The sound reminded Bett-Bett of bees and honey. “Him sugar-bag,” she said, grinning at her cleverness. Then she made it in the dust with her toe, and told Sue— “Him talk sugar-bag, this one B.” Sue looked wise and smelt it, and then offered to shake hands all round. And that was our first day’s lesson.
Next day we learnt a few more letters, and capital “I” was christened “This one eye,” as a smutty little finger tapped Bett-Bett’s eye.
A day or two afterwards “W” was noticed on ahead.
“Missus,” she cried, pointing to it, “I bin find bullocky.”
“What name?” I said, wondering what was coming now.
“Bullocky,” she repeated, nodding her head wisely at “W” and then “him all day sitdown longa bullocky.”
Then I understood her. “W” was the letter of the station brand, and she had seen it on the cattle and remembered it.
We plodded on day after day, and every day Bett-Bett gave me a hint that she did not think much of lessons.
“Me knock up longa paper yabber, Missus; him silly fellow,” she kept saying.
I took no notice of her remarks, but I think the only thing either of us learnt was patience.