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Johnny said. Three shillings, four?
    Five, Will said. What they pay for them in China. That’s with no marks on it.
    You know they do got a pretty face, Jack said. Like a dog, only not so long in the snout.
    Pretty face! Will said. What, you reckon it’s a pretty face do you Jack?
    Not a thing I like doing, Jack said. When they fix you with that eye of theirs.
    I pictured one of the dogs, only not so long in the snout. Whacking it on the nose hard enough to kill it.
    Whyn’t you do another trade? I said.
    Five shillings a skin, that’s why, Jack said. Man got to put something by.
    That made us go quiet. There’d be plenty of money for the Thornhill boys down the track, but Jack would have to make his own way.
    There was natives in New Zealand, but to hear it they was different as could be from the ones in New South Wales. Mad for fighting. Set against each other, tribe against tribe, the winners sitting down after and eating the losers. Tattoos on their faces all over, chin, cheeks, nose, everything.
    Special clever man does it, Jack said. Gets a little chisel, little mallet. First time cut the skin. Second time put the ink in. Saw it done to a feller once. Tight as a bowstring, not to cry out with the pain of it.
    Are they black? Ma said.
    Not like our natives are black, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said. More a brown.
    Like your kind of colour skin? she said.
    Oh, he said. I suppose similar, Mrs Thornhill.
    Will threw a log on the fire and thrust his boot in to settle it so the sparks flew up.
    Get yourself one of them damn tattoos, Jack, he said. Pass for a New Zealander!
    Everyone laughed, but when you thought about it, what was so funny?
    Only don’t eat me, there’s a lad, Will said. Make a damn tough meal. Now get up, Jack, we show them that dance.
    The two of them yelled and slapped their arms and stuck out their tongues and stamped on the floor so hard the windows rattled, what they claimed was the New Zealand way of saying how d’you do.

    From the beginning Jack and me liked each other. Somehow we saw eye to eye on things. He never called me Dolly, only my full and proper name. How did he know I didn’t care to be a doll?
    When they come back from sea Jack always had some little thing for me, a shell shining rainbow colours inside, a pebble with a hole in it. The sort of thing a child takes a fancy to. But one time when I was older, ten or eleven, he brought me a slip of green stone, polished smooth, with a hole in the end to take a cord.
    Made by a New Zealander, that one, he said soft and private. So’s you won’t forget your friend Jack.
    The stone sat in the curve of my palm like a jewel. It was the loveliest thing, even though it was nothing but its unadorned self, soft in your hand as green water would be if you could hold it. I wrapped my fingers round it tight. Didn’t know how to say I couldn’t never forget you, Jack .
    But Mary saw.
    Oh, Dolly! she said. Going to marry Jack Langland, are you?
    She was laughing, Johnny too, everyone watching me.
    I was shamed at my feelings so easy to mock. Could feel the blood pounding in my cheeks. That got them laughing harder. Even Will smirking.
    Jack took hold of my hand.
    That’s all right, he said. Question is, what finger’s the ring going on?
    Touched my fingers one by one.
    This one, he said. Reckon it’s this one. Got to get the money first. Get the gold ring. Put it on that finger there. Then we’ll be right.
    His steadiness shamed the others.
    He always had something for Mary after that, a shell necklace or scrimshaw he’d done, Industry under sail. And for me, nothing that would make trouble.
    It got to be always good for a laugh between us. When he and Will come back from New Zealand he’d wait for a quiet moment with no one about. Still want to marry me, Sarah Thornhill? he’d say. I’d come right back at him. Course I want to marry you, Jack Langland!

T HOSE YEARS split up into