[Illustration: EVENING DEVOTIONS. ]

DIDDIE, DUMPS& TOT

ORPLANTATION CHILD-LIFE

ByLouise-Clarke Pyrnelle

Originally Published 1882

TO MY DEAR FATHER

DR. RICHARD CLARKE

OF SELMA, ALABAMA

MY HERO AND MY BEAU IDEAL OF A GENTLEMAN

I Dedicate this Book

WITH THE LOVE OF HIS

DAUGHTER

PREFACE. 

In writing this little volume, I had for my primary object the idea ofkeeping alive many of the old stories, legends, traditions, games, hymns, and superstitions of the Southern slaves, which, with thisgeneration of negroes, will pass away. There are now no more dear old"Mammies" and "Aunties" in our nurseries, no more good old "Uncles" inthe workshops, to tell the children those old tales that have been toldto our mothers and grandmothers for generations--the stories that keptour fathers and grandfathers quiet at night, and induced them to goearly to bed that they might hear them the sooner. 

Nor does my little book pretend to be any defence of slavery. I know notwhether it was right or wrong (there are many pros and cons on thatsubject); but it was the law of the land, made by statesmen from theNorth as well as the South, long before my day, or my father's orgrandfather's day; and, born under that law a slave-holder, and thedescendant of slave-holders, raised in the heart of the cotton section, surrounded by negroes from my earliest infancy, "I KNOW whereof I dospeak;" and it is to tell of the pleasant and happy relations thatexisted between master and slave that I write this story of "Diddie, Dumps, and Tot. "

The stories, plantation games, and hymns are just as I heard them in mychildhood. I have learned that Mr. Harris, in "Uncle Remus, " has alreadygiven the "Tar Baby;" but I have not seen his book, and, as our versionsare probably different, I shall let mine remain just as "Chris" told itto the "chil'en. "

I hope that none of my readers will be shocked at the seemingirreverence of my book, for that _intimacy_ with the "Lord" wascharacteristic of the negroes. They believed implicitly in a SpecialProvidence and direct punishment or reward, and that faith theyreligiously tried to impress upon their young charges, white or black;and "heavy, heavy hung over our heads" was the DEVIL!

The least little departure from a marked-out course of morals or mannerswas sure to be followed by, "Nem' min', de deb'l gwine git yer. "

And what the Lord 'lowed and what he didn't 'low was perfectly wellknown to every darky. For instance, "he didn't 'low no singin' uvweek-er-day chunes uv er Sunday, " nor "no singin' uv reel chunes" (dancemusic) at any time; nor did he "'low no sassin' of ole pussons. "

The "chu'ch membahs" had their little differences of opinion. Of coursethey might differ on such minor points as "immersion" and "sprinklin', ""open" or "close" communion; but when it came to such grave matters as"singin' uv reel chunes, " or "sassin' uv ole pussons, " Baptists andMethodists met on common ground, and stood firm. 

Nor did our Mammies and Aunties neglect our manners. To say "yes" or"no" to any person, white or black, older than ourselves was consideredvery rude; it must always be "yes, mam, " "no, mam;" "yes, sir, " "no, sir;" and those expressions are still, and I hope ever will be, characteristic of Southerners. 

The child-life that I have portrayed is over now; for no hireling canever be to the children what their Mammies were, and the strong tiebetween the negroes and "marster's chil'en" is broken forever. 

So, hoping that my book (which claims no literary merit) will serve toamuse the little folks, and give them an insight into a childhoodpeculiar to the South in her palmy days, without further preface I sendout my volume of Plantation Child-life. 

Louise-Clarke Pyrnelle. 

Columbus, Ga. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Diddie, Dumps, And Tot 13

II. Christmas On The Old Plantation 29

III. Mammy's Story 44

IV. Old Billy 50

V. Diddie's Book 67

VI. Uncle Snake-bit Bob's Sunday-school 82

VII. Poor Ann 92

VIII. Uncle Bob's Proposition 106

IX. Aunt Edy's Story 111

X. Plantation Games 119

XI. Diddie In Trouble 128

XII. How The Woodpecker's Head And The Robin's Breast Came To Be Red 140

XIII. A Plantation Meeting, And Uncle Daniel's Sermon 152

XIV. Diddie And Dumps Go Visiting 166

XV. The Fourth Of July 182

XVI. "'Struck'n uv de Chil'en" 199

XVII. What Became Of Them 212

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

 PAGEEvening Devotions Frontispiece. 

Sanitary Measures 19

Playing "Injuns" 39

"Ole Billy" 59

"The Tar Baby" 79

"My Min', Hit's Made Up" 103

"Yer'll all Be Havin' De Croup Next" 135

"Well, My Invice Is Dis" 147

"Monahs 'pun Top Er Monahs" 163

"Bringin' 'im the Picnic" 171

"Swinging On Grape-vines and Riding On Saplings" 195

"'Struck'n uv de Chil'en" 201

DIDDIE, DUMPS, AND TOT. 

CHAPTER I. 

DIDDIE, DUMPS, AND TOT. 

They were three little sisters, daughters of a Southern planter, andthey lived in a big white house on a cotton plantation in Mississippi. The house stood in a grove of cedars and live-oaks, and on one side wasa flower-garden, with two summer-houses covered with climbing roses andhoneysuckles, where the little girls would often have tea-parties in thepleasant spring and summer days. Back of the house was a long avenue ofwater-oaks leading to the quarters where the negroes lived. 

Major Waldron, the father of the children, owned a large number ofslaves, and they loved him and his children very dearly. And the littlegirls loved them, particularly "Mammy, " who had nursed their mother, andnow had entire charge of the children; and Aunt Milly, a lame yellowwoman, who helped Mammy in the nursery; and Aunt Edy, the headlaundress, who was never too busy to amuse them. Then there was AuntNancy, the "tender, " who attended to the children for the field-hands, and old Uncle Snake-bit Bob, who could scarcely walk at all, because hehad been bitten by a snake when he was a boy: so now he had a littleshop, where he made baskets of white-oak splits for the hands to pickcotton in; and he always had a story ready for the children, and wouldlet them help him weave baskets whenever Mammy would take them to theshop. 

Besides these, there were Riar, Chris, and Dilsey, three little negroes, who belonged to the little girls and played with them, and were intraining to be their maids by-and-by. 

Diddie, the oldest of the children, was nine years of age, and had agoverness, Miss Carrie, who had taught her to read quite well, and evento write a letter. She was a quiet, thoughtful little girl, welladvanced for her age, and ladylike in her manners. 

Dumps, the second sister, was five, full of fun and mischief, and gaveMammy a great deal of trouble on account of her wild tomboyish ways. 

Tot, the baby, was a tiny, little blue-eyed child of three, with longlight curls, who was always amiable and sweet-tempered, and was pettedby everybody who knew her. 

Now, you must not think that the little girls had been carried to thefont and baptized with such ridiculous names as Diddie, Dumps, and Tot:these were only pet names that Mammy had given them; but they had beencalled by them so long that many persons forgot that Diddie's name wasMadeleine, that Dumps had been baptized Elinor, and that Tot bore hermother's name of Eugenia, for they were known as Diddie, Dumps, and Totto all of their friends. 

The little girls were very happy in their plantation home. 'Tis truethey lived 'way out in the country, and had no museums nor toy-shops tovisit, no fine parks to walk or ride in, nor did they have a very greatvariety of toys. They had some dolls and books, and a baby-housefurnished with little beds and chairs and tables; and they had a bigNewfoundland dog, Old Bruno; and Dumps and Tot both had a little kittenapiece; and there was "Old Billy, " who once upon a time had been afrisky little lamb, Diddie's special pet; but now he was a vicious oldsheep, who amused the children very much by running after them wheneverhe could catch them out-of-doors. Sometimes, though, he would butt themover and hurt them, and Major Waldron had several times had him turnedinto the pasture; but Diddie would always cry and beg for him to bebrought back, and so Old Billy was nearly always in the yard. 

Then there was Corbin, the little white pony that belonged to all of thechildren together, and was saddled and bridled every fair day, and tiedto the horse-rack, that the little girls might ride him whenever theychose; and 'twas no unusual sight to see two of them on him at once, cantering down the big road or through the grove. 

And, besides all these amusements, Mammy or Aunt Milly or Aunt Edy, orsome of the negroes, would tell them tales; and once in a while theywould slip off and go to the quarters, to Aunt Nancy the tender's cabin, and play with the little quarter children. They particularly liked to gothere about dark to hear the little negroes say their prayers. 

Aunt Nancy would make them all kneel down in a row, and clasp theirhands and shut their eyes: then she would say, "Our Father, who art inheaven, " and all the little darkies together would repeat each petitionafter her; and if they didn't all keep up, and come out together, shewould give the delinquent a sharp cut with a long switch that she alwayskept near her. So the prayer was very much interrupted by the little"nigs" telling on each other, calling out "Granny" (as they all calledAunt Nancy), "Jim didn't say his 'kingdom come. '"

"Yes I did, Granny; don't yer b'lieve dat gal; I said jes' much 'kingdomcome' ez she did. "

And presently Jim would retaliate by saying, "Granny, Polly nuber sed nuf'n 'bout her 'cruspusses. '"

"Lord-ee! jes' lis'n at dat nigger, " Polly would say. "Granny, don'tyer min' 'im; I sed furgib us cruspusses, jes' ez plain ez anybody, andGinny hyeard me; didn't yer, Ginny?"

At these interruptions Aunt Nancy would stop to investigate the matter, and whoever was found in fault was punished with strict and impartialjustice. 

Another very interesting time to visit the quarters was in the morningbefore breakfast, to see Aunt Nancy give the little darkies their"vermifuge. " She had great faith in the curative properties of a verynauseous vermifuge that she had made herself by stewing some kind ofherbs in molasses, and every morning she would administer a teaspoonfulof it to every child under her care; and she used to say, "Ef'n hit want fur dat furmifuge, den marster wouldn't hab all demniggers w'at yer see hyear. "

Now, I don't know about that; but I do know that the little darkieswould rather have had fewer "niggers" and less "furmifuge;" for theyacted shamefully every time they were called upon to take a dose. In thefirst place, whenever Aunt Nancy appeared with the bottle and spoon, asmany of the children as could get away would flee for their lives, andhide themselves behind the hen-coops and ash-barrels, and under thecabins, and anywhere they could conceal themselves. 

But that precaution was utterly useless, for Aunt Nancy would make themall form in a line, and in that way would soon miss any absentees; butthere were always volunteers to hunt out and run down and bring back theshirkers, who, besides having to take the vermifuge, would get awhipping into the bargain. 

And even after Aunt Nancy would get them into line, and their handscrossed behind their backs, she would have to watch very closely, orsome wicked little "nig" would slip into the place of the one just abovehim, and make a horrible face, and spit, and wipe his mouth as if he hadjust taken his dose; and thereby the one whose place he had taken wouldhave to swallow a double portion, while he escaped entirely; or else ascuffle would ensue, and a very animated discussion between the partiesas to who had taken the last dose; and unless it could be decidedsatisfactorily, Aunt Nancy would administer a dose to each one; for, inher opinion, "too much furmifuge wuz better 'n none. "

And so you see the giving of the vermifuge consumed considerable time. After that was through with, she would begin again at the head of theline, and, making each child open its mouth to its fullest extent, shewould examine each throat closely, and if any of them had their "palatesdown, " she would catch up a little clump of hair right on top of theirheads and wrap it around as tightly as she could with a string, andthen, catching hold of this "topknot, " she would pull with all hermight to bring up the palate. The unlucky little "nig" in the meanwhilekept up the most unearthly yells, for so great was the depravity amongthem that they had rather have their palates down than up. Keeping their"palate locks" tied was a source of great trouble and worriment to AuntNancy. 

[Illustration: SANITARY MEASURES. ]

The winter was always a great season with the children; Mammy would letthem have so many candy-stews, and they parched "goobers" in theevenings, and Aunt Milly had to make them so many new doll's clothes, to"keep them quiet, " as Dumps said; and such romps and games as they wouldhave in the old nursery!

There were two rooms included in the nursery--one the children's bedroomand the other their playroom, where they kept all their toys and litter;and during the winter bright wood fires were kept up in both rooms, thatthe children might not take cold, and around both fireplaces were tallbrass fenders that were kept polished till they shone like gold. Yet, inspite of this precaution, do you know that once Dilsey, Diddie's littlemaid, actually caught on fire, and her linsey dress was burned off, andAunt Milly had to roll her over and over on the floor, and didn't gether put out till her little black neck was badly burned, and her littlewoolly head all singed. After that she had to be nursed for severaldays. Diddie carried her her meals, and Dumps gave her "Stella, " achina doll that was perfectly good, only she had one leg off and herneck cracked; but, for all that, she was a great favorite in thenursery, and it grieved Dumps very much to part with her; but shethought it was her "Christian juty, " as she told Diddie; so Aunt Millymade Stella a new green muslin dress, and she was transferred to Dilsey. 

There was no railroad near the plantation, but it was only fifteen milesto the river, and Major Waldron would go down to New Orleans everywinter to lay in his year's supplies, which were shipped by steamboatsto the landing and hauled from there to the plantation. It was a jollytime for both white and black when the wagons came from the river; therewere always boxes of fruits and candies and nuts, besides large trunkswhich were carried into the store-room till Christmas, and whicheverybody knew contained Christmas presents for "all hands. " One winterevening in 1853, the children were all gathered at the big gate, on thelookout for the wagons. Diddie was perched upon one gate-post and Dumpson the other, while Tot was sitting on the fence, held on by Riar, lestshe might fall. Dilsey and Chris were stationed 'way down the road tocatch the first glimpse of the wagons. They were all getting veryimpatient, for they had been out there nearly an hour, and it was nowgetting so late they knew Mammy would not let them stay much longer. 

"I know de reason dey so late, Miss Diddie, " said Riar; "dey got datnew mule Sam in de lead in one de wagins and Unker Bill say he know hegwine cut up, f'um de look in he's eyes. "

"Uncle Bill don't know everything, " answered Diddie. "There are sixmules in the wagon, and Sam's jest only one of 'em; I reckon he can'tcut up much by hisself; five's more 'n one, ain't it?"

"I do b'lieve we've been out hyear er hun-der-d hours, " said Dumps, yawning wearily; and just then Dilsey and Chris came running towards thegate, waving their arms and crying, "Hyear dey come! hyear dey come!" and, sure enough, the greatwhite-covered wagons came slowly down the road, and Major Waldron onPrince, his black horse, riding in advance. 

He quickened his pace when he caught sight of the children; for he wasvery fond of his little daughters, and had been away from them twoweeks, trading in New Orleans. He rode up now to the fence, and liftingTot to the saddle before him, took her in his arms and kissed her. 

Diddie and Dumps scrambled down from the gate-posts and ran along by theside of Prince to the house, where their mamma was waiting on the porch. And oh! such a joyful meeting! such hugging and kissing all around!

Then the wagons came up, and the strong negro men began taking out theboxes and bundles and carrying them to the store-room. 

"Hand me out that covered basket, Nelson, " said Major Waldron to one ofthe men; and, taking it carefully to the house, he untied the cover, andthere lay two little _white woolly puppies_--one for Diddie, and one forDumps. 

The little girls clapped their hands and danced with delight. 

"Ain't they lovely?" said Dumps, squeezing hers in her arms. 

"Lubly, " echoed Tot, burying her chubby little hands in the puppy'swool, while Diddie cuddled hers in her arms as tenderly as if it hadbeen a baby. 

Mammy made a bed for the doggies in a box in one corner of the nursery, and the children were so excited and so happy that she could hardly getthem to bed at all; but after a while Tot's blue eyes began to droop, and she fell asleep in Mammy's arms, murmuring, "De booful itty doggie. "

"De booful itty doggies, " however, did not behave very well; they criedand howled, and Dumps insisted on taking hers up and rocking him tosleep. 

"Hit's er gittin' so late, honey, " urged Mammy, "let 'um stay in de box, an' go ter bed now, like good chil'en. "

"I know I ain't, Mammy, " replied Dumps. "You mus' think I ain't got nofeelin's ter go ter bed an' leave 'im hollerin'. I'm er goin' ter rock'im ter sleep in my little rockin'-cheer, an' you needn't be er fussin'at me nuther. "

"I ain't er fussin' at yer, chile; I'm jes' visin' uv yer fur yer good;caze hit's yer bedtime, an' dem puppies will likely holler all night. "

"Then we will sit up all night, " said Diddie, in her determined way. "I'm like Dumps; I'm not going to bed an' leave 'im cryin'. "

So Mammy drew her shawl over her head and lay back in her chair for anap, while Diddie and Dumps took the little dogs in their arms and satbefore the fire rocking; and Chris and Dilsey and Riar all squatted onthe floor around the fender, very much interested in the process ofgetting the puppies quiet. 

Presently Dumps began to sing:

"Ef'n 'ligion was er thing that money could buy, O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign;De rich would live, an' de po' would die, O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign. 

 _Chorus. _

 O reign, reign, reign, er my Lord, O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign: O reign, reign, reign, er my Lord, O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign. 

But de Lord he 'lowed he wouldn't have it so, O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign;So de rich mus' die jes' same as de po', O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign. "

This was one of the plantation hymns with which Mammy often used tosing Tot to sleep, and all the children were familiar with the words andair; so now they all joined in the singing, and very sweet music it was. They had sung it through several times, and the puppies, findingthemselves so outdone in the matter of noise, had curled up in thechildren's laps and were fast asleep, when Diddie interrupted the chorusto ask:

"Dumps, what are you goin' ter name your doggie?"

"I b'lieve I'll name 'im 'Papa, '" replied Dumps, "because he give 'imter me. "

"'Papa, ' indeed!" said Diddie, contemptuously; "that's no name for adog; I'm goin' ter name mine after some great big somebody. "

"Lord-ee! I tell yer, Miss Diddie; name 'im Marse Samson, atter de manw'at Mammy wuz tellin' 'bout totin' off de gates, " said Dilsey. 

"No yer don't, Miss Diddie; don't yer name 'im no sich, " said Chris;"le's name im' Marse Whale, w'at swallered de man an' nuber chawed 'im. "

"No, I sha'n't name him nothin' out'n the Bible, " said Diddie, "becausethat's wicked, and maybe God wouldn't let him live, just for that; Ib'lieve I'll name him Christopher Columbus, 'cause if he hadn'tdiscovered America there wouldn't er been no people hyear, an' Iwouldn't er had no father nor mother, nor dog, nor nothin': an', Dumps, sposin' you name yours Pocahontas, that was er _beau-ti-ful_ Injungirl, an' she throwed her arms 'roun' Mr. Smith an' never let thetomahawks kill 'im. "

"I know I ain't goin' to name mine no Injun, " said Dumps, decidedly. 

"Yer right, Miss Dumps; now yer's er talkin', " said Riar; "I wouldn'tname 'im no Injun; have 'im tearin' folks' hyar off, like Miss Diddiereads in de book. I don't want ter hab nuffin 'tall ter do wid noInjuns; no, sar! I don't like dem folks. "

"Now, chil'en, de dogs is 'sleep, " said Mammy, yawning and rubbing hereyes; "go ter bed, won't yer?"

And the little girls, after laying the puppies in the box and coveringthem with an old shawl, were soon fast asleep. But there was not muchsleep in the nursery that night; the ungrateful little dogs howled andcried all night. Mammy got up three times and gave them warm milk, andtucked them up in the shawl; but no sooner would she put them back inthe box than they would begin to cry and howl. And so at thebreakfast-table next morning, when Dumps asked her papa to tell hersomething to name her puppy, Diddie gravely remarked, "I think, Dumps, we had better name 'um Cherubim an' Seraphim, for theycontinually do cry. "

And her papa was so amused at the idea that he said he thought so too;and thus the puzzling question of the names was decided, and the littlewoolly poodles were called Cherubim and Seraphim, and became great petsin the household. 

CHAPTER II. 

CHRISTMAS ON THE OLD PLANTATION. 

Christmas morning, 1853, dawned cold and rainy, and scarcely had thefirst gray streak appeared when the bolt of the nursery was quietlyturned, and Dilsey's little black head peered in through the half-opendoor. 

"Chris'mus gif', chil'en!" she called out, and in a twinkling Diddie, Dumps, and Tot were all wide awake, and climbing over the side of thebed. Then the three little sisters and Dilsey tip-toed all around toeverybody's rooms, catching "Chris'mus gif';" but just as they werecreeping down stairs to papa and mamma two little forms jumped frombehind the hall door, and Riar and Chris called out, "Chris'mus gif'!"and laughed and danced to think they had "cotch de white chil'en. "

As soon as everybody had been caught they all went into the sitting-roomto see what Santa Claus had brought, and there were eight stockings allstuffed full! Three long, white stockings, that looked as if they mightbe mamma's, were for the little girls, and three coarse woollenstockings were for the little nigs; and now whom do you suppose theothers were for? Why, for Mammy and Aunt Milly, to be sure! Oh, suchlots of things--candies and nuts, and raisins and fruits in everystocking; then there was a doll baby for each of the children. Diddie'swas a big china doll, with kid feet and hands, and dressed in a redfrock trimmed with black velvet. Dumps's was a wax baby with eyes thatwould open and shut; and it had on a long white dress, just like asure-enough baby, and a little yellow sack, all worked around withwhite. 

Tot was so little, and treated her dollies so badly, that "Old Santa"had brought her an India-rubber baby, dressed in pink tarlatan, with awhite sash. 

Dilsey, Chris, and Riar each had an alabaster baby, dressed in whiteSwiss, and they were all just alike, except that they had differentcolored sashes on. 

And Diddie had a book full of beautiful stories, and Dumps had a slateand pencil, and Tot had a "Noah's ark, " and Mammy and Aunt Milly had redand yellow head "handkerchiefs, " and Mammy had a new pair of "specs" anda nice warm hood, and Aunt Milly had a delaine dress; and 'way down inthe toes of their stockings they each found a five-dollar gold piece, for Old Santa had seen how patient and good the two dear old women wereto the children, and so he had "thrown in" these gold pieces. 

How the little folks laughed and chatted as they pulled the things outof their stockings! But pretty soon Mammy made them put them all away, to get ready for breakfast. 

After breakfast the big plantation bell was rung, and the negroes allcame up to the house. And then a great box that had been in thestore-room ever since the wagons got back from the river, three weeksbefore, was brought in and opened, and Mrs. Waldron took from it dressesand hats, and bonnets and coats, and vests and all sorts of things, until every pair of black hands had received a present, and every pairof thick lips exclaimed, "Thankee, mistis! thankee, honey; an' God bless yer!"

And then Chris, who had been looking anxiously every moment or twotowards the quarters, cried out, "Yon' dey is! I see um! Yon' dey come!"

And down the long avenue appeared the funniest sort of a procession. First came Aunt Nancy, the "tender, " with her head handkerchief tied ina sharp point that stuck straight up from her head; and behind her, twoand two, came the little quarter negroes, dressed in their brightest andnewest clothes. All were there--from the boys and girls of fourteen downto the little wee toddlers of two or three, and some even younger thanthat; for in the arms of several of the larger girls were little bits ofblack babies, looking all around in their queer kind of way, andwondering what all this was about. 

The procession drew up in front of the house, and Diddie, Dumps, andTot went from one end of it to the other distributing candies andapples, and oranges and toys; and how the bright faces did light up withjoy as the little darkies laughed and chuckled, and I dare say wouldhave jumped up and clapped their hands but for Aunt Nancy, who waskeeping a sharp eye upon them, and who would say, as every present wasdelivered, "Min' yer manners, now!"

At which the little nigs would make a comical little "bob-down" courtesyand say, "Thankee, marm. "

When the presents were all delivered, Major Waldron told the negroesthat their mistress and himself were going to the quarters to takepresents to the old negroes and the sick, who could not walk to thehouse, and that after that he would have service in the chapel, and thathe hoped as many as could would attend. 

Then the crowd dispersed, and the children's mamma filled a basket with"good things, " and presents for old Aunt Sally, who was almost blind;and poor Jane, who had been sick a long time; and Daddy Jake, the oldestnegro on the place, who never ventured out in bad weather for fear ofthe "rheumatiz;" and then, accompanied by her husband and children, shecarried it to the quarters to wish the old negroes a happy Christmas. 

The quarters presented a scene of the greatest excitement. Men andwomen were bustling about, in and out of the cabins, and the young folkswere busily engaged cleaning up the big barn and dressing it with boughsof holly and cedar; for you see Aunt Sukey's Jim was going to be marriedthat very night, and the event had been talked of for weeks, for he wasa great favorite on the place. 

He was a tall, handsome black fellow, with white teeth and bright eyes, and he could play the fiddle and pick the banjo, and knock the bones andcut the pigeon-wing, and, besides all that, he was the best hoe-hand, and could pick more cotton than any other negro on the plantation. Hehad amused himself by courting and flirting with all of the negro girls;but at last he had been caught himself by pretty Candace, one of thehouse-maids, and a merry dance she had led him. 

She had kept poor Jim six long months on the rack. First she'd say she'dmarry him, and then she'd say she wouldn't (not that she ever really_meant_ that she wouldn't), for she just wanted to torment him; and shesucceeded so well that Jim became utterly wretched, and went to hismaster to know "ef'n he couldn't make dat yaller gal 'have herse'f. "

But his master assured him it was a matter that he had nothing on earthto do with, and even told Jim that it was but fair that he, who hadenjoyed flirting so long, should now be flirted with. 

However, one evening his mistress came upon the poor fellow sitting onthe creek bank looking very disconsolate, and overheard him talking tohimself. 

"Yes, sar!" he was saying, as if arguing with somebody. "Yes, sar, byrights dat nigger gal oughter be beat mos' ter deff, she clean bodder delife out'n me, an' marster, he jes' oughter kill dat nigger. I dunnow'at makes me kyar so much er bout'n her no way; dar's plenty erlikelier gals 'n her, an' I jes' b'lieve dat's er trick nigger; anyhowshe's tricked me, sho's yer born; an' ef'n I didn't b'long ter nobody, I'd jump right inter dis creek an' drown myse'f. But I ain't got noright ter be killin' up marster's niggers dat way; I'm wuff er thousan'dollars, an' marster ain't got no thousan' dollars ter was'e in discreek, long er dat lazy, shif'less, good-fur-nuffin' yaller nigger. "

The poor fellow's dejected countenance and evident distress enlisted thesympathy of his mistress, and thinking that any negro who took such goodcare of his master's property would make a good husband, she sought aninterview with Candace, and so pleaded with her in behalf of poor Jimthat the dusky coquette relented, and went down herself to Aunt Sukey'scabin to tell her lover that she did love him all along, and was "jis'er projeckin' wid 'im, " and that she would surely marry himChristmas-night. 

Their master had had a new cabin built for them, and their mistress hadfurnished it neatly for the young folks to begin housekeeping, and inmamma's wardrobe was a white dress and a veil and wreath that were to bethe bride's Christmas gifts. They were to be married in the parlor atthe house, and dance afterwards in the barn, and the wedding supper wasto be set in the laundry. 

So you see it was a busy day, with so much of cake-baking and icing andtrimming to be done; and then the girls had to see about their dressesfor the evening, and the young men had their shoes to black, and theirbest clothes to brush, and their hair to unwrap; but, notwithstandingall this, when Major Waldron and his family entered the chapel theyfound a large congregation assembled; indeed, all were there except thesick; and master and slaves, the white children and black, united theirhearts and voices to

"Laud and magnify His holy name, "

and to return thanks to God for his great Christmas gift of a Saviour tothe world. 

As they were leaving the chapel after service, Dumps drew close to hermother and whispered, "Mamma, bein' as this is Chris'mas, an' it's rainin', can't we have someof the little quarter niggers to go to the house and play Injuns withus?"

Mamma was about to refuse, for the little girls were not allowed to playwith the quarter children; but Dumps looked very wistful, and, besides, Mammy would be with them in the nursery, so she consented, and each ofthe children were told that they might select one of the little negroesto play with them. 

Diddie took a little mulatto girl named Agnes. Dumps had so manyfavorites that it was hard for her to decide; but finally she selectedFrances, a lively little darky, who could dance and pat and sing andshout, and do lots of funny things. 

