In the Land of the Long White Cloud

boat, up the Avon River. But that costs money, of course. Most New Zealanders haul their things over the Bridle Path. It’s twelve miles.”
    Helen decided only to have her beloved rocking chair ferried. She would carry the rest of her luggage just like the others. She could walk twelve miles—of course she could. Although it was true she had never tried such a thing before.
    Meanwhile, the main deck had emptied; the passengers had rushed to their cabins to pack their bags. Now that they had almost reached their destination, they wanted to get off the boat as quickly as possible. A tumult similar to that of their first day on board reigned in steerage.
    In first class, people went about things more coolly. Luggage was by and large picked up; the gentry would be taking advantage of the transportation company that carried people and their baggage to the interior on mules. Mrs. Brewster and Lady Barrington already trembled at the prospect of the ride over the pass. Neither one was accustomed to being transported by horse or mule, and both had heard horror stories about the dangers of the route. Gwyneira, however, could hardly wait to mount Igraine—and for that reason ended up in a serious dispute with Gerald.
    “Stay here another night?” she said, amazed, when he indicated they would be taking advantage of the humble but newly opened guesthouse in Lyttelton. “But why do that?”
    “Because we’ll hardly be able to unload the animals before late afternoon,” Gerald explained. “And because I have to requisition herders to bring the sheep over the pass.”
    Gwyneira shook her head, uncomprehending. “Why do you need help for that? I can drive the sheep on my own. And we have two horses. We don’t need to wait for the mules.”
    Gerald boomed with laughter, and Lord Barrington joined him.
    “You want to drive the sheep over the pass, little lady? On horseback, like an American cowboy?” The lord found this the best joke he had heard in a long time.
    Gwyneira rolled her eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t drive the sheep myself,” she remarked. “That’s what Cleo and the other dogs are for, the ones that Mr. Warden bought from my father. The pups are still little and haven’t been fully trained, but there are only thirty sheep, after all. Cleo could do that all by herself if need be.”
    The little dog had heard her name and immediately emerged from her corner. Wagging her tail and with bright eyes shining with eagerness and devotion, she stopped in front of her mistress. Gwyneira petted her and informed her that their boredom on the ship would come to an end that day.
    “Gwyneira,” Gerald said, annoyed, “I didn’t buy these sheep and dogs and have them shipped halfway around the world just to have them fall off the next cliff.” He hated it when a member of his family sounded ridiculous. And it infuriated him further when someone ignored or even questioned his directions. “You don’t know the Bridle Path. It’s a treacherous and dangerous trail. No dog can drive sheep over it alone, and it’s not as easy to ride over it as you seem to think. I’ve had pens prepared for the sheep tonight. Tomorrow I’ll have the horses ferried over, and you’ll take a mule.”
    Gwyneira tossed her head back imperiously. She hated it when people underestimated her or her animals’ abilities.
    “Igraine can cross any path and is as sure-footed as any mule,” she assured them with a steady voice. “Cleo has never lost a sheep, and she won’t now. Just wait, by this evening we’ll be in Christchurch!”
    The men kept laughing, but Gwyneira was determined. Why did she have the best sheepdog in Powys, if not in all Wales? And why had people been breeding cobs for nimbleness and sure-footedness? Gwyneira burned with impatience to show the men what she wascapable of. This was a new world! She wouldn’t let herself be bound by the role of the well-bred little woman who followed men’s orders without protest.

    Helen felt extremely light-headed when she finally set foot on New Zealand around three o’clock that afternoon. The bobbing landing platform did not seem much steadier than the planks of the
Dublin
, but she stepped across it courageously and stood at long last on solid land. She was so relieved that she would have liked nothing better than to kneel down and kiss the ground, just as Mrs. O’Hara and a few other settlers had unabashedly done. Helen’s girls and the other children from steerage danced