at least sure of peace and quiet, which the crowded state of the Hermitage made impossible except in our bedroom. Even in the rain my friend was able to grasp some of the beauties of the Hooker River and Valley. We came home at four o'clock, soaked, of course, but very much the better for a few miles tramp in the fresh air, instead of being cooped up in a crowded sitting-room, where that precious commodity was exceedingly scarce.
The next was also wet, but January 3rd dawned gloriously fine, and I dragged Muriel out at some unearthly hour to show her the first glimpses of Mount Sefton and Mount Cook. Her sympathetic understanding was all I expected it to be, and I felt infinitely the richer by a thoroughly sympathetic companion, the first in all my seasons in the mountains.
After breakfast we made up a party and spent a lovely day on Sebastopol, which gave me some opportunity of finding how much mountaineering my friend was fit for after strenuous work in Sydney and a week's travelling.
As the next day was also gloriously fine, Mr. Chambers and I undertook to guide the same party to the top of the Sealy Range. They showed a blind faith in our powers which was touching, and were happily ignorant of our occasional lapses from the most direct route. The view from the summit was glorious, but our contentment was slightly marred by a cold wind. Coming down we initiated the novices into the joy of glissading. I lived my own first mountaineering hours over again as I watched my friend gallantly struggling to retain her equilibrium as she shot down the steep slope. Arriving snow-covered but joyous, she quite willingly tramped back again for a second glissade, and this time we shot down together most successfully while I demonstrated how to break with the ice-axe and generally put my hard-won experience at her disposal. We boiled the billy at the lovely little lake, whose waving, grassy banks make such a beautiful frame
