. W. T.

[9] VEGETABLE CATERPILLAR.

A caterpillar found in the New Zealand forest, which, when it buries itself in the ground previous to its change into the perfect winged form, is attacked by a kind of fungus.