The Little Black Princess — Part 28

“Look, Missus,” she said, coming to show me; “him goodfellow now.”

“It’s a very good little letter,” I said, “and you’re a good little lubra, and may go and help to water the garden.”

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?”

At this everybody shouted with laughter. At last they understood the Missus and her anger.

“Me no more bin talk kill him deadfellow,” they screamed. “Me bin talk kill him longa quart pot.”

So they had. I remembered now, and as usual it was my fault. Nobody but the Missus ever seemed to do anything wrong. I should have understood their funny “pidgin English” better. To “kill” only means to hit, or prick, or thump; but to put some one actually to death is to “kill deadfellow.” Only that morning Bett-Bett had said, when her needle pricked her finger, “My word, Missus! neenel bin kill finger belonga me.”