There's nothing so interesting as Geology, even to common and   ignorant people, especially when you have a bank or the side of a
  cutting, studded with fossil fish and things and oysters¹ that were
  stale when Adam was fresh to illustrate² by.  (Remark made by
  Steelman, professional wanderer, to his pal³ and pupil, Smith.)
The first man that Steelman and Smith came up to on the last embankment, where they struck the new railway line, was a heavy, gloomy, labouring man with bowyangs on and straps⁴ round his wrists. Steelman bade him the time of day and had a few words with him over the weather. The man of mullock gave it as his opinion that the fine weather wouldn't last, and seemed to take a gloomy kind of pleasure in that reflection; he said there was more rain down yonder, pointing to the southeast, than the moon could swallow up—the moon was in its first quarter, during which time it is popularly believed in some parts of Maoriland that the south-easter is most likely to be out on the wallaby and the weather bad. Steelman regarded that quarter of the sky with an expression of gentle remonstrance⁵ mingled⁶ as it were with a sort of fatherly indulgence, agreed mildly with the labouring man, and seemed lost for a moment in a reverie from which he roused himself to inquire cautiously after the boss. There was no boss, it was a co-operative party. That chap standing⁷ over there by the dray in the end of the cutting was their spokesman—their representative: they called him boss, but that was only his nickname in camp. Steelman expressed his thanks and moved on towards the cutting, followed respectfully by Smith.
 
Steelman wore a snuff-coloured sac suit, a wide-awake hat, a pair of professional-looking spectacles, and a scientific expression; there was a clerical atmosphere about him, strengthened, however, by an air as of unconscious dignity and superiority, born of intellect and knowledge. He carried a black bag, which was an indispensable article in his profession in more senses than one. Smith was decently dressed in sober tweed and looked like a man of no account, who was mechanically devoted¹¹ to his employer's interests, pleasures, or whims¹².
 
The boss was a decent-looking young fellow, with a good face—rather solemn—and a quiet manner.
 
“Good day, sir,” said Steelman.
 
“Good day, sir,” said the boss.
 
“Nice weather this.”
 
“Yes, it is, but I'm afraid it won't last.”
 
“I am afraid it will not by the look of the sky down there,” ventured Steelman.
 
“No, I go mostly by the look of our weather prophet,” said the boss with a quiet smile, indicating the gloomy man.
 
“I suppose bad weather would put you back in your work?”
 
“Yes, it will; we didn't want any bad weather just now.”
 
Steelman got the weather question satisfactorily settled; then he said:
 
“You seem to be getting on with the railway.”
 
“Oh yes, we are about over the worst of it.”
 
“The worst of it?” echoed Steelman, with mild surprise: “I should have thought you were just coming into it,” and he pointed¹³ to the ridge¹⁴ ahead.
 
“Oh, our section doesn't go any further than that pole you see sticking up yonder. We had the worst of it back there across the swamps—working up to our waists in water most of the time, in midwinter too—and at eighteenpence a yard.”
 
“That was bad.”
 
“Yes, rather rough. Did you come from the terminus?”
 
“Yes, I sent my baggage on in the brake.”
 
“Commercial traveller, I suppose?” asked the boss, glancing at Smith, who stood a little to the rear of Steelman, seeming interested in the work.
 
“Oh no,” said Steelman, smiling—“I am—well—I'm a geologist¹⁵; this is my man here,” indicating Smith. “(You may put down the bag, James, and have a smoke.) My name is Stoneleigh—you might have heard of it.”
 
The boss said, “Oh,” and then presently he added “indeed,” in an undecided tone.
 
There was a pause—embarrassed on the part of the boss—he was silent not knowing what to say. Meanwhile Steelman studied his man and concluded that he would do.
 
“Having a look at the country, I suppose?” asked the boss presently.
 
“Yes,” said Steelman; then after a moment's reflection: “I am travelling for my own amusement and improvement, and also in the interest of science, which amounts to the same thing. I am a member of the Royal Geological Society—vice-president in fact of a leading Australian branch;” and then, as if conscious that he had appeared guilty of egotism, he shifted the subject a bit. “Yes. Very interesting country this—very interesting indeed. I should like to make a stay here for a day or so. Your work opens right into my hands. I cannot remember seeing a geological formation which interested me so much. Look at the face of that cutting, for instance. Why! you can almost read the history of the geological world from yesterday—this morning as it were—beginning with the super-surface on top and going right down through the different layers and stratas—through the vanished ages—right down and back to the pre-historical—to the very primeval or fundamental geological formations!” And Steelman studied the face of the cutting as if he could read it like a book, with every layer or stratum¹⁷ a chapter, and every streak¹⁸ a note of explanation. The boss seemed to be getting interested, and Steelman gained confidence and proceeded to identify and classify the different “stratas and layers,” and fix their ages, and describe the conditions and politics of man in their different times, for the boss's benefit.
 
“Now,” continued Steelman, turning slowly from the cutting, removing his glasses, and letting his thoughtful eyes wander casually¹⁹ over the general scenery—“now the first impression that this country would leave on an ordinary intelligent mind—though maybe unconsciously, would be as of a new country—new in a geological sense; with patches of an older geological and vegetable formation cropping out here and there; as for instance that clump²⁰ of dead trees on that clear alluvial²¹ slope there, that outcrop of limestone²², or that timber yonder,” and he indicated a dead forest which seemed alive and green because of the parasites²³. “But the country is old—old; perhaps the oldest geological formation in the world is to be seen here, the oldest vegetable formation in Australasia. I am not using the words old and new in an ordinary sense, you understand, but in a geological sense.”
 
The boss said, “I understand,” and that geology must be a very interesting study.
 
Steelman ran his eye meditatively²⁴ over the cutting again, and turning to Smith said:
 
“Go up there, James, and fetch me a specimen²⁵ of that slaty²⁶ outcrop you see there—just above the coeval²⁷ strata¹⁶.”
 
It was a stiff climb and slippery, but Smith had to do it, and he did it.
 
“This,” said Steelman, breaking the rotten piece between his fingers, “belongs probably to an older geological period than its position would indicate—a primitive²⁸ sandstone level perhaps. Its position on that layer is no doubt due to volcanic²⁹ upheavals—such disturbances³⁰, or rather the results of such disturbances, have been and are the cause of the greatest trouble to geologists—endless errors and controversy³¹. You see we must study the country, not as it appears now, but as it would appear had the natural geological growth been left to mature undisturbed; we must restore and reconstruct such disorganized portions of the mineral kingdom, if you understand me.”
 
The boss said he understood.
 
Steelman found an opportunity to wink³² sharply and severely³³ at Smith, who had been careless enough to allow his features to relapse into a vacant grin.
 
“It is generally known even amongst the ignorant that rock grows—grows from the outside—but the rock here, a specimen of which I hold in my hand, is now in the process of decomposition³⁴; to be plain it is rotting—in an advanced stage of decomposition—so much so that you are not able to identify it with any geological period or formation, even as you may not be able to identify any other extremely decomposed<............