The King we were talking about—Bett-Bett’s uncle, you know—was called by the tribe Ebimel Wooloomool. The white people had nicknamed him “Goggle Eye,” and he was very proud of his “whitefellow name,” as he called it. You see, he didn’t know what it meant.

He didn’t have a golden sceptre. Australian kings never do; but he had what was quite as deadly—a “Magic Death-bone.” If you had been up to mischief, breaking the laws, or doing anything wrong, it was wise to keep out of his way; for every blackfellow knew that if he “sang” this bone and pointed it at you, you would very quickly die.

The white man says you die of fright; but as it is the bone-pointing that gives the fright, it’s the bone-pointing that kills, isn’t it? But I’ll tell you more about this by and bye.

The first time I met Goggle Eye, he was weeding my garden, and I didn’t know he was a King; I thought he was just an ordinary blackfellow. You see he didn’t have a crown, and as he was only wearing a tassel and a belt made from his mother-in-law’s hair, it was no wonder I made the mistake. It takes a good deal of practice to tell a King at a glance—when he’s naked and pulling up weeds.

I didn’t like having even naked Kings about the homestead, so I said—

“Goggle Eye, don’t you think you had better have some more clothes on?”

He grinned and looked very pleased, so I gave him a pair of blue cotton trousers. He put them on at once, without even troubling to go behind a bush, and asked my advice as to which leg he had better put in first. I gave him all the help I could and at last had him safely into them, right side out, and the front where it ought to be.

We gardened for a while, the old nigger and I, but as the sun became hotter I noticed that he kept pulling his trousers up over his knees. At last he sat down and took one leg right out.

“What’s the matter, Goggle Eye?” I asked. “Don’t you like your trousers?”

“Him bite me longa knee,” he answered, meaning that they pinched him under the knee; then picking up his hoe again he worked till dinner time with one leg in and one out, and the trunk of the trousers fixed in some extraordinary way to his belt. After dinner he took both legs out and worked with the trousers dangling in front of him.

“Too muchee hot fellow,” he explained. Next morning he was dressed in his cool and airy tassel and belt, and nothing else.

“Where are your trousers, Goggle Eye?” I asked, and, “Me bin knock up longa trousa,” was all he said.

A few days afterwards I met his lubra with a tucker-bag made of one of the legs; so I wasted no more trousers on his Majesty the King.

I was always ready to listen to any old blackfellow telling about the strange laws and customs of the tribe. Very soon Goggle Eye found this out, and as sitting in the shade, yarning, suited the old rascal much better than gardening, we had many a long gossip.

I never laughed at their strange beliefs. I found them wonderfully interesting, for I soon saw that under every silly little bit of nonsense was a great deal of good sense. At first it appears great nonsense to tell the young men that fat turkeys and kangaroo tails will make them old and weak; but it does not seem so silly when we know that it is only a blackfellow’s way of providing for old age.

When Goggle Eye found that I never made fun of the laws that he thought so good and wise, he would tell me almost anything that I wanted to know. I was a particular friend of his, but he was not at all pleased with me for bringing Bett-Bett to the homestead; in fact, he was quite cross about it. He said he was her “little bit father,” and seemed to think that explained everything. By “little bit father” he meant he was her father’s brother, or cousin, or some near relation of his. I really could not see what difference it made, if he was her uncle, I just thought him a very disagreeable old man, and soon forgot all about it.

About a week after, Bett-Bett and I were gardening, and I sent her to the store-room for a hammer, so that I could fix up some creepers. While she was gone his Majesty the King came along, and I kept him to help me.

As Bett-Bett came back round the corner of the house, she saw him and shut her eyes at once, and of course the next minute bumped her head on one of the verandah posts.

“Open your eyes, you foolish child,” I called, for with them still tightly shut she was feeling her way into the house.

“Can’t longa Goggle Eye,” she answered, and dropping the hammer on the ground, slipped through the doorway.

