There were hydrangea bushes, mottled out of their original clear blue by the bees, geraniums in wild profusion, and the traces of violets and jonquil leaves turning brown in the coarse grass.
On the edge of all this and a mere jump from the sand Dane had pitched two tents, had made a stone fireplace, and had collected a fine pile of wood. Beyond the camp, near the further end of the bay’s curve, was a clump of green bush and fern in a little gully which sheltered the spring that had beguiled the early missionary into settling here. This spring ran into the river on the inside of a rocky point that curved about to make a perfect landing-place and shelter for boats. The Diana and the rowing boat Dane had hired could lie there unseen by people passing on the river, and he had been anxious to hide his launch, in which he had run about the rivers a good deal. Beyond the square of poplars, trailing in a straggly fashion up the slope, was a moss-grown orchard of fig and peach and apple trees, stunted now with the swirl of the westerly winds that curled over the bare hilltop behind, but still capable of bearing fruit that was good to the taste.
In spite of its openness to the wind and sky and its position on the river, the place was remote. The nearest habitation was a fish-tinning factory two miles further up, and beyond that were Maori settlements long before one came to those of the whites. The lovers had little to fear from the curiosity of picnickers or fishers, as no one would land in a place where tents showed prior possession. Dane thought he had found the best thing available, and he felt very happy as the sun came up on this delectable abode of little birds and sweet scents. The place was alive with the twittering of sparrows and yellowhammers, and a delicate fragrance from the briars drifted out from the
