baby. I restrained my feelings and said, "Well, I should like you
to behave here as you did there. Suppose you get off the table and
come and look what we can find in the store room."

"I _have_ looked round," she declared: "there 'aint much to be
seen." My patience began to run short, and I said very firmly, "You
must get off the table directly, Clarissa, and stand and speak
properly; or I shall send you down to Christchurch again." I
suppose that was exactly what the damsel wished, for she made no
movement; whereat I said in great wrath, "Very well, then you shall
leave at the end of a month." And so she did, having bullied
everybody out of their lives during that time.

Whilst we are on the subject of manners, it may not be out of place
to relate a little episode of my early days "up country." I think I
have alluded [in "Station Life in New Zealand"] to our book club;
but I don't know that it has been explained that I used to change
the books on Sunday afternoon, after our little evening service. It
would have been impossible to induce the men to come from an immense
distance twice a week, and it was therefore necessary that they
should be able to get a fresh book after service. Nothing could
have been better than the behaviour of my little congregation: they
made it a point of giving no trouble whatever with their horses or
dogs, and they were so afraid of being supposed to come for what
they could get, that I had some difficulty in inducing those who
travelled from a distance to have a cup of tea in the kitchen before
they mounted, to set off on their long solitary ride homewards.
They were also exceedingly quiet and well-behaved; for if even a
dozen men or more were standing outside in fine weather, or waiting
within the kitchen if it were wet or windy, not a sound could be