Then Aggie’s friend looked across the room to where I sat, turned, and spoke to Ngaio, who had gone to sit as usual beside Janet. The girl glanced at me; hung her head. My face felt hot. Dear Lord, surely I wasn’t blushing, too?

It was long before I slept. I lay under my blankets listening to the little owls, the ru-ru, call from the forest. I thought of that night years ago, when Ngaio was but young, dragged to our hut with Hahona by her angry mother. Now she is growing into a woman. I have already said it, but tonight I suddenly saw it as well.

When I burned with fever on the Princess Louisa, Aggie would murmur stories to me of the bright new life waiting for us in faraway New Zealand, and the riches we might find there. It was hard to believe in anything bright, after my poor sister lost her sight. But now I remembered Areta’s talk of the secret things that may lie in the swamp. I smiled as I thought how Mother would call each of us ‘m’wee treasure’ when we were small. Indeed, I suppose people can be treasures, too. Ngaio … I shook my head at myself.

At school, Mr McDougall told us of gold and silver buried in the graves of ancient kings, or precious weapons found on battlefields of long ago. In our holidays, when we did not have to work, Haare and I sometimes explored beside the Why-Mow-Ana River, or under the trees of the bush, hoping to find such things.

Heaven knows, there are enough battlefields in this country where tribe fought against tribe or settler against Maori. Bitter places, all of them. But no gold or jewels did we ever find.

It makes me laugh to think of such things now. We have been so busy clearing the bush, building our homes, making roads, that we have little time to think of treasure. But when I get my horse (there is a fine young black colt belonging to Mr Sheffield up the valley; his name is Chieftain), I will explore all over this land, and who knows what I may find?

Sometimes I dream of a different sort of riches: those of travelling, of seeing strange countries. There is talk of a second war with the Dutch rebels in South Africa. They fought against Britain some years ago; now trouble is brewing again. Lads with whom I went to school say they want to join the Army if war does come again, to fight against these Boers. It will be a great adventure.

Yet Father needs me here. He is strong and fit, but the first grey is in his hair and beard.

And now there is this other thing. When Hahona spoke to Ngaio tonight, and the young girl glanced at me, I felt my heart move inside me. What can it all mean?