others, in place of the dead one. For baggage and passengers
are being collected again, and it seems we are going on as though
nothing had happened.

It is, perhaps, not strange that no one should express surprise at the
accident; but it is certainly singular that no one shows any resentment
towards our driver, or blames him in any way. The prevailing feeling is
one of simple congratulation that things are no worse. One would think
the accident was quite a usual affair, and had even been expected. A
passenger remarks quite seriously--

"I will say this for Dandy Jack: he always contrives that you shall
pitch into a soft place."

They seem about to offer a vote of thanks to this reckless madman, for
having overturned us without hurt to any one! It occurs to us two
new-chums that our life in this country is likely to be eventful, if
this kind of thing is the ordinary style of coaching. And we begin to
understand what our driver meant, when he alluded to the grave
responsibility of having a lady among his passengers; for his driving is
only comparable to the driving of the son of Nimshi.

Before we proceed on our way, the foppery of our charioteer reasserts
itself. Of course, his neat and spruce trim has been considerably
disarrayed, so now he proceeds to reorganize his appearance. Gravely and
calmly he draws brushes and so on from a receptacle under the box-seat,
and commences to titivate himself. This is too much. Laughter and jibes
and energetic rebukes fall on him thick as hail. At first he pays no
attention; then he says slowly--

"Look here! If any one wants to walk the rest of the way, he can do it.
I'm willing to split fares for the half journey!"

There is a covert threat in this, and as no one cares to quarrel with
the speaker, his eccentricities are allowed to develop themselves
without further interference. Then we resume our drive on to
Helensville.

For the most part the road passes through open country, but we now more
frequently see scrub and bush in various directions. At one place,
indeed, for about two miles, we pass through forest. The trees, mostly
kahikatea, seem to our English eyes of stupendous proportions, but we
are told they grow much bigger in many other parts. Signs of human life
are not altogether wanting in these wilds. We pass a dray coming down
from the Kaipara, laden with wool, and pull up, that Dandy Jack may have
a private conversation with the driver of it. This dray is a huge