“Bring me the hammer, Goggle Eye,” I said, turning to him, only to find that his eyes were shut too.

“You silly old thing,” I said, “playing baby-tricks,” for I thought they were having a game of something like white children’s “saw you last;” “bring me that hammer at once, I can’t stand on this ladder all day.” But he would not move or open his eyes till I told him that Bett-Bett had gone away. When we had finished the creeper, I sent him to the creek for a bucket of water and called Bett-Bett to come and pull up weeds. She came, but as she worked kept one eye on the creek, and the minute that Goggle Eye’s head appeared over the banks, walked towards the house.

“Bett-Bett,” I said sternly, “stay here,” for I was tired of their silly games.

“Can’t, Missus,” she answered, stopping but shutting her eyes. “Goggle Eye little bit father belonga me.”

“I can’t help that,” I said, losing all patience. “Stay here, I want you both.”

She stayed, but old Goggle Eye stopped short. He called a lubra, who came and shrieked out something, and Bett-Bett crying: “Must, Missus, straightfellow,” ran round the house to the far side.

“Whatever is the matter with you all?” I said, for I saw now they were not playing a game. “Come here, Goggle Eye, and tell me what this all means. And, Bett-Bett, you stay where you are.”

His Majesty came, and sitting down under the verandah, began to tell of one of the strangest customs that the blacks have.

The wise men of the tribe, he explained, have always taught that you must never, never look at any little girl or lubra if you are her “little-bit-father,” or “little-bit-brother,” or any near relation to her. You must not even speak to her, or listen to her voice, unless she is so far off that you cannot see her face. “That far—” said Goggle Eye, pointing to a tree about one hundred yards away.

I was very interested and asked him what would happen if he broke this law. He answered earnestly: “Spose me look, Debbil-debbil take away eye; spose me listen, Debbil-debbil take away ear; spose me talk, Debbil-debbil take away tongue.”

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“Dear me,” I said, “that would be unpleasant,” and then I asked him why the Debbil-debbils didn’t come and catch him when he was talking to Maudie. She, I knew, was his sister, and he often spoke to her. He looked at me very scornfully,

“Him bin come on first time, me bin come on beehind,” he said, meaning that she had been born first. She had started first for the world, and he had come on beehind her, and so she was his eldest sister. Evidently the Debbil-debbils allow you to talk to your eldest sister.

When I asked what would happen if he turned a corner suddenly, and, without meaning to, saw his “little-bit-somebody-he-shouldn’t,” he answered wisely:

“Spose me shut him eye quickfellow, that all right.”

“Ebimel Wooloomool,” I said, giving him his full name, which always pleased him, “you blackfellows plenty savey.”

He smiled a kingly smile at this, and when I asked him if he would like some flour to make a damper for his supper said, “Dank you please, Missus,” and followed me to the store with a dirty old “billy-can” in his hand. I gave him some flour and he carried it down to his camp-fire at the creek. In five minutes he was back with it. “Missus,” he said, looking the very picture of misery, “me bin spill him water longa flour; damper no good now,” and he held out his billy-can, and showed me a fearful sloppy-looking wet mess.

“Dear me!” I said, “you’ve put too much water into it.”

“You eye,” he whined, “me bin spilt him, Missus.”

“Never mind,” I said, “I’ll stiffen it up for you,” and he positively beamed, as I added some more flour. To my surprise, he was back again in a few minutes, saying:

“Missus! Me bin spill him nuzzer time.”

Then I saw what he was scheming for. He wanted a big damper.

“You old rogue,” I said, “what do you mean, playing tricks on your Missus like this? You know you are doing it on purpose.”

He looked so astonished at being found out that I could not help laughing at him, and ended by stiffening his damper for him again.

He grinned into his tin with a very knowing air as he walked away, for he knew quite well that I was amused at his cuteness. When he reached the creek, he turned back to laugh at me, and I called:

“Good-bye, Goggle Eye; next time you spoil your damper, you can mend it by yourself.”