In the Land of the Long White Cloud

farm. But it had to be; the mule was grazing in the pen in front of it. When it saw Igraine, it let out a strange sound that started out like a neigh but degenerated into a lowing. Gwyneira shook her head. Peculiar animals. She did not understand why some people preferred them to horses.
    She tied the mare to the fence and set out to look for Helen. She found only a cow in the stall. But then she heard a shrill cry come from the house. It was obviously Helen; she screamed with such horror that Gwyneira’s blood ran cold. Terrified, she looked for a weapon with which to defend her friend, then decided to use her riding crop, and rushed to Helen’s aide.
    There was no assailant to be seen. Helen looked as though she had been quietly sweeping the room—until some fearful sight made her freeze.
    “Helen!” Gwyneira yelled. “What is it?”
    Helen did not greet her, or even turn to look at her. She just stared in terror at the corner.
    “There…there…over there! What in heaven’s name is that? Help, it’s jumping!” Helen fled backward in panic and almost tripped over a stool in the process. Gwyneira caught her and likewise retreated before the fat, gleaming hopper, which was now hopping away from them. The bug was a splendid specimen—at least four inches long.
    “That’s a weta,” Gwyneira explained calmly. “Probably a ground weta, but it could also be a tree weta that’s gotten lost. In any case it’s a giant weta, which is to say it can’t jump high.”
    Helen looked at her as though she’d escaped from an asylum.
    “And it’s a male. Just in case you want to give him a name.” Gwyneira giggled. “Don’t make such a face, Helen. They’re gross, but they won’t hurt you. Let the critter out and…”
    “Ca…can’t we squ…ash it?” Helen asked, trembling.
    Gwyneira shook her head. “All but impossible. They’re hard to kill. Supposedly even when you cook them…which I haven’t tried, however. Lucas can discourse on them for hours. They’re his favorite insect. Do you have a glass or something?” Gwyneira had watched before when Lucas caught a weta and now she capably brought an empty marmalade glass down over the insect. “Got you,” she rejoiced. “If we can get the lid screwed on, I can take it back to Lucas as a gift.”
    “Don’t joke like that, Gwyn! I thought he was a gentleman.” Helen slowly collected herself, but kept staring in fascination and horror at the giant captured bug.
    “That doesn’t mean he can’t have an interest in crawly things, you know,” Gwyneira remarked. “Men have strange predilections.”
    “You can say that again.” Helen was thinking of Howard’s nightly pleasures. He’d have pursued them nearly every night if Helen didn’t have her periods. Which had, however, ceased after a short time—the only positive aspect of her married life.
    “Shall I make tea?” Helen asked. “Howard prefers coffee, but I bought tea for myself. Darjeeling, from London.” Her voice took on a note of longing.
    Gwyneira looked around the humbly furnished room. The two rickety chairs, the clean-scoured but worn-out tabletop on which lay the Maori Bible. The stew simmering on the shabby stove. It wasn’t exactly the ideal setting for teatime. She thought of Mrs. Candler’s cozy home. Then she shook her head decisively. “We’ll make tea afterward. First thing, you need to saddle that mule. I'll give you…well, let’s say three riding lessons. After that we’ll start meeting in Haldon.”
    The mule proved less cooperative. When Helen tried to put reins on it, it bit at her and ran away. She heaved a sigh when Reti, Rongo, and two other children appeared. Helen’s flushed face, her cursing, and the hopelessness of her attempt at putting the reins on the mule all gave the Maori children a new reason to titter, but Reti had the halter on the mule within seconds. He then showed Helen how to saddle the mule while Rongo fed the animal sweet potatoes. But beyond that, they could do nothing to help her. Helen had to mount it on her own.
    Gwyneira perched on the paddock fence while Helen tried to make the animal move. The children nudged each other and giggled when the mule refused to move even a single step. Only after Helen gave it a spirited kick in the flanks did it make a sort of moaning sound and take a step forward. But Gwyneira was not satisfied.
    “That won’t do. If you kick it, it won’t go forward, it’ll just get angry.” Gwyneira