In the Land of the Long White Cloud

election—it was more likely a result of her spouse’s charitable nature.
    “I had a very interesting conversation with a wool producer from New Zealand, and…” Robert began, glancing at his eldest son. But Lucinda simply carried on speaking, now turning her indulgent smile on William.
    “And you, my dear children? Surely you played in the garden, didn’t you? Did you beat George and Miss Davenport at croquet again, William dearest?”
    Helen stared fixedly at her plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George blinking heavenward in his usual manner, as though calling out to an understanding angel for succor. In reality, William had succeeded in winning more points than his older brother in only one instance, and George had had a nasty cold at the time. Although Helen hit the ball more skillfully through the hoops than William, she often let him win. Lucinda approved, but her husband admonished her whenever he observed the ruse.
    “The boy must get used to the fact that the world plays rough with fools,” he said sternly. “He has to learn to lose. That’s the only way he will ever win!”
    Helen doubted that William would ever win, in any field at all. But her flash of sympathy for the unfortunate child was immediately eclipsed by his next comment.
    “Oh, Mummy, Miss Davenport didn’t let us play at all,” William said with a pout. “We sat inside the whole day and studied, studied, studied.”
    Lucinda shot Helen a disapproving look. “Is this true, Miss Davenport? You know, of course, that the children need fresh air. At this age they can’t simply sit with their noses in books all day!”
    Helen seethed within, but she could not accuse William of lying. To her relief, George stepped in.
    “That’s simply not true. Just like every day, William took a walk after lunch. But then it started to rain, and he didn’t want to go out. The nanny dragged him around the park once, and there wasn’t any time left for croquet before our lesson.”
    “William painted instead,” Helen said, in an effort to redirect the conversation. Maybe Lucinda Greenwood would start praising William’s museum-worthy sketch and forget about William’s lack of fresh air. But it didn’t turn out as she’d hoped.
    “Even so, Miss Davenport, when the weather at noon doesn’t cooperate, you simply must take a break in the afternoon. In the circles in which William will someday move, physical fitness is almost as important as intellectual ability.”
    William seemed to enjoy the reprimand for his teacher, and Helen thought once more of the aforementioned advertisement.
    George seemed to read Helen’s thoughts. Ignoring the discussion with William and his mother, he took up the conversation where his father had left off. Helen had noticed this trick between father and son several times before and was generally astounded at the elegant transition. This time, however, George’s comment made her blush.
    “Miss Davenport is interested in New Zealand, Father.”
    Helen swallowed convulsively as all eyes turned to her.
    “Oh, really?” Robert Greenwood asked calmly. “Are you considering emigrating?” he smiled. “New Zealand is a good choice. No excessive heat and no malaria-infested swamps like in India. No bloodthirsty natives like America. No offspring of criminal settlers like Australia…”
    “Really?” Helen asked, happy to have the conversation brought back around to neutral ground. “Was New Zealand not also settled by convicts?”
    Robert Greenwood shook his head. “Not at all. The communities there were almost entirely founded by good Christian Brits, and so it remains today. I don’t mean to say that there aren’t dubious subjects there. Some crooks might have come ashore, especially in the whaling camps on the west coast, and sheep shearing colonies aren’t likely to consist entirely of good, respectable men. But New Zealand is most assuredly not a catch pit of social scum. The colony there is still quite young. It won’t be able to support itself for a few years yet.”
    “But the natives are dangerous!” George interjected. Clearly he now wanted to shine with his knowledge too. He had an affinity for military confrontations, Helen knew from lessons, and an outstanding memory. “There was fighting not long ago, right, Dad? Didn’t you tell us about how one of your business partners had all his wool burned up?”
    Robert Greenwood nodded at his son, pleased. “That’s right, George. But