they were all strictly honest.

Thefts and annoyances of the above description were credited to the "swaggies"
who infested the roads, and had a very bad name down that way;
so the teacher loaded his gun, and told August to rouse him at once,
if she heard a sound in the night. She said she would;
but a heavy-weight "swaggie" could have come in and sat on her and had a smoke
without waking her.

She couldn't be trusted to go a message. She'd take from three to six hours,
and come back with an excuse that sounded genuine from its very simplicity.
Another sister of hers lay ill in an isolated hut, alone and uncared for,
except by the teacher's wife, and occasionally by a poor pa outcast
who had negro blood in her veins, and a love for a white loafer.
God help her! All of which sounds strange, considering that Maoris
are very kind to each other. The schoolmistress sent August one night
to stay with the sick Maori woman and help her as she could,
and gave her strict instructions to come to the cottage
first thing in the morning, and tell her how the sick woman was.
August turned up at lunch-time next day. The teacher gave her
her first lecture, and said plainly that he wasn't to be taken for a fool;
then he stepped aside to get cool, and, when he returned,
the girl was sobbing as if her heart would break, and the wife comforting her.
She had been up all night, poor girl, and was thoroughly worn out.
Somehow the teacher didn't feel uncomfortable about it.
He went down to the whare. August had not touched a dishcloth or broom.
She had slept, as she always did, like a pig, all night,
while her sister lay and tossed in agony; in the morning
she ate everything there was to eat in the house (which, it seemed,
was the Maori way of showing sympathy in sickness and trouble),