"Well, not exactly at my station, but there is a capital lake ten
miles from my house where I am sure of a good day's skating any time
between June and August," answered Mr. C. H---, our newly arrived
guest.

We all looked at each other. I believe I heaved a deep sigh, and
dropped my thimble, which "Joey" instantly seized, and with a low
chirrup of intense delight, commenced to poke down between the
boards of the verandah. It was too bad of us to give such broad
hints by looks if not by words. Poor Mr. C. H--- was a bachelor in
those days: he had not been at his little out-of-the-way homestead
for some weeks, and was ignorant of its resources in the way of
firing (always an important matter at a station), or even of tea and
mutton. He had no woman-servant, and was totally unprepared for an
incursion of skaters; and yet,--New Zealand fashion,--no sooner did
he perceive that we were all longing and pining for some skating,
than he invited us all most cordially to go up to his back-country
run the very next day, with him, and skate as long as we liked.
This was indeed a delightful prospect, the more especially as it
happened to be only Monday, which gave us plenty of time to be back
again by Sunday, for our weekly service. We made it a rule never to
be away from home on that day, lest any of our distant congregation
should ride their twenty miles or so across country and find us
absent.

When the host is willing and the guests eager, it does not take long
to arrange a plan, so the next morning found three of us, besides
Mr. C. H--- mounted and ready to start directly after breakfast. I
have often been asked how I managed in those days about toilette