Tot took Polly, a big girl of fourteen, who could, and sometimes did, take the little one on her back and trot around with her. She lifted hernow to her shoulders, and, throwing her head up and snorting like ahorse, started off in a canter to the house; while Diddie and Dumps, andChris and Riar, and Agnes and Frances followed on behind, all barkinglike dogs, and making believe that Tot was going hunting and they werethe hounds. 

"See, Mammy, here's Agnes and Polly and Frances, " said Diddie, as theyentered the nursery; "mamma let us have them, and they are to stay herea long time and play Injuns with us. "

"Now, Miss Diddie, honey, " said Mammy, "Injuns is sich a sackremenchusplay, an' makes so much litter and fuss; git yer dolls, an' play like erlittle lady. "

"No, no, no, " interrupted Dumps; "we're goin' ter play Injuns! We'regoin' ter make out we're travellin' in the big rockin'-cheer, goin' terNew Orleans, an' the little niggers is got ter be Injuns, hid all behin'the trunks an' beds an' door; an' after we rock an' rock er _lo-o-ong_time, then we're goin' ter make out it's night, an' stretch mamma's bigshawl over two cheers an' make er tent, and be cookin' supper in ourlittle pots an' kittles, an' the little niggers is got ter holler, 'Who-ee, who-eee, ' an' jump out on us, an' cut off our heads with erbillycrow. "

"How silly you do talk, Dumps!" said Diddie: "there ain't any Injunsbetween here and New Orleans; we've got ter be goin' ter California, afar ways f'um here. An' I don't b'lieve there's nothin' in this worldnamed er '_billycrow_;' it's er tommyhawk you're thinkin' about: an'Injuns don't cut off people's heads; it was Henry the Eighth. Injunsjes' cut off the hair and call it sculpin', don't they, Mammy?"

"Lor', chile, " replied Mammy, "I dunno, honey; I allers hyeard datInjuns wuz monstrous onstreperous, an' I wouldn't play no sich er game. "

But "Injuns, Injuns, Injuns!" persisted all the little folks, and Mammyhad to yield. 

The big chair was put in the middle of the room, and the little girlsgot in. Chris sat up on the arms to be the driver, and they started offfor California. After travelling some time night set in, and theemigrants got out, and pitched a tent and made preparations for cookingsupper: little bits of paper were torn up and put into the miniaturepots and kettles, and the children were busy stirring them round with astick for a spoon, when the terrible war-whoop rang in their ears, andfrom under the bed and behind the furniture jumped out the five littlenegroes. 

The travellers ran in every direction, and the Injuns after them. Diddiehid in the wardrobe, and Mammy covered Tot up in the middle of the bed;Chris turned the chip-box over and tried to get under it, but the fiercesavages dragged her out, and she was soon tied hand and foot; Dumpsjumped into the clothes-basket, and Aunt Milly threw a blanket over her, but Frances had such keen little eyes that she soon spied her andcaptured her at once. 

Then a wild yell was sounded, and Polly and Dilsey pounced upon Tot, whohad become tired of lying still, and was wriggling about so that she hadbeen discovered; and now all the travellers were captured except Diddie. The Injuns looked everywhere for her in vain. 

"She mus' er gone up fru de chimbly, like Marse Santion Claws, " saidAgnes; and Diddie thought that was so funny that she giggled outright, and in a moment the wardrobe was opened and she was also taken prisoner. Then the four little captives were laid on their backs, and Pollyscalped them with a clothes-brush for a tomahawk. 

As soon as they were all scalped they started over again, and kept upthe fun until the big plantation bell sounded, and then the Injunsdeserted in a body and ran off pell-mell to the quarters; for that bellwas for the Christmas dinner, and they wouldn't miss that for all thescalps that ever were taken. 

[Illustration: PLAYING "INJUNS. "]

There were three long tables, supplied with good, well-cooked food, followed by a nice dessert of pudding and cake, and the darkies, one andall, did full justice to it. 

Up at the house was a grand dinner, with turkey, mince-pie, andplum-pudding, of course. 

When that was through with, mamma told the little girls that the littlequarter negroes were to have a candy stew, and that Mammy might takethem to witness the pulling. This was a great treat, for there wasnothing the children enjoyed so much as going to the quarters to see thelittle negroes play. 

The candy stew had been suggested by Aunt Nancy as a fine device forgetting rid of the little darkies for the night. They were to have thefrolic only on condition that they would go to bed and not insist onbeing at the wedding. This they readily agreed to; for they feared theywould not be allowed to sit up any way, and they thought best to makesure of the candy-pulling. 

When the little girls reached Aunt Nancy's cabin, two big kettles ofmolasses were on the fire, and, to judge by the sputtering andsimmering, the candy was getting on famously. Uncle Sambo had broughthis fiddle in, and some of the children were patting and singing anddancing, while others were shelling goobers and picking out scaly-barksto put in the candy; and when the pulling began, if you could have heardthe laughing and joking you would have thought there was no fun like acandy stew. 

As a special favor, the little girls were allowed to stay up and seeCandace married; and very nice she looked when her mistress had finisheddressing her: her white Swiss was fresh and new, and the wreath and veilwere very becoming, and she made quite a pretty bride; at least Jimthought so, and that was enough for her. 

Jim was dressed in a new pepper-and-salt suit, his Christmas presentfrom his master, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen all looked very fine. Mamma arranged the bridal party in the back parlor, and thefolding-doors were thrown open. Both rooms and the large hall were fullof negroes. The ceremony was performed by old Uncle Daniel, the negropreacher on the place, and the children's father gave the bride away. 

After the marriage, the darkies adjourned to the barn to dance. Diddieand Dumps begged to be allowed to go and look at them "just a littlewhile, " but it was their bedtime, and Mammy marched them off to thenursery. 

About twelve o'clock supper was announced, and old and young repaired tothe laundry. The room was festooned with wreaths of holly and cedar, andvery bright and pretty and tempting the table looked, spread out withmeats and breads, and pickles and preserves, and home-made wine, andcakes of all sorts and sizes, iced and plain; large bowls of custard andjelly; and candies, and fruits and nuts. 

In the centre of the table was a pyramid, beginning with a large cake atthe bottom and ending with a "snowball" on top. 

At the head of the table was the bride-cake, containing the "ring" andthe "dime;" it was handsomely iced, and had a candy Cupid perched overit, on a holly bough which was stuck in a hole in the middle of thecake. It was to be cut after a while by each of the bridesmaids andgroomsmen in turns; and whoever should cut the slice containing the ringwould be the next one to get married; but whoever should get the dimewas to be an old maid or an old bachelor. 

The supper was enjoyed hugely, particularly a big bowl of eggnog, whichso enlivened them all that the dancing was entered into with renewedvigor, and kept up till the gray tints in the east warned them thatanother day had dawned, and that Christmas was over. 

But you may be sure that in all Christendom it had been welcomed in andushered out by no merrier, lighter hearts than those of the happy, contented folks on the old plantation. 

CHAPTER III. 

MAMMY'S STORY. 

One cold, rainy night a little group were assembled around a cracklingwood fire in the nursery; Mammy was seated in a low chair, with Tot inher arms; Dumps was rocking her doll back and forth, and Diddie wassitting at the table reading; Aunt Milly was knitting, and the threelittle darkies were nodding by the fire. 

"Mammy, " said Dumps, "s'posin' you tell us a tale. " Tot warmly secondedthe motion, and Mammy, who was never more delighted than whenastonishing the children with her wonderful stories, at once assumed ameditative air. "Lem me see, " said the old woman, scratching her head;"I reckon I'll tell yer 'bout de wushin'-stone, ain't neber told yer datyit. I know yer've maybe hearn on it, leastways Milly has; but den shemayn't have hearn de straight on it, fur 'taint eb'y nigger knows it. Yer see, Milly, my mammy was er 'riginal Guinea nigger, an' she knowed'bout de wushin'-stone herse'f, an' she told me one Wednesday night onde full er de moon, an' w'at I'm gwine ter tell yer is de truff. "

Having thus authenticated her story beyond a doubt, Mammy hugged Tot alittle closer and began:

"Once 'pon er time dar wuz a beautiful gyarden wid all kind er niceblossoms, an' trees, an' brooks, an' things, whar all de little chil'enusen ter go and play, an' in dis gyarden de grass wuz allers green, deblossoms allers bright, and de streams allers clar, caze hit b'longed toer little Fraid, named Cheery. "

"A 'little Fraid, '" interrupted Diddie, contemptuously. "Why, Mammy, there's no such a thing as a 'Fraid. '"

"Lord, Miss Diddie, 'deed dey is, " said Dilsey, with her round eyesstretched to their utmost; "I done seed 'em myse'f, an' our Club-footBill he was er gwine 'long one time--"

"Look er hyear, yer kinky-head nigger, whar's yer manners?" asked Mammy, "'ruptin uv eld'ly pussons. "I'm de one w'at's 'struck'n dese chil'en, done strucked dey mother fuss; I'll tell 'em w'at's becomin' fur 'em terknow; I don't want 'em ter hyear nuf'n 'bout sich low cornfiel' niggersez Club-foot Bill. 

"Yes, Miss Diddie, honey, " said Mammy, resuming her story, "dar sholy isFraids; Mammy ain't gwine tell yer nuf'n', honey, w'at she dun know furer fack; so as I wuz er sayin', dis little Fraid wuz name Cheery, an'she'd go all 'roun' eb'y mornin' an' tech up de grass an' blossoms an'keep 'em fresh, fur she loved ter see chil'en happy, an' w'en deyrolled ober on de grass, an' strung de blossoms, an' waded up an' downde streams, an' peeped roun' de trees, Cheery'd clap 'er han's an'laugh, an' dance roun' an' roun'; an' sometimes dar'd be little po'white chil'en, an' little misfortnit niggers would go dar; an' w'enshe'd see de bright look in dey tired eyes, she'd fix things prettier 'neber. 

"Now dar wuz er nudder little Fraid name Dreary; an' she wuz sad an'gloomy, an' nebber dance, nor play, nor nuf'n; but would jes go offpoutin' like to herse'f. Well, one day she seed er big flat stone undera tree. She said ter herse'f, 'I ain't gwine ter be like dat foolishCheery, dancin' an' laughin' foreber, caze she thinks sich things ezflowers an' grass kin make folks happy; but I'm gwine ter do er raelgood ter eb'ybody;' so she laid er spell on de stone, so dat w'enanybody sot on de stone an' wush anything dey'd hab jes w'at dey wushfur; an' so as ter let er heap er folks wush at once, she made it so dateb'y wush would make de stone twice ez big ez 'twuz befo'. 

"Po' little Cheery was mighty troubled in her min' w'en she foun' outbout'n hit, an' she beg Dreary ter tuck de spell off; but no, shewouldn't do it. She 'lowed, do, ef anybody should eber wush anything furanybody else, dat den de stone might shrink up ergin; fur who, she sezter herse'f, is gwine ter wush fur things fur tudder folks? An' she tol'de little birds dat stay in de tree de stone wuz under, when anybodysot on de stone dey mus' sing, ' I wush I had, ' an' 'I wush I wuz, ' so aster min 'em bout'n de wushin'-stone. Well, 'twan't long fo' de gyardenwuz plum crowded wid folks come ter wush on de stone, an' hit wuz ergrowin' bigger an' bigger all de time, an' mashin' de blossoms an'grass; an' dar wan't no mo' merry chil'en playin' 'mong de trees an'wadin' in de streams; no soun's ob laughin' and joy in de gyarden;eb'ybody wuz er quarlin' bout'n who should hab de nex' place, or wuztryin' ter study up what dey'd wush fur; an' Cheery wuz jes ez mizer'bulas er free nigger, 'bout her gyarden. 

"De folks would set on de stone, while de little birds would sing, ' Iwush I had;' an' dey'd wush dey had money, an' fren's, an' sense, an'happiness, an' 'ligion; an' 'twould all come true jes like dey wush fur. Den de little birds would sing, ' I wush I wuz;' an' dey'd wush dey wuzlubly, an' good, an' gran'; un' 'twould all come ter pass jes so. 

"But all dat time nobody neber wush nobody else was rich, an' good, an'lubly, an' happy; fur don't yer see de birds neber sung, ' I wush _you_wuz, ' 'I wush _dey_ had;' but all de time 'I wush _I_ wuz, ' 'I wush _I_had. ' At last, one day dar come inter de gyarden er po' little cripplegal, who lived 'way off in er ole tumble-down house. She wuz er littlepo' white chile, an' she didn't hab no farder nor mudder, nor niggerster do fur her, an' she had to do all her own wuck herse'f. "

"Bress de Lord!" ejaculated Aunt Milly, who was becoming very muchinterested in the story, while tears gathered in Dumps's blue eyes; andeven Diddie was seen to wink a little at the forlorn condition of "depo' white chile. "

"Yes, indeed, " continued Mammy, "she done all her own wuk herse'f, an'nobody ter say er blessed word ter her, nor he'p her a bit; an' sheneber eben hyeard ob de wushin'-stone, but had jes come out fur erlittle while ter enjoy de birds, an' de fresh air, an' flowers, same asde quality folks; fur she was mos' all de time sick, an' dis wuz jes desame as Christmus ter her. She hobbled erlong on her crutchers, an'atter while she got ter de stone; an' hit so happened dar wan't nobodydar, so she sot down ter res'. Well, mun, she hadn't mo'n totch de stonewhen de little birds began, 'I wush I had, ' 'I wush I wuz. '

"'Oh, what er sweet, pretty place!' de little gal said; an' what nicelittle birds! I wush dat po' ole sick man what libs next ter us couldcome out here and see it all. '

"'I wush I had, ' 'I wush I wuz, ' sung de little birds. 'I wush all depo' chil'en could come an' spen' de day here, ' said de little gal; 'whater nice time dey would hab!'

"'I wush I wuz, ' 'I wush I had, ' sung de birds in er flutter, hoppin'all 'bout 'mong de branches. 

"'An' all de lame people, an' sick people, an' ole people, ' said delittle gal, 'I wush dey could all git well, an strong, an' lib in erbeautiful place jes like dis, an' all be happy. '

"Oh, de little birds! what er bustle dey wuz in, to be sho'! Dey sotupon de bery topes' branches, an' dey sung like dey d split dey troats, "'I wush _I_ had, ' 'I wush _I_ wuz. '

"But de little gal neber min' 'em. She was rested, an hobbled on all byherse'f, but now, sence she done wush fur blessin's fur tudder folks, despell was loosen', an' de stone all drawed up ter a little bit er stone, den sunk away in de groun' clar out o' sight. An' dat wuz de last ob dewushin'-stone. "

"Dar now!" exclaimed Aunt Milly. 

"De truff, sho'! jes like I ben tellin' yer, " said Mammy. 

"But, Mammy, what about the little girl? did she ever get well an'strong, an' not be lame any more?" asked Dumps. 

"Well, honey, yer see de Lord, he fixes all dat. He son't fur her onenight, an' she jes smiled, bright an' happy like, an' laid right back inde angel's arms; an' he tuck her right along up thu de hebenly gates, an' soon as eber he sot her down, an' her foot totch dem golden streets, de lameness, an' sickness, an' po'ness all come right; an' her fader, an' her mudder, an' her niggers wuz all dar, an' she wuz well an'strong, an' good an' happy. Jes' like she wush fur de po' folks, an' desick folks, de Lord he fixed it jes dat way fur her. He fixed all dathisse'f. "

CHAPTER IV. 

OLD BILLY. 

The gin-house on the plantation was some distance from the house, and inan opposite direction from the quarters. It was out in an open field, but a narrow strip of woods lay between the field and the house, so thegin-house was completely hidden. 

Just back of the gin-house was a pile of lumber that Major Waldron hadhad hauled to build a new pick-room, and which was piled so as to formlittle squares, large enough to hold three of the children at once. During the last ginning season they had gone down once with Mammy to"ride on the gin, " but had soon abandoned that amusement to playhousekeeping on the lumber, and have the little squares for rooms. Theyhad often since thought of that evening, and had repeatedly begged Mammyto let them go down to the lumber pile; but she was afraid they wouldtear their clothes, or hurt themselves in some way, and would neverconsent. 

So one day in the early spring, when Mammy and Aunt Milly were having agreat cleaning-up in the nursery and the children had been sent intothe yard to play, Chris suggested that they should all slip off, and goand play on the lumber pile. 

"Oh yes, " said Dumps, "that will be the very thing, an' Mammy won'tnever know it, 'cause we'll be sho' ter come back befo' snack-time. "

"But something might happen to us, you know, " said Diddie, "like the boyin my blue book, who went off fishin' when his mother told him not to, an' the boat upsetted and drownded him. "

"Tain't no boat there, " urged Dumps; "tain't no water even, an' I don'tb'lieve we'd be drownded; an' tain't no bears roun' this place like themthat eat up the bad little chil'en in the Bible; and tain't no Injuns inthis country, an' tain't no snakes nor lizards till summer-time, an' allthe cows is out in the pasture; an' tain't no ghos'es in the daytime, an' I don't b'lieve there's nothin' ter happen to us; an' ef there wuz, I reckon God kin take care of us, can't he?"

"He won't do it, though, ef we don't mind our mother, " replied Diddie. 

"Mammy ain't none of our mother, and tain't none of her business not tobe lettin' us play on the lumber, neither. Please come, Diddie, we'llhave such a fun, an' nothin' can't hurt us. If you'll come, we'll letyou keep the hotel, an' me an' Tot'll be the boarders. "

The idea of keeping the hotel was too much for Diddie's scruples, andshe readily agreed to the plan. Dilsey was then despatched to thenursery to bring the dolls, and Chris ran off to the wood-pile to getthe wheelbarrow, which was to be the omnibus for carrying passengers toand from the hotel. 

These details being satisfactorily arranged, the next thing was to slipoff from Cherubim and Seraphim, for they followed the little girlseverywhere, and they would be too much trouble on this occasion, sincethey couldn't climb up on the pile themselves, and would whine piteouslyif the children left them. 

The plan finally decided upon was this: Diddie was to coax them to thekitchen to get some meat, while the other children were to go as fast asthey could down the avenue and wait for her where the road turned, andshe was to slip off while the puppies were eating, and join them. 

They had only waited a few minutes when Diddie came running down theroad, and behind her (unknown to her) came Old Billy. 

"Oh, what made you bring him?" asked Dumps, as Diddie came up. 

"I didn't know he was comin', " replied Diddie, "but he won't hurt: he'lljust eat grass all about, and we needn't notice him. "

"Yes, he will hurt, " said Dumps; "he behaves jus' dreadful, an' I don'twant ter go, neither, ef he's got ter be er comin'. "

"Well--I know he _shall_ come, " retorted Diddie. "You jes don't like him'cause he's gettin' old. I'd be ashamed to turn against my friends likethat. When he was little and white, you always wanted to be er playin'with him; an' now, jes 'cause he ain't pretty, you don't want him tocome anywhere, nor have no fun nor nothin'; yes--he _shall_ come; an' efthat's the way you're goin' to do, I'm goin' right back to the house, an' tell Mammy you've all slipped off, an' she'll come right after you, an' then you won't get to play on the lumber. "

Diddie having taken this decided stand, there was nothing for it but tolet Old Billy be of the party; and peace being thus restored, thechildren continued their way, and were soon on the lumber-pile. Diddieat once opened her hotel. Chris was the chambermaid, Riar was thewaiter, and Dilsey was the man to take the omnibus down for thepassengers. Dumps and Tot, who were to be the boarders, withdrew to thegin-house steps, which was to be the depot, to await the arrival of theomnibus. 

"I want ter go to the hotel, " said Dumps, as Dilsey came up rolling thewheelbarrow--"me an' my three little chil'en. "

"Yes, marm, jes git in, " said Dilsey, and Dumps, with her wax baby anda rag doll for her little daughters, and a large cotton-stalk for herlittle boy, took a seat in the omnibus. Dilsey wheeled her up to thehotel, and Diddie met her at the door. 

"What is your name, madam?" she inquired. 

"My name is Mrs. Dumps, " replied the guest, "an' this is my little boy, an' these is my little girls. "

"Oh, Dumps, you play so cur'us, " said Diddie; "who ever heard of anybodybein' named Mrs. Dumps? there ain't no name like that. "

"Well, I don't know nothin' else, " said Dumps; "I couldn't think ofnothin'. "

"Sposin' you be named Mrs. Washington, after General Washington?" saidDiddie, who was now studying a child's history of America, and was verymuch interested in it. 

"All right, " said Dumps; and Mrs. Washington, with her son anddaughters, was assigned apartments, and Chris was sent up withrefreshments, composed of pieces of old cotton-bolls and gray moss, served on bits of broken china. 

The omnibus now returned with Tot and her family, consisting of anIndia-rubber baby with a very cracked face, and a rag body that had oncesported a china head, and now had no head of any kind; but it was nicelydressed, and there were red shoes on the feet, and it answered Tot'spurpose very well. 

"Dese my 'itty dirls, " said Tot, as Diddie received her, "an' I tome inde bumberbuss. "

"What is your name?" asked Diddie. 

"I name--I name--I name--Miss Ginhouse, " said Tot, who had evidentlynever thought of a name, and had suddenly decided upon gin-house, as hereye fell upon that object. 

"No, no, Tot, that's a _thing_; that ain't no name for folks, " saidDiddie. "Let's play you're Mrs. Bunker Hill, that's a nice name. "

"Yes, I name Miss Unker Bill, " said the gentle little girl, who rarelyobjected to playing just as the others wished. Miss "Unker Bill" wasshown to her room; and now Riar came out, shaking her hand up and down, and saying, "Ting-er-ling--ting-er-ling--ting-er-ling!" That was thedinner-bell, and they all assembled around a table that Riar hadimprovised out of a piece of plank supported on two bricks, and whichwas temptingly set out with mud pies and cakes and green leaves, andjust such delicacies as Riar and Diddie could pick up. 

As soon as Mrs. Washington laid eyes on the mud cakes and pies, sheexclaimed, "Oh, Diddie, I'm er goin' ter be the cook, an' make the pies an'things. "

"I doin' ter be de took an' make de itty mud takes, " said Miss UnkerBill, and the table at once became a scene of confusion. 

"No, Dumps, " said Diddie, "somebody's got to be stoppin' at the hotel, an' I think the niggers ought to be the cooks. "

"But I want ter make the mud cakes, " persisted Dumps, an' Tot can be thefolks at the hotel--she and the doll-babies. "

"No, I doin' ter make de mud takes, too, " said Tot, and the hotel seemedin imminent danger of being closed for want of custom, when a happythought struck Dilsey. 

"Lor-dy, chil'en! I tell yer: le's play Ole Billy is er gemman what writter Miss Diddie in er letter dat he was er comin' ter de hotel, an' tergit ready fur 'im gins he come. "

"Yes, " said Diddie, "and lets play Dumps an' Tot was two mo' niggers Ihad ter bring up from the quarters to help cook; an' we'll make out OleBilly is some great general or somethin', an' we'll have ter make lotsof cakes an' puddin's for 'im. Oh, I know; we'll play he's LordBurgoyne. "

All of the little folks were pleased at that idea, and Diddieimmediately began to issue her orders. 

"You, Dumps, an' Tot an' Dilsey, an' all of yer--I've got er letter fromLord Burgoyne, an' he'll be here to-morrow, an' I want you all to goright into the kitchen an' make pies an' cakes. " And so the whole partyadjourned to a little ditch where mud and water were plentiful (andwhich on that account had been selected as the kitchen), and began atonce to prepare an elegant dinner. 

Dear me! how busy the little housekeepers were! and such beautiful piesthey made, and lovely cakes all iced with white sand, and bits of grasslaid around the edges for trimming! and all the time laughing andchatting as gayly as could be. 

"Ain't we havin' fun?" said Dumps, who, regardless of her nice clothes, was down on her knees in the ditch, with her sleeves rolled up, and herfat little arms muddy to the elbows; "an' ain't you glad we slipped off, Diddie? I tol' yer there wan't nothin' goin' to hurt us. "

"And ain't you glad we let Billy come?" said Diddie; "we wouldn't er hadnobody to be Lord Burgoyne. "

"Yes, " replied Dumps; "an' he ain't behaved bad at all; he ain't buttednobody, an' he ain't runned after nobody to-day. "

"'Ook at de take, " interrupted Tot, holding up a mudball that she hadmoulded with her own little hands, and which she regarded with greatpride. 

And now, the plank being as full as it would hold, they all returned tothe hotel to arrange the table. But after the table was set theexcitement was all over, for there was nobody to be the guest. 

"Ef Ole Billy wan't so mean, " said Chris, "we could fotch 'im hyear inde omnibus. I wush we'd a let Chubbum an' Suppum come; dey'd er beenLord Bugon. "

"I b'lieve Billy would let us haul 'im, " said Diddie, who was alwaysready to take up for her pet; "he's rael gentle now, an' he's quitbuttin'; the only thing is, he's so big we couldn't get 'im in thewheelbarrer. "

"Me 'n Chris kin put 'im in, " said Dilsey. "We kin lif 'im, ef dat'sall;" and accordingly the omnibus was dispatched for Lord Burgoyne, whowas quietly nibbling grass on the ditch bank at some little distancefrom the hotel. 

He raised his head as the children approached, and regarded themattentively. "Billy! Billy! po' Ole Billy!" soothingly murmured Diddie, who had accompanied Dilsey and Chris with the omnibus, as she had moreinfluence over Old Billy than anybody else. He came now at once to herside, and rubbed his head gently against her; and while she caressedhim, Dilsey on one side and Chris on the other lifted him up to put himon the wheelbarrow. 

And now the scene changed. Lord Burgoyne, all unmindful of love orgratitude, and with an eye single to avenging this insult to hisdignity, struggled from the arms of his captors, and, planting his headfull in Diddie's chest, turned her a somersault in the mud. Then, lowering his head and rushing at Chris, he butted her with such forcethat over she went headforemost into the ditch! and now, spying Dilsey, who was running with all her might to gain the lumber-pile, he tookafter her, and catching up with her just as she reached the gin-house, placed his head in the middle of her back, and sent her sprawling on herface. Diddie and Chris had by this time regained their feet, both ofthem very muddy, and Chris with her face all scratched from the rootsand briers in the ditch. Seeing Old Billy occupied with Dilsey, theystarted in a run for the lumber; but the wily old sheep was on thelookout, and, taking after them full tilt, he soon landed them flat onthe ground. And now Dilsey had scrambled up, and was wiping the dirtfrom her eyes, preparatory to making a fresh start. Billy, however, seemed to have made up his mind that nobody had a right to stand upexcept himself, and, before the poor little darky could get out of hisway, once more he had butted her down. 

[Illustration: "OLE BILLY. "]

Diddie and Chris were more fortunate this time; they were nearer thelumber than Dilsey, and, not losing a minute, they set out for the pileas soon as Old Billy's back was turned, and made such good time thatthey both reached it, and Chris had climbed to the top before he sawthem; Diddie, however, was only half-way up, so he made a run at her, and butted her feet from under her, and threw her back to the ground. This time he hurt her very much, for her head struck against thelumber, and it cut a gash in her forehead and made the blood come. Thisalarmed Dumps and Tot, and they both began to cry, though they, withRiar, were safely ensconced on top of the lumber, out of all danger. Diddie, too, was crying bitterly; and as soon as Billy ran back to buttat Dilsey, Chris and Riar caught hold of her hands and drew her up onthe pile. 

Poor little Dilsey was now in a very sad predicament. Billy, seeing thatthe other children were out of his reach, devoted his entire time andattention to her, and her only safety was in lying flat on the ground. If she so much as lifted her head to reconnoitre, he would plant a fullblow upon it. 

The children were at their wits' end. It was long past theirdinner-time, and they were getting hungry; their clothes were all muddy, and Diddie's dress almost torn off of her; the blood was trickling downfrom the gash in her forehead, and Chris was all scratched and dirty, and her eyes smarted from the sand in them. So it was a disconsolatelittle group that sat huddled together on top of the lumber, while OldBilly stood guard over Dilsey, but with one eye on the pile, ready tomake a dash at anybody who should be foolish enough to venture down. 

