How to punish Bett-Bett puzzled me more than anything. I often excused her naughty tricks because I thought she knew no better, but in certain things I was determined she should obey. The hardest work of all was to stop her from chewing tobacco. When I told her she must not, she smiled sweetly, and the very first chance she got begged pieces of “chewbac” from the lubras.
Whipping her was no good, for I couldn’t hurt her a little bit. I only seemed to tickle her.
“You too muchee little fellow, Missus!” she explained, cheerfully.
Any other punishment she got nothing but fun out of.
I gave her sewing to do, and she threaded ticks on to her needle and cotton.
I gave her bread and water for dinner, and she and Sue caught water-rats, and Bett-Bett made a fire and cooked them. In fact, they had a splendid picnic.
I took Sue away from her, and chained her up; but the little dog howled so dismally that I was more punished than Bett-Bett.
I shut her in the bath-room by herself. She always called it the “bogey-house,” and she pretended that she was hiding from her enemies, and told Sue awful tales of Willeroo blacks, through the cracks under the door.
I could think of nothing else, and was at my wits’ end; but the ever-cheerful Bett-Bett continued to chew tobacco.
In despair, I had almost decided to send her back to the bush, when she suggested a fearful punishment herself, of course without meaning to do so.