She sat up and looked at me in surprise, and asked what did happen to the moon if a “big-fellow, big-fellow blackfellow”—a giant, I suppose—didn’t cut it up to make the stars? All the lubras sat up too, and agreed with her, saying, “Straightfellow, Missus.” Even Sue joined in the conversation, but perhaps that was because some one had planted an enthusiastic elbow on her tail.
“Me plenty savey,” said Bett-Bett, lying down again. Then she told me that away out east there is a beautiful country, where a big tribe of moons live, hundreds of them. They are very silly creatures, and will wander about in the sky alone—you never see two moons at once, you know! Whenever a new moon wanders into the west—she called a full moon a new one—a great big giant who lives there, catches it and snips big pieces off and makes stars with them. Some of the moons get away before he can cut them all up, but this poor moon had been “close up finissem,” first thing.
“Spose me moon,” said Bett-Bett, “me stay in my country; me no more silly fellow.”
The suns live out east too, and are a very powerful tribe of “cheeky fellows.” Every day one of them goes straight across the sky, and nobody knows what happens to him. At least no lubra knows. Of course the wise men know everything.
I suggested that perhaps the sun went back at night, but the lubras said if he did everybody would see him, and so, I supposed, they would.
Stars are very frightened of the sun. They say he is a “cheeky fellow,” and will “round them up,” if he finds them in the sky; so they hide all day, and towards night send two or three of the bravest of them to peep out, and see if he is really gone.
“Look, Missus,” said Bett-Bett, pointing up at the sky. “Littlefellow star come on now. Him look this way. Him look that way. Him talk which way sun sit down,” and it seemed, as I watched, as if they really were peeping cautiously about. Suddenly raising her voice to its very highest and shrillest pitch, she called— “Sun bin go away alright.”
After she had called, a great number of stars came quickly one after the other, and she got very excited about it.
“Him bin hear me, Missus,” she cried. “Straightfellow! Him bin hear me.” After a long silence Bett-Bett said—“Might it God bin make star longa you country, Missus?”
I only said, “You eye, God bin make my star,” Long ago I had given up trying to make them understand anything, excepting that God was a great good Spirit, who was not afraid of the fiercest of Debbil-debbils, and would chase them away from any one if they would ask Him. I had made them understand that much, and after many months they were beginning to believe it. In my first experiences with them I had told them that God had made all things; and of course they had wanted to know how He made them, and what He had made them of. They assured me He had not made anything in the blackfellow’s country. The wise men had an explanation of how everything there had been made, but I knew nothing of God’s mysterious ways, and could explain nothing; so I decided to teach them first to believe in God Himself, and to let the other things alone.