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and Frances eased herself into the driving seat. She was very glad that she had a flat paddock in front of her. At least no matter which way she went she wasn’t likely to hit anything! Perched up there she felt ridiculously high and she was glad Jenny hadn’t pulled out the even bigger machine. Gingerly she moved the gear into first and after an initial bucking which she instinctively corrected, set off, trundling slowly. Eventually she felt braver and sped up a little. After a few minutes she knew that driving the tractor was rather fun. Then Jenny instructed her on reversing and set up a slalom course with a couple of empty boxes. She felt able when she was finished to manoeuvre the machine back to its parking place in the garage, and Jenny applauded the performance.
    The horses whose paddock Frances had invaded eased themselves out of their corner and raced freely in the sunlight. Jenny pointed out Greytor and Frances studied the mare. She moved easily, with considerable grace, and Frances was pleased. Three other horses were also there, and Jenny pointed out their names. Rupe was evidently riding his at the moment. The other building Jenny pointed out was the woolshed. Ringed by stockyards, it was some distance from the house.
    A glance at her watch told her it was lunch time, so they made their way back to the house. As Rupe was still with Ian and not expected for lunch the two found it easy to chat. Jenny explained that she was meant to rest for at least an hour after lunch, so she told Frances where to find saddle and bridle, to do her exploring. Frances was glad to have some time on her own. Expertly she caught and saddled Greytor, talking softly and evenly, rubbing her hands smoothly on the horse’s head, easing to pat her neck, then swinging herself up with considerable style. Greytor stood quietly for a moment, then shot off like a rocket. Evidently she hadn’t been ridden for a little while, so Frances let her go enjoying the mad gallop to the full. Sensing the expert rider on her back, Greytor steadied to a calm canter.
    The lush pasture was bordered by a string of Douglas fir trees, then she found a stand of padiata pine. Here and there an odd clump of mixed trees patterned themselves on the soft greens of the pasture. The big grey clopped along, Frances appreciating the rhythm and the beauty around her. She was surprised to see a mob of woolly sheep close to the top paddock. Vaguely she had thought shearing would have been over.
    At the gates Greytor sidled in close so she could open them easily, leaning over from the saddle. Without any pressure from her, Greytor turned sharply so she could close it behind her. Frances smiled. Even the horse knew that gates had to be closed! A sloping track led over a slight rise, then twisted itself into two. She followed one path as it led towards the direction she wanted.
    Beside the path were irrigation channels. These were one of the main secrets of the productivity of the plains. Fed from the Rakaia river, the channels formed into a series of tiny dams which in turn fed the neighbouring paddocks. The sight of water made her realise how very hot it had become, and she made a note to always wear a hat in future. It was some distance to the river. She stopped to look, her eyes drinking in the beauty of the scene.
    As she came closer she could see the silver ribbon braiding and looping itself over a wide area of gravel. Groups of willow lined the banks here and the river bed was broken into thousands of tiny islands, some just piles of stones littered with boulders, other covered in lupin and scrub. The Rakaia looked indolent in the sun, twinkling innocently, splitting itself into strands to seek the easiest path to the sea. Frances moved Greytor under the shade of the willows and swung off. She slipped between the bushes and clambered down a path to the river. Feeling the freshness and isolation of the spot, she breathed deeply. Her only companions were a couple of big