“Mine baal ’fraid,” cried the black, angrily. “Mumkull plenty snake. Metancoly.”
“Then why don’t you go and kill that one?” said Norman as his aunt still restrained him.
“Baal snake bunyip,” cried Shanter, angrily, naming the imaginary demon of the blacks’ dread.
“Who said it was a bunyip?” cried Rifle. “It’s a big snake that tried to bite aunt.”
Shanter laughed and shook his head again.
“Baal mumkull snake bulla (two) time. Mumkull bunyip plenty. Come again.”
“What muddle are you talking?” cried Norman, angrily; “the brute will get away. Look here, Shan, are you afraid?”
“Mine baal ’fraid.”
“Then go and kill it.”
“Baal mumkull over ’gain. Shanter mumkull. Make fire, put him in kidgen.”