A merry, athletic, thoroughly healthy and hearty Englishman is our friend, the Mayor, always in a hurry and bustle of business, for his avocations are startlingly numerous. He is the oldest inhabitant of the township, and was called the Mayor when he dwelt there solitary, a few years ago. Now he is postmaster, storekeeper, justiciary, acting-parson, constabulary, board of works, tax-gatherer, customs officer, farmer, dealer in everything, town clerk, lawyer, doctor, and, perhaps, a score of things beside, as they reckon such in Te Pahi. The Mayor hurries us and our traps ashore in his boat, and deposits us on the beach. Then he hastens back to the steamer, bidding us wait there, as "he'll be back to fix us before we can have time to wink." Half a dozen men and boys--the entire population--stand at a little distance, regarding us shyly, but inquisitively, with pocketed hands. Some young children are also apparent. As we stand gazing about us, and wondering how to make acquaintance with the group, a little girl comes running up to us. It is always the superior sex, you see, even in the bush, that make the first advances. She offers us peaches, the little bright-eyed, sunny-faced thing; and readily submits to be kissed; indeed, appears to expect it. Then she prattles away to us in right merry fashion. The little incident breaks the ice. The group of men come forward and enter into conversation. Perhaps a trifle constrained at first--for dwellers in the bush necessarily lose the readiness of people more accustomed to society--they show themselves anxious enough to be hospitable and welcoming. They are eager to know who we are, naturally, what we are going to do, and so forth. When it comes out that we have advented to join Old Colonial, we are admitted as chums at once, and formally accepted as free citizens of the soon-to-be prosperous and thriving town of Te Pahi. By-and-by the Mayor gets back; and the _Lily_ steams off again on her way to Matakohe, where she will anchor for the night, returning to Helensville next day. Old Colonial, it seems, is away up the river somewhere, but is expected at the township that night, as he knows that the steamer is due, and that we were likely to come by it. And now what are we to do? Go to the immigrant barracks, we suppose, since they are expressly designed for the accommodation of such new-chums as ourselves. Barracks be hanged! Is it likely that we are to be allowed to go there while the Mayor has a comfortable house in which to receive guests? Not likely! Why, others of the citizens are intent on hospitality as well, and any of the four homes of the place may be ours for the present, if we will.