Now a New Zealand shepherd almost lives out on the hills, so the prospect of finding any of our congregation at home was slight indeed.

However, as I said before, F---- stood by me, and although we neither of us could well spare the time, we agreed to devote two afternoons every week, so long as the fine open autumn weather, lasted, to making excursions in search of back-country huts.

There are no roads or finger posts or guides of any sort in those distant places.

When we inquired what was the name of "Mills" shepherd (the masters are always plain Smith or Jones, and the shepherds Mr .-- --, in the colonies) the answer was generally very vague.
"Wiry Bill, we mostly calls 'im; but I think I've heerd say his rightful name was Mr.Pellet, mum.

He's a little chap, as strong as the 'ouse," explained Pepper, who was an incorrigible cockney, "and he lives over there," pointing with his thumb to a mountain range behind us.