She gave a piercing, ear-splitting yell of delight, and called Sue; but before she went asked me if the little “a” in my book was good.
I said “Yes,” and hoped I was telling the truth; as far as I knew, they were good. I suppose Bett-Bett thought I spent hours sending naughty piccaninnies home to their mummas. Almost before I knew that she and Sue had gone, I heard shrieks from the vegetable garden, and yells of “Missus! Missus!” and Biddy and Rosey came running through the open gate. “What’s the matter now?” I said, as I went to meet them, for there was always something fresh happening.
“Missus!” they panted, “Bett-Bett bin kill Rolly; him bin kill him longa quart pot.”
I waited to hear no more, but ran as fast as I could to the garden, with the lubras at my heels; hoping that Rolly was not really dead, but perhaps only stunned.
The first thing I saw was Bett-Bett and Rolly quietly watering the garden.
“You naughty lubras,” I said, turning sharply to Biddy and Rosey; “what do you mean, telling such wicked stories? What name you all day gammon, eh?” for I was very angry indeed with them; they had given me a terrible fright.
To my surprise, they insisted that Bett-Bett had killed Rolly.
“Straightfellow, Missus,” they said earnestly; “Bett-Bett bin kill Rolly alright.” Even Rolly herself said: “Bett-Bett bin kill me, Missus! Straightfellow! Me no more talk gammon.”
But Bett-Bett herself said nothing; she kept on watering the garden, with one eye on the Missus. I suppose she was thinking of the paint-pot.
“You silly things,” I said, feeling very puzzled, for they were in deadly earnest. “Can’t you see that Rolly is not deadfellow?”