"I tol' yer not to let 'im come, " sobbed Dumps, "an' now I spec' we'llhafter stay here all night, an' not have no supper nor nothin'. "

"I didn't let 'im come, " replied Diddie; "he come himself, an' ef youhadn't made us run away fum Mammy, we wouldn't er happened to all thistrouble. "

"I never made yer, " retorted Dumps, "you come jes ez much ez anybody;an' ef it hadn't er been fur you, Ole Billy would er stayed at home. You're all time pettin' 'im an' feedin' 'im--hateful old thing--tell hethinks he's got ter go ev'ywhere we go. You ought ter be 'shamed eryourse'f. Ef I was you, I'd think myse'f too good ter be always er'soshatin' with sheeps. "

"You're mighty fond of 'im sometimes, " said Diddie, "an' you was mightyglad he was here jes now, to be Lord Burgoyne: he's jes doin' this furfun; an' ef Chris was _my_ nigger, I'd make her git down an' drive 'imaway. "

Chris belonged to Dumps, and Mammy had taught the children never to giveorders to each other's maids, unless with full permission of the owner. 

"I ain't gwine hab nuf'n ter do wid 'im, " said Chris. 

"Yes you are, Chris, " replied Dumps, who had eagerly caught at Diddie'ssuggestion of having him driven away. "Get down this minute, an' drive'im off; ef yer don't, I'll tell Mammy you wouldn't min' me. "

"Mammy'll hatter whup me, den, " said Chris (for Mammy always punishedthe little negroes for disobedience to their mistresses); "she'llhatter whup me, caze I ain't gwine ter hab nuf'n tall ter do wid datsheep; I ain't gwine ter meddle long 'im, hab 'im buttin' me in deditch. "

"Riar, you go, " said Diddie; "he ain't butted you yet. "

"He ain't gwine ter, nuther, " said Riar, "caze I gwine ter stay up hyearlong o' Miss Tot, like Mammy tell me. I 'longs to her, an' I gwine staywid 'er myse'f, an' nuss 'er jes like Mammy say. "

It was now almost dark, and Old Billy showed no signs of weariness; hisvigilance was unabated, and the children were very miserable, when theyheard the welcome sound of Mammy's voice calling "Chil'en! O-o-o-o, chil-en!"

"Ma-a-a-m!" answered all of the little folks at once. 

"Whar is yer?" called Mammy, "On top the lumber-pile, " answered the children; and soon Mammy appearedcoming through the woods. 

She had missed the children at snack-time, and had been down to thequarters, and, in fact, all over the place, hunting for them. Thechildren were delighted to see her now, and so, indeed, seemed OldBilly, for, quitting his position at Dilsey's head, he set out at hisbest speed for Mammy, and Dilsey immediately jumped to her feet, and wassoon on the lumber with her companions. 

"Now yer gwuf fum yer, gwuf fum yer!" said Mammy, furiously waving acotton-stalk at Old Billy. "Gwuf fum yer, I tell you! I ain't bodern'you. I jes come fur de chil'en, an' yer bet not fool 'long er me, yerlow-life sheep. "

But Old Billy, not caring a fig for Mammy's dignity or importance, planted his head in her breast, and over the old lady went backwards. Atthis the children, who loved Mammy dearly, set up a yell, and Mammy, still waving the cotton-stalk, attempted to rise, but Billy was readyfor her, and, with a well-aimed blow, sent her back to the earth. 

"Now yer stop dat, " said Mammy. "I don't want ter fool wid yer; I layI'll bus' yer head open mun, ef I git er good lick at yer; yer bettergwuf fum yer!" But Billy, being master of the situation, stood hisground, and I dare say Mammy would have been lying there yet, butfortunately Uncle Sambo and Bill, the wagoners, came along the big road, and, hearing the children's cries, they came upon the scene of action, and, taking their whips to Old Billy, soon drove him away. 

"Mammy, we won't never run away any more, " said Diddie, as Mammy cameup; "'twas Dumps's fault, anyhow. "

"Nem min, ' yer ma's gwine whup yer, " said Mammy; "yer'd no business atdis gin-house long o' dat sheep, an' I won'er what you kinky-headniggers is fur, ef yer can't keep de chil'en in de yard: come yer terme!" And, picking up a cotton-stalk, she gave each of the little darkiesa sound whipping. 

The children were more fortunate. Mamma lectured them on the sin ofrunning away from Mammy; but she put a piece of court-plaster onDiddie's head, and kissed all of the dirty little faces, much to Mammy'sdisgust, who grumbled a good deal because they were not punished, saying, "Missis is er spilin' dese chil'en, let'n uv 'em cut up all kind ercapers. Yer all better hyear me, mun. Yer better quit dem ways yer got, er runnin' off an' er gwine in de mud, an' er gittin' yer cloes tor'd, an' er gittin' me butted wid sheeps; yer better quit it, I tell yer; efyer don't, de deb'l gwine git yer, sho's yer born. "

But, notwithstanding her remarks, the little girls had a nice hotsupper, and went to bed quite happy, while Mammy seated herself in herrocking-chair, and entertained Aunt Milly for some time with thechildren's evil doings and their mother's leniency. 

CHAPTER V. 

DIDDIE'S BOOK. 

One morning Diddie came into the nursery with a big blank-book and alead-pencil in her hand. 

"What's that, Diddie?" asked Dumps, leaving her paper dolls on the floorwhere she had been playing with Chris, and coming to her sister's side. 

"Now don't you bother me, Dumps, " said Diddie; "I'm goin' to write abook. "

"Are you?" said Dumps, her eyes opening wide in astonishment. "Who'sgoin' ter tell yer what ter say?"

"I'm goin' ter make it up out o' my head, " said Diddie; "all aboutlittle girls and boys and ladies. "

"I wouldn't have no boys in it, " said Dumps; "they're always so hateful:there's Cousin Frank broke up my tea-set, an' Johnnie Miller tied erstring so tight roun' Cherubim's neck till hit nyearly choked 'im. Ef Iwas writin' er book, I wouldn't have no boys in it. "

"There's boun' ter be boys in it, Dumps; you can't write a bookwithout'n boys;" and Diddie seated herself, and opened the book beforeher, while Dumps, with her elbows on the table and face in her hands, looked on anxiously. "I'm not goin' ter write jes one straight book, "said Diddie; "I'm goin' ter have little short stories, an' little piecesof poetry, an' all kin' of things; an' I'll name one of the stories'Nettie Herbert:' don't you think that's a pretty name, Dumps?"

"Jes' beautiful, " replied Dumps; and Diddie wrote the name at thebeginning of the book. 

"Don't you think two pages on this big paper will be long enough for onestory?" asked Diddie. 

"Plenty, " answered Dumps. So at the bottom of the second page Diddiewrote "The END of Nettie Herbert. "

"Now, what would you name the second story?" asked Diddie, biting herpencil thoughtfully. 

"I'd name it 'The Bad Little Girl, '" answered Dumps. 

"Yes, that will do, " said Diddie, and she wrote "The Bad Little Girl" atthe top of the third page; and, allowing two pages for the story, shewrote "The END of The Bad Little Girl" at the bottom of the next page. 

"And now it's time for some poetry, " said Diddie, and she wrote "Poetry"at the top of the fifth page, and so on until she had divided all of herbook into places for stories and poetry. She had three stories--"NettieHerbert, " "The Bad Little Girl, " and "Annie's Visit to her Grandma. "She had one place for poetry, and two places she had marked "History;"for, as she told Dumps, she wasn't going to write anything unless it wasuseful; she wasn't going to write just trash. 

The titles being all decided upon, Dumps and Chris went back to theirdolls, and Diddie began to write her first story. 

"Nettie Herbert. "

"Nettie Herbert was a poor little girl;" and then she stopped and asked, "Dumps, would you have Nettie Herbert a po' little girl?"

"No, I wouldn't have nobody er po' little girl, " said Dumps, conclusively, and Diddie drew a line through what she had written, andbegan again. 

"Nettie Herbert was a rich little girl, and she lived with her pa and main a big house in Nu Orlins; and one time her father give her a golddollar, and she went down town, and bort a grate big wax doll with openand shet eyes, and a little cooking stove with pots and kittles, and awuck box, and lots uv pieces uv clorf to make doll cloes, and abu-te-ful gold ring, and a lockit with her pas hare in it, and a big boxfull uv all kinds uv candy and nuts and razens and ornges and things, and a little git-ar to play chunes on, and two little tubs and somelittle iuns to wash her doll cloes with; then she bort a littlewheelbarrer, and put all the things in it, and started fur home. Whenshe was going a long, presently she herd sumbody cryin and jes a sobbinhimself most to deaf; and twas a poor little boy all barefooted and jesas hungry as he could be; and he said his ma was sick, and his pa wasdead, and he had nine little sisters and seven little bruthers, and hehadn't had a mouthful to eat in two weeks, and no place to sleep, nornuthin'. So Nettie went to a doctors house, and told him she would givehim the gold ring fur some fyssick fur the little boys muther; and thedoctor give her some castor-oil and parrygorick, and then she went ontell they got to the house, and Nettie give her the fyssick, and somecandy to take the taste out of her mouth, and it done her lots uv good;and she give all her nuts and candy to the poor little chillen. And shewent back to the man what sold her the things, and told him all aboutit; and he took back all the little stoves and tubs and iuns and thingsshe had bort, and give her the money, and she carried it strait to thepoor woman, and told her to buy some bread and cloes for her chillen. The poor woman thanked her very much, and Nettie told em good-by, andstarted fur home. "

Here Diddie stopped suddenly and said, "Come here a little minute, Dumps; I want you to help me wind up thistale. " Then, after reading it aloud, she said, "You see, I've only gotsix mo' lines of paper, an' I haven't got room to tell all that happenedto her, an' what become of her. How would you wind up, if you were me?"

"I b'lieve I'd say, she furgive her sisters, an' married the prince, an'lived happy ever afterwards, like 'Cinderilla an' the Little GlassSlipper. '"

"Oh, Dumps, you're such er little goose; that kind of endin' wouldn'tsuit my story at all, " said Diddie; "but I'll have to wind up somehow, for all the little girls who read the book will want to know what becomeof her, an' there's only six lines to wind up in; an' she's only alittle girl, an' she can't get married; besides, there ain't any princein Nu Orlins. No, somethin' will have to happen to her. I tell you, Ib'lieve I'll make a runaway horse run over her goin' home. "

"Oh, no, Diddie, please don't, " entreated Dumps; "po' little Nettie, don't make the horse run over her. "

"I'm _obliged to_, Dumps; you mustn't be so tender-hearted; she's gotter be wound up somehow, an' I might let the Injuns scalp her, or thebears eat her up, an' I'm sure that's a heap worse than jes er horserunnin' over her; an' then you know she ain't no sho' nuff little girl;she's only made up out of my head. "

"I don't care, I don't want the horse to run over her. I think it's badenough to make her give 'way all her candy an' little tubs an' iuns an'wheelbarrers, without lettin' the horses run over her; an' ef that'sthe way you're goin' ter do, I sha'n't have nuthin' 'tall ter do withit. "

And Dumps, having thus washed her hands of the whole affair, went backto her dolls, and Diddie resumed her writing:

"As she was agoin along, presently she herd sumthin cuminbook-er-ty-book, book-er-ty-book, and there was a big horse and a buggycum tearin down the road, and she ran jes hard as she could; but befoshe could git out er the way, the horse ran rite over her, and killedher, and all the people took her up and carried her home, and putflowers all on her, and buried her at the church, and played the organ'bout her; and that's

"The END of Nettie Herbert. "

"Oh, dear me!" she sighed, when she had finished, "I am tired of writin'books; Dumps, sposin' you make up 'bout the 'Bad Little Girl, ' an' I'llwrite it down jes like you tell me. "

"All right, " assented Dumps, once more leaving her dolls, and coming tothe table. Then, after thinking for a moment, she began, with greatearnestness:

"Once pun er time there was er bad little girl, an' she wouldn't min'nobody, nor do no way nobody wanted her to; and when her mother went tergive her fyssick, you jes ought ter seen her cuttin' up! _she_ skweeled, an' _she_ holler'd, an' _she_ kicked, an' she jes done ev'y bad way shecould; an' one time when she was er goin' on like that the spoon slippeddown her throat, an' choked her plum ter death; an' not long after that, when she was er playin' one day--"

"Oh, but, Dumps, " interrupted Diddie, "you said she was dead. "

"No, I nuver said nuthin' 'bout her bein' dead, " replied Dumps; "an' efyou wrote down that she's dead, then you wrote a story, 'cause she'slivin' as anybody. "

"You said the spoon choked her to death, " said Diddie. 

"Well, hit nuver killed her, anyhow, " said Dumps; "hit jes only give herspasums; an' now you've gone and put me all out; what was I sayin'?"

"When she was er playin' one day, " prompted Diddie. 

"Oh yes, " continued Dumps, "when she was er playin' one day on the sideuv the creek with her little sister, she got ter fightin' an' pinchin'an' scrougin', an' the fus thing she knowed, she fell kersplash in thecreek, and got drownded. An' one time her mammy tol' 'er not nuber terclim' up on the fender, an' she neber min' 'er, but clum right upon thefender ter git an apple off'n the mantel-piece; an' the fender turnedover, an' she fell in the fire an' burnt all up. An' another time, jeser week after that, she was er foolin' 'long--"

"Dumps, what are you talkin' 'bout?" again interrupted Diddie. "Shecouldn't be er foolin' long o' nothin' ef she's dead. "

"But she ain't dead, Diddie, " persisted Dumps. 

"Well, you said the fire burned her up, " retorted Diddie. 

"I don't care ef hit did, " said Dumps; "she nuver died bout hit; an' efyou're goin' ter keep sayin' she's dead, then I sha'n't tell yer nomo'. "

"Go on, then, " said Diddie, "and I won't bother you. "

"Well, one time, " continued Dumps, "when she was er foolin' 'long o'cow, what she had no business, the cow run his horns right through herneck, an' throwed her way-ay-ay up yon'er; an' she nuver come down nomo', an' that's all. "

"But, Dumps, what become of her?" asked Diddie. 

"I dunno what become uv her, " said Dumps. "She went ter hebn, I reckon. "

"But she couldn't go ter hebn ef she's so bad, " said Diddie; "the angelwouldn't let her come in. "

"The cow throwed her in, " said Dumps, "an' the angel wan't er lookin', an' he nuver knowed nuthin' 'bout it. "

"That's er mighty funny story, " said Diddie; "but I'll let it stay inthe book--only you ain't finished it, Dumps, Hyear's fo' mo' lines ofpaper ain't written yet. "

"That's all I know, " replied Dumps. And Diddie, after consideringawhile, said she thought it would be very nice to wind it up with apiece of poetry. Dumps was delighted at that suggestion, and the littlegirls puzzled their brains for rhymes. After thinking for some time, Diddie wrote, "Once 'twas a little girl, and she was so bad, "

and read it aloud; then said, "Now, Dumps, sposin' you make up the nex'line. "

Dumps buried her face in her hands, and remained in deep study for a fewmoments, and presently said, "And now she is dead, an' I am so glad. "

"Oh, Dumps, that's too wicked, " said Diddie. "You mustn't never be gladwhen anybody's dead; that's too wicked a poetry; I sha'n't write it inthe book. "

"Well, I nuver knowed nuthin' else, " said Dumps. "I couldn't hardly makethat up; I jes had ter study all my might; and I'm tired of writinpoetry, anyhow; you make it up all by yoursef. "

Diddie, with her brows drawn together in a frown, and her eyes tightshut, chewed the end of her pencil, and, after a few moments, said, "Dumps, do you min' ef the cow was to run his horns through her _forrid_stid of her neck?"

"No, hit don't make no diffrence to me, " replied Dumps. 

"Well, then, " said Diddie, "ef 'twas her _forrid_, I kin fix it. "

So, after a little more study and thought, Diddie wound up the storythus:

"Once 'twas er little girl, so wicked and horrid, Till the cow run his horns right slap through her forrid, And throwed her to hebn all full of her sin, And, the gate bein open, he pitched her right in. "

And that was "The END of the Bad Little Girl. "

"Now there's jes one mo' tale, " said Diddie, "and that's about 'Annie'sVisit, ' an' I'm tired of makin' up books; Chris, can't you make upthat?"

"I dunno hit, " said Chris, "but I kin tell yer 'bout'n de tar baby, efdat'll do. "

"Don't you think that'll do jes as well, Dumps?" asked Diddie. 

"Certingly!" replied Dumps. So Diddie drew her pencil through "Annie'sVisit, " and wrote in its place, "The Tar Baby, "

and Chris began:

"Once pun a time, 'twuz er ole Rabbit an' er ole Fox and er ole Coon:an' dey all lived close togedder; an' de ole Fox he had him er mightyfine goober-patch, w'at he nuber 'low nobody ter tech; an' one mornin'atter he git up, an' wuz er walkin' 'bout in his gyarden, he seedtracks, an' he foller de tracks, an' he see whar sumbody ben er grabbin'uv his goobers. An' ev'y day he see de same thing; an' he watch, an' hewatch, an' he couldn't nuber cotch nobody! an' he went, he did, ter deCoon, and he sez, sezee, 'Brer Coon, dar's sumbody stealin' uv mygoobers. '

"'Well, ' sez Brer Coon, sezee, 'I bet yer hit's Brer Rabbit. '

"'I lay I'll fix 'im, ' sez Brer Fox; so he goes, he does, and he tuck'nmade er man out'n tar, an' he sot 'im, he did, right in de middle uv degoober-patch. Well, sar, soon ez eber de moon riz, Brer Rabbit, he stoleoutn his house, and he lit right out fur dem goobers; and by'mby he seesde tar man er stanin' dar, an' he hollers out, 'Who's dat er stanin' daran' er fixin' ter steal Brer Fox's goobers?' Den he lis'en, and nobodynuver anser, and he 'gin ter git mad, and he sez, sezee, 'Yer bracknigger you, yer better anser me wen I speaks ter yer;' and wid dat hehault off, he did, and hit de tar baby side de head, and his han' stuckfas' in de tar. 'Now yer better turn me er loose, ' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee; 'I got er nuther han' lef', ' and 'ker bum' he come wid his udderhan', on de tar baby's tuther jaw, an' dat han' stuck. 

"'Look er hyear! who yer foolin' wid?' sez Brer Rabbit; 'I got er footyit. ' Den he kick wid all his might, an' his foot stuck. Den he kick widhis udder foot, an' dat stuck. Den Brer Rabbit he 'gun ter git madder'nhe wuz, an' sezee, 'Ef yer fool 'long o' me mun, I'll butt de life out'nyer;' an' he hault off wid his head, an' butt de tar baby right in dechis, an' his head stuck. Den dar he wuz! an' dar he had ter stay, till, by'mby, Brer Fox he come er long, an' he seed de Rabbit er stickin' dar, an' he tuck him up, an' he cyard 'im long ter Brer Coon's house, an' hesez, sezee, "'Brer Coon, hyear's de man wat stole my goobers; now wat mus' I do wid'im?'

"Brer Coon tuck de Fox off one side, he did, an' he say, 'Le's give 'imhis chice, wheder he'd er ruther be tho'd in de fire or de brier-patch;an' ef he say de fire, den we'll fling 'im in de briers; an' ef he sayde briers, den we'll fling 'im in de fire. ' So dey went back ter deRabbit, an' ax 'im wheder he'd er ruther be tho'd in de fire or debriers. 

"'Oh, Brer Fox, ' sezee, 'plee-ee-eeze don't tho me in de briers, an' gitme all scratched up; plee-ee-eeze tho me in de fire; fur de Lord'ssake, ' sezee, 'don't tho me in de briers. '

"And wid dat, Brer Fox he lif' 'im up, an' tho'd 'im way-ay-ay over inde briers. Den Brer Rabbit he kick up his heels, he did, an' he laugh, an' he laugh, an' he holler out, "'Good-bye, Brer Fox! Far' yer well, Brer Coon! I wuz born an' riz in debriers!' And wid dat he lit right out, he did, an' he nuber stop tell hegot clean smack home. "

[Illustration: "THE TAR BABY. "]

The children were mightily pleased with this story; and Diddie, aftercarefully writing underneath it, "The END of The Tar Baby, "

said she could write the poetry and history part some other day; so sheclosed the book, and gave it to Mammy to put away for her, and she andDumps went out for a ride on Corbin. 

CHAPTER VI. 

UNCLE SNAKE-BIT BOB'S SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

There was no more faithful slave in all the Southland than old UncleSnake-bit Bob. He had been bitten by a rattlesnake when he was a boy, and the limb had to be amputated, and its place was supplied with awooden peg. There were three or four other "Bobs" on the plantation, andhe was called _Snake-bit_ to distinguish him. Though lame, and sick agood deal of his time, his life had not been wasted, nor had he been auseless slave to his master. He made all of the baskets that were usedin the cotton-picking season, and had learned to mend shoes; besidesthat, he was the great horse-doctor of the neighborhood, and not onlycured his master's horses and mules, but was sent for for miles aroundto see the sick stock; and then, too, he could re-bottom chairs, andmake buckets and tubs and brooms; and all of the money he made was hisown: so the old man had quite a little store of gold and silver sewed upin an old bag and buried somewhere--nobody knew where except himself;for Uncle Snake-bit Bob had never married, and had no family ties; and, furthermore, he was old Granny Rachel's only child, and Granny had diedlong, _long_ ago, ever since the children's mother was a baby, and hehad no brothers or sisters. So, having no cause to spend his money, hehad laid it up until now he was a miser, and would steal out by himselfat night and count his gold and silver, and chuckle over it with greatdelight. 

But he was a very good old man; as Mammy used to say, "he wuz de piusesman dar wuz on de place;" and he had for years led in "depra'r-meetin's, and called up de mo'ners. "

One evening, as he sat on a hog-pen talking to Uncle Daniel, who was apreacher, they began to speak of the wickedness among the young negroeson the plantation. 

"Pyears ter me, " said Uncle Bob, "ez ef dem niggers done furgot dey gotter die; dey jes er dancin' an' er cavortin' ev'y night, an' dey'll gitlef', mun, wheneber dat angel blow his horn. I tell you what I ben erstud'n, Brer Dan'l. I ben er stud'n dat what's de matter wid dezeniggers is, dat de chil'en ain't riz right. Yer know de Book hit sez efyer raise de chil'en, like yer want 'em ter go, den de ole uns dey won'tpart fum hit; an', sar, ef de Lord spars me tell nex' Sunday, I 'low terax marster ter lemme teach er Sunday-school in de gin-house fur dechil'en. "

Major Waldron heartily consented to Uncle Bob's proposition, and hadthe gin-house all swept out for him, and had the carpenter to make himsome rough benches. And when the next Sunday evening came around, all ofthe little darkies, with their heads combed and their Sunday clothes on, assembled for the Sunday-school. The white children begged so hard to gotoo, that finally Mammy consented to take them. So when Uncle Snake-bitBob walked into the gin-house, their eager little faces were among thoseof his pupils. "Now, you all sot down, " said Uncle Bob, "an' 'haveyerse'fs till I fix yer in er line. " Having arranged them to hissatisfaction, he delivered to them a short address, setting forth theobject of the meeting, and his intentions concerning them. "Chil'en, " hebegan, "I fotch yer hyear dis ebenin fur ter raise yer like yer oughtter be riz. De folks deze days is er gwine ter strucshun er dancin' an'er pickin' uv banjers an' er singin' uv reel chunes an' er cuttin' up uvev'y kin' er dev'lment. I ben er watchin' 'em; an', min' yer, when dehorn hit soun' fur de jes' ter rise, half de niggers gwine ter be wid deonjes'. An' I 'low ter myse'f dat I wuz gwine ter try ter save dechil'en. I gwine ter pray fur yer, I gwine ter struc yer, an' I gwine domy bes' ter lan' yer in hebn. Now yer jes pay tenshun ter de strucshun Igwine give yer--dat's all I ax uv yer--an' me an' de Lord we gwine do deres'. "

After this exhortation, the old man began at the top of the line, andasked "Gus, " a bright-eyed little nig, "Who made you?"

"I dun no, sar, " answered Gus, very untruthfully, for Aunt Nancy hadtold him repeatedly. 

"God made yer, " said Uncle Bob. "Now, who made yer?"

"God, " answered Gus. 

"Dat's right, " said the old man; then proceeded to "Jim, " the next inorder. "What'd he make yer outn?" demanded the teacher. 

"I dunno, sar, " answered Jim, with as little regard for truth as Gus hadshown. 

"He made yer out'n dut, " said Uncle Bob. "Now, what'd he make yerout'n?"

"Dut, " answered Jim, promptly, and the old man passed on to the next. 

"What'd he make yer fur?"

Again the answer was, "I dunno, sar;" and the old man, after scratchinghis head and reflecting a moment, said, "Fur ter do de bes' yer kin, "which the child repeated after him. 

"Who wuz de fus man?" was his next question; and the little nigprofessing ignorance, as usual, the old man replied, "Marse Adum. " Andso he went all down the line, explaining that "Marse Cain kilt hisbrudder;" that "Marse Abel wuz de fus man slewed;" that "Marse Noahbuilt de ark;" that "Marse Thuselum wuz de oldes' man, " and so on, untilhe reached the end of the line, and had almost exhausted his store ofinformation. Then, thinking to see how much the children remembered, hebegan at the top of the line once more, and asked the child, "Who made yer?"

"Dut, " answered the little negro. 

"Who?" demanded Uncle Bob, in astonishment. 

"Dut, " replied the child. 

"Didn' I tell yer God made yer?" asked the old man. 

"No, sar, " replied the boy; "dat'n wat God made done slip out de do'. "

And so it was. As soon as Uncle Bob's back was turned, Gus, who hadwearied of the Sunday-school, slipped out, and the old man had notnoticed the change. 

The confusion resulting from this trifling circumstance was fearful. "Dut" made the first child. The question, "What did he make yer fur?"was promptly answered, "Marse Adum. " "Eve wuz de fus man. " "Marse Cainwuz de fus 'oman. " "Marse Abel kilt his brudder. " "Marse Noah wuz de fusone slewed. " "Marse Thuselum built de ark. " And so on, until the old manhad to begin all over again, and give each one a new answer. Thecatechising through with, Uncle Bob said:

"Now, chil'en, I gwine splain de Scripchurs ter yer. I gwine tell yerboutn Dan'l in de lions' den. Dan'l wuz er good Christyun man wat livedin de Bible; and whedder he wuz er white man or whedder he wuz er brackman I dunno; I ain't nuber hyeard nobody say. But dat's neder hyear nordar; he wuz er good man, and he pray tree times eby day. At de fuspeepin' uv de day, Brer Dan'l he usen fur ter hop outn his bed and gitdown on his knees; and soon's eber de horn hit blowed fur de hans tercome outn de field fur dinner, Brer Dan'l he went in his house, he did, and he flop right back on 'is knees. And wen de sun set, den dar he wuzagin er prayin' and er strivin' wid de Lord. 

"Well, de king uv dat kentry, he 'low he nuber want no prayin' bout 'im;he sez, sezee, 'I want de thing fur ter stop;' but Brer Dan'l, he nuberstudid 'im; he jes prayed right on, tell by'mby de king he 'low dat denex' man wat he cotch prayin' he wuz gwine cas'm in de lions' den. 

"Well, nex' mornin, soon's Brer Dan'l riz fum 'is bed, he lit right on'is knees, an' went ter prayin'; an' wile he wuz er wrestlin' in prar depater-rollers dey come in, an' dey tied 'im han' an' foot wid er rope, an' tuck 'im right erlong tell dey come ter de lions' den; an' wen deywuz yit er fur ways fum dar dey hyeard de lions er ro'in an' er sayin', 'Ar-ooorrrrar! aroooorrrrrar!' an' all dey hearts 'gun ter quake sept'nBrer Dan'l's; he nuber note's 'em; he jes pray 'long. By'mby dey gitter de den, an' dey tie er long rope roun' Brer Dan'l's was'e, an' tho'im right in! an' den dey drawed up de rope, an' went back whar dey comefum. 

"Well, yearly nex' mornin hyear dey come agin, an' dis time de king hecome wid 'em; an' dey hyeard de lions er ro'in, 'Ar-ooorrrrar!arooorrrrar!' an' dey come ter de den, an' dey open de do', an' dar wuzde lions wid dey mouf open an' dey eyes er shinin', jes er trompin'backerds an' forerds; an' dar in de corner sot an angel smoovin' uv 'iswings; an' right in de middle uv de den was Dan'l, jes er sot'n backdar! Gemmun, _he wuzn totch!_ he nuber so much as had de smell uv delions bout'n 'im! he wuz jes as whole, mun, as he wuz de day he wuzborn! Eben de boots on 'im, sar, wuz ez shiny ez dey wuz wen dey put 'imin dar. 

