Read Online Nanberry by Jackie French - Free Book Online

staring at him with big dark eyes.
    Nanberry grinned. He stood, totally still, till the creature relaxed.
    And then he sprang.
    The bungu shrieked. But Nanberry’s hands were about its throat now. One good pull and it would be dead. He could skin it and tan its hide for Father White. They would eat bungu meat, roasted on the fire tonight.
    â€˜Stop it! You heathen savage, stop it at once!’
    Nanberry stopped. He’d learnt the word stop . The bungu wriggled in his hands, and tried to scratch him. He stilled it against his body.
    â€˜You put that o’possum down.’
    He didn’t know the words, but the meaning was clear. Slowly he put the bungu on the table again.
    The bungu gave an angry snort, then jumped into a basket. It peered out, chattering at them both.
    Nanberry put his hands out to ask Maria, Why?
    â€˜That is the Master’s o’possum!’
    â€˜O’possum?’ He nodded at the bungu.
    â€˜Yes, it’s an o’possum. And a messy troublesome brute it is too. You must have woken it with your noise. But it’s the Master’s, so don’t go touching it.’
    â€˜Master … eat o’possum?’ He corrected himself: ‘Master eat the o’possum?’
    â€˜Eat it? The very idea! He’s going to put it in a bottle and send it to England for wise men to look at.’
    None of the words meant anything, but one thing was plain: this bungu was not for eating.
    Maria glared at him. ‘Now you behave yourself, Andrew.’
    Andrew. That meant him.
    Nanberry sighed. This new world was strange.
    One day soon, he thought, I will be strong again. I will catch a badagarang, a great kangaroo, and give all the meat to Father White. He and Father White would feast together, even Maria perhaps, though she was just a woman.
    It would be a better feast than a bungu.
    And by then he would really be Andrew, an English boy. Nanberry would be gone.

Chapter 18
MARIA
    S YDNEY C OVE , 30 M AY 1789
    Maria sat by the firelight and glared at the o’possum, sitting on the top shelf chewing a cold potato.
    Why hadn’t she let the native boy kill the wretched thing? For two halfpennies she’d do it herself.
    But the Surgeon had been good to her. And you couldn’t ask a man trying to save the colony from death by fever to waste time preserving his o’possum.
    Hss chee. The creature bounded down in front of her. It looked up with those big dark eyes.
    â€˜What are you wanting then? Another potato?’
    The beast chattered again, almost as though it understood her.
    â€˜Potatoes are precious. How about a cob of corn?’
    The o’possum gave a squeal. She grinned at herself. Talking to an o’possum! But at least there was no one to hear her. The native lad was outside, helping Lon shuck the corn crop, pulling off the outside leaves to find the big yellow heads inside. Howthat boy could eat! She’d never seen anyone eat so much corn, cob after cob, and as for fish — he just kept eating till it was gone.
    She fished another cob out of the pot, and held it out to the o’possum. It grabbed the offering in its tiny paws, and began to gnaw it. What a waste of good corn. It should be eating leaves …
    She grinned again. She went to the door, shutting it carefully in case the creature escaped, then yelled into the darkness. ‘Big Lon?’
    â€˜What is it?’ The yell came from the hut down the hill.
    â€˜Go get leaves for the Master’s o’possum.’
    Big Lon’s lanky form was silhouetted against the hut door. ‘And why should I do that? If the Master wants summat he can ask me.’
    â€˜Because if you don’t I’ll tell the Master about how you tried to get his rations as well as your own.’
    And you’ll be hanged by your neck if the Master decides to charge you with it, she thought. At last Big Lon said sulkily, ‘What kind o’ leaves?’
    â€˜The kind where you