I asked her how it had happened that she had not been killed and eaten, and she answered with a chuckle—
“Me too muchee all day bone fellow”—she had evidently not been worth eating, when fatter piccaninnies were about! “Me all day bone fellow,” she repeated, holding out a thin little arm. She seemed to think she had been very clever in being thin, and she certainly had been fortunate!
Poor little mite! she had seen some fearful doings in her short life.
When I asked her if she had eaten any of these piccaninnies, she said that the blackfellows had not left any for her. “Blackfellow bin finissem, Missus,” was all she said, and I don’t believe she would have refused to have eaten her share.
She lay for a while looking up at the sky, and then changed the conversation by saying—
“Missus, I think big-fellow blackfellow close up finissem, that one moon.”
“What?” I said, looking at the thin little strip of new moon.
“I think big-fellow blackfellow close up finissem, that one moon,” she repeated, jerking her voice, as she jerked her finger, towards it,
“Whatever are you talking about, Bett-Bett?” I asked.