r. You know I was accustomed to cutting and shaping when in
England."

"But what for the use?" asked Betsy, turning her large brown eyes
solemnly on her companion. "It no seems too big to me. Besides, when
brudder Gubbins give him to me he--"

"Who is brudder Gubbins?" asked Marie, with a look of smiling surprise.

"Oh! _you_ know. The min'ster--Gubbins--what come to the
mission-station just afore me an' Waroonga left for Ratinga."

"Oh! I see; the Reverend Mr Gubbins--well, what did _he_ say about the
bonnet?"

"W'at did he say? ah! he say much mor'n I kin remember, an' he look at
the bonnet with's head a one side--so sad an' pitiful like. `Ah! Betsy
Waroonga,' ses he, `this just the thing for you. Put it on an' take it
to Ratinga, it'll press the natives there.'"

"Impress them, you mean, Betsy."

"Well, p'raps it was that. Anyhow I put it on, an' he looked at me _so_
earnest an' ses with a sigh, `Betsy,' ses he, `it minds me o' my
grandmother, an' she _was_ a good old soul--brought me up, Betsy, she
did. Wear it for her sake an' mine. I make a present of it to you.'"

"Ah! Betsy," said Marie, "the Reverend Gubbins must be a wag, I
suspect."

"W'at's a wag, Marie?"

"Don't you know what a wag is?"

"Oh, yis, _I_ know. When leetil bird sit on a stone an shake hims tail,
I've heerd you an Orley say it wag--but misser Gubbins he got no tail to
wag--so how can he wag it?"

"I didn't say he wagged it, Betsy," returned Marie, repressing a laugh,
"but--you'll never get to understand what a wag means, so I won't try to
explain. Look! Zariffa is venturesome. You'd better call her back."

Zariffa was indeed venturesome. Clad in a white flannel petticoat and a
miniature coal-scuttle, she was at that moment wading so deep into the
clear sea that she had to raise the little garment as high as her brown
bosom to keep it out of the water; and with all her efforts she was
unsuccessful, for, with that natural tendency of childhood to forget and
neglect what cannot be seen, she had allowed the rear-part of the
petticoat to drop into the sea.

This, however, occasioned little or no anxiety to Betsy Waroonga, for
she was not an anxious mother; but when, raising her eyes a little
higher, she beheld the tip of the back-fin of a shark describing lively
circles in the water as if it had scented the tender morsel and were
searching for it, her easy indifference vanished. She gave vent to a
yell and made a b