"An' he jes clum up de side uv de den, he did; an' soon's uber his feettech de yeath, he sez ter de king, sezee, 'King, hit ain't no usen furyer ter fool erlong o' me, ' sezee; 'I'm er prayin' man mysef, an I 'lowter live an' die on my knees er prayin' an' er sarvin' de Lord. ' Sezee, 'De Lord ain't gwine let de lions meddle long o' me, ' sezee; 'I ain'tfyeard o' nufn, ' sezee. 'De Lord is my strengt an' my rocks, an' I ain'ter fyeard o' NO man. ' An' wid dat he helt er preachin', sar, right wharhe wuz; an' he tol' 'em uv dey sins, an' de goodness uv de Lord. Hepreach de word, he did, right erlong, an' atter dat he 'gun ter sing dishymn:

"'Dan'l wuz er prayin' man; He pray tree times er day;De Lord he hist de winder, Fur ter hyear po' Dan'l pray. '

"Den he 'gun ter call up de mo'ners, an' dey come too! Mun, de wholeyeath wuz erlive wid 'em: de white folks dey went up; an' de niggers_dey_ went up; an' de pater-rollers _dey_ went up; an' de king _he_ wentup; an' dey all come thu an' got 'ligion; an' fum dat day dem folks iser sarvin' de Lord. 

"An' now, chil'en, efn yer be like Brer Dan'l, an' say yer prars, an'put yer pen'ence in de Lord, yer needn be er fyeard uv no lions; deLord, he'll take cyar uv yer, an' he'll be mighty proud ter do it. 

"Now, " continued the old man, "we'll close dis meet'n by singin' uv erhymn, an' den yer kin all go. I'll give de hymn out, so's dar needn't beno 'scuse 'bout not know'n uv de words, an' so's yer all kin sing. "

The children rose to their feet, and Uncle Bob, with great solemnity, gave out the following hymn, which they all, white and black, sang withgreat fervor:

"O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord! O bless us mo' an' mo';Unless yer'll come an' bless us, Lord, We will not let yer go. 

"My marster, Lord; my marster, Lord-- O Lord, he does his bes', So when yer savin' sinners, Lord, Save him wid all de res'. O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord! An' keep us in yer cyar;Unless yer'll come an' bless us, Lord, We're gwine ter hol' yer hyear. 

"My missus, Lord; my missus, Lord, O bless my missus now--She's tryin' hard ter serve yer, Lord, But den she dunno how. O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord! O bless us now, we pray;Unless yer'll come an' bless us, Lord, We won't leave hyear ter day. 

"Deze chil'en, Lord; deze chil'en, Lord, O keep dey little feetEr gwien straight ter hebn, Lord, Fur ter walk dat golden street. O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord! O come in all yer might;Unless yer'll come an' bless us, Lord, We'll wrestle hyear all night. 

"Deze niggers, Lord; deze niggers, Lord, Dey skins is black, hit's true, But den dey souls is white, my Lord, So won't yer bless dem too?O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord! O bless us mo' an' mo';Unless yer'll come an' bless us, Lord, We'll keep yer hyear fur sho. 

"All folkses, Lord; all folkses, Lord-- O Lord, bless all de same. O bless de good, an' bless de bad, Fur de glory uv dy name. Now bless us, Lord! now bless us, Lord! Don't fool 'long o' us, no mo';O sen' us down de blessin', Lord, An' den we'll let yer go. "

CHAPTER VII. 

POOR ANN. 

"Miss Diddie!" called Dilsey, running into the nursery one morning in agreat state of excitement; then, seeing that Diddie was not there, shestopped short, and demanded, "Whar Miss Diddie?"

"She's sayin' her lessons, " answered Dumps. "What do you want with her?"

"De specerlaters is come, " said Dilsey; "dey's right down yon'er on decrick banks back er de quarters. "

In an instant Dumps and Tot had abandoned their dolls, and Chris andRiar had thrown aside their quilt-pieces (for Aunt Milly was teachingthem to sew), and they were all just leaving the room when Mammyentered. 

"Whar yer gwine?" asked Mammy. 

"Oh, Mammy, de specerlaters is come, " said Dumps, "an' we're goin' downto the creek to see 'um. "

"No yer ain't, nuther, " said Mammy. "Yer ain't er gwine er nyear demspecerlaters, er cotchin' uv measles an' hookin'-coffs an' sich, fumdem niggers. Yer ain't gwine er nyear 'um; an' yer jes ez well fur tertuck off dem bunnits, an' ter set yerse'fs right back on de flo' an' goter playin'. An' efn you little niggers don't tuck up dem quilt-piecesan' go ter patchin' uv 'em, I lay I'll hu't yer, mun! Who dat tell dezechil'en 'bout de specerlaters?"

"Hit uz Dilsey, " answered Chris and Riar in a breath; and Mammy, givingDilsey a sharp slap, said, "Now yer come er prancin' in hyear ergin wid all kin' er news, an' I betyer'll be sorry fur it. Yer know better'n dat. Yer know deze chil'enain't got no bizness 'long o' specerlaters. "

In the meanwhile Dumps and Tot were crying over their disappointment. 

"Yer mean old thing!" sobbed Dumps. "I ain't goin' ter min' yer, nuther;an' I sha'n't nuver go ter sleep no mo', an' let yer go toprayer-meetin's; jes all time botherin' me, an' won't lemme see despecerlaters, nor nothin'. "

"Jes lis'en how yer talkin', " said Mammy, "givin' me all dat sass. You're de sassies' chile marster's got. Nobody can't nuver larn yer nomanners, aller er sassin ole pussons. Jes keep on, an' yer'll see wat'llhappen ter yer; yer'll wake up some er deze mornins, an' yer won't haveno hyar on yer head. I knowed er little gal onct wat sassed her mudder, an' de Lord he sent er angel in de night, he did, an' struck her plum'bald-headed. "

"You ain't none o' my mother, " replied Dumps. "You're mos' black ez myshoes; an' de Lord ain't er goin' ter pull all my hair off jes 'boutnyou. "

"I gwine right down-sta'rs an' tell yer ma, " said Mammy. "She don't 'lownone o' you chil'en fur ter sass me, an' ter call me brack; she nuverdone it herse'f, wen she wuz little. I'se got ter be treated wid 'specmyse'f; ef I don't, den hit's time fur me ter quit min'en chil'en: Igwine tell yer ma. "

And Mammy left the room in high dudgeon, but presently came back, andsaid Dumps was to go to her mother at once. 

"What is the matter with my little daughter?" asked her father, as shecame slowly down-stairs, crying bitterly, and met him in the hall. 

"Mammy's ben er sa-a-as-sin me, " sobbed Dumps; "an' she sa-aid de Lordwuz goin' ter sen' an angel fur ter git my ha-air, an' she won't lem'mego-o-o ter see de spec-ec-ec-erlaters. "

"Well, come in mamma's room, " said her father, "and we'll talk it allover. "

And the upshot of the matter was that Major Waldron said he wouldhimself take the children to the speculator's camp; and accordingly, assoon as dinner was over, they all started off in high glee--the threelittle girls and the three little negroes--leaving Mammy standing at thetop of the stairs, muttering to herself, "Er catchin' uv de measles an'de hookin'-coffs. "

The speculator's camp was situated on the bank of the creek, and a verybright scene it presented as Major Waldron and his party came up to it. At a little distance from the main encampment was the speculator's tent, and the tents for the negroes were dotted here and there among thetrees. Some of the women were washing at the creek, others were cooking, and some were sitting in front of their tents sewing; numbers of littlenegroes were playing about, and, altogether, the "speculator's camp" wasnot the horrible thing that one might suppose. 

The speculator, who was a jolly-looking man weighing over two hundredpounds, came forward to meet Major Waldron and show him over theencampment. 

The negroes were well clothed, well fed, and the great majority of themlooked exceedingly happy. 

They came across one group of boys and girls dancing and singing. An oldman, in another group, had collected a number of eager listeners aroundhim, and was recounting some marvellous tale; but occasionally therewould be a sad face and a tearful eye, and Mr. Waldron sighed as hepassed these, knowing that they were probably grieving over the home andfriends they had left. 

As they came to one of the tents, the speculator said, "There is a sickyellow woman in there, that I bought in Maryland. She had to be sold inthe settlement of an estate, and she has fretted herself almost todeath; she is in such bad health now that I doubt if anybody will buyher, though she has a very likely little boy about two years old. "

Mr. Waldron expressed a wish to see the woman, and they went in. 

Lying on a very comfortable bed was a woman nearly white; her eyes weredeep-sunken in her head, and she was painfully thin. Mr. Waldron tookher hand in his, and looked into her sad eyes. 

"Do you feel much pain?" he asked, tenderly. 

"Yes, sir, " answered the woman, "I suffer a great deal; and I am sounhappy, sir, about my baby; I can't live long, and what will become ofhim? If I only had a home, where I could make friends for him before Idie, where I could beg and entreat the people to be kind to him and takecare of him! 'Tis that keeps me sick, sir. "

By this time Diddie's eyes were swimming in tears, and Dumps was sobbingaloud; seeing which, Tot began to cry too, though she hadn't theslightest idea what was the matter; and Diddie, going to the side of thebed, smoothed the woman's long black hair, and said, "We'll take you home with us, an' we'll be good to your little boy, mean' Dumps an' Tot, an' I'll give 'im some of my marbles. "

"An' my little painted wagin, " put in Dumps. 

"An' you shall live with us always, " continued Diddie; "an' Mammy'll putyer feet into hot water, an' rub turkentine on yer ches', an' give yer'fermifuge' ev'y mornin', an' you'll soon be well. Papa, sha'n't she gohome with us?"

Major Waldron's own eyes moistened as he answered, "We will see about it, my daughter;" and, telling the woman, whose namewas Ann, that he would see her again, he left the tent, and presentlythe camp. 

That night, after the little folks were asleep, Major Waldron and hiswife had a long talk about the sick woman and her little boy, and it wasdecided between them that Major Waldron should go the next morning andpurchase them both. 

The children were delighted when they knew of this decision, and took anactive part in preparing one room of the laundry for Ann's reception. Their mother had a plain bedstead moved in, and sent down from the housea bed and mattress, which she supplied with sheets, pillows, blankets, and a quilt. Then Uncle Nathan, the carpenter, took a large wooden boxand put shelves in it, and tacked some bright-colored calico all aroundit, and made a bureau. Two or three chairs were spared from thenursery, and Diddie put some of her toys on the mantel-piece for thebaby; and then, when they had brought in a little square table andcovered it with a neat white cloth, and placed upon it a mug of flowers, and when Uncle Nathan had put up some shelves in one corner of the room, and driven some pegs to hang clothes on, they pronounced the room allready. 

And Ann, who had lived for several months in the camp, was delightedwith her new home and the preparations that her little mistresses hadmade for her. The baby, too, laughed and clapped his hands over the toysthe children gave him. His name was Henry, and a very pretty child hewas. He was almost as white as Tot, and his black hair curled inringlets all over his head; but, strange to say, neither he nor hismother gained favor with the negroes on the place. 

Mammy said openly that she "nuver had no 'pinion uv wite niggers, " andthat "marster sholy had niggers 'nuff fur ter wait on 'im doutn buyen'em. "

But, for all that, Ann and her little boy were quite happy. She wasstill sick, and could never be well, for she had consumption; though shegot much better, and could walk about the yard, and sit in front of herdoor with Henry in her lap. Her devotion to her baby was unusual in aslave; she could not bear to have him out of her sight, and never seemedhappy unless he was playing around her or nestling in her arms. 

Mrs. Waldron, of course, never exacted any work of Ann. They had boughther simply to give her a home and take care of her, and faithfully thatduty was performed. Her meals were carried from the table, and she hadevery attention paid to her comfort. 

One bright evening, when she was feeling better than usual, she went outfor a walk, and, passing Uncle Snake-bit Bob's shop, she stopped to lookat his baskets, and to let little Henry pick up some white-oak splitsthat he seemed to have set his heart on. 

The old man, like all the other negroes, was indignant that his mastershould have purchased her; for they all prided themselves on beinginherited, and "didn't want no bought folks" among them. He had neverseen her, and now would scarcely look at or speak to her. 

"You weave these very nicely, " said Ann, examining one of his baskets. Uncle Bob looked up, and, seeing she was pale and thin, offered her aseat, which she accepted. 

"Is this always your work?" asked Ann, by way of opening a conversationwith the old man. 

"In cose 'tis, " he replied; "who dat gwine ter make de baskits les'nhit's me? I done make baskits 'fo mistiss wuz born; I usen ter 'long terher pa; I ain't no bort nigger myse'f. "

"You are certainly very fortunate, " answered Ann, "for the slave thathas never been on the block can never know the full bitterness ofslavery. "

"Wy, yer talkin' same ez wite folks, " said Uncle Bob. "Whar yer git alldem fine talkin's fum? ain't you er nigger same ez me?"

"Yes, I am a negress, Uncle Bob; or, rather, my mother was a slave, andI was born in slavery; but I have had the misfortune to have beeneducated. "

"Kin yer read in de book?" asked the old man earnestly. 

"Oh yes, as well as anybody. "

"Who showed yer?" asked Uncle Bob. 

"My mistress had me taught; but, if it won't bother you, I'll just tellyou all about it, for I want to get your interest, Uncle Bob, and gainyour love, if I can--yours, and everybody's on the place--for I am sick, and must die, and I want to make friends, so they will be kind to mybaby. Shall I tell you my story?"

The old man nodded his head, and went on with his work, while Annrelated to him the sad history of her life. 

"My mother, who was a favorite slave, died when I was born; and mymistress, who had a young baby only a few days older than myself, tookme to nurse. I slept, during my infancy, in the cradle with my littlemistress, and afterwards in the room with her, and thus we grew up asplaymates and companions until we reached our seventh year, when weboth had scarlet fever. My little mistress, who was the only child of awidow, died; and her mother, bending over her death-bed, cried, 'I willhave no little daughter now!' when the child placed her arms about herand said, 'Mamma, let Ann be your daughter; she'll be your little girl;I'll go to her mamma, and she'll stay with my mamma. '

"And from that time I was no more a slave, but a child in the house. Mymistress brought a governess for me from the North, and I was taught aswhite girls are. I was fond of my books, and my life was a very happyone, though we lived on a lonely plantation, and had but little company. 

"I was almost white, as you see, and my mistress had taught me to callher mamma. I was devoted to her, and very fond of my governess, and theyboth petted me as if I really had been a daughter instead of a slave. Four years ago the brother of my governess came out from Vermont to makehis sister a visit at our home. He fell in love with me, and I loved himdearly, and, accompanied by my 'mamma' and his sister, we went intoPennsylvania, and were married. You know we could not be married inMaryland, for it is a Slave State, and I was a slave. My mistress had, of course, always intended that I should be free, but neglected fromtime to time to draw up the proper papers. 

"For two years after my marriage my husband and I lived on theplantation, he managing the estate until he was called to Washington onbusiness, and, in returning, the train was thrown down an embankment, and he was among the killed. 

"Soon after that my baby was born, and before he was six months old mymistress died suddenly, when it was found that the estate was insolvent, and everything must be sold to pay the debts; and I and my baby, withthe other goods and chattels, were put up for sale. Mr. Martin, thespeculator, bought me, thinking I would bring a fancy price; but myheart was broken, and I grieved until my health gave way, so that nobodyever wanted me, until your kind-hearted master bought me to give me ahome to die in. But oh, Uncle Bob, " she continued, bursting into tears, "to think my boy, my baby, must be a slave! His father's relatives arepoor. He had only a widowed mother and two sisters. They are not able tobuy my child, and he must be raised in ignorance, to do another'sbidding all his life, my poor little baby! His dear father hatedslavery, and it seems so hard that his son must be a slave!"

"Now don't yer take on like dat, er makin' uv yerse'f sick, " said UncleBob; "I know wat I gwine do; my min' hit's made up; hit's true, I'mbrack, but den my min' hit's made up. Now you go on back ter de house, outn dis damp a'r, an' tuck cyar er yerse'f, an' don't yer be erfrettin', nuther, caze my marster, he's de bes' man dey is; an' den, 'sides dat, my min' hit's made up. Hyear, honey, " addressing the child, "take deze hyear wite-oak splits an' go'n make yer er baskit 'long o'yer ma. "

[Illustration: "MY MIN' HIT'S MADE UP. "]

Ann and her baby returned to the house, but Uncle Snake-bit Bob, longafter the sun went down, still sat on his little bench in front of hisshop, his elbows on his knees, and his face buried in his hands; andwhen it grew quite dark he rose, and put away his splits and hisbaskets, saying to himself, "Well, I know wat I'm gwine do; my min', hit's made up. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

UNCLE BOB'S PROPOSITION. 

The night after Ann's interview with Uncle Bob, Major Waldron wassitting in his library overlooking some papers, when some one knocked atthe door, and, in response to his hearty "Come in, " Uncle Snake-bit Bobentered. 

"Ebenin' ter yer, marster, " said the old man, scraping his foot andbowing his head. 

"How are you, Uncle Bob?" responded his master. 

"I'm jes po'ly, thank God, " replied Uncle Bob, in the answer invariablygiven by Southern slaves to the query "How are you?" No matter if theywere fat as seals, and had never had a day's sickness in their lives, the answer was always the same--"I'm po'ly, thank God. "

"Well, Uncle Bob, what is it now?" asked Major Waldron. "The littlenegroes been bothering your splits again?"

"Dey's all de time at dat, marster, an' dey gwine git hu't, mun, ef deyfool long o' me; but den dat ain't wat I come fur dis time. I come furter hab er talk wid yer, sar, ef yer kin spar de ole nigger de time. "

"There's plenty of time, Uncle Bob; take a seat, then, if we are to havea talk;" and Major Waldron lit his cigar, and leaned back, while UncleBob seated himself on a low chair, and said:

"Marster, I come ter ax yer wat'll yer take fur dat little boy yerbought fum de specerlaters?"

"Ann's little boy?" asked his master; "why, I would not sell him at all. I only bought him because his mother was dying of exposure and fatigue, and I wanted to relieve her mind of anxiety on his account. I wouldcertainly never sell her child away from her. "

"Yes, sar, dat's so, " replied the old man; "but den my min', hit's madeup. I've laid me up er little money fum time ter time, wen I'd be erdoct'in' uv hosses an' mules an' men'in' cheers, an' all sich ez dat; defolks dey pays me lib'ul; an', let erlone dat, I'm done mighty well widmy taters an' goobers, er sellin' uv 'em ter de steamboat han's, wattakes 'em ter de town, an' 'sposes uv 'em. So I'm got er right smartchance uv money laid up, sar; an' now I wants ter buy me er nigger, sameez wite folks, fur ter wait on me an' bresh my coat an' drive mykerridge; an' I 'lowed ef yer'd sell de little wite nigger, I'd buy'im, " and Uncle Bob chuckled and laughed. 

"Why, Bob, I believe you are crazy, " said his master, "or drunk. "

"I ain't neder one, marster; but den I'm er jokin' too much, mo'n de'lenity uv de cazhun inquires, an' now I'll splain de facks, sar. "

And Uncle Bob related Ann's story to his master, and wound up by saying:

"An' now, marster, my min', hit's made up. I wants ter buy de littlechap, an' give 'im ter his mammy, de one wat God give 'im to. Hit'll gomighty hard wid me ter part fum all dat money, caze I ben years pun toper years er layin' uv it up, an' hit's er mighty cumfut ter me ercountin' an' er jinglin' uv it; but hit ain't doin' nobody no good erburied in de groun'; an' I don't special need it myse'f, caze you givesme my cloes, an' my shoes, an' my eatin's, an' my backer, an' my wisky, an' I ain't got no cazhun fur ter spen' it; an', let erlone dat, I can'tstay hyear fureber, er countin' an' er jinglin' dat money, caze wen deangel soun' dat horn, de ole nigger he's got ter go; he's boun' fur terbe dar! de money can't hol' 'im! De Lord, he ain't gwine ter say, 'Scuzedat nigger, caze he got money piled up; lef 'im erlone, fur ter countdat gol' an' silver. ' No, sar! But, marster, maybe in de jedgemun' day, wen Ole Bob is er stan'in' fo' de Lord wid his knees er trim'lin', an'de angel fotches out dat book er hisn, an' de Lord tell 'im fur ter readwat he writ gins 'im, an' de angel he 'gin ter read how de ole niggerdrunk too much wisky, how he stoled watermillions in de night, how hecussed, how he axed too much fur doct'in' uv hosses, an' wen he wuzmen'in' cheers, how he wouldn't men' 'em strong, so's he'd git ter men''em ergin some time; an' den, wen he read all dat an' shet de book, maybe de Lord he'll say, 'Well, he's er pow'ful sinful nigger, but denhe tuck his money, he did, an' buy'd de little baby fur ter give 'im terhis mammy, an' I sha'n't be too hard on 'im. "

"Maybe he'll say dat, an' den ergin maybe he won't. Maybe he'll punishde ole nigger ter de full stent uv his 'greshuns; an' den, ergin, maybehe'll let him off light; but dat ain't neder hyear nur dar. What'll yertake fur de baby, caze my min' hit's made up?"

"And mine is too, Uncle Bob, " said his master, rising, and grasping inhis the big black hand. "Mine is too. I will give Ann her freedom andher baby, and the same amount of money that you give her; that will takeher to her husband's relatives, and she can die happy, knowing that herbaby will be taken care of. "

The next day Uncle Bob dug up his money, and the bag was found tocontain three hundred dollars. 

His master put with it a check for the same amount, and sent him intothe laundry to tell Ann of her good fortune. 

The poor woman was overcome with happiness and gratitude, and, throwingher arms around Uncle Bob, she sobbed and cried on his shoulder. 

She wrote at once to her husband's relatives, and a few weeks afterMajor Waldron took her to New Orleans, had the requisite papers drawn upfor her freedom, and accompanied her on board of a vessel bound for NewYork; and then, paying her passage himself, so that she might keep hermoney for future emergencies, he bade adieu to the only slaves he everbought. 

CHAPTER IX. 

AUNT EDY'S STORY. 

Aunt Edy was the principal laundress, and a great favorite she was withthe little girls. She was never too busy to do up a doll's frock orapron, and was always glad when she could amuse and entertain them. Oneevening Dumps and Tot stole off from Mammy, and ran as fast as theycould clip it to the laundry, with a whole armful of their dollies'clothes, to get Aunt Edy to let them "iun des er 'ittle, " as Tot said. 

"Lemme see wat yer got, " said Aunt Edy; and they spread out on the tablegarments of worsted and silk and muslin and lace and tarlatan and calicoand homespun, just whatever their little hands had been able to gatherup. 

"Lor', chil'en, ef yer washes deze fine close yer'll ruint 'em, " saidAunt Edy, examining the bundles laid out; "de suds'll tuck all de colorout'n 'em; s'posin' yer jes press 'em out on de little stool ober darwid er nice cole iun. "

"Yes, that's the very thing, " said Dumps; and Aunt Edy folded sometowels, and laid them on the little stools, and gave each of thechildren a cold iron. And, kneeling down, so as to get at their workconveniently, the little girls were soon busy smoothing and pressing thethings they had brought. 

"Aunt Edy, " said Dumps, presently, "could'n yer tell us 'bout Po' NancyJane O?"

"Dar now!" exclaimed Aunt Edy; "dem chil'en nuber is tierd er hyearn'dat tale; pyears like dey like hit mo' an' mo' eb'y time dey hyearshit;" and she laughed slyly, for she was the only one on the plantationwho knew about "Po' Nancy Jane O, " and she was pleased because it wassuch a favorite story with the children. 

"Once pun er time, " she began, "dar wuz er bird name' Nancy Jane O, an'she wuz guv up ter be de swif'es'-fly'n thing dar wuz in de a'r. Well, at dat time de king uv all de fishes an' birds, an' all de littlebeas'es, like snakes an' frogs an' wums an' tarrypins an' bugs, an' allsich ez dat, he wur er mole dat year! an' he wuz blin' in bof 'is eyes, jes same like any udder mole; an', somehow, he had hyearn some way datdar wuz er little bit er stone name' de gol'-stone, way off fum dar, iner muddy crick, an' ef'n he could git dat stone, an' hol' it in hismouf, he could see same ez anybody. 

"Den he 'gun ter steddy how wuz he fur ter git dat stone. 

"He stedded an' _he stedded_, an' pyeard like de mo' he stedded de mo'he couldn' fix no way fur ter git it. He knowed he wuz blin', an' heknowed he trab'l so slow dat he 'lowed 'twould be years pun top er yearsbefo' he'd git ter de crick, an' so he made up in 'is min' dat he'd letsomebody git it fur 'im. Den, bein' ez he wuz de king, an' could grantany kin' er wush, he sont all roun' thu de kentry eb'ywhar, an' 'loweddat any bird or fish, or any kin' er little beas' dat 'oud fotch 'im datstone, he'd grant 'em de deares' wush er dey hearts. 

"Well, mun, in er few days de whole yearth wuz er movin'; eb'ything darwuz in de lan' wuz er gwine. 

"Some wuz er hoppin' an' some wuz er crawlin' an' some wuz er flyin', jes 'cord'n to dey natur'; de birds dey 'lowed ter git dar fus', on'count er fly'n so fas'; but den de little stone wuz in de water, an'dey'd hatter wait till de crick run down, so 'twuz jes 'bout broad ez'twuz long. 

"Well, wile dey wuz all er gwine, an' de birds wuz in de lead, one daydey hyeard sump'n gwine f-l-u-shsh--f-l-u-shsh--an' sump'n streaked bylike lightnin', and dey look way erhead, dey did, an' dey seed NancyJane O. Den dey hearts 'gun ter sink, an' dey gin right up, caze deyknowed she'd outfly eb'ything on de road. An' by'mby de crow, wat wuzallers er cunnin' bird, sez, ' I tell yer wat we'll do; we'll all gin erfeas', ' sezee, 'an' git Nancy Jane O ter come, an' den we'll all clubtogedder an' tie her, sezee. 

"Dat took dey fancy, an' dey sont de lark on erhead fur ter cotch upwid Nancy Jane O, an' ter ax 'er ter de feas'. Well, mun, de lark henearly kill hese'f er flyin'. He flew an' he flew an' he flew, butpyear'd like de fas'er he went de furder erhead wuz Nancy Jane O. 

"But Nancy Jane O, bein' so fur er start uv all de res', an' not erdreamin' 'bout no kin' er develment, she 'lowed she'd stop an' take ernap, an' so de lark he come up wid 'er, wile she wuz er set'n on ersweet-gum lim', wid 'er head un'er 'er wing. Den de lark spoke up, an', sezee, 'Sis Nancy Jane O, ' sezee, 'we birds is gwinter gin er big feas', caze we'll be sho' ter win de race any how, an' bein' ez we've flew'd solong an' so fur, wy we're gwine ter stop an' res' er spell, an' gin erfeas'. An' Brer Crow he 'lowed 'twouldn' be no feas' 'tall les'n youcould be dar; so dey sont me on ter tell yer to hol' up tell dey come:dey's done got seeds an' bugs an' wums, an' Brer Crow he's gwine terfurnish de corn. '

"Nancy Jane O she 'lowed ter herse'f she could soon git erhead uv 'emergin, so she 'greed ter wait; an' by'mby hyear dey come er flyin'. An'de nex' day dey gin de feas'; an' wile Nancy Jane O wuz er eatin' an' erstuffin' herse'f wid wums an' seeds, an' one thing er nudder, de bluejay he slope up behin' 'er, an' tied 'er fas' ter er little bush. An'dey all laft an' flopped dey wings; an' sez dey, 'Good-bye ter yer, SisNancy Jane O. I hope yer'll enjoy yerse'f, ' sez dey; an' den dey riz upan' stretched out dey wings, an' away dey flewed. 

"Wen Po' Nancy Jane O seed de trick wat dey played her, she couldn'hardly stan' still, she wuz so mad; an' she pulled an' she jerked an'she stretched ter git er loose, but de string wuz so strong, an' de bushwuz so fum, she wuz jes er was'en 'er strengt'. An' den she sot down, an' she 'gun ter cry ter herse'f, an' ter sing, "'Please on-tie, please on-tie Po' Nancy Jane O!Please on-tie, please on-tie Po' Nancy Jane O!'

