e, it evidently occurring to him
that something was wrong. In an undecided sort of way he inverted the
umbrella, and held it handle upwards in front of him; but as the rain
came thicker and faster, even this seemed unsatisfactory.

At last he stopped altogether, having apparently come to the conclusion
that the wet would injure the umbrella. After a prolonged struggle, for
the catch was a mystery to his unaccustomed fingers, he managed to
close it. Then he took off his coat, laid it flat upon the ground, and
placing the umbrella upon it, wrapped that up in the coat. Lastly, he
cut some strips from a flax-bush close by, and carefully tied up the
parcel. Then he put it under his arm, and marched off in his
shirt-sleeves contentedly, evidently feeling that he had got the better
of the pouring rain.

Tama keeps the umbrella stowed away in the recesses of his whare. He
often tells me, with a quiet, good-humoured sneer, as of one talking to
a child, that it does not keep off the rain. His view is that I, in my
incomprehensible Pakeha way, imagine the thing to be an anti-rain
fetish; a notion which superior Maori wisdom has found to be erroneous.

I saw that umbrella once again. It was a fine moonlit night, and two or
three of us were rowing up the river on a return from some excursion. On
the way we passed a boat-load of Maoris coming down. In the stern of
their boat sat Tama, and above him he held the umbrella open. As the
boats crossed, he called to me:--

"It is not raining to-night. But it is not this thing that keeps it off;
it is God only who does that!"

And so the good man went on his way, doubtlessly glowing at the thought
that he had fitly rebuked my folly; for, like some other Christians,
though he might retain some superstitions of his own, yet those are
real, and all other people's false.

On another occasion Old Colonial had been away in Australia. On his
return, Tama and his wife came up to welcome him home again. Old
Colonial had brought back presents for all our Maori friends; and he had
selected for Tama a silver watch, with a gorgeous guard and seals. This
pleased the old fellow mightily; and for three mortal hours did Old
Colonial strive to instruct him in how to tell the time, and how to wind
it up. He thought at last that he had thoroughly succeeded in
enlightening the Maori about his new acquisition. Tama departed with
ill-concealed glee, stopping every now and then, as he went, to listen
to the