woman? he asked. Oh, no, she was English but had travelled extensively
and knew a great deal of New Zealand. And after exhausting this subject
the conversation, which had become general, drifted into others, and
presently we were all comparing notes about our experience of the late
great frost. Here I had my say about what had happened in the village I
had been staying in. The prolonged frost, I said, had killed all or
most of the birds in the open country round us, but in the village
itself a curious thing had happened to save the birds of the place. It
was a change of feeling in the people, who are by nature or training
great persecutors of birds. The sight of them dying of starvation had
aroused a sentiment of compassion, and all the villagers, men, women,
and children, even to the roughest bush-beating boys, started feeding
them, with the result that the birds quickly became tame and spent
their whole day flying from house to house, visiting every yard and
perching on the window-sills. While I was speaking the gentleman
opposite put down his knife and fork and gazed steadily at me with a
smile on his red-apple face, and when I concluded he exploded in a
half-suppressed sniggering laugh.

It annoyed me, and I remarked rather sharply that I didn't see what
there was to laugh at in what I had told them. Then the lady with ready
tact interposed to say she had been deeply interested in my
experiences, and went on to tell what she had done to save the birds in
her own place; and her companion, taking it perhaps as a snub to
himself from her, picked up his knife and fork and went on with his
luncheon, and never opened his mouth to speak again. Or, at all events,
not till he had quite finished his meal.

By-and-by, when I found an opportunity of speaking to our hostess, I
asked her who that charming lady was, and she told me she was a Miss