"An' atter er wile hyear come de ole bullfrog Pigunawaya. He sez terhisse'f, sezee, 'Wat's dat I hyear?' Den he lis'en, an' he hyear sump'ngwine, "'Please on-tie, please on-tie Po' Nancy Jane O!'

an' he went whar he hyeard de soun', an' dar wuz de po' bird layin' downall tied ter de bush. 

"'Umph!' says Pigunawaya, sezee, 'Ain't dis Nancy Jane O, deswif'es'-flyin' bird dey is?' sezee; 'wat ail 'long yer, chile? wat yercryin' 'bout?' An' atter Nancy Jane O she up an' tol' 'im, den de frogsez:

"'Now look er yer; I wuz er gwine myse'f ter see ef'n I could'n git datgol'-stone; hit's true I don't stan' much showin' 'long o' _birds_, butden ef'n eber I gits dar, wy I kin jes jump right in an' fotch up destone wile de birds is er waitin' fur de crick ter run down. An' now, s'posin' I wuz ter ontie yer, Nancy Jane O, could yer tuck me on yerback an' cyar me ter de crick? an' den we'd hab de sho' thing on degol'-stone, caze soon's eber we git dar, I'll git it, an' we'll cyar itbof tergedder ter de king, an' den we'll bof git de deares' wush uv ourhearts. Now wat yer say? speak yer min'. Ef'n yer able an' willin' tertote me fum hyear ter de crick, I'll ontie yer; efn yer ain't, den faryer well, caze I mus' be er gittin' erlong. '

"Well, Nancy Jane O, she stedded an' stedded in her min', an' by'mby shesez, 'Brer Frog, ' sez she, 'I b'lieve I'll try yer; ontie me, ' sez she, 'an' git on, an' I'll tuck yer ter de crick. ' Den de frog he clum on herback an' ontied her, an' she flopped her wings an' started off. Hit wuzmighty hard flyin' wid dat big frog on her back; but Nancy Jane O wuz erflyer, mun, yer hyeard me! an' she jes lit right out, an' she flew an'she flew, an' atter er wile she got in sight er de birds, an' deylooked, an' dey see her comin', an' den dey 'gun ter holler, "'Who on-tied, who on-tied Po' Nancy Jane O?'

An' de frog he holler back, "'Pig-un-a-wa-ya, Pig-un-a-wa-ya, hooo-hooo!'

"Den, gemmun, yer oughten seed dat race; dem birds dey done dey leb'lbes', but Nancy Jane O, spite er all dey could do, she gaint on 'em, an'ole Pigunawaya he sot up dar, an' he kep' er urg'n an' er urg'n NancyJane O. 

"'Dat's you!' sezee; 'git erhead!' sezee. 'Now we're gwine it!' sezee;an' pres'nly Nancy Jane O shot erhead clean befo' all de res'; an' wende birds dey seed dat de race wuz los', den dey all 'gun ter holler, "'Who on-tied, who on-tied Po' Nancy Jane O?'

An' de frog, he turnt roun', he did, an' he wave his han' roun' hishead, an' he holler back, "'Pig-un-a-wa-ya, Pig-un-a-wa-ya, hooo-hooo!'

"Atter Nancy Jane O got erhead er de birds, den de hardes' flyin' wuzthu wid; so she jes went 'long, an' went 'long, kin' er easy like, tellshe got ter de stone; an' she lit on er' simmon-bush close ter de crick, an' Pigunawaya he slipt off, he did, an' he hist up his feet, an' he giner jump, kerchug he went down inter de water; an' by'mby hyear he comewid de stone in his mouf. Den he mount on Nancy Jane O, he did; an', mun, she wuz so proud, she an' de frog bof, tell dey flew all roun' an'roun', an' Nancy Jane O, she 'gun ter sing, "' Who on-tied, who on-tied Po' Nancy Jane O?'

An' de frog he ans'er back, "'Pig-un-a-wa-ya, Pig-un-a-wa-ya, hooo-hooo!'

"An' wile dey wuz er singin' an' er j'yin' uv deyselves, hyear come debirds; an' de frog he felt so big, caze he'd got de stone, tell he stoodup on Nancy Jane O's back, he did, an' he tuck'n shuck de stone at debirds, an' he holler at 'em

"'O Pig-un-a-wa-ya, Pig-un-a-wa-ya, hooo-hooo!'

An' jes ez he said dat, he felt hisse'f slippin', an' dat made himclutch on ter Po' Nancy Jane O, an' down dey bof' went tergedderkersplash, right inter de crick. 

"De frog he fell slap on ter er big rock, an' bust his head all terpieces; an' Po' Nancy Jane O sunk down in de water an' got drownded; an'dat's de een'. "

"Did the king get the stone, Aunt Edy?" asked Dumps. 

"Wy no, chile; don't yer know de mole he's blin' tell yit? ef'n he coulder got dat stone, he could er seen out'n his eyes befo' now. But I ain'tgot no time ter fool 'long er you chil'en. I mus' git marster's shutsdone, I mus'. "

And Aunt Edy turned to her ironing-table, as if she didn't care forcompany; and Dumps and Tot, seeing that she was tired of them, went backto the house, Tot singing, "Who on-tied, who on-tied Po' Nanty Dane O?"

and Dumps answering back, "Pig-un-a-wa-ya, Pig-un-a-wa-ya, hooo-hooo!"

CHAPTER X. 

PLANTATION GAMES. 

"Mammy, the quarter folks are goin' ter play to-night; can't we go lookat 'em?" pleaded Diddie one Saturday evening, as Mammy was busy sortingout the children's clothes and putting them away. 

"Yer allers want ter be 'long er dem quarter-folks, " said Mammy. "Demain't de 'soshuts fur you chil'en. "

"We don't want ter 'soshate with 'em, Mammy; we only want ter look at'em play 'Monkey Moshuns' and 'Lipto' and 'The Lady You Like Best, ' andhear Jim pick the banjo, and see 'em dance; can't we go?PLEASE! It's warm weather now, an' er moonshiny night; can't wego?"

And Diddie placed one arm around Mammy's neck, and laid the other littlehand caressingly on her cheek; and Mammy, after much persuasion, agreedto take them, if they would come home quietly when she wanted them to. 

As soon as the little girls had had their supper, they set out for thequarters. Dilsey and Chris and Riar, of course, accompanied them, thoughChris had had some difficulty in joining the party. She had come togrief about her quilt patching, having sewed the squares together insuch a way that the corners wouldn't hit, and Mammy had made her rip itall out and sew it over again, and had boxed her soundly, and now saidshe shouldn't go with the others to the quarters; but here Dumpsinterfered, and said Mammy shouldn't be "all time 'posin' on Chris, " andshe went down to see her father about it, who interceded with Mammy soeffectually that, when the little folks started off, Chris was withthem. When they got to the open space back of Aunt Nancy's cabin, andwhich was called "de play-groun', " they found that a bright fire oflight-wood knots had been kindled to give a light, and a large pile ofpine-knots and dried branches of trees was lying near for the purpose ofkeeping it up. Aunt Nancy had a bench moved out of her cabin for"marster's chil'en" to sit on, while all of the little negroes squattedaround on the ground to look on. These games were confined to the youngmen and women, and the negro children were not allowed to participate. 

Mammy, seeing that the children were safe and in good hands, repaired to"Sis Haly's house, " where "de chu'ch membahs" had assembled for aprayer-meeting. 

Soon after the children had taken their seats, the young folks came outon the play-ground for a game of Monkey Motions. 

They all joined hands, and made a ring around one who stood in themiddle, and then began to dance around in a circle, singing, "I ac' monkey moshuns, too-re-loo;I ac' monkey moshuns, so I do;I ac' 'em well, an' dat's er fac'--I ac' jes like dem monkeys ac'. 

"I ac' gemmun moshuns, too-re-loo;I ac' gemmun moshuns, so I do;I ac' 'em well, an' dat's er fac'--I ac' jes like dem gemmuns ac'. 

"I ac' lady moshuns, too-re-loo;I ac' lady moshuns, so I do;I ac' 'em well, an' dat's er fac'--I ac' jes like dem ladies ac'. 

"I ac' chil'en moshuns, too-re-loo;I ac' chil'en moshuns, so I do;I ac' 'em well, an' dat's er fac'--I ac' jes like dem chil'ens ac'. 

"I ac' preacher moshuns, too-re-loo;I ac' preacher moshuns, so I do;I ac' 'em well, an' dat's er fac'--I ac' jes like dem preachers ac'. 

"I ac' nigger moshuns, too-re-loo;I ac' nigger moshuns, so I do;I ac' 'em well, an' dat's er fac'--I ac' jes like dem niggers ac'. "

The song had a lively air, and Jim picked the accompaniment on thebanjo. Many of the negroes had good voices, and the singing was indeedexcellent. 

While the dancers were singing the first verse, "I ac' monkey moshuns, "the one in the middle would screw up his face and hump his shoulders inthe most grotesque manner, to represent a monkey. 

When they sang "I ac' gemmun moshuns, " he would stick his hat on oneside of his head, take a walking-cane in his hand, and strut back andforth, to represent a gentleman. 

In the "lady moshuns, " he would take little mincing steps, and toss hishead from side to side, and pretend to be fanning with his hand. 

"I ac' chil'en moshuns" was portrayed by his pouting out his lips andtwirling his thumbs, or giggling or crying. 

When they sang "I ac' preacher moshuns, " he straightened himself back, and began to "lay off" his hands in the most extravagant gestures. 

"I ac' nigger moshuns" was represented by scratching his head, or bybending over and pretending to be picking cotton or hoeing. 

The representation of the different motions was left entirely to thetaste and ingenuity of the actor, though it was the rule of the gamethat no two people should represent the same character in the same way. If one acted the lady by a mincing walk, the next one must devise someother manner of portraying her, such as sewing, or playing on animaginary piano, or giving orders to servants, or anything that hisfancy would suggest. 

The middle man or woman was always selected for his or her skill intaking off the different characters; and when they were clever at it, the game was very amusing to a spectator. 

After one or two games of "Monkey Moshuns, " some one proposed theyshould play "Lipto, " which was readily acceded to. 

All joined hands, and formed a ring around one in the middle, as before, and danced around, singing, "Lipto, lipto, jine de ring;Lipto, lipto, dance an' sing;Dance an' sing, an' laugh an' play, Fur dis is now er holerday. "

Then, letting loose hands, they would all wheel around three times, singing, "Turn erroun' an' roun' an' roun';"

then they would clap their hands, singing, "Clap yer han's, an' make 'em soun';"

then they would bow their heads, singing, "Bow yer heads, an' bow 'em low;"

then, joining hands again, they would dance around, singing, "All jine han's, an' hyear we go. "

And now the dancers would drop hands once more, and go to patting, whileone of the men would step out with a branch of honeysuckle or yellowjessamine, or something twined to form a wreath, or a paper cap wouldanswer, or even one of the boys' hats--anything that would serve for acrown; then he would sing, "Lipto, lipto--fi-yi-yi;Lipto, lipto, hyear am I, Er holdin' uv dis goldin' crown, An' I choose my gal fur ter dance me down. "

Then he must place the crown on the head of any girl he chooses, and shemust step out and dance with him, or, as they expressed it, "set to him"(while all the rest patted), until one or the other "broke down, " whenthe man stepped back in the ring, leaving the girl in the middle, whenthey all joined hands, and began the game over again, going through withthe wheeling around and clapping of hands and the bowing of heads justas before; after which the girl would choose her partner for a "set to, "the song being the same that was sung by the man, with the exception ofthe last line, which was changed to

"An' I choose my man fur ter dance me down. "

"Lipto" was followed by "De One I Like de Bes', " which was a kissinggame, and gave rise to much merriment. It was played, as the otherswere, by the dancers joining hands and forming a ring, with some one inthe middle, and singing, "Now while we all will dance an' sing, O choose er partner fum de ring;O choose de lady you like bes';O pick her out fum all de res', Fur her hansum face an' figur neat;O pick her out ter kiss her sweet. O walk wid her erroun' an' roun';O kneel wid her upon de groun';O kiss her once, an' one time mo';O kiss her sweet, an' let her go. O lif' her up fum off de groun', An' all jine han's erroun' an' roun', An' while we all will dance an' sing, O choose er partner fum de ring. "

At the words "choose de lady you like bes', " the middle man must makehis selection, and, giving her his hand, lead her out of the ring. Atthe words "walk wid her erroun' an' roun', " he offers her his arm, andthey promenade; at the words "kneel wid her upon de groun', " both kneel;when they sing "Kiss her once, " he kisses her; and at the words "onetime mo'" the kiss is repeated; and when the dancers sing "Lif' her upfum off de groun', " he assists her to rise; and when they sing "All jinehan's erroun' an' roun', " he steps back into the ring, and the girl mustmake a choice, the dancers singing, "O choose de gemmun you like bes';"and then the promenading and kneeling and kissing were all gone throughwith again. 

Some of the girls were great favorites, and were chosen frequently;while others not so popular would perhaps not be in the middle duringthe game. 

"De One I Like de Bes'" was a favorite play, and the young folks kept itup for some time, until some one suggested sending for "Uncle Sambo" andhis fiddle, and turning it into a sure-enough dance. Uncle Sambo wasvery accommodating, and soon made his appearance, when partners weretaken, and an Old Virginia reel formed. The tune that they danced by was"Cotton-eyed Joe, " and, the words being familiar to all of them as theydanced they sang, "Cotton-eyed Joe, Cotton-eyed Joe, What did make you sarve me so, Fur ter take my gal erway fum me, An' cyar her plum ter Tennessee?Ef it hadn't ben fur Cotton-eyed Joe, I'd er been married long ergo. 

"His eyes wuz crossed, an' his nose wuz flat, An' his teef wuz out, but wat uv dat?Fur he wuz tall, an' he wuz slim, An' so my gal she follered him. Ef it hadn't ben fur Cotton-eyed Joe, I'd er ben married long ergo. 

"No gal so hansum could be foun', Not in all dis country roun', Wid her kinky head, an' her eyes so bright;Wid her lips so red an' her teef so white. Ef it hadn't ben fur Cotton-eyed Joe, I'd er been married long ergo. 

"An' I loved dat gal wid all my heart, An' she swo' fum me she'd never part;But den wid Joe she runned away, An' lef' me hyear fur ter weep all day. O Cotton-eyed Joe, O Cotton-eyed Joe, What did make you sarve me so?O Joe, ef it hadn't er ben fur you, I'd er married dat gal fur true. "

And what with Uncle Sambo's fiddle and Jim's banjo, and all of thosefresh, happy young voices, the music was enough to make even the churchmembers want to dance. 

The children enjoyed the dancing even more than they had the playing, and Diddie and Dumps and Tot and all of the little darkies were pattingtheir hands and singing "Cotton-eyed Joe" at the very top of theirvoices, when Mammy appeared upon the scene, and said it was time to gohome. 

"No, Mammy, " urged Dumps; "we ain't er goin' ter; we want ter sing'Cotton-eyed Joe;' hit ain't late. "

"Umph-humph! dat's jes wat I 'lowed, " said Mammy. "I 'lowed yer wouldn'tbe willin' fur ter go, er set'n' hyear an' er patt'n' yer han's same ezniggers, an' er singin' uv reel chunes; I dunno wat makes you chil'en soonstrep'rous. "

"Yes, Dumps, you know we promised, " said Diddie, "and so we must go whenMammy tells us. "

Dumps, finding herself overruled, had to yield, and they all went backto the house, talking very animatedly of the quarter folks and theirplays and dances. 

CHAPTER XI. 

DIDDIE IN TROUBLE. 

Diddie was generally a very good and studious little girl, and thereforeit was a matter of surprise to everybody when Miss Carrie came down todinner one day without her, and, in answer to Major Waldron's inquiryconcerning her, replied that Diddie had been so wayward that she hadbeen forced to keep her in, and that she was not to have any dinner. 

Neither Major nor Mrs. Waldron ever interfered with Miss Carrie'smanagement, so the family sat down to the meal, leaving the little girlin the schoolroom. 

Dumps and Tot, however, were very indignant, and ate but little dinner;and, as soon as their mamma excused them, they ran right to the nurseryto tell Mammy about it. They found her overhauling a trunk of oldclothes, with a view of giving them out to such of the little negroes asthey would fit; but she dropped everything after Dumps had stated thecase, and at once began to expatiate on the tyranny of teachers ingeneral, and of Miss Carrie in particular. 

"I know'd how 'twould be, " she said, "wen marster fotch her hyear; shegot too much wite in her eye to suit me, er shettin' my chile up, an' erstarvin' uv her; I ain't got no 'pinion uv po' wite folks, nohow. "

"Is Miss Carrie po' white folks, Mammy?" asked Dumps, in horror, for shehad been taught by Mammy and Aunt Milly both that the lowest classes ofpersons in the world were "po' white folks" and "free niggers. "

"She ain't no _rich_ wite folks, " answered Mammy, evasively; "caze efnshe wuz, she wouldn't be teachin' school fur er livin'; an' den ergin, efn she's so mighty rich, whar's her niggers? I neber seed 'em. An', leterlone dat, I ain't neber hyeard uv 'em yit;" for Mammy could notconceive of a person's being rich without niggers. 

"But, wedder she's rich or po', " continued the old lady, "she ain't nobizness er shettin' up my chile; an' marster, he oughtn't ter 'low it. "

And Mammy resumed her work, but all the time grumbling, and mutteringsomething about "ole maids" and "po' wite folks. "

"I don't like her, nohow, " said Dumps, "an' I'm glad me an' Tot's toolittle ter go ter school; I don't want never to learn to read all mylife. An', Mammy, can't you go an' turn Diddie erloose?"

"No, I can't, " answered Mammy. "Yer pa don't 'low me fur ter do it; hewon't do it hisse'f, an' he won't let dem do it wat wants ter. I dunnowat's gittin' in 'im myse'f. But, you chil'en, put on yer bunnits, an'run an' play in de yard tell I fixes dis chis' uv cloes; an' you littleniggers, go wid 'em, an' tuck cyar uv 'em; an' ef dem chil'en git hut, yer'll be sorry fur it, mun; so yer'd better keep em off'n seesaws an'all sich ez dat. "

Dumps and Tot, attended by their little maids, went out in the yard atMammy's bidding, but not to play; their hearts were too heavy about poorlittle Diddie, and the little negroes were no less grieved than theywere, so they all held a consultation as to what they should do. 

"Le's go 'roun' ter de schoolroom winder, an' talk ter her, " saidDilsey. And, accordingly, they repaired to the back of the house, andtook their stand under the schoolroom window. The schoolroom was on thefirst floor, but the house was raised some distance from the ground bymeans of stone pillars, so none of the children were tall enough to seeinto the room. 

Dilsey called Diddie softly, and the little girl appeared at the window. 

"Have you said your lesson yet?" asked Dumps. 

"No, an' I ain't ergoin' to, neither, " answered Diddie. 

"An' yer ain't had yer dinner, nuther, is yer, Miss Diddie?" askedDilsey. 

"No; but I don't care 'bout that; I sha'n't say my lesson not ef shestarves me clean ter death. "

At this dismal prospect, the tears sprang to Tot's eyes, and saying, "I'll dit it, Diddie; don' yer min', I'll dit it, " she ran as fast asher little feet could carry her to the kitchen, and told Aunt Mary, thecook, that "Diddie is sut up; dey lock her all up in de woom, an' s'eneber had no dinner, an' s'e's starve mos' ter def. Miss Tawwy done it, an' s'e's des ez mean!" Then, putting her chubby little arms around AuntMary's neck, she added, "_Please_ sen' Diddie some dinner. "

And Aunt Mary, who loved the children, rose from the low chair on whichshe was sitting to eat her own dinner, and, picking out a nice piece offried chicken and a baked sweet potato, with a piece of bread and a goodslice of ginger pudding, she put them on a plate for the child. 

Now it so happened that Douglas, the head dining-room servant, was alsoin the kitchen eating his dinner, and, being exceedingly fond of Tot, hetold her to wait a moment, and he would get her something from thehouse. So, getting the keys from Aunt Delia, the housekeeper, onpretence of putting away something, he buttered two or three slices oflight bread, and spread them with jam, and, putting with them some thinchips of cold ham and several slices of cake, he carried them back tothe kitchen as an addition to Diddie's dinner. 

Tot was delighted, and walked very carefully with the plate until shejoined the little group waiting under the window, when she called out, joyfully, "Hyear 'tis, Diddie! 'tis des de bes'es kine er dinner!"

And now the trouble was how to get it up to Diddie. 

"I tell yer, " said Chris; "me 'n Dilsey'll fotch de step-ladder watUncle Douglas washes de winders wid. "

No sooner said than done, and in a few moments the step-ladder wasplaced against the house, and Dilsey prepared to mount it with the platein her hand. 

But just at this juncture Diddie decided that she would make good herescape, and, to the great delight of the children, she climbed out ofthe window, and descended the ladder, and soon stood safe among them onthe ground. 

Then, taking the dinner with them, they ran as fast as they could to thegrove, where they came to a halt on the ditch bank, and Diddie seatedherself on a root of a tree to eat her dinner, while Dumps and Totwatched the little negroes wade up and down the ditch. The water wasvery clear, and not quite knee-deep, and the temptation was too great towithstand; so the little girls took off their shoes and stockings, andwere soon wading too. 

When Diddie had finished her dinner, she joined them; and such a merrytime as they had, burying their little naked feet in the sand, andsplashing the water against each other!

"I tell yer, Diddie, " said Dumps, "I don't b'lieve nuthin' 'bout badlittle girls gittin' hurt, an' not havin' no fun when they runs away, an' don't min' nobody. I b'lieve Mammy jes makes that up ter skyeer us. "

"I don't know, " replied Diddie; "you 'member the time 'bout Ole Billy?"

"Oh, I ain't er countin' him, " said Dumps; "I ain't er countin' nosheeps; I'm jes er talkin' 'bout ditches an' things. "

And just then the little girls heard some one singing, "De jay bird died wid de hookin'-coff, Oh, ladies, ain't yer sorry?"

and Uncle Snake-bit Bob came up the ditch bank with an armful ofwhite-oak splits. 

"Yer'd better git outn dat water, " he called, as soon as he saw thechildren. "Yer'll all be havin' de croup nex'. Git out, I tell yer! Efnyer don't, I gwine straight an' tell yer pa. "

It needed no second bidding, and the little girls scrambled up the bank, and, drying their feet as best they could upon their skirts, they put ontheir shoes and stockings. 

"What are you doin', Uncle Bob?" called Diddie. 

"I'm jes er cuttin' me er few willers fur ter make baskit-handles outn. "

"Can't we come an' look at yer?" asked Diddie. 

"Yes, honey, efn yer wants ter, " replied Uncle Bob, mightily pleased. "You're all pow'ful fon' er dis ole nigger; you're allers wantin' ter beroun' him. "

"It's 'cause you always tell us tales, an' don't quar'l with us, "replied Diddie, as the children drew near the old man, and watched himcut the long willow branches. 

"Uncle Bob, " asked Dumps, "what was that you was singin' 'bout the jaybird?"

"Lor', honey, hit wuz jes 'boutn 'im dyin' wid de hookin'-coff; but yerbetter lef' dem jay birds erlone; yer needn' be er wantin' ter hyearboutn 'em. "

"Why, Uncle Bob?"

"Caze, honey, dem jay birds dey cyars news ter de deb'l, dey do; an' yerbetter not fool 'long 'em. "

"Do they tell him everything?" asked Diddie, in some solicitude. 

"Dat dey do! Dey tells 'im e'bything dey see you do wat ain't right; deycyars hit right erlong ter de deb'l. "

"Uncle Bob, " said Dumps, thoughtfully, "s'posin' they wuz some littlegirls l-o-n-g _time_ ergo what stole ernuther little girl outn thewinder, an' then run'd erway, an' waded in er ditch, what they Mammynever would let 'em; efn er jay bird would see 'em, would he tell thedeb'l nuthin' erbout it?"

"Lor', honey, dat 'ud be jes nuts fur 'im; he'd light right out wid it;an' he wouldn't was'e no time, nuther, he'd be so fyeard he'd furgitpart'n it. "

[Illustration: "YER'LL ALL BE HAVIN' DE CROUP NEXT. "]

"I don't see none 'bout hyear, " said Dumps, looking anxiously up atthe trees. "They don't stay 'bout hyear much, does they, Uncle Bob?"

"I seed one er settin' on dat sweet-gum dar ez I come up de ditch, " saidUncle Bob. "He had his head turnt one side, he did, er lookin' mightyhard at you chil'en, an' I 'lowed ter myse'f now I won'er wat is he erwatchin' dem chil'en fur? but, den, I knowed _you_ chil'en wouldn't donuffin wrong, an' I knowed he wouldn't have nuffin fur ter tell. "

"Don't he never make up things an' tell 'em?" asked Dumps. 

"I ain't neber hyeard boutn dat, " said the old man. "Efn he do, or efnhe don't, I can't say, caze I ain't neber hyeard; but de bes' way is furter keep 'way fum 'em. "

"Well, I bet he do, " said Dumps. "I jes bet he tells M-O-O-O-R-ES-T-O-R-I-E-S than anybody. An', Uncle Bob, efn he tells the deb'lsump'n 'boutn three little white girls an' three little niggers runnin'erway fum they teacher an' wadin' in er ditch, then I jes b'lieve _hemade it up_! Now that's jes what I b'lieve; an' can't you tell the deb'lso, Uncle Bob?"

"Who? Me? Umph, umph! yer talkin' ter de wrong nigger now, chile! Idon't hab nuffin te do wid 'im mysef! I'se er God-fyearn nigger, I is;an', let erlone dat, I keeps erway fum dem jay birds. Didn' yer neberhyear wat er trick he played de woodpecker?"

"No, Uncle Bob, " answered Diddie; "what did he do to him?"

"Ain't yer neber hyeard how come de woodpecker's head ter be red, an'wat makes de robin hab er red breas'?"

"Oh, I know 'bout the robin's breast, " said Diddie. "When the Saviourwas on the cross, an' the wicked men had put er crown of thorns on him, an' his forehead was all scratched up an' bleedin', er little robin wassettin' on er tree lookin' at him; an' he felt so sorry 'bout it till heflew down, an' tried to pick the thorns out of the crown; an' while hewas pullin' at 'em, one of 'em run in his breast, an' made the bloodcome, an' ever since that the robin's breast has been red. "

"Well, I dunno, " said the old man, thoughtfully, scratching his head; "Idunno, dat _mout_ be de way; I neber hyeard it, do; but den I ain'tsayin' tain't true, caze hit mout be de way; an' wat I'm er stan'in' byis _dis_, dat _dat_ ain't de way I hyeard hit. "

"Tell us how you heard it, Uncle Bob, " asked Diddie. 

"Well, hit all come 'long o' de jay bird, " said Uncle Bob. "An' efn yergot time fur ter go 'long o' me ter de shop, an' sot dar wile I plats ondese baskits fur de oberseer's wife, I'll tell jes wat I hyearn 'boutnhit. "

Of course they had plenty of time, and they all followed him to theshop, where he turned some baskets bottom-side up for seats for thechildren, and, seating himself on his accustomed stool, while the littledarkies sat around on the dirt-floor, he began to weave the splitsdexterously in and out, and proceeded to tell the story. 

CHAPTER XII. 

HOW THE WOODPECKER'S HEAD AND THE ROBIN'S BREAST CAME TO BE RED. 

"Well" began Uncle Bob, "hit wuz all erlong er de jay bird, jes ez I wuztellin' yer. Yer see, Mr. Jay Bird he fell'd in love, he did, 'long o'Miss Robin, an' he wuz er courtin' her, too; ev'y day de Lord sen', he'dbe er gwine ter see her, an' er singin' ter her, an' er cyarin' herberries an' wums; but, somehow or udder, she didn't pyear ter tuck noshine ter him. She'd go er walkin' 'long 'im, an' she'd sing songs wid'im, an' she'd gobble up de berries an' de wums wat he fotch, but denw'en hit come ter marry'n uv 'im, she wan't dar. 

