In the Land of the Long White Cloud

toldher about a few types of birds since her arrival. Most of them knew quite a lot about their new homeland; the frequent nights out under the open sky had made them familiar with the nocturnal birds. James McKenzie, for example, told her about the European settlers’ namesake: the kiwi bird was short and plump, and Gwyneira found them quite exotic with their brown feathers that almost looked like fur and their much-too-long beaks, which they often used as a “third leg.”
    “They have something else in common with your dog,” McKenzie explained cleverly. “They can smell. Which is rare for birds.”
    McKenzie had accompanied Gwyneira several times on her overland rides the last few days. As expected, she had quickly earned the respect of the shepherds. Her first demonstration of Cleo’s shepherding abilities had inspired the men from the first.
    “That dog does the work of two shepherds,” Poker marveled and stooped to pat Cleo’s head in recognition. “Will the little ones grow up like that?”
    Gerald Warden had made each of the men responsible for training one of the new sheepdogs. In theory, it made sense to have each dog learning from the man with whom it was supposed to shepherd. In practice, however, McKenzie undertook the work with the pups almost alone, supported occasionally by Andy McAran and young Hardy. The other men found it dull to go through the commands over and over again; they also thought it gratuitous to have to fetch the sheep just to practice with the dogs.
    McKenzie, on the other hand, showed an interest and a marked talent for handling animals. Under his guidance, little Daimon soon approached Cleo’s skill level. Gwyneira supervised the exercises, despite the fact that it displeased Lucas. Gerald, by contrast, let her do as she pleased. He knew that the dogs were accruing value and use for the farm.
    “Maybe you could put on a little show after the wedding, McKenzie,” Gerald said, satisfied, after having watched Cleo and Daimon in action once again. “Most of the visitors would be interested in seeing that…I say, the other farmers will turn green with envy!”
    “I won’t be able to lead the dogs properly in a wedding dress,” Gwyneira said, laughing. She savored the praise, as she always felt so hopelessly inept in the house. She was still technically a guest, but it was already clear that as mistress of Kiward Station she would have the same things demanded of her that she had hated at Silkham Manor: the direction of a large, noble manor with servants and the management of the whole charade. To make it even more difficult, none of the employees here were even educated. In England one could overcome a lack of organization by hiring capable butlers and matrons, by not scrimping when it came to personnel and hiring only people with first-class credentials. Then the household would practically run itself. Here, however, Gwyneira was expected to show her Maori servants the ropes, and she lacked the enthusiasm and conviction for that.
    “Why clean silver every day?” Moana asked, for example, which struck Gwyneira as a perfectly logical question.
    “Because, otherwise, it tarnishes,” Gwyneira answered. She at least knew that much.
    “But why take iron that changes color?” Moana asked, turning the silver over unhappily in her hands. “Take wood. Is simple, wash off, clean!” The girl looked at Gwyneira, expecting praise.
    “Wood isn’t…for every taste.” Gwyn recalled one of her mother’s answers. “And it becomes unsightly after it’s been used a few times.”
    Moana shrugged. “Then just cut new ones. Is easy, I can show, miss.”
    The New Zealand natives were great masters in the art of carving. A few days earlier, Gwyneira had seen the Maori village that was part of Kiward Station. It was not far but lay hidden behind rocks and a copse of trees on the other side of the lake. Gwyneira would probably never have found it had she not noticed the women doing their laundry and the horde of almost-naked children bathing in the lake. At the sight of Gwyneira, the little brown children retreated shyly, but on her next ride she distributed sweets to them, thus winning their trust. The women invited her with big gestures into their camp, and Gwyneira marveled at their houses and grill pits. She wasmost impressed with their meetinghouse, which was adorned with plentiful carvings.
    Slowly she began to understand her first bits of Maori.
    Kia ora
meant