In the Land of the Long White Cloud

along, Warden, we must ride a stretch. The young rams are up in the hills.”
    As Gerald had predicted, Terence made no move to help his daughter into the saddle. Gwyneira accomplished the difficult feat on her own, first putting her left foot in the stirrup and then swinging her right leg elegantly over the saddle horn, graceful and self-assured, while her horse stood there as still as a statue. As Gwyneira spurred the horse into motion, Gerald watched her grand, elegant movements. He liked the girl and horse equally, and even the small, three-colored dog fascinated him. During the ride over to the rams, he learned that Gwyneira had trained the dog herself and that they had already won several herding contests together.
    “The shepherds can’t stand me anymore,” Gwyneira explained with an innocent smile. “And the women’s association raised the question of whether it was even decent to let a girl present a dog. But what’s indecent about it? I just stand around and maybe open a door now and again.”
    A few hand motions and a whispered command sufficed to send out the lord’s well-trained dogs. Gerald Warden did not see any sheep at first as he gazed across the large plot. This time Gwyneira opened the gate to the pasture casually from atop her horse, instead of simply leaping over it. The smaller horse showed its worth in this case, as it would have been difficult for either man to lean that far down from astride their larger horses.
    Cleo and the other dogs required only a few minutes to collect the flock, although the young rams were much more recalcitrant than the peaceful ewes. A few tried to get away while they were being herded and even acted aggressively toward the dogs, which did not fluster the sheepdogs one bit. Cleo wagged her tail excitedly as she returned to her mistress in answer to a terse call. All the rams now stood close by. Terence indicated two of them to Gwyneira, which Cleo separated from the others with breathtaking speed.
    “These are the ones I picked out for you,” the lord explained to his visitor. “The best animals for your stud book, first-class pedigree. Afterward I can show you their fathers if you want. I would have put them to stud myself and won a great many prizes. But this way…I think you might mention my name in the colonies as their breeder. And that’s more important to me than another award in Cardiff.”
    Gerald nodded earnestly. “You can count on that. Marvelous animals! I can hardly wait for their offspring with my Cheviots. But we should talk about these dogs too. Not that we don’t have sheepdogs in New Zealand. But a dog like this one and a male to go with it would be worth some money to me.”
    Gwyneira, who had been stroking her dog in praise, heard his comment. She turned toward him angrily and glowered at the New Zealander. “If you’re looking to buy my dog, you’d do better to deal with me, Mr. Warden. But I’ll tell you right away: you won’t get Cleo no matter how much you offer. She belongs to me. She won’t go anywhere without me. Besides, you couldn’t command her anyway because she won’t listen to just anyone.”
    Her father shook his head disapprovingly. “Gwyneira, is this any way to behave?” he asked firmly. “Of course we can sell Mr. Warden a few dogs. It doesn’t have to be your favorite.” He looked at Gerald. “I’d recommend a few pups to you from the last litter, Mr. Warden. Cleo isn’t the only dog we have that wins competitions.”
    But she’s the best of them, thought Gerald. And for Kiward Station only the best was good enough. In the stables as well as in the house. If only blue-blooded girls were as easy to woo as studbook sheep.As the three rode back to the house, Gerald Warden was already working on a plan.

    Gwyneira picked out her clothes for dinner with great care. After everything that had transpired with Madame Fabian that day, she wanted to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her mother had already given her hell. By now, she knew those lectures by heart: she would never find a husband if she kept behaving so wildly and spent more time in the stables and on horseback than in her lessons. It was no secret that Gwyneira’s French left something to be desired. That was true of her housewifery skills as well. Gwyneira’s handwork never resulted in anything that you would want to decorate your home with—in fact, before each church bazaar, the pastor pushed her projects quietly aside instead of putting