"Well, she wouldn't gib 'im no kin' er 'couragement, tell he got rightsick at his heart, he did; an' one day, ez he wuz er settin' in his nes'an' er steddin how ter wuck on Miss Robin so's ter git her love, hehyeard somebody er laughin' an' talkin', an' he lookt out, he did, an'dar wuz Miss Robin er prumurradin' wid de Woodpecker. An' wen he seeddat, he got pow'ful mad, an' he 'low'd ter hisse'f dat efn de Lordspar'd him, he inten' fur ter fix dat Woodpecker. 

"In dem times de Woodpecker's head wuz right black, same ez er crow, an'he had er topknot on 'im like er rooster. Gemmun, he wuz er han'sumbird, too. See 'im uv er Sunday, wid his 'go-ter-meetin'' cloze on, an'dar wan't no bird could totch 'im fur looks. 

"Well, he an' Miss Robin dey went on by, er laffin' an' er talkin' widone ernudder; an' de Jay he sot dar, wid his head turnt one side, ersteddin an' er steddin ter hisse'f; an' by'mby, atter he made up hismin', he sot right ter wuck, he did, an' he fix him er trap. 

"He got 'im some sticks, an' he nailt 'em cross'n 'is do' same ez erplank-fence, only he lef' space 'nuff twix' de bottum stick an' de nex'one fur er bird ter git thu; den, stid er nailin' de stick nex' debottum, he tuck'n prope it up at one een wid er little chip fur ter holeit, an' den jes res' tudder een 'gins de side er de nes'. Soon's eber hedone dat, he crawlt out thu de crack mighty kyeerful, I tell yer, cazehe wuz fyeared he mout er knock de stick down, an' git his own se'fcotch in de trap; so yer hyeard me, mun, he crawlt thu mighty tick'ler. 

"Atter he got thu, den he santer 'long, he did, fur ter hunt up deWoodpecker; an' by'mby he hyeard him peckin' at er log; an' he went upter him kin' er kyeerless, an' he sez, 'Good-mornin', ' sezee; 'yerpow'ful busy ter day. '

"Den de Woodpecker he pass de kempulmence wid 'im, des same ez anyudder gemmun; an' atter dey talk er wile, den de Blue Jay he up'n sez, 'I wuz jes er lookin' fur yer, ' sezee; 'I gwine ter hab er partyter-morrer night, an' I'd like fur yer ter come. All de birds'll be dar, Miss Robin in speshul, ' sezee. 

"An' wen de Woodpecker hyearn dat, he 'lowed he'd try fur ter git dar. An' den de Jay he tell him good-mornin', an' went on ter Miss Robin'shouse. Well, hit pyeart like Miss Robin wuz mo' cole dan uzhul dat day, an' by'mby de Jay Bird, fur ter warm her up, sez, 'Yer lookin' mightyhansum dis mornin', ' sezee. An' sez she, 'I'm proud ter hyear yer sayso; but, speakin' uv hansum, ' sez she, 'hev yer seed Mr. Peckerwoodlately?'

"Dat made de Blue Jay kint er mad; an' sezee, 'Yer pyear ter tuck ermighty intrus' in 'im. '

"'Well, I dunno 'bout'n dat, ' sez Miss Robin, sez she, kinter lookin'shame. 'I dunno 'boutn dat; but, den I tink he's er mighty _hansum_bird, ' sez she. 

"Well, wid dat de Jay Bird 'gun ter git madder'n he wuz, an' he 'lowedter hisse'f dat he'd ax Miss Robin ter his house, so's she could see howhe'd fix de Peckerwood; so he sez, "'Miss Robin, I gwine ter hab er party ter-morrer night; deWoodpecker'll be dar, an' I'd like fur yer ter come. '

"Miss Robin 'lowed she'd come, an' de Jay Bird tuck his leave. 

"Well, de nex' night de Jay sot in 'is nes' er waitin' fur 'is cump'ny;an' atter er wile hyear come de Woodpecker. Soon's eber he seed desticks ercross de do', he sez, 'Wy, pyears like yer ben er fixin' up, 'sezee. 'Ain't yer ben er buildin'?'

"'Well, ' sez de Jay Bird, 'I've jes put er few 'provemunce up, fur terkeep de scritch-owls outn my nes'; but dar's plenty room fur my frien'ster git thu; jes come in, ' sezee; an' de Woodpecker he started thu decrack. Soon's eber he got his head thu, de Jay pullt de chip out, an' debig stick fell right crossn his neck. Den dar he wuz, wid his head inan' his feet out! an' de Jay Bird 'gun ter laff, an' ter make fun atn'im. Sezee, 'I hope I see yer! Yer look like sparkin' Miss Robin now!hit's er gre't pity she can't see yer stretched out like dat; an' she'llbe hyear, too, d'rectly; she's er comin' ter de party, ' sezee, 'an' I'mgwine ter gib her er new dish; I'm gwine ter sot her down ter roas'Woodpecker dis ebenin'. An' now, efn yer'll 'scuse me, I'll lef' yerhyear fur ter sorter 'muse yerse'f wile I grin's my ax fur ten' teryer. '

"An' wid dat de Jay went out, an' lef de po' Woodpecker er lyin' dar;an' by'mby Miss Robin come erlong; an' wen she seed de Woodpecker, sheaxt 'im 'wat's he doin' down dar on de groun'?' an' atter he up an' tol'her, an' tol' her how de Jay Bird wuz er grin'in' his axe fur ter chopoffn his head, den de Robin she sot to an' try ter lif' de stick offnhim. She straint an' she straint, but her strengt' wan't 'nuff fur termove hit den; an' so she sez, 'Mr. Woodpecker, ' sez she, 's'posin' Icotch holt yer feet, an' try ter pull yer back dis way?' 'All right, 'sez de Woodpecker; an' de Robin, she cotch er good grip on his feet, an'she brace herse'f up 'gins er bush, an' pullt wid all her might, an'atter er wile she fotch 'im thu; but she wuz bleeged fur ter lef' histopknot behin', fur his head wuz skunt des ez clean ez yer han'; an''twuz jes ez raw, honey, ez er piece er beef. 

"An' wen de Robin seed dat, she wuz mighty 'stressed; an' she tuck hishead an' helt it gins her breas' fur ter try an' cumfut him, an' deblood got all ober her breas', an' hit's red plum tell yit. 

"Well, de Woodpecker he went erlong home, an' de Robin she nusst himtell his head got well; but de topknot wuz gone, an' it pyeart like deblood all settled in his head, caze fum _dat_ day ter _dis_ his head'sben red. "

"An' did he marry the Robin?" asked Diddie. 

"Now I done tol' yer all I know, " said Uncle Bob. "I gun yer de tale jeslike I hyearn it, an' I ain't er gwine ter make up _nuffin'_, an' tellyer wat I dunno ter be de truff. Efn dar's any mo' ter it, den I ain'tneber hyearn hit. I gun yer de tale jes like hit wuz gunt ter me, an'efn yer ain't satisfied wid hit, den I can't holp it. "

"But we _are_ satisfied, Uncle Bob, " said Diddie. "It was a very prettytale, and we are much obliged to you. "

"Yer mo'n welcome, honey, " said Uncle Bob, soothed by Diddie'sanswer--"yer mo'n welcome; but hit's gittin' too late fur you chil'enter be out; yer'd better be er gittin' toerds home. "

Here the little girls looked at each other in some perplexity, for theyknew Diddie had been missed, and they were afraid to go to the house. 

"Uncle Bob, " said Diddie, "we've done er wrong thing this evenin': weran away fum Miss Carrie, an' we're scared of papa; he might er lock usall up in the library, an' talk to us, an' say he's 'stonished an'mortified, an' so we're scared to go home. "

"Umph!" said Uncle Bob; "you chil'en is mighty bad, anyhow. "

"I think we're heap mo' _better_'n we're _bad_, " said Dumps. 

"Well, dat mout er be so, " said the old man; "I ain't er 'sputin' it, but you chil'en comes fum er mighty high-minded stock uv white folks, an' hit ain't becomin' in yer fur ter be runnin' erway an' er hidin'out, same ez oberseer's chil'en, an' all kin' er po' white trash. "

"We _are_ sorry about it now, Uncle Bob, " said Diddie "but what wouldyou 'vize us to do?" "Well, my invice is _dis_, " said Uncle Bob, "furter go ter yer pa, an' tell him de truff; state all de konkumstances deslike dey happen; don't lebe out none er de facks; tell him you're sorryyer 'haved so onstreperous, an' ax him fur ter furgib yer; an' ef he_do_, wy dat's all right; an' den ef he _don't_, wy yer mus' 'bide by dekinsequonces. But fuss, do, fo' yer axes fur furgibness, yer mus' turnyer min's ter repintunce. Now I ax you chil'en _dis_, Is--you--sorry--dat--you--runned--off?an'--is--you--'pentin'--uv--wadin'--in--de--ditch?"

Uncle Bob spoke very slowly and solemnly, and in a deep tone; andDiddie, feeling very much as if she had been guilty of murder, replied, "Yes, I am truly sorry, Uncle Bob. "

Dumps and Tot and the three little darkies gravely nodded their heads inassent. 

"Den jes go an' tell yer pa so, " said the old man. "An', anyway, yer'llhatter be gwine, caze hit's gittin' dark. "

The little folks walked off slowly towards the house, and presentlyDumps said, "Diddie, I don't b'lieve I'm _rael_ sorry we runned off, an' I don't_right_ 'pent 'bout wadin' in the ditch, cause we had er mighty heap erfun; an' yer reckon ef I'm jes _sorter_ sorry, an' jes _toler'ble_'pent, that'll do?"

"I don't know about that, " said Diddie; "but _I'm_ right sorry, and I'lltell papa for all of us. "

[Illustration: "WELL, MY INVICE IS DIS. "]

The children went at once to the library, where Major Waldron wasfound reading. 

"Papa, " said Diddie, "we've ben very bad, an' we've come ter tell yer'bout it. "

"An' the Jay Bird, he tol' the deb'l, " put in Dumps, "an' 'twan't noneer his business. "

"Hush up, Dumps, " said Diddie, "till I tell papa 'bout it. I wouldn'tsay my lesson, papa, an' Miss Carrie locked me up, an' the chil'enbrought me my dinner. "

"'Tuz me, " chimed in Tot. "I b'ing 'er de _besses_ dinner--take an' jaman' pud'n in de p'ate. Aunt Mawy durn turn me. "

"Hush, Tot, " said Diddie, "till I get through. An' then, papa, I climbedout the winder on the step-ladder, an' I--"

"Dilsey an' Chris got the ladder, " put in Dumps. 

"HUSH UP, Dumps!" said Diddie; "you're all time 'ruptin' me. "

"I reckon I done jes bad ez you, " retorted Dumps, "an' I got jes muchright ter tell 'boutn it. You think nobody can't be bad but yerse'f. '

"Well, then, you can tell it all, " said Diddie, with dignity. "Papa, Dumps will tell you. "

And Dumps, nothing daunted, continued:

"Dilsey an' Chris brought the step-ladder, an' Diddie clum out; an' werunned erway in the woods, an' waded in the ditch, an' got all muddyup; an' the Jay Bird, he was settin' on er limb watchin' us, an' hecarried the news ter the deb'l; an' Uncle Snake-bit Bob let us go terhis shop, an' tol' us 'bout the Woodpecker's head, an' that's all; onlywe ain't n-e-v-er goin' ter do it no mo'; an', oh yes, I furgot--an'Diddie's rael sorry an' right 'pents; an' I'm sorter sorry, an'toler'ble 'pents. An', please, are you mad, papa?"

"It was certainly very wrong, " said her father, "to help Diddie to getout, when Miss Carrie had locked her in; and I am surprised that Diddieshould need to be kept in. Why didn't you learn your lesson, mydaughter?"

"I did, " answered Diddie; "I knew it every word; but Miss Carrie jus'cut up, an' wouldn't let me say it like 'twas in the book; an' shelaughed at me; an' then I got mad, an' wouldn't say it at all. "

"Which lesson was it?" asked Major Waldron. 

"'Twas er hist'ry lesson, an' the question was, 'Who was Columbus?' an'the answer was, 'He was the son of er extinguished alligator;' an' MissCarrie laughed, an' said that wan't it. "

"And I rather think Miss Carrie was right, " said the father. "Go andbring me the book. "

Diddie soon returned with her little history, and, showing the passageto her father, said, eagerly, "Now don't you see here, papa?"

And Major Waldron read, "He was the son of a _distinguishednavigator_. " Then, making Diddie spell the words in the book, heexplained to her her mistake, and said he would like to have herapologize to Miss Carrie for being so rude to her. 

This Diddie was very willing to do, and her father went with her to thesitting-room to find Miss Carrie, who readily forgave Diddie for herrebellion, and Dumps and Tot for interfering with her discipline. Andthat was a great deal more than Mammy did, when she saw the state oftheir shoes and stockings, and found that they had been wading in theditch. 

She slapped the little darkies, and tied red-flannel rags wet withturpentine round the children's necks to keep them from taking cold, andscolded and fussed so that the little girls pulled the cover over theirheads and went to sleep, and left her quarrelling. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A PLANTATION MEETING AND UNCLE DANIEL'S SERMON. 

"Are you gwine ter meetin', Mammy?" asked Diddie one Sunday evening, asMammy came out of the house attired in her best flowered muslin, with anold-fashioned mantilla (that had once been Diddie's grandmother's)around her shoulders. 

"Cose I gwine ter meetin', honey; I'se er tryin' ter sarve de Lord, Iis, caze we ain't gwine stay hyear on dis yearth all de time. We got tergo ter nudder kentry, chile; an' efn yer don't go ter meetin', an' watchan' pray, like de Book say fur yer ter do, den yer mus' look out furyerse'f wen dat Big Day come wat I hyears 'em talkin' 'bout. "

"Can't we go with you, Mammy? We'll be good, an' not laugh at 'emshoutin'. "

"I dunno wat yer gwine loff at 'em shoutin' fur; efn yer don't min' deloff gwine ter be turnt some er deze days, an' dem wat yer loffs athyear, dem's de ones wat's gwine ter do de loffin' wen we gits upyon'er! But, let erlone dat, yer kin go efn yer wants ter; an' efnyer'll make has'e an' git yer bunnits, caze I ain't gwine wait no gretwile. I don't like ter go ter meetin' atter hit starts. I want ter hyearBrer Dan'l's tex', I duz. I can't neber enj'y de sermon doutn I hyearsde tex'. "

You may be sure it wasn't long before the children were all ready, forthey knew Mammy would be as good as her word, and would not wait forthem. When they reached the church, which was a very nice woodenbuilding that Major Waldron had had built for that purpose, there was alarge crowd assembled; for, besides Major Waldron's own slaves, quite anumber from the adjoining plantations were there. The younger negroeswere laughing and chatting in groups outside the door, but the olderones wore very solemn countenances, and walked gravely in and up to thevery front pews. On Mammy's arrival, she placed the little girls inseats at the back of the house, and left Dilsey and Chris and Riar onthe seat just behind them, "fur ter min' 'em, " as she said (for thechildren must always be under the supervision of somebody), and then shewent to her accustomed place at the front; for Mammy was one of theleading members, and sat in the amen corner. 

Soon after they had taken their seats, Uncle Gabe, who had a powerfulvoice, and led the singing, struck up:

"Roll, Jordan, roll! roll, Jordan, roll! I want ter go ter heb'n wen I die, Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll. 

"Oh, pray, my brudder, pray! Yes, my Lord;My brudder's settin' in de kingdum, Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll. 

 _Chorus. _

 Roll, Jordan, roll! roll, Jordan, roll! I want ter go ter heb'n wen I die, Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll. 

"Oh, shout, my sister, shout! Yes, my Lord;My sister she's er shoutin' Caze she hyears sweet Jordan roll. 

"Oh, moan, you monahs, moan! Yes, my Lord;De monahs sobbin' an' er weepin', Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll. 

"Oh, scoff, you scoffers, scoff! Yes, my Lord;Dem sinners wat's er scoffin' Can't hyear sweet Jordan roll. "

And as the flood of melody poured through the house, the groups on theoutside came in to join the singing. 

After the hymn, Uncle Snake-bit Bob led in prayer, and what the old manlacked in grammar and rhetoric was fully made up for in fervency andzeal. 

The prayer ended, Uncle Daniel arose, and, carefully adjusting hisspectacles, he opened his Bible with all the gravity and dignityimaginable, and proceeded to give out his text. 

Now the opening of the Bible was a mere matter of form, for Uncle Danieldidn't even know his letters; but he thought it was more impressive tohave the Bible open, and therefore never omitted that part of theceremony. 

"My bredren an' my sistren, " he began, looking solemnly over his specsat the congregation, "de tex' wat I'se gwine ter gib fur yer 'strucshundis ebenin' yer'll not fin' in de foremus' part er de Book, nur yit inde hine part. Hit's swotuwated mo' in de middle like, 'boutn ez fur fumone een ez 'tiz fum tudder, an' de wuds uv de tex' is dis:

"'Burhol', I'll punish um! dey young men shall die by de s'ord, an' deysons an' dey daughters by de famine. '

"My bredren, embracin' uv de sistren, I'se ben 'stressed in my min''boutn de wickedness I sees er gwine on. Eby night de Lord sen' dar'sdancin' an' loffin' an' fiddlin'; an' efn er man raises 'im er fewchickens an' watermillions, dey ain't safe no longer'n his back's turnt;an', let erlone dat, dar's quarlin' 'longer one nudder, an' dar'ssassin' uv wite folks an' ole pussuns, an' dar's drinkin' uv whiskey, an' dar's beatin' uv wives, an' dar's dev'lin' uv husban's, an' dar'simperrence uv chil'en, an' dar's makin' fun uv 'ligion, an' dar'ssingin' uv reel chunes, an' dar's slightin' uv wuck, an' dar's stayin'fum meetin', an' dar's swearin' an' cussin', an' dar's eby kin' erwickedness an' dev'lment loose in de land. 

"An', my bredren, takin' in de sistren, I've talked ter yer, an' I'vetol' yer uv de goodness an' de long-suff'rin' uv de Lord. I tol' yeroutn his Book, whar he'd lead yer side de waters, an' be a Shepherd teryer; an' yer kep' straight on, an' neber paid no 'tenshun; so tuddernight, wile I wuz er layin' in de bed an' er steddin' wat ter preach'bout, sumpin' kin' er speak in my ear; an' hit sez, 'Brer Dan'l, yer'vetol' 'em 'bout de Lord's leadin' uv 'em, an' now tell 'em 'boutn hisdrivin' uv 'em. An', my bredren, includin' uv de sistren, I ain't gwineter spare yer feelin's dis day. I'm er stan'in' hyear fur ter 'liver demessage outn de Book, an' dis is de message:

"'Burhol', I'll punish um! dey young men shall die by de s'ord, an' deysons an' dey daughters by de famine. '

"Yer all hyear it, don't yer? An' now yer want ter know who sont it. DeLord! Hit's true he sont it by a po' ole nigger, but den hit's his ownwuds; hit's in his Book. An', fussly, we'll pursidder dis: IS HE ABLETER DO IT? Is he able fur ter kill marster's niggers wid de s'ord an' defamine? My bredren, he is able! Didn' he prize open de whale's mouf, an'take Jonah right outn him? Didn' he hol' back de lions wen dey wuz errampin' an' er tearin' roun' atter Dan'l in de den? Wen de flood come, an' all de yearth wuz drownded, didn' he paddle de ark till he landedher on top de mount er rats? Yes, my bredren, embracin' uv de sistren, an' de same Lord wat done all er dat, he's de man wat's got de s'ordsan' de famines ready fur dem wat feels deyse'f too smart ter 'bey deteachin's uv de Book. 'Dey young men shall die by de s'ord, an' dey sonsan' dey daughters by de famine. '

"Oh, you chu'ch membahs wat shouts an' prays uv er Sundays an' stealswatermillions uv er week-days! Oh, you young men wat's er cussin' an' errobbin' uv hen-rooses! Oh, you young women wat's er singin' uv reelchunes! Oh, you chil'en wat's er sassin' uv ole folks! Oh, you olepussons wat's er fussin' an' quarlin'! Oh, you young folks wat's erdancin' an' prancin'! Oh, you niggers wat's er slightin' uv yer wuck!Oh! pay 'tenshun ter de message dis ebenin', caze yer gwine wake up someer deze mornin's, an' dar at yer do's 'll be de s'ord an' de famine. 

"'Burhol', I'll punish um! dey young men shall die by de s'ord, an' deysons an' dey daughters by de famine. '

"Bredren, an' likewise sistren, yer dunno wat yer foolin' wid! Dems'ords an' dem famines is de wust things dey is. Dey's wuss'n derheumatiz; dey's wuss'n de toofache; dey's wuss'n de cramps; dey'swuss'n de lockjaw; dey's wuss'n anything. Wen Adam an' Ebe wuz turntoutn de gyarden, an' de Lord want ter keep 'em out, wat's dat he putdar fur ter skyer 'em? Wuz it er elfunt? No, sar! Wuz it er lion? No, sar! He had plenty beases uv eby kin', but den he didn' cyar 'boutn usenuv 'em. Wuz hit rain or hail, or fire, or thunder, or lightnin'? No, mybredren, hit wuz er s'ord! Caze de Lord knowed weneber dey seed de s'orddar dey wan't gwine ter facin' it. Oh, den, lis'en at de message disebenin'. 

"'Dey young men shall die by de s'ord. '

"An' den, ergin, dars dem famines, my bredren, takin' in de sistren--demfamines come plum fum Egypt! dey turnt 'em erloose dar one time, mun, an' de Book sez all de lan' wuz sore, an' thousan's pun top er thousan'swuz slaint. 

"Dey ain't no way fur ter git roun' dem famines. Yer may hide, yer mayrun in de swamps, yer may climb de trees, but, bredren, efn eber demfamines git atter yer, yer gone! dey'll cotch yer! dey's nuffin like 'emon de face uv de yearth, les'n hit's de s'ord; dar ain't much chice twixdem two. Wen hit comes ter s'ords an' famines, I tell yer, gemmun, hit'snip an' tuck. Yit de message, hit sez, 'dey young men shall die by des'ord, an' dey sons an' dey daughters by de famine. '

"Now, bredren an' sistren, an' monahs an' sinners, don't le's force deLord fur ter drive us; le's try fur ter sarve him, an' fur ter giterlong doutn de s'ords an de famines. Come up hyear roun' dis altar, an'wrestle fur 'ligion, an' dem few uv us wat is godly--me an' BrerSnake-bit Bob an' Sis Haly an' Brer Gabe, an' Brer Lige an' BrerOne-eyed Pete, an' Sis Rachel (Mammy) an' Sis Hannah--we're gwine put inlicks fur yer dis ebenin'. Oh, my frens, yer done hyeard de message. Oh, spar' us de s'ords an de famines! don't drive de Lord fur ter use 'em!Come up hyear now dis ebenin', an' let us all try ter hep yer git thu. Leave yer dancin' an' yer singin' an' yer playin'; leave yer whiskey an'yer cussin' an' yer swearin', an' tu'n yer min's ter de s'ords an' defamines. 

"Wen de Lord fotches dem s'ords outn Eden, an' dem famines outn Egyp', an' tu'n 'em erloose on dis plantation, I tell yer, mun, dar's gwine beskyeared niggers hyear. Yer won't see no dancin' den; yer won't hyear nocussin', nor no chickens hollin' uv er night; dey won't be no reelchunes sung den; yer'll want ter go ter prayin', an' yer'll be ercallin' on us wat is stedfus in de faith fur ter hep yer; but we can'thep yer den. We'll be er tryin' on our wings an' er floppin' 'em" ("Yes, bless God!" thus Uncle Snake-bit Bob), "an' er gittin' ready fur terstart upuds! We'll be er lacin' up dem golden shoes" ("Yes, marster!"thus Mammy), "fur ter walk thu dem pearly gates. We can't stop den. Wecan't 'liver no message den; de Book'll be shot. So, bredren, hyear itdis ebenin'. 'Dey young men shall die by de s'ord, an' dey sons an' deydaughters by de famine. '

"Now, I've said ernuff; dey's no use fur ter keep er talkin', an' allyou backslidin' chu'ch membahs, tremblin' sinners, an' weepin' monahs, come up hyear dis ebenin', an' try ter git erroun' dem s'ords an' demfamines. Now my skyearts is clar, caze I done 'liver de message. I donetol' yer whar hit come fum. I tol' yer 'twas in de Book, 'boutnmiddle-ways twix' een an' een; an' wedder David writ it or Sam'l writit, or Gen'sis writ it or Paul writ it, or Phesians writ it or Loshunswrit it, dat ain't nudder hyear nor dar; dat don't make no diffunce;some on 'em writ it, caze hit's sholy in de Book, fur de oberseer's wifeshe read hit ter me outn dar; an' I tuck 'tickler notice, too, so's Icould tell yer right whar ter fin' it. An', bredren, I'm er tellin' yerde truf dis ebenin'; hit's jes 'bout de middle twix' een an' een. Hit'sdar, sho's yer born, an' dar ain't no way fur ter 'sputin' it, nor tergit roun' it, 'septin' fur ter tu'n fum yer wickedness. An' now, BrudderGabe, raise er chune; an' sing hit lively, bredren; an' wile dey'ssingin' hit, I want yer ter come up hyear an' fill deze monahs' benchesplum full. Bredren, I want monahs 'pun top er monahs dis ebenin'. Bredren, I want 'em in crowds. I want 'em in droves. I want 'em inlayers. I want 'em in piles. I want 'em laid 'pun top er one ernudder, bredren, tell yer can't see de bottumus' monahs. I want 'em piled uphyear dis ebenin'. I want 'em packed down, mun, an' den tromped on, termake room fur de nex' load. Oh, my bredren, come! fur 'dey young menshall die by de s'ord, an' dey sons an' dey daughters by de famine. '"

The scene that followed baffles all description. Uncle Gabe struck up--

"Oh, lebe de woods uv damnation;Come out in de fields uv salvation;Fur de Lord's gwine ter bu'n up creation, Wen de day uv jedgment come. "

"Oh, sinners, yer may stan' dar er laffin', Wile de res' uv us is er quaffin'Uv de streams wich de win's is er waffin' Right fresh fum de heb'nly sho'. "

"But, min', dar's er day is er comin', Wen yer'll hyear a mighty pow'ful hummin';Wen dem angels is er blowin' an' er drummin', In de awful jedgment day. "

"Oh, monahs, you may stan' dar er weepin', Fur de brooms uv de Lord is er sweepin', An' all de trash dey's er heapin' Outside er de golden gate. "

"So, sinners, yer'd better be er tu'nin', Er climbin' an' er scramblin' an' er runnin', Fur ter 'scape dat drefful burnin' In de awful jedgment day. "

And while the hymn was being sung, Uncle Daniel had his wish of "monahs'pun top er monahs, " for the benches and aisles immediately around thealtar were soon crowded with the weeping negroes. Some were crying, someshouting Glory! some praying aloud, some exhorting the sinners, somecomforting the mourners, some shrieking and screaming, and, above allthe din and confusion, Uncle Daniel could be heard halloing, at the topof his voice, "Dem s'ords an' dem famines!" After nearly an hour of thisintense excitement, the congregation was dismissed, one of them, atleast, more dead than alive; for "Aunt Ceely, " who had long been knownas "er pow'ful sinful ooman, " had fallen into a trance, whether real orassumed must be determined by wiser heads than mine; for it was nouncommon occurrence for those "seekin' 'ligion" to lie in a state ofunconsciousness for several hours, and, on their return toconsciousness, to relate the most wonderful experiences of what hadhappened to them while in the trance. Aunt Ceely lay as if she weredead, and two of the Christian men (for no sinner must touch her at thiscritical period) bore her to her cabin, followed by the "chu'chmembahs, " who would continue their singing and praying until she "comethu, " even if the trance should last all night. The children returned tothe house without Mammy, for she was with the procession which hadfollowed Aunt Ceely; and as they reached the yard, they met their fatherreturning from the lot. 

"Papa, " called Dumps, "we're goin' ter have awful troubles hyear. "

"How, my little daughter?" asked her father. 

