Tawhaki slept soundly, so weary was he after a night out at a dance. He had a dream. He was in a bush shooting deer and he shot ever so many. He took hold of his rifle and aimed at the deer, a gun exploded—not his—whose was it? His gun had not been fired. There was another explosion and yet another—the deer scampered away. Tawhaki woke up—the gun was still exploding—four—five—six times. He wondered what it was all about—it was either just the sound of guns or somebody was being murdered—he turned over and went off to sleep.

Some time elapsed—Tawhaki's father came in to wake him. He said: “Wake up son—there has been an accident.”

The sleepyhead replied: “I am still sleepy—never mind about that accident”.

The father persisted saying: “Your grandmother Mereraina is dead—get out of bed.”

Tawhaki still refused to get out of bed—the father stripped off the blankets and then he had to get out.

Te Whetu the father said: “Let us breakfast quickly and get along to the meeting house.”