Chapter 13 Bett-Bett Is “Bush-Hungry”

For some days Bett-Bett had wandered about in an aimless, listless way,

doing nothing and saying nothing, but just looking “out bush” with big

dreamy eyes.

She did not know what had happened to her, but I, who had seen this many

times in her people, knew.

She was homesick—“bush hungry”—hungry for her own ways, and her own

people; for the bush talks, and the camps, and the long long wanderings

from place to place, for the fear of Debbil-debbils, for anything that

would make her a little bush nigger once more, for anything—if only she

could shake off the white man for a little while, and do nothing but

live.

We whites sometimes grow very weary and “bush hungry” when we are

taken away to the towns, but we can never even guess at the pain of a

blackfellow’s longing for his own people, and his beloved “bush.”

Poor little Bett-Bett! as I watched her I knew that sooner or later I

must let her go, for there was no other cure for her. If I tried to keep

her, she would only run away or be ill.

At last she came to me saying—

“Missus! me sick-fellow, I think,” and sat down at my feet.

I talked to her quietly for a little while about her people, and their

long walk-abouts; for the sooner she went, the quicker she would be

cured.

All at once she knew what she needed.

“Missus,” she cried, springing to her feet, all life and energy

again, “Missus, me want walk-about. No more longa you, Missus, longa

blackfellow.”

That was all—and I only asked—

“How long, Bett-Bett?”

“Me no more savey, Missus,” she answered, her eyes burning like stars.

She could not tell. She only knew that she must stay till she was cured.

Next morning at “sun up” she went. She took nothing with her but the

little bag made from her “Shimy Shirt” string, for in that were her most

precious treasures. She stuffed all her clothes into her box, wearing

only a gaily-striped handkerchief wound round her middle. Even that

would soon be gone, for she was going to be just a little black nigger

girl for a while.

Sue didn’t like the look of things at all. She sat down and whined

miserably, trying to say that the homestead was quite good enough for

her, as long as Bett-Bett was in it. Poor little Sue! It was really only

her body that was so miserably ugly, for her comical little face was

brimful of beautiful love and devotion for her little mistress.

Page 107

I went as far as the camp with them, where Bett-Bett was to meet her

friends. Then I stood and watched this tiny black Princess of the

Never-Never, with her faithful speckled subject at her heels, fade away

into her wonderful, lonely Palace. Once Sue sat down and whined, and

Bett-Bett, looking round, saw me still watching her. She ran back, and

without speaking, thrust a little pearl mussel-shell, one of her most

treasured belongings, into my hand; then scampering after her friends,

disappeared in the forest.

Then I walked back to the homestead, feeling strangely lonely, for I had

grown accustomed to the little black shadow that was always chattering

at my heels; but when I looked at the little pearl-shell, as it lay

in my hand, I knew that in a little while Bett-Bett would need her

“Missus,” and come back bright and happy again.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Little Black Princess, by Jeannie Gunn