"The Lord's goin' ter sen' s'ords an' famines, an' they'll eat up allthe young men, an' ev'ybody's sons an' daughters, " she replied, earnestly. "Uncle Dan'l said so in meetin'; an' all the folks wasscreamin' an' shoutin', an' Aunt Ceely is in a trance 'bout it, an' sheain't come thu yet. "

[Illustration: "MONAH'S 'PUN TOP ER MONAHS. "]

Major Waldron was annoyed that his children should have witnessed anysuch scene, for they were all very much excited and frightened at thefearful fate that they felt was approaching them; so he took them intohis library, and explained the meaning of the terms "swords andfamines, " and read to them the whole chapter, explaining how the prophetreferred only to the calamities that should befall the Hebrews; but, notwithstanding all that, the children were uneasy, and made Aunt Millysit by the bedside until they went to sleep, to keep the "swords and thefamines" from getting them. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

DIDDIE AND DUMPS GO VISITING. 

It was some time in June that, the weather being fine, Mammy gave thechildren permission to go down to the woods beyond the gin-house andhave a picnic. 

They had a nice lunch put up in their little baskets, and started off inhigh glee, taking with them Cherubim and Seraphim and the doll babies. They were not to stay all day, only till dinner-time; so they had notime to lose, but set to playing at once. 

First, it was "Ladies come to see, " and each of them had a house underthe shade of a tree, and spent most of the time in visiting and intaking care of their respective families. Dumps had started out withCherubim for her little boy; but he proved so refractory, and kept herso busy catching him, that she decided to play he was the yard dog, andcontent herself with the dolls for her children. Riar, too, had sometrouble in _her_ family; in passing through the yard, she had inveigledHester's little two-year-old son to go with them, and now was desirousof claiming him as her son and heir--a position which he filled verycontentedly until Diddie became ambitious of living in more style thanher neighbors, and offered Pip (Hester's baby) the position ofdining-room servant in her establishment; and he, lured off by theprospect of playing with the little cups and saucers, deserted Riar forDiddie. This produced a little coolness, but gradually it wore off, andthe visiting between the parties was resumed. 

After "ladies come to see" had lost its novelty, they made littleleaf-boats, and sailed them in the ditch. Then they played "hide theswitch, " and at last concluded to try a game of hide-and-seek. Thisafforded considerable amusement, so they kept it up some time; and once, when it became Dumps's time to hide, she ran away to the gin-house, andgot into the pick-room. And while she was standing there all by herselfin the dark, she thought she heard somebody breathing. This frightenedher very much, and she had just opened the door to get out, when a negroman crawled from under a pile of dirty cotton, and said, "Little missy, fur de Lord's sake, can't yer gimme sump'n t' eat?"

Dumps was so scared she could hardly stand; but, notwithstanding theman's haggard face and hollow eyes, and his weird appearance, with thecotton sticking to his head, his tone was gentle, and she stopped tolook at him more closely. 

"Little missy, " he said, piteously, "I'se er starvin' ter def. I ain'thad er mouf'l ter eat in fo' days. "

"What's the reason?" asked Dumps. "Are you a runaway nigger?"

"Yes, honey; I 'longs ter ole Tight-fis' Smith; an' he wanted ter whupme fur not gittin' out ter de fiel' in time, an' I tuck'n runned erwayfum 'im, an' now I'm skyeert ter go back, an' ter go anywhar; an' Ican't fin' nuf'n t' eat, an' I'se er starvin' ter def. "

"Well, you wait, " said Dumps, "an' I'll go bring yer the picnic. "

"Don't tell nobody 'boutn my bein' hyear, honey. "

"No, I won't, " said Dumps, "only Diddie; she's good, an' she won't tellnobody; an' she can read an' write, an' she'll know what to do better'nme, because I'm all the time such a little goose. But I'll bring yersump'n t' eat; you jes wait er little minute; an' don't yer starve terdef till I come back. "

Dumps ran back to the ditch where the children were, and, taking Diddieaside in a very mysterious manner, she told her about the poor man whowas hiding in the gin-house, and about his being so hungry. 

"An' I tol' 'im I'd bring 'im the picnic, " concluded Dumps; and Diddie, being the gentlest and kindest-hearted little girl imaginable, at onceconsented to that plan; and, leaving Tot with the little negroes in thewoods, the two children took their baskets, and went higher up theditch, on pretence of finding a good place to set the table; but, assoon as they were out of sight, they cut across the grove, and were soonat the gin-house. They entered the pick-room cautiously, and closed thedoor behind them, The man came out from his hiding-place, and the littlegirls emptied their baskets in his hands. 

He ate ravenously, and Diddie and Dumps saw with pleasure how much heenjoyed the nice tarts and sandwiches and cakes that Mammy had providedfor the picnic. 

"Do you sleep here at night?" asked Diddie. 

"Yes, honey, I'se skyeert ter go out anywhar; I'se so skyeert uvTight-fis' Smith. "

"He's awful mean, ain't he?" asked Dumps. 

"Dat he is, chile, " replied the man; "he's cruel an' bad. "

"Then don't you ever go back to him, " said Dumps. "You stay right herean' me'n Diddie'll bring you ev'y-thing ter eat, an' have you fur ournigger. "

The man laughed softly at that idea, but said he would stay there forthe present, anyway; and the children, bidding him good-bye, and tellinghim they would be sure to bring him something to eat the next day, wentback to their playmates at the ditch. 

"Tot, " said Diddie, "we gave all the picnic away to a poor old man whowas very hungry; but you don't mind, do you? we'll go back to thehouse, and Mammy will give you just as many cakes as you want. "

Tot was a little bit disappointed, for she had wanted to eat the picnicin the woods; but Diddie soon comforted her, and before they reached thehouse she was as merry and bright as any of them. 

The next morning Diddie and Dumps were very much perplexed to know howto get off to the gin-house without being seen. There was no difficultyabout obtaining the provisions; their mother always let them havewhatever they wanted to have tea-parties with, and this was their excusefor procuring some slices of pie and cake, while Aunt Mary gave thembread and meat, and Douglass gave them some cold buttered biscuit withham between. 

They wrapped it all up carefully in a bundle, and then, watching theirchances, they slipped off from Tot and the little darkies, as well asfrom Mammy, and carried it to their guest in the pick-room. He was trulyglad to see them, and to get the nice breakfast they had brought; andthe little girls, having now lost all fear of him, sat down on a pile ofcotton to have a talk with him. 

"Did you always b'long to Mr. Tight-fis' Smith?" asked Diddie. 

"No, honey; he bought me fum de Powell 'state, an' I ain't b'longst terhim no mo'n 'boutn fo' years. "

[Illustration: "BRINGIN' 'IM THE PICNIC. "]

"Is he got any little girls?" asked Dumps. 

"No, missy; his wife an' two chil'en wuz bu'nt up on de steamboat gwineter New 'Leans, some twenty years ergo; an' de folks sez dat's wat makes'im sich er kintankrus man. Dey sez fo' dat he usen ter hab meetin' onhis place, an' he wuz er Christyun man hisse'f; but he got mad 'long erde Lord caze de steamboat bu'nt up, an' eber sence dat he's been ermighty wicked man; an' he won't let none er his folks sarve de Lord; an'he don't 'pyear ter cyar fur nuffin' 'cep'n hit's money. But den, honey, he ain't no born gemmun, nohow; he's jes only er oberseer wat made 'imer little money, an' bought 'im er few niggers; an', I tells yer, hemakes 'em wuck, too; we'se got ter be in de fiel' long fo' day; an' Ioberslep' mysef tudder mornin' an' he wuz cussin' an' er gwine on, an''lowed he wuz er gwine ter whup me, an' so I des up an' runned erway fum'im, an' now I'se skyeert ter go back; an', let erlone dat, I'se skyeertter stay; caze, efn he gits Mr. Upson's dogs, dey'll trace me plumhyear; an' wat I is ter do I dunno; I jes prays constunt ter de Lord. He'll he'p me, I reckon, caze I prays tree times eby day, an' den in'tween times. "

"Is your name Brer Dan'l?" asked Dumps, who remembered Uncle Bob's storyof Daniel's praying three times a day. 

"No, honey, my name's Pomp; but den I'm er prayin' man, des same ezDan'l wuz. "

"Well, Uncle Pomp, " said Diddie, "you stay here just as long as you can, an' I'll ask papa to see Mr. Tight-fis' Smith, an' he'll get--"

"Lor', chile, " interrupted Uncle Pomp, "don't tell yer pa nuf'n 'boutnit; he'll sho' ter sen' me back, an' dat man'll beat me half ter def:caze I'se mos' loss er week's time now, an' hit's er mighty 'ticklertime in de crap. "

"But, s'posin' the dogs might come?" said Dumps. 

"Well, honey, dey ain't come yit; an' wen dey duz come, den hit'll betime fur ter tell yer pa. "

"Anyhow, we'll bring you something to eat, " said Diddie, "and try andhelp you all we can; but we must go back now, befo' Mammy hunts for us;so good-bye;" and again they left him to himself. 

As they neared the house, Dumps asked Diddie how far it was to Mr. "Tight-fis' Smith's. "

"I don't know exactly, " said Diddie; "'bout three miles, I think. "

"Couldn't we walk there, an' ask him not to whup Uncle Pomp? Maybe hewouldn't, ef we was ter beg him right hard. "

"Yes, that's jest what we'll do, Dumps; and we'll get Dilsey to go withus, 'cause she knows the way. "

Dilsey was soon found, and was very willing to accompany them, but waspuzzled to know why they wanted to go. The children, however, would notgratify her curiosity, and they started at once, so as to be back intime for dinner. 

It was all of three miles to Mr. Smith's plantation, and the littlegirls were very tired long before they got there. Dumps, indeed, almostgave out, and once began to cry, and only stopped with Diddie'sreminding her of poor Uncle Pomp, and with Dilsey's carrying her alittle way. 

At last, about two o'clock, they reached Mr. Smith's place. The handshad just gone out into the field after dinner, and of course theirmaster, who was only a small planter and kept no overseer, was withthem. The children found the doors all open, and went in. 

The house was a double log-cabin, with a hall between, and they enteredthe room on the right, which seemed to be the principal living-room. There was a shabby old bed in one corner, with the cover alldisarranged, as if its occupant had just left it. A table, littered withunwashed dishes, stood in the middle of the floor, and one or two rudesplit-bottomed chairs completed the furniture. 

The little girls were frightened at the unusual silence about the place, as well as the dirt and disorder, but, being very tired, they sat downto rest. 

"Diddie, " asked Dumps, after a little time, "ain't yer scared?"

"I don't think I'm scared, Dumps, " replied Diddie; "but I'm not rightcomfor'ble. "

"_I'm_ scared, " said Dumps. "I'm _jes_ ez fraid of Mr. Tight-fis'Smith!"

"Dat's hit!" said Dilsey. "Now yer talkin', Miss Dumps; dat's er meanwite man, an' he mighter git mad erlong us, an' take us all fur hisniggers. "

"But we ain't black, Diddie an' me, " said Dumps. 

"Dat don't make no diffunce ter him; he des soon hab wite niggers ezblack uns, " remarked Dilsey, consolingly; and Dumps, being nowthoroughly frightened, said, "Well, I'm er goin' ter put my pen'ence in de Lord. I'm er goin' terpray. "

Diddie and Dilsey thought this a wise move, and, the three childrenkneeling down, Dumps began, "Now, I lay me down to sleep. "

And just at this moment Mr. Smith, returning from the field, wassurprised to hear a voice proceeding from the house, and, steppinglightly to the window, beheld, to his amazement, the three children ontheir knees, with their eyes tightly closed and their hands clasped, while Dumps was saying, with great fervor, "If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take;An' this I ask for Jesus' sake. "

"Amen!" reverently responded Diddie and Dilsey; and they all rose fromtheir knees much comforted. 

"I ain't 'fraid uv him now, " said Dumps, "'cause I b'lieve the Lord'llhe'p us, an' not let Mr. Tight-fis' Smith git us. "

"I b'lieve so too, " said Diddie; and, turning to the window, she foundMr. Smith watching them. 

"Are you Mr. Tight-fis' Smith?" asked Diddie, timidly. 

"I am Mr. Smith, and I have heard that I am called '_tight_-fisted' inthe neighborhood, " he replied, with a smile. 

"Well, we are Major Waldron's little girls, Diddie and Dumps, an' thisis my maid, Dilsey, an' we've come ter see yer on business. "

"On business, eh?" replied Mr. Smith, stepping in at the low window. "Well, what's the business, little ones?" and he took a seat on the sideof the bed, and regarded them curiously. But here Diddie stopped, forshe felt it was a delicate matter to speak to this genial, pleasant-faced old man of cruelty to his own slaves. Dumps, however, wastroubled with no such scruples; and, finding that Mr. Smith was not soterrible as she had feared, she approached him boldly, and, standing byhis side, she laid one hand on his gray head, and said:

"Mr. Smith, we've come ter beg you please not ter whup Uncle Pomp if hecomes back. He is runned erway, an' me an' Diddie know where he is, an'we've ben feedin' him, an' we don't want you ter whup him; will youplease don't?" and Dumps's arm slipped down from the old man's head, until it rested around his neck; and Mr. Smith, looking into her eager, childish face, and seeing the blue eyes filled with tears, thought ofthe little faces that long years ago had looked up to his; and, bendinghis head, he kissed the rosy mouth. 

"You won't whup him, will you?" urged Dumps. 

"Don't you think he ought to be punished for running away and stayingall this time, when I needed him in the crop?" asked Mr. Smith, gently. 

"But, indeed, he _is_ punished, " said Diddie; "he was almost starved todeath when me and Dumps carried him the picnic; and then he is soscared, he's been punished, Mr. Smith; so please let him come home, anddon't whup him. "

"Yes, PLE-EE-ASE promise, " said Dumps, tightening her hold on his neck;and Mr. Smith, in memory of the little arms that once clung round him, and the little fingers that in other days clasped his, said:

"Well, I'll promise, little ones. Pomp may come home, and I'll not whipor punish him in any way;" and then he kissed them both, and said theymust have a lunch with him, and then he would take them home and bringPomp back; for he was astonished to learn that they had walked so long adistance, and would not hear of their walking back, though Diddiepersisted that they must go, as they had stolen off, and nobody knewwhere they were. 

He made the cook bake them some hot corn hoe-cakes and boil them someeggs; and while she was fixing it, and getting the fresh butter andbuttermilk to add to the meal, Mr. Smith took them to the Juneapple-tree, and gave them just as many red apples as they wanted to eat, and some to take home to Tot. And Dumps told him all about "Old Billy"and Cherubim and Seraphim, and the old man laughed, and enjoyed it all, for he had no relatives or friends, and lived entirely alone--a stern, cold man, whose life had been embittered by the sudden loss of his lovedones, and it had been many weary years since he had heard children'svoices chatting and laughing under the apple-tree. 

After the lunch, which his guests enjoyed very much, Mr. Smith had alittle donkey brought out for Dilsey to ride, and, taking Diddie behindhim on his horse, and Dumps in his arms, he started with them for home. 

There was but one saddle, so Dilsey was riding "bareback, " and had tosit astride of the donkey to keep from falling off, which so amused thechildren that merry peals of laughter rang out from time to time;indeed, Dumps laughed so much, that, if Mr. Smith had not held hertightly, she certainly would have fallen off. But it was not very funnyto Dilsey; she held on with all her might to the donkey's short mane, and even then could scarcely keep her seat. She was highly indignantwith the children for laughing at her, and said. 

"I dunno wat yer kill'n yerse'f laffin' 'bout, got me er settin' on dishyear beas'; I ain't gwine wid yer no mo'. "

Major Waldron was sitting on the veranda as the cavalcade came up, andwas surprised to see his little daughters with Mr. Smith, and still moreso to learn that they had walked all the way to his house on a missionof mercy; but being a kind man, and not wishing to check the germs oflove and sympathy in their young hearts, he forbore to scold them, andwent with them and Mr. Smith to the gin-house for the runaway. 

On reaching the pick-room, the children went in alone, and told UnclePomp that his master had come for him, and had promised not to punishhim; but still the old man was afraid to go out, and stood there inalarm till Mr. Smith called:

"Come out, Pomp! I'll keep my promise to the little ones; you shall notbe punished in any way. Come out, and let's go home. "

And Uncle Pomp emerged from his hiding-place, presenting a veryludicrous spectacle, with his unwashed face and uncombed hair, and thedirty cotton sticking to his clothes. 

"Ef'n yer'll furgib de ole nigger dis time, marster, he ain't nebergwine run erway no mo'; an', mo'n dat, he gwine ter make speshul 'spress'rangemunce fur ter git up sooner in de mornin'; he is dat, jes sho'syer born!" said the old negro, as he came before his master. 

"Don't make too many promises, Pomp, " kindly replied Mr. Smith; "wewill both try to do better; at any rate, you shall not be punished thistime. Now take your leave of your kind little friends, and let's gettowards home; we are losing lots of time this fine day. "

"Good-bye, little misses, " said Uncle Pomp, grasping Diddie's hand inone of his and Dumps's in the other; "good-bye; I gwine pray fur yer bofev'y night wat de Lord sen'; an', mo'n dat, I gwine fotch yer somepattridge aigs de fus' nes' wat I fin's. "

And Uncle Pomp mounted the donkey that Dilsey had ridden, and rode offwith his master, while Diddie and Dumps climbed on top of the fence tocatch the last glimpse of them, waving their sun-bonnets and callingout, "Good-bye, Mr. Tight-fis' Smith and Uncle Pomp. "

CHAPTER XV. 

THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

"The glorious Fourth" was always a holiday on every Southern plantation, and, of course, Major Waldron's was no exception to the rule. Hisnegroes not only had holiday, but a barbecue, and it was a day ofgeneral mirth and festivity. 

On this particular "Fourth" the barbecue was to be on the banks of thecreek formed by the back-waters of the river, and was to be a "fish-fry"as well as a barbecue. 

All hands on the plantation were up by daylight, and preparing for thefrolic. Some of the negro men, indeed, had been down to the creek allnight setting out their fish-baskets and getting the "pit" ready for themeats. The pit was a large hole, in which a fire was kindled to roastthe animals, which were suspended over it; and they must commence thebarbecuing very early in the morning, in order to get everything readyby dinner-time. The children were as much excited over it as the negroeswere, and Mammy could hardly keep them still enough to dress them, theywere so eager to be off. Major and Mrs. Waldron were to go in the lightcarriage, but the little folks were to go with Mammy and Aunt Milly inthe spring-wagon, along with the baskets of provisions for the "whitefolks' tables;" the bread and vegetables and cakes and pastry for thenegroes' tables had been sent off in a large wagon, and were at theplace for the barbecue long before the white family started from home. The negroes, too, had all gone. Those who were not able to walk had gonein wagons, but most of them had walked, for it was only about threemiles from the house. 

Despite all their efforts to hurry up Mammy, it was nearly nine o'clockbefore the children could get her off; and even then she didn't want tolet Cherubim and Seraphim go, and Uncle Snake-bit Bob, who was drivingthe wagon, had to add his entreaties to those of the little folks beforeshe would consent at all; and after that matter had been decided, andthe baskets all packed in, and the children all comfortably seated, andDilsey and Chris and Riar squeezed into the back of the wagon betweenthe ice-cream freezer and the lemonade buckets, and Cherubim andSeraphim in the children's laps, and Mammy and Aunt Milly on twosplit-bottomed chairs, just back of the driver's seat, and UncleSnake-bit Bob, with the reins in his hands, just ready to driveoff--whom should they see but Old Daddy Jake coming down the avenue, andwaving his hat for them to wait for him. 

"Dar now!" said Mammy; "de folks done gone an' lef Ole Daddy, an' wegot ter stuff 'im in hyear somewhar. "

"They ain't no room in hyear, " said Dumps, tightening her grasp onCherubim, for she strongly suspected that Mammy would insist on leavingthe puppies to make room for Daddy. 

"Well, he ain't got ter be lef', " said Mammy; "I wuz allers larnt ter'spect ole folks myse'f, an' ef'n dis wagin goes, why den Daddy Jake'sgot ter go in it;" and, Major and Mrs. Waldron having gone, Mammy wasthe next highest in command, and from her decision there was no appeal. 

"How come yer ter git lef, Daddy?" asked Uncle Snake-bit Bob, as the oldman came up hobbling on his stick. 

"Well, yer see, chile, I wuz er lightin' uv my pipe, an' er fixin' uv ernew stim in it, an' I nuber notus wen de wagins went off. Yer see I'm ergittin' er little deef in deze ole yurs uv mine: dey ben er fasten't onter dis ole nigger's head er long time, uperds uv er hunderd years ormo'; an' de time hez ben wen dey could hyear de leaves fall uv ernights; but dey gittin' out'n fix somehow; dey ain't wuckin' like deyoughter; an' dey jes sot up dar, an' let de wagins drive off, an' leavede ole nigger er lightin' uv his pipe; an' wen I got thu, an' went terde do', den I hyeard er mighty stillness in de quarters, an', bless yerheart, de folks wuz gone; an' I lookt up dis way, an' I seed de waginhyear, an' I 'lowed yer'd all gimme er lif' some way. "

"Dem little niggers'll hatter stay at home, " said Mammy, sharply, eyingthe little darkies, "or else dey'll hatter walk, caze Daddy's got tercome in dis wagin. Now, you git out, you little niggers. "

At this, Dilsey and Chris and Riar began to unpack themselves, cryingbitterly the while, because they were afraid to walk by themselves, andthey knew they couldn't walk fast enough to keep up with the wagon; buthere Diddie came to the rescue, and persuaded Uncle Bob to go to thestable and saddle Corbin, and all three of the little negroes mountedhim, and rode on behind the wagon, while Daddy Jake was comfortablyfixed in the space they had occupied; and now they were fairly off. 

"Mammy, what does folks have Fourf of Julys for?" asked Dumps, after alittle while. 

"I dunno, honey, " answered Mammy; "I hyearn 'em say hit wuz 'long o'some fightin' or nuther wat de wite folks fit one time; but whedder datwuz de time wat Brer David fit Goliar or not, I dunno; I ain't hyeard'em say 'bout dat: it mout er ben dat time, an' den ergin it mout er bende time wat Brer Samson kilt up de folks wid de jawbone. I ain't rightsho' _wat_ time hit wuz; but den I knows hit wuz some fightin' ornuther. "

"It was the 'Declination of Independence, '" said Diddie. "It's in thelittle history; and it wasn't any fightin', it was a _writin'_; andthere's the picture of it in the book; and all the men are settin'roun', and one of 'em is writin'. "

"Yes, dat's jes wat I hyearn, " said Uncle Bob. "I hyearn 'em say dat deyhad de fuss' Defemation uv Ondepen'ence on de fourf uv July, an' ebersence den de folks ben er habin' holerday an' barbecues on dat day. "

"What's er Defemation, Uncle Bob?" asked Dumps, who possessed aninquiring mind. 

"Well, I mos' furgits de zack meanin', " said the old man, scratching hishead; "hit's some kin' er writin', do, jes like Miss Diddie say; but, let erlone dat, hit's in de squshionary, an' yer ma kin fin' hit furyer, an' 'splain de zack meanin' uv de word; but de Defemation uvOndepen'ence, hit happened on de fuss fourf uv July, an' hit happensev'y fourf uv July sence den; an' dat's 'cordin' ter my onderstandin' uvhit, " said Uncle Bob, whipping up his horses. 

"What's dat, Brer Bob?" asked Daddy Jake; and as soon as Uncle Bob hadyelled at him Dumps's query and his answer to it, the old man said:

"Yer wrong, Brer Bob; I 'members well de fus' fourf uv July; hit wuz erman, honey. Marse Fofer July wuz er _man_, an' de day wuz name atterhim. He wuz er pow'ful fightin' man; but den who it wuz he fit I mos'furgot, hit's ben so long ergo; but I 'members, do, I wuz er rightsmart slip uv er boy, an' I went wid my ole marster, yer pa's gran'pa, to er big dinner wat dey had on de Jeems Riber, in ole Furginny; an' datday, sar, Marse Fofer July wuz dar; an' he made er big speech ter dewite folks, caze I hyeard 'em clappin' uv dey han's. I nuber seed 'im, but I hyeard he wuz dar, do, an' I knows he _wuz_ dar, caze I sho'lyhyeard 'em clappin' uv dey han's; an', 'cordin' ter de way I 'membersbout'n it, dis is his birfday, wat de folks keeps plum till yet, cazedey ain't no men nowerdays like Marse Fofer July. He wuz er gre't man, an' he had sense, too; an' den, 'sides dat, he wuz some er de fus'famblys in dem days. Wy, his folks usen ter visit our wite folks. I helthis horse fur 'im de many er time; an', let erlone dat, I knowed some uvhis niggers; but den dat's ben er long time ergo. "

"But what was he writin' about, Daddy?" asked Diddie, who remembered thepicture too well to give up the "writing part. "

"He wuz jes signin' some kin' er deeds or sump'n, " said Daddy. "I dunnowat he wuz writin' erbout; but den he wuz er man, caze he lived in myrecommembrunce, an' I done seed 'im myse'f. "

That settled the whole matter, though Diddie was not entirely satisfied;but, as the wagon drove up to the creek bank just then, she was too muchinterested in the barbecue to care very much for "Marse Fofer July. "

The children all had their fishing-lines and hooks, and as soon as theywere on the ground started to find a good place to fish. Dilsey got somebait from the negro boys, and baited the hooks; and it was a comicalsight to see all of the children, white and black, perched upon theroots of trees or seated flat on the ground, watching intently theirhooks, which they kept bobbing up and down so fast that the fish musthave been very quick indeed to catch them. 

They soon wearied of such dull sport, and began to set their wits towork to know what to do next. 

"Le's go 'possum-huntin', " suggested Dilsey. 

"There ain't any 'possums in the daytime, " said Diddie. 

"Yes dey is, Miss Diddie, lots uv 'em; folks jes goes at night fur tersave time. I knows how ter hunt fur 'possums; I kin tree 'em jes same ezer dog. "

And the children, delighted at the novelty of the thing, all started off"'possum-hunting, " for Mammy was helping unpack the dinner-baskets, andwas not watching them just then. They wandered off some distance, climbing over logs and falling into mud-puddles, for they all had theirheads thrown back and their faces turned up to the trees, looking forthe 'possums, and thereby missed seeing the impediments in the way. 

At length Dilsey called out, "Hyear he is! Hyear de 'possum!" and theyall came to a dead halt under a large oak-tree, which Dilsey and Chris, and even Diddie and Dumps, I regret to say, prepared to climb. But theclimbing consisted mostly in active and fruitless endeavors to make astart, for Dilsey was the only one of the party who got as much as threefeet from the ground; but _she_ actually did climb up until she reachedthe first limb, and then crawled along it until she got near enough toshake off the 'possum, which proved to be a big chunk of wood that hadlodged up there from a falling branch, probably; and when Dilsey shookthe limb it fell down right upon Riar's upturned face, and made her nosebleed. 

"Wat you doin', you nigger you?" demanded Riar, angrily, as she wipedthe blood from her face. "I dar' yer ter come down out'n dat tree, an'I'll beat de life out'n yer; I'll larn yer who ter be shakin' chunkson. "

"In vain did Dilsey apologize, and say she thought it was a "'possum;"Riar would listen to no excuse; and as soon as Dilsey reached the groundthey had a rough-and-tumble fight, in which both parties gotconsiderably worsted in the way of losing valuable hair, and of havingtheir eyes filled with dirt and their clean dresses all muddied; but Totwas so much afraid Riar, her little nurse and maid, would get hurt thatshe screamed and cried, and refused to be comforted until the combatantssuspended active hostilities, though they kept up quarrelling for sometime, even after they had recommenced their search for 'possums. 

"Dilsey don't know how to tree no 'possums, " said Riar, contemptuously, after they had walked for some time, and anxiously looked up into everytree they passed. 

"Yes I kin, " retorted Dilsey; "I kin tree 'em jes ez same ez er dog, ef'n dar's any 'possums fur ter tree; but I can't _make_ 'possums, do;an' ef dey ain't no 'possums, den I can't tree 'em, dat's all. "

"Maybe they don't come out on the Fourf uv July, " said Dumps. "Maybe'possums keeps it same as peoples. "

"Now, maybe dey duz, " said Dilsey, who was glad to have some excuse forher profitless 'possum-hunting; and the children, being fairly tiredout, started back to the creek bank, when they came upon Uncle Snake-bitBob, wandering through the woods, and looking intently on the ground. 

