Further on in a hollow to the right, shaded by drooping willows, is a college for natives. The buildings of red brick look warm and comfortable.
Here now is a noteworthy sight. One suggestive enough of the changes time is working. What think you? A native village. No Europeans visible. And yet here is a modern threshing machine of the most improved pattern, with all the latest contrivances busily at work, under native guidance exclusively.
Only twenty years ago, these Maoris were quite in the mood to wage war with the settlers on the slightest pretext. Now, the men, in European costume, are busy threshing their grain, in the most approved modern fashion, and the scene is one of cheerful, peaceful rural industry.
What a water-favoured land is this. There is a lakelet in every valley or hollow we pass. At Kaikora, surrounded by grassy hills and rich pastures, the school children get out. Evidence of the popular tastes in amusements is here furnished by the sight of two racecourses—an old and a new one. We get an insight into the staple trade here too, as the down trains for the coast are laden with sawn timber and enormous uncut logs, and also grain. The timber is mostly white pine and rimu.
Is it not short-sighted policy to have no regulations, making it compulsory on timber-getters to replace by fresh plantings this constant depletion? A wise policy would be to have tracts set apart for
