Among the things I had given Bett-Bett was a warm “bluey” or rug, and wrapped in this she and Sue slept on the bath-room floor every night. She preferred the floor to a bed, and was very funny about my spring mattress—“Him too muchee jump-up jump-up,” she said scornfully.
At bedtime, dressed in her gay singlet, she made her bed. First she spread her “bluey” out on the floor, and jumped and pranced wildly about till she had managed to fold it in four, Then she lifted a corner carefully, and she and Sue crept in like a pair of young opossums. While they were settling themselves the rug bulged and wobbled and wriggled so much, that it looked as though it were playing at earthquakes. At last, when all was quiet, two pairs of very bright eyes peeped out at the top of the bluey, looking for the supper biscuit that I always had ready. As soon as I offered it, out came a thin black arm, and then Bett-Bett, Sue and biscuit disappeared for the night.
It was no use trying to keep these two apart. They simply could not understand why they should not sleep together; so I told Bett-Bett that Sue must have plenty of baths, and that if I ever found one single tick on her, the little dog would have to be given a whipping.
The thought of such a fearful punishment for them both made Bett-Bett shiver with fear. She called Sue and told her all about it, and made her understand that she would have to lie still and be hunted in, so that every horrid little insect could be found and killed. So every day, and many times a day, they had a tick-hunt, and Bett-Bett managed to make a great game of it.
She talked to herself all the time, and pretended that the ticks were wicked people, and that she was a terrible Debbil-debbil, who caught them and killed them “dead-fellow.” How she did grin as she scrunched them between two stones.
One morning Bett-Bett was very quiet on the verandah, with Sue asleep beside her. I wondered what she was doing, and went out to see. She was busy unravelling threads from some pieces of rag, and I asked her what they were for. “Me makem string,” she answered, and taking up a few threads, stuck one of her thin little legs straight out in front of her. Pulling up her dress, she laid the threads on her thigh, and with the palm of her hand rolled them quickly backwards and forwards. In a few seconds she grinned and held up a little piece of string in her fingers.
I was very interested, and sat watching her till she had made quite a yard; then, to help to amuse her, gave her a big bundle of coloured scraps of rag.
After a day or two, she came and showed me a pretty little bag that she had made, by weaving and knotting this string together.
“You are a good little girl, Bett-Bett,” I said. “Now come and help me tidy your box.”
When her clean clothes were neatly in place, I found that the “Shimy Shirts” were all missing, and asked where they were.