"Oh, if that's the trouble I can take my shoes off," she said, laughing, as she pulled off shoes and stockings. "I will be right back. I can find it, for you said it was only ten steps away," and she picked up the billy and hurried out of the cave in spite of Kadok's "Little Missa not go. Debil-debil get her!"
She was back before Kadok thought she could have found the spring, saying brightly,
"Now we have fresh water for our supper, afterwards I can tie up your foot again."
"Kadok found cup for little Missa," he said, pulling from his belt a battered tin cup. "Think white man drop it, little Missa can have honey-water to drink." He cut a piece of the honeycomb and put it in the cup of water. Jean drank the sweet drink and almost smacked her lips.
"It is ever so nice, Kadok," she said. "It tastes like the sugar-water the American children's black mammy used to give us."
"Who was that?" he asked curiously.
"There were three children of America came to stay at my uncle's place, oh, a long time ago before we came to Australia. They had a nurse, a black woman. She was ever so black, not brown like you, Kadok, and so good and nice. I used to like her very much. That was the reason I was not afraid, when the black man told me to come and see the gin who was sick. I thought he would be good like Dinah and bring me right back."
"Black people very much like white people," said Kadok. "Some black face white heart, some black all way through. Some white face very black heart," and the boy shook his head.
"Think yopolo cooked. Him smell fine," he said, sniffing the scent which came from the fire.
The yopolo was indeed done and delicious. It was very tender and tasted like spring chicken. It was a queer supper for the little Scotch girl, seated cross-legged on the floor of the cave, as she drank honey-water and cut off bits of meat for herself and Kadok.