"What are you looking for, Uncle Bob?" asked Diddie. 

"Des er few buckeyes, honey, " answered the old man. 

"What you goin' ter do with 'em?" asked Dumps, as the little girlsjoined him in his search. 

"Well, I don't want ter die no drunkard, myse'f, " said Uncle Bob, whosebesetting sin was love of whiskey. 

"Does buckeyes keep folks from dying drunkards?" asked Dumps. 

"Dat's wat dey sez; an' I 'lowed I'd lay me in er few, caze I've allershyearn dat dem folks wat totes a buckeye in dey lef britches pocket, an' den ernudder in de right-han' coat pocket, dat dey ain't gwine dieno drunkards. "

"But if they would stop drinkin' whiskey they wouldn't die drunkardsanyhow, would they, Uncle Bob?"

"Well, I dunno, honey; yer pinnin' de ole nigger mighty close; dewhiskey mout hab sump'n ter do wid it; I ain't sputin' dat--but wat Istan's on is dis: dem folks wat I seed die drunk, dey nuber had nobuckeyes in dey pockets; caze I 'members dat oberseer wat Marse Brunsonhad, he died wid delirums treums, an' he runned, he did, fur ter git'way fum de things wat he seed atter him; an' he jumped into de riber, an' he got drownded; an' I wuz dar wen dey pulled 'im out; an' I sez terBrer John Small, who wuz er standin' dar, sez I, now I lay yer he ain'tgot no buckeyes in his pockets; and wid dat me 'n Brer John we tuck'nturnt his pockets wrong side outerds; an', less yer soul, chile, hit wuzjes like I say; DAR WA'N'T NO BUCKEYES DAR! Well, I'd b'lieved in de olesayin' befo', but dat jes kinter sot me on it fas'er 'n eber; an' Idon't cyare wat de wedder is, nor wat de hurry is; hit may rain an' hitmay shine, an' de time may be er pressin', but ole Bob he don't stirout'n his house mornin's 'cep'n he's got buckeyes in his pockets. But Iseed 'em gittin' ready fur dinner as I comed erlong, an' you chil'enbetter be er gittin' toerds de table. "

That was enough for the little folks, and they hurried back to thecreek. The table was formed by driving posts into the ground, and layingplanks across them, and had been fixed up the day before by some of themen. The dinner was excellent--barbecued mutton and shote and lamb andsquirrels, and very fine "gumbo, " and plenty of vegetables andwatermelons and fruits, and fresh fish which the negroes had caught inthe seine, for none of the anglers had been successful. 

Everybody was hungry, for they had had very early breakfast, and, besides, it had been a fatiguing day, for most of the negroes had walkedthe three miles, and then had danced and played games nearly all themorning, and so they were ready for dinner. And everybody seemed veryhappy and gay except Mammy; she had been so upset at the children's torndresses and dirty faces that she could not regain her good-humor all atonce; and then, too, Dumps had lost her sun-bonnet, and there were someunmistakable freckles across her little nose, and so Mammy looked verycross, and grumbled a good deal, though her appetite seemed good, andshe did full justice to the barbecue. 

Now Mammy had some peculiar ideas of her own as to the right and properway for ladies to conduct themselves, and one of her theories was thatno _white lady_ should ever eat heartily in company; she might eatbetween meals, if desired, or even go back after the meal was over andsatisfy her appetite; but to sit down with a party of ladies andgentlemen and make a good "square" meal, Mammy considered very ungenteelindeed. This idea she was always trying to impress upon the littlegirls, so as to render them as ladylike as possible in the years tocome; and on this occasion, as there were quite a number of the familiesfrom the adjacent plantations present, she was horrified to see Dumpseating as heartily, and with as evident satisfaction, as if she had beenalone in the nursery at home. Diddie, too, had taken her second piece ofbarbecued squirrel, and seemed to be enjoying it very much, when a shakeof Mammy's head reminded her of the impropriety of such a proceeding; soshe laid aside the squirrel, and minced delicately over some lesssubstantial food. The frowns and nods, however, were thrown away uponDumps; she ate of everything she wanted until she was fully satisfied, and I grieve to say that her papa encouraged her in such unladylikebehavior by helping her liberally to whatever she asked for. 

But after the dinner was over, and after the darkies had played anddanced until quite late, and after the ladies and gentlemen had hadseveral very interesting games of euchre and whist, and after the littlefolks had wandered about as much as they pleased--swinging ongrape-vines and riding on "saplings, " and playing "base" and "stealinggoods, " and tiring themselves out generally--and after they had beenall duly stowed away in the spring-wagon and had started for home, thenMammy began at Dumps about her unpardonable appetite. 

"But I was hungry, Mammy, " apologized the little girl. 

"I don't cyar ef'n yer wuz, " replied Mammy; "dat ain't no reason fur yerfurgittin' yer manners, an' stuffin' yerse'f right fo' all de gemmuns. Miss Diddie dar, she burhavt like er little lady, jes kinter foolin' widher knife an' fork, an' nuber eatin nuffin' hardly; an' dar you wuz jeser pilin' in shotes an' lams an' squ'ls, an' roas'n yurs, an' picklesan' puddin's an' cakes an' watermillions, tell I wuz dat shame fur tercall yer marster's darter!"

And poor little Dumps, now that the enormity of her sin was brought hometo her, and the articles eaten so carefully enumerated, began to feelvery much like a boa-constrictor, and the tears fell from her eyes asMammy continued:

"I done nust er heap er chil'en in my time, but I ain't nuber seed nowite chile eat fo de gemmuns like you duz. It pyears like I can't nuberlarn you no manners, nohow. "

"Let de chile erlone, Sis Rachel, " interposed Uncle Bob; "she ain't nogrown lady, an' I seed marster he'p'n uv her plate hisse'f; she nubereat none too much, consid'n hit wuz de Fourf uv July. "

"Didn't I eat no shotes an' lambs, Uncle Bob?" asked Dumps, wiping hereyes. 

[Illustration: "SWINGING ON GRAPE-VINES AND RIDING ON SAPLINGS. "]

"I don't b'lieve yer did, " said Uncle Bob. "I seed yer eat er squ'l ortwo, an' er few fish, likely, an' dem, wid er sprinklin' uv roas'n yursan' cakes, wuz de mos' wat I seed yer eat. "

"An' dat wuz too much, " said Mammy, "right befo' de gemmuns. "

But Dumps was comforted at Uncle Bob's moderate statement of the case, and so Mammy's lecture lost much of its intended severity. 

As they were driving through the grove before reaching the house it wasquite dark, and they heard an owl hooting in one of the trees. 

"I see yer keep on sayin' yer sass, " said Daddy Jake, addressing theowl. "Ef'n I'd er done happen ter all you is 'bout'n hit, I'd let hiterlone myse'f. "

"What's he sayin'?" asked Diddie. 

"Wy, don't yer hyear him, honey, er sayin, "Who cooks fur you-oo-a?Who cooks fur you-oo-a?Ef you'll cook for my folks, Den I'll cook fur y' all-l-lll?"

"Well, hit wuz 'long er dat very chune wat he los' his eyes, an' can'tsee no mo' in de daytime; an' ef'n I wuz him, I'd let folks' cookin'erlone. "

"Can't you tell us about it, Daddy?" asked Dumps. 

"I ain't got de time now, " said the old man, "caze hyear's de waginalmos' at de do'; an', let erlone dat, I ain't nuber hyeard 'twus goodluck ter be tellin' no tales on de Fourf uv July; but ef'n yer kin cometer my cabin some ebenin' wen yer's er airin' uv yerse'fs, den I'll tellyer jes wat I hyearn 'bout'n de owl, an' 'struck yer in er many er thingwat yer don't know now. "

And now the wagon stopped at the back gate, and the little girls andMammy and the little darkies got out, and Mammy made the children saygood-night to Daddy Jake and Uncle Bob, and they all went into the housevery tired and very sleepy, and very dirty, with their celebration of"Marse Fofer July's burfday. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

"'STRUCK'N UV DE CHIL'EN. "

It was several days before the children could get off to Daddy Jake'scabin to hear about the owl; but on Saturday evening, after dinner, Mammy said they might go; and, having promised to go straight to DaddyJake's house, and to come home before dark, they all started off. 

Daddy Jake was the oldest negro on the plantation--perhaps the oldest inthe State. He had been raised by Major Waldron's grandfather inVirginia, and remembered well the Revolutionary War; and then he hadbeen brought to Mississippi by Major Waldron's father, and rememberedall about the War of 1812 and the troubles with the Indians. It had beenthirty years or more since Daddy Jake had done any work. He had a verycomfortable cabin; and although his wives (for the old man had beenmarried several times) were all dead, and many of his children were nowold and infirm, he had a number of grandchildren and great-grandchildrenwho attended to his wants; and then, too, his master cared veryparticularly for his comfort, and saw that Daddy Jake had good fires, and that his clothes were kept clean and mended, and his food nicelycooked; so the old man passed his days in peace and quiet. 

The children found him now lying stretched out on a bench in front ofhis cabin, while Polly, his great-granddaughter, was scratching and"looking" his head. 

"We've come for you to tell us about the Owl, Daddy, " said Diddie, aftershe had given the old man some cake and a bottle of muscadine wine thather mother had sent to him. 

"All right, little misses, " replied Daddy; and, sitting up on the bench, he lifted Tot beside him, while Diddie and Dumps sat on the door-sill, and Dilsey and Chris and Riar and Polly sat flat on the ground. 

"Well, yer see de Owl, " began Daddy Jake, "he usen fur ter see in dedaytime des same ez he do now in de night; an' one time he wuz in hiskitchen er cookin' uv his dinner, wen hyear come de Peafowl er struttin'by. Well, in dem days de Peafowl he nuber had none er dem eyes on histail wat he got now; his tail wuz des er clean blue. "

"Did you see him, Daddy?" interrupted Dumps. 

[Illustration: "'STRUCK'N UV DE CHIL'EN. "]

"No, honey, I ain't seed 'im wen he wuz dat way; dat wuz fo' my time;but den I know hit's de truf, do'; his tail wuz er clar blue dout'n noeyes on it; an' he wuz er pow'ful proud bird, an', 'stid er him 'ten'inter his bizness, he des prumeraded de streets an' de roads, an' hefelt hisse'f too big fur ter ten' ter his wuck. Well, de Owl knowed dat, an' so wen he seed de Peafowl walkin' by so big, an' him in de kitchener cookin', it kinter hu't his feelin's, so he tuck'n holler'd at dePeafowl, "'Whooo cooks fur you-oo-a?Whooo cooks fur you-oo-a?I cooks fur my folks, But who cooks fur y'all-ll-l?'

"Now he jes done dat out'n pyo' sass'ness, caze he knowed de Peafowlfelt hisse'f 'bove cookin'; an' wen de Peafowl hyeard dat, he 'gun tergit mad; an' he 'lowed dat ef'n de Owl said dat ter him ergin dey'd beer fuss on his han's. Well, de nex' day de Owl seed him comin', an' he'gun fur ter scrape out'n his pots an' skillets, an' ez he scrope 'em heholler'd out, "'Whoo cooks fur you-oo-a?Whoo cooks fur you-oo-a?Ef you'll cook fur my folks, Den I'll cook fur y'all-ll. '

"An' wid dat de Peafowl tuck'n bounct him; an' dar dey had it, erscrougin' an' er peckin' an' er clawin' uv one nudder; an' somehow, inde skrummidge, de Owl's eyes dey got skwushed on ter de Peafowl's tail, an' fur er long time he couldn't see nuffin' 'tall; but de rattlesnakedoctored on him. "

"The rattlesnake?" asked Diddie, in horror. 

"Hit's true, des like I'm tellin' yer, " said Daddy; "hit wuz derattlesnake; an' dey's de bes' doctors dey is 'mongst all de beases. Yermay see him creepin' 'long thu de grass like he don't know nuffin', buthe kin doctor den. "

"How does he doctor, Daddy?" asked Dumps. 

"Now you chil'en look er hyear, " said the old man; "I ain't gwine tertell yer all I know 'bout'n de rattlesnake; dar's some things fur tertell, and den ergin dar's some things fur ter keep ter yerse'f; an' watdey is twix' me an' de rattlesnake, hit's des twix' me'n him; an' youain't de fust ones wat want ter know an' couldn't. Yer may ax, but axin'ain't findin' out den; an', mo'n dat, ef'n I'm got ter be bothered widaxin' uv questions, den I ain't gwine obstruck yer, dat's all. "

The children begged his pardon, and promised not to interrupt again, andDaddy Jake continued his story. 

"Yes, de rattlesnake doctored on him, an' atter er wile he got so hecould see some uv nights; but he can't see much in de daytime, do; an'ez fur de Peafowl, he shuck an' he shuck his tail, but dem spots is dartell yit! An' wen he foun' he couldn't git 'em off, den he 'gun ter 'tenlike he wuz glad uv 'em on dar, and dat wat makes him spread his tailand ac' so foolish in de spring uv de year. 

"Dey's er heap uv de beases done ruint deyse'fs wid dey cuttin's up an'gwines on, " continued Daddy Jake "Now dar's de Beaver, he usen fur terhab er smoove roun' tail des like er 'possum's, wat wuz er heap handierfur him ter tote dan dat flat tail wat he got now; but den he wouldn'tlet de frogs erlone: he des tored down dey houses an' devilled 'em, tilldey 'lowed dey wouldn't stan' it; an' so, one moonshiny night, wen hewuz er stan'in on de bank uv er mighty swif'-runnin' creek, ole BrerBullfrog he hollered at him, "'Come over! come over!'

"He knowed de water wuz too swiff fur de beaver, but den he 'lowed terpay him back fur tearin' down his house. Well, de Beaver he stood dar erlookin' at de creek, an' by'mby he axes, "'How deep is it?'

"'Knee-deep, knee-deep, ' answered the little frogs. An' de Bullfrogs, dey kep' er sayin, 'Come over, come over;' an' de little frogs kep' erhollin, ' 'Jus' knee-keep; jus' knee-deep, ' tell de Beaver he pitched infur ter swim 'cross; an', gemmun, de creek wuz so deep, an de water soswiff, tell hit put 'im up ter all he knowed. He had ter strain an' terwrestle wid dat water tell hit flattent his tail out same ez er shobel, an' er little mo'n he'd er los' his life; but hit larnt him er lesson. Iain't _nuber_ hyeard uv his meddlin' wid nuffin' fum dat time ter dis;but, I tell yer, in de hot summer nights, wen he hatter drag dat flattail uv his'n atter him ev'ywhar he go, 'stid er havin' er nice handytail wat he kin turn ober his back like er squ'l, I lay yer, mun, he'swusht er many er time he'd er kep' his dev'lment ter hisse'f, an' letdem frogs erlone. "

Here Daddy Jake happened to look down, and he caught Polly nodding. 

"Oh yes!" said the old man, "yer may nod; dat's des wat's de matter widde niggers now, dem sleepy-head ways wat dey got is de cazhun uv deyhyar bein' kunkt up an' dey skins bein' black. "

"Is that what makes it, Daddy?" asked Diddie, much interested. 

"Ub cose hit is, " replied Daddy. "Ef'n de nigger hadn't ben sosleepy-headed, he'd er ben wite, an' his hyar'd er ben straight des likeyourn. Yer see, atter de Lord made 'im, den he lont him up 'gins defence-corner in de sun fur ter dry; an' no sooner wuz de Lord's backturnt, an' de sun 'gun ter come out kin'er hot, dan de nigger he 'gunter nod, an' er little mo'n he wuz fas' ter sleep. Well, wen de Lordsont atter 'im fur ter finish uv 'im up, de angel couldn't fin' 'im, caze he didn't know de zack spot whar de Lord sot 'im; an' so hehollered an' called, an' de nigger he wuz 'sleep, an' he nuber hyeard'im; so de angel tuck de wite man, an' cyard him 'long, an' de Lordpolished uv 'im off. Well, by'mby de nigger he waked up; but, dar now!he wuz bu'nt black, an' his hyar wuz all swuv'llt up right kinky. 

"De Lord, seein' he wuz spilte, he didn't 'low fur ter finish 'im, an'wuz des 'bout'n ter thow 'im 'way, wen de wite man axt fur 'im; so deLord he finished 'im up des like he wuz, wid his skin black an' his hyarkunkt up, an' he gun 'im ter de wite man, an' I see he's got 'im plumtell yit. "

"Was it you, Daddy?" asked Dumps. 

"Wy, no, honey, hit wan't me, hit wuz my forecisters. "

"What's a forecister, Daddy?" asked Diddie, rather curious about therelationship. 

"Yer forecisters, " explained Daddy, "is dem uv yer _way back folks_, wat's born'd fo' you is yerse'f, an' fo' yer pa is. Now, like my olemarster, yer pa's gran'pa, wat riz me in ole Furginny, he's youchil'en's forecister; an' dis nigger wat I'm tellin' yer 'bout'n, he wazmy _fuss forecister_; an' dats' de way dat I've allers hyearn dat hecome ter be black, an' his hyar kinky; an' I b'lieves hit, too, caze ernigger's de sleepies'-headed critter dey is; an' den, 'sides dat, I'veseed er heap er niggers in my time, but I ain't nuber seed dat niggeryit wat's wite, an' got straight hyar on his head. 

"Now I ain't er talkin' 'bout'n _murlatters_, caze dey ain't no reg'larfolks 'tall; dey's des er mixtry. Dey ain't wite, an' dey ain't black, an' dey ain't nuffin'; dey's des de same kin' er _folks_ ez de muel iser _horse_!

"An' den dar's Injuns; dey's ergin ernudder kin' er folks. 

"I usen ter hyear 'em say dat de deb'l made de fuss Injun. He seed deLord er makin' folks, an' he 'lowed he'd make him some; so he got up hisdut and his water, an' all his 'grejunces, an' he went ter wuck; an'wedder he cooked him too long, or wedder he put in too much red clay furde water wat he had, wy, I ain't nuber hyeard; but den I knows de deb'lmade 'im, caze I allers hyearn so; an', mo'n dat, I done seed 'em fo'now, an' dey got mighty dev'lish ways. I wuz wid yer gran'pa at FortMimms, down erbout Mobile, an' I seed 'em killin' folks an' sculpin' uv'em; an, mo'n dat, ef'n I hadn't er crope under er log, an' flattentmyse'f out like er allergator, dey'd er got me; an' den, ergin, deydon't talk like no folks. I met er Injun one time in de road, an' I axed'im wuz he de man wat kilt an' sculpt Sis Leah, wat usen ter b'longstter yer gran'pa, an' wat de Injuns kilt. I axt 'im 'ticklur, caze I hadmy axe erlong, an' ef'n he wuz de man, I 'lowed fur ter lay him out. But, bless yer life, chile, he went on fur ter say, "'Ump, ump, kinterlosha wannycoola tusky noba, inickskymunchafluxkerscenuck kintergunter skoop. '

"An' wen he sed dat, I tuck'n lef' him, caze I seed hit wouldn't do furter fool 'long him; an', mo'n dat, he 'gun fur ter shine his eyes out, an' so I des off wid my hat, an' scrope my lef' foot, an' said, 'Goodebenin', marster, same ez ef he wuz er wite man; an' den I tuck thu dewoods tell I come ter de fork-han' een' er de road, an' I eberlastin'dusted fum dar! I put deze feets in motion, yer hyeard me! an' I kep''em er gwine, too, tell I come ter de outskwirts uv de quarters; an'eber sence den I ain't stopped no Injun wat I sees in de road, an' Iain't meddled 'long o' who kilt Sis Leah, nudder, caze she's ben inglory deze fifty years or mo', an' hit's all one to her now who sculpther. "

But now, as it was getting late, Daddy said he was afraid to stay out inthe night air, as it sometimes "gun him de rheumatiz, " and wound up hisremarks by saying, "Tell yer ma I'm mighty 'bleeged fur de cake an' drinkin's, an' weneberyer gits de time, an' kin come down hyear any ebenin', de ole man he'll'struck yer, caze he's gwine erway fo' long, an' dem things wat he knowsis onbeknownst ter de mos' uv folks. "

"Where are you going, Daddy, " asked Diddie. 

"I gwine ter de 'kingdum, ' honey, an' de Lord knows hit's time; I benhyear long ernuff; but hit's 'bout time fur me ter be er startin' now, caze las' Sat'dy wuz er week gone I wuz er stretchin' my ole legs in defiel', an' er rabbit run right ercross de road foreninst me, an' Iknowed 'twuz er sho' sign uv er death; an' den, night fo' las', descritch-owls wuz er talkin' ter one ernudder right close ter my do', an'I knowed de time wuz come fur de ole nigger ter take dat trip; so, ef'nyer wants him ter 'struck yer, yer'd better be er ten'in' ter it, cazewen de Lord sen's fur 'im he's er _gwine_. "

The children were very much awed at Daddy's forebodings, and Dumpsinsisted on shaking hands with him, as she felt that she would probablynever see him again, and they all bade him good-night, and started forthe house. 

"Miss Diddie, did you know ole Daddy wuz er _trick_ nigger?" askedDilsey, as they left the old man's cabin. 

"What's er trick nigger?" asked Dumps. 

"Wy, don't yer know, Miss Dumps? Trick niggers dey ties up snakes' toofsan' frogs' eyes an' birds' claws, an' all kineter charms; an' den, wendey gits mad 'long o' folks, dey puts dem little bags under dey do's, orin de road somewhar, whar dey'll hatter pass, an' dem folks wat stepsober 'em den dey's _tricked_; an' dey gits sick, an' dey can't sleep uvnights, an' dey chickens all dies, an' dey can't nuber hab no luck nornuf'n tell de tricks is tuck off. Didn't yer hyear wat he said 'bout'nde snakes? an' de folks all sez ez how ole Daddy is er trick nigger, an'dat's wat makes him don't die. "

"Well, I wish I was a trick nigger, then, " remarked Dumps, gravely. 

"Lordy, Miss Dumps, yer'd better not be er talkin' like dat, " saidDilsey, her eyes open wide in horror. "Hit's pow'ful wicked ter be trickniggers. "

"I don't know what's the matter with Dumps, " said Diddie; "she'sgettin' ter be so sinful; an' ef she don't stop it, I sha'n't sleep withher. She'll be er breakin' out with the measles or sump'n some uv thesedays, jes fur er judgment on her; an' I don't want ter be catchin' nojudgments just on account of her badness. "

"Well, I'll take it back, Diddie, " humbly answered Dumps. "I didn't knowit was wicked; and won't you sleep with me now?"

Diddie having promised to consider the matter, the little folks walkedslowly on to the house, Dilsey and Chris and Riar all taking turns intelling them the wonderful spells and cures and troubles that Daddy Jakehad wrought with his "trick-bags. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

WHAT BECAME OF THEM. 

Well, of course, I can't tell you _all_ that happened to these littlegirls. I have tried to give you some idea of how they lived in theirMississippi home, and I hope you have been amused and entertained; andnow, as "Diddie" said about _her_ book, I've got to "wind up, " and tellyou what became of them. 

The family lived happily on the plantation until the war broke out in1861. 

Then Major Waldron clasped his wife to his heart, kissed his daughters, shook hands with his faithful slaves, and went as a soldier to Virginia;and he is sleeping now on the slope of Malvern Hill, where he

"Nobly died for Dixie. "

The old house was burned during the war, and on the old plantation wherethat happy home once stood there are now three or four chimneys and anold tumbled-down gin-house. That is all. 

The agony of those terrible days of war, together with the loss of herhusband and home, broke the heart and sickened the brain of Mrs. Waldron; and in the State Lunatic Asylum is an old white-haired woman, with a weary, patient look in her eyes, and this gentle old woman, whosits day after day just looking out at the sunshine and the flowers, isthe once beautiful "mamma" of Diddie, Dumps, and Tot. 

Diddie grew up to be a very pretty, graceful woman, and when the warbegan was in her eighteenth year. She was engaged to one of the youngmen in the neighborhood; and, though she was so young, her fatherconsented to the marriage, as her lover was going into the army, andwanted to make her his wife before leaving. So, early in '61, beforeMajor Waldron went to Virginia, there was a quiet wedding in the parlorone night; and not many days afterwards the young Confederate soldierdonned his gray coat, and rode away with Forrest's Cavalry. 

"And ere long a messenger came, Bringing the sad, sad story--A riderless horse: a funeral march: Dead on the field of glory!"

After his death her baby came to gladden the young widow's desolatelife; and he is now almost grown, handsome and noble, and the idol ofhis mother. 

Diddie is a widow still. She was young and pretty when the war ended, and has had many offers of marriage; but a vision of a cold white face, with its fair hair dabbled in blood, is ever in her heart. So Diddielives for her boy. Their home is in Natchez now; for of course theycould never live in the old place any more. When the slaves were free, they had no money to rebuild the houses, and the plantation has neverbeen worked since the war. 

The land is just lying there useless, worthless; and the squirrels playin and out among the trees, and the mocking-birds sing in thehoneysuckles and magnolias and rose-bushes where the front yard used tobe. 

And at the quarters, where the happy slave-voices used to sing "MonkeyMotions, " and the merry feet used to dance to "Cotton-eyed Joe, " weedsand thick underbrush have all grown up, and partridges build their neststhere; and sometimes, at dusk, a wild-cat or a fox may be seen stealingacross the old play-ground. 

Tot, long years ago, before the war even, when she was yet a pure, sinless little girl, was added to that bright band of angel children whohover around the throne of God; and so she was already there, you see, to meet and welcome her "papa" when his stainless soul went up fromMalvern Hill. 

Well, for "Mammy" and "Daddy Jake" and "Aunt Milly" and "Uncle Dan'l, ""dat angel" has long since "blowed de horn, " and I hope and believe theyare happily walking "dem golden streets" in which they had suchimplicit faith, and of which they never wearied of telling. 

And the rest of the negroes are all scattered; some doing well, somebadly; some living, some dead. Aunt Sukey's Jim, who married Candacethat Christmas-night, is a politician. He has been in the Legislature, and spends his time in making long and exciting speeches to the loyalleaguers against the Southern whites, all unmindful of his happychildhood, and of the kind and generous master who strove in every wayto render his bondage (for which that master was in no way to blame) alight and happy one. 

Uncle Snake-bit Bob is living still. He has a little candy-store in acountry town. He does not meddle with politics. He says, "I don't cas'my suffrins fur de Dimercracks, nur yit fur de 'Publicans. I can't go'ginst my color by votin' de Dimercrack papers; an' ez fur dem'Publicans! Well, ole Bob he done hyearn wat de _Book_ say 'boutnpublicans an' sinners, an' dat's ernuff fur him. He's er gittin' uperdsin years now; pretty soon he'll hatter shove off fur dat 'heb'nly sho';'an' wen de Lord sen' atter him, he don't want dat angel ter cotch him inno kinwunshuns 'long wid 'publicans an' sinners. '" And so Uncle Bobattends to his store, and mends chairs and tubs, and deals extensivelyin chickens and eggs; and perhaps he is doing just as well as if hewere in Congress. 

Dilsey and Chris and Riar are all women now, and are all married andhave children of their own; and nothing delights them more than to tellto their little ones what "us an' de wite chil'en usen ter do. "

And the last I heard of Aunt Nancy, the "tender, " she was going toschool, but not progressing very rapidly. She did learn her lettersonce, but, having to stop school to make a living, she soon forgot them, and she explained it by saying:

"Yer see, honey, dat man wat larnt me dem readin's, he wuz sich eronstedfus' man, an' gittin' drunk, an' votin' an' sich, tell Ifurgittin' wat he larnt me; but dey's er colored gemman fum de Norfwat's tuck him up er pay-school ober hyear in de 'catermy, an' ef'n Ikin git him fur ter take out'n his pay in dat furmifuge wat I makes, I'low ter go ter him er time er two, caze he's er membah ub de ZionChu'ch, an' er mighty stedfus' man, an' dat wat he larns me den I'll staylarnt. "

And Dumps? Well, the merry, light-hearted little girl is an "old maid"now; and if Mammy could see her, she would think she was "steady" enoughat last. 

Somebody, you know, must attend to the wants and comfort of thegray-haired woman in the asylum; and Diddie had her boy to support andeducate, so Dumps teaches school and takes care of her mother, and isdoing what Uncle Snake-bit Bob told the Sunday-school children that Godhad made them to do; for

Dumps is doing "DE BES' SHE KIN. "