“TALES OF TAIAROA”

Forest and Bird, Issue 56, 1 May 1940, Page 15

“ TALES OF TAIAROA”

(By Ruth Hertslet.)

Children 9 Page ...

“THE FERN FROND FOLK”

IN the Leafy Deep dwelt the Fern Frond Folk. Giant matai, shining broadleaf, and graceful kotukutuku trees sheltered them from the mid-day sun, and silvery waters rippled at their feet. Bell-birds sang in the freshness of the morning and the cool of the evening; Rainbow trout leapt in the waters and rested contentedly under the overhanging branches; and fantails darted at the swiftly moving insects, turning with quick and graceful movements. A place of peace and beauty was the Leafy Deep, and wise old Father Punga lifting his giant head gazed happily at his people, the Fern Frond Folk. It was Terry Pteris from the bracken field who first brought the disturbing news. “Father Punga! Father Punga!” cried he in distress, “the merry picnickers are coming. They will soon be upon us! Look and listen!” Horror stricken, Father Punga gazed at the hill-top, and sure enough, there they were, laughing and singing, and scrambling down the hill. His face turned pale, and his giant fronds shook violently. At the same time, his ears caught the sound of a voice, sweet and lilting. “Taiaroa! Taiaroa!” called he in despair. “Little Master, the people need thy help!” Bounding down the hill came Taiaroa, son of the Music Man and the Sun Woman, and great-grandson of that mighty chieftain, Hone Heke. “You called me, Father Punga?” said he gently. “Yes, Little Master,” and the giant fronds trembled; “evil is about to befall us.” Taiaroa laid a comforting hand upon the massive trunk. “Your wisdom is great, Father Punga,” said he gravely. “Let not your courage be less.” Then he turned and scanned the hillside. Quickly the flashing brown eyes took in the situation. Here were the Merry Picnickers, with their shining axes, come to collect greenery for the Easter festivities. No wonder Father Punga trembled! “Oh, what a heavenly place,” cried one. “Look at those ferns!” “Just the very thing to decorate the hall for the Easter party,” cried another. “Look at that Punga! What a

beauty! We’ll tackle him first,” said a third picnicker. Only Hal Daintree, the one child of the party, watched fearfully. “Let’s go away,” said he fiercely. “They are far too pretty to cut down. Please do not kill them!”' But no one paid any attention to him. “Let us boil the billy first,” cried the Merry Picnickers. Soon a fire was blazing merrily, and the party spread rugs and opened baskets. “Hurrah for billy tea,” cried the Merry Picnickers. Long and loud was their laughter, until at length they were interrupted by a soft, musical voice. “Tena koe, Pakeha,” said the mellow voice courteously. “This is the home of the Fern Frond Folk. I beg that you will leave it unmolested.” The party looked up, and saw a small Maori boy, head erect and eyes deadly calm. They did not see the music of the Universe in his heart, or the love that the Sun Woman had taught him, or the proud noble spirit of his great grandfather Hone Heke. Only Hal Daintree saw something of this. His eyes flashed in sympathy. “Run away, little Maori boy, and do not bother us,” cried one of the Merry Picnickers. “Yes, off with you, and look sharp,” called a second. Only Hal Daintree came shyly forward. “Stay and picnic with us! There is plenty to eat.” “Hal, sit down! We do not invite Maori boys to our picnics!” The voice was sharp with reproof, and Hal coloured painfully. “Thank you, son of the Pakeha.” The mellow voice was wonderfully soft, and the eyes were shining. “Taiaroa never forgets a kindness.” Smiling, he held out his hand, and quickly Hal grasped it. Brown hand met white hand, and brown eyes smiled into blue eyes. A friendship was cemented. Then quickly the brown boy turned and faced the Merry Picnickers. “You will leave this glen undisturbed.” The mellow voice had in it the ring of command, and the brown eyes were flashing. “I, Taiaroa, have spoken!” And quickly he turned and walked away. Loud and long was the laughter of the Merry Picnickers as they picnicked in the Leafy Deep, the home of the Fern Frond Folk. Only Hal

Daintree stood silent, feeling still the pressure of the brown hand, seeing again the softness of the brown eyes. At length, having eaten their fill the Merry Picnickers packed their baskets and folded their rugs. “Now for the ferns,” cried they, and reached for their shining axes. They gazed in amazement. Every axe was covered, handle and blade, with Bumble Bees angry, buzzing, yellow-banded Bumble Bees. Alongside stood a small boy smiling quietly. One picnicker angered, reached out to grab the boy by the neck, but drew back with a cry of pain. Another, venturesome, tried to grasp an axe handle, but drew painfully back. The buzzing grew loud and angry. “Gently, Buster Bumble, gently,” soothed Taiaroa. Then, turning to the Merry Picnickers, he said quietly, “Now will you — and quickly — shall I set Buster Bumble and his Yellow Dandies upon you?” No answer. “Well, Buster, work your will, but do not touch the small son of the Pakeha. He is my friend,” he added softly. “No, no,” cried the Merry Picnickers in dismay. “We will go —the place is bewitched!” And off they fled. Only Hal Daintree turned to say good-bye. Once more white hand met brown hand. Once more blue eyes smiled into brown eyes. “Come again,”

said the soft musical voice. “Taiaroa will await you.” “Oh! surely,” cried Hal, little dreaming of the friendship that was in store for him. On the hill-top, at the edge of the whispering bush, Hal Daintree turned. What was that sound so wondrous sweet? Could it be Pan himself, with his wonderful pipe? Stealthily he crept back through the Whispering Bush, and peered into the Leafy Deep. There, to his amazement, he saw the Fern Frond Folk, in their natty green suits, dancing merrily, their long plumes swaying up and down in rhythmic grace. And there in the arms of the giant Father Punga, the sunshine in his eyes, and in his heart and in his voice, nestled Taiaroa, singing with a sweetness that rivalled the Pipes of Pan:

“Dance Little Folk, in your Leafy Deep, Where rainbow trout in the waters leap, Where bellbirds tinkle their silver bell, And dainty fantails their secret tell. In broadleaf shiny and matai bold, And kowhai laden with treasures gold, Dance little Fern Frond Folk. Maiden sweet in your bright green gown, Gallant gay, with your plumes of brown, Dance Little Folk, there is naught to fear, The son of the Music Man is near. Dance Little Folk in your Leafy Deep, Taiaroa, a watch will keep. Dance little Fern Frond Folk.”