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The Moa, with Kiwis.
Chapter XXXI.
THE MILFORD TRACK AGAIN.
“Last laden bees on droning wings are flying
Home to the hive of perfumed honey sweet,
Thro’ high still airs a sea-bird shoreward hieing
Seeks the bold bluff where cloud and headland meet.”
Pluvius seemed to be dogging our footsteps, for it was raining again next morning, but we could not afford to take any risks and we were crossing to Sandfly Point by six o’clock, and carried away a farewell view of the Mitre Peak under a diaphanous drapery of thin mist. The walk from Sandfly to Lake Ada was very wet, but we did not mind that now that we could see the lovely foliage, the great hills so clearly outlined against the stormy sky, and with the music of the river as it hastened along its boulder-strewn bed to “mark time” for our steps.
Had it only been fine we would have walked round the lake, for there is a very fine waterfall that one misses by crossing it in a boat. But the weather, though Colonel Deane declared that it was going to clear, looked so threatening that Captain Greendays hurried us, afraid of another contretemps if we lingered.
So we crossed the lake again, and once more the snags were dangerously hidden through the blurring of the water by the rain. But again we navigated it safely, and had many an enchanting view of towering peaks and foaming waterfalls, with ever-changing vistas of the lake and river, where the paradise ducks and black swans were sailing about in search of breakfast.
When we landed at the other side we found, to our surprise, that two more huts had been added. True they were small and rather rougher than the sleeping huts along the track, but Mr. Inspector said he had been taught a lesson
