Just at present Dandy Jack has charge of the portage, as it is called, between the Waitemata and the Kaipara rivers.[3] He drives the coach, carries the mails, and bosses the bullock-drays that convey goods between Riverhead and Helensville. And he is rapidly becoming the most horsey man in the whole of the North, being especially active and prominent in every possible capacity on the local race-courses. Dinner is over very soon, and a very good one it was, well worth the shilling each of us pays for it. Then we take leave of Dobbs and his wife, whose future boss has arrived in a rude cart drawn by two horses, in which to drive them and their traps over to his place in Ararimu. We ourselves are going on to Helensville in the coach, a distance of about eighteen miles. The coach partakes of the crudity which seems impressed upon everything in this new locality. The body of it is not much larger, apparently, than a four-wheeled cab, and does not seem as if it could possibly accommodate more than eight passengers altogether. Yet Dandy Jack avers that he has carried over a score, and that he considers sixteen a proper full-up load. On the present occasion there are not more than half a dozen, besides my chum and I. Glass there is none about the coach, but a good deal of leather. Springs, properly so-called, are also wanting. The body is hung in some strong rude fashion on broad, substantial wheels. Altogether, the machine looks as if it were intended for the roughest of rough work. As strangers, we are invited to occupy the seats of honour--on the box beside the driver. There are no lady passengers to snatch the coveted post from us. Dandy Jack says to me-- "Of course, I should prefer to have a lady beside me, but, somehow, I'm always glad when there arn't any. It's a grave responsibility--a grave responsibility!" Whilst we are endeavouring to evolve the meaning of this mysterious remark--it is not until a while later that we fully comprehend it--preparations are being made for the start. Four ungroomed, unshod horses are hitched on, and their plunging and capering shows they are impatient to be off. Our driver's lieutenant, Yankee Bill, mounts a fifth horse, and prepares to act as outrider. Then Dandy Jack, loudly shouting, "All aboard! All abo-ard!" springs to his seat, gathers up the reins, without waiting to see whether every one has obeyed his injunction or not, bids the men who are holding the cattle stand clear, gives a whoop and a shake of his whip, and then, with a jolt and a lurch and a plunge, off we go.