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Updated: May 19, 2025
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 patting their hands and singing "Cotton-eyed Joe" at the very top of their voices, when Mammy appeared upon the scene, and said it was time to go home. "No, Mammy," urged Dumps; "we ain't er goin' ter; we want ter sing 'Cotton-eyed Joe," hit ain't late."
"Don't you think two pages on this big paper will be long enough for one story?" asked Diddie. "Plenty," answered Dumps. So at the bottom of the second page Diddie wrote "The END of Nettie Herbert." "Now, what would you name the second story?" asked Diddie, biting her pencil thoughtfully. "I'd name it 'The Bad Little Girl," answered Dumps.
Now that's jes what I' b'lieve; an' can't you tell the deb'l so, Uncle Bob?" "Who? Me? Umph, umph! yer talkin' ter de wrong nigger now, chile! I don'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 neber hyear wat er trick he played de woodpecker?" "No, Uncle Bob," answered Diddie; "what did he do to him?"
A table, littered with unwashed dishes, stood in the middle of the floor, and one or two rude split-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 down to rest. "Diddie," asked Dumps, after a little time, "ain't yer scared?"
"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 none er his business." "Hush up, Dumps," said Diddie, "till I tell papa 'bout it. I wouldn't say my lesson, papa, an' Miss Carrie locked me up, an' the chil'en brought me my dinner." "'Tuz me," chimed in Tot.
"Amen!" reverently responded Diddie and Dilsey; and they all rose from their knees much comforted. "I ain't 'fraid uv him now," said Dumps, "'cause I b'lieve the Lord'll he'p us, an' not let Mr. Tight-fis' Smith git us." "I b'lieve so too," said Diddie; and, turning to the window, she found Mr. Smith watching them. "Are you Mr. Tight-fis' Smith?" asked Diddie, timidly. "I am Mr.
"Lubly," echoed Tot, burying her chubby little hands in the puppy's wool, while Diddie cuddled hers in her arms as tenderly as if it had been a baby.
CHRISTMAS morning, 1853, dawned cold and rainy, and scarcely had the first gray streak appeared when the bolt of the nursery was quietly turned, and Dilsey's little black head peered in through the half-open door. "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 the bed.
Tot was delighted, and walked very carefully with the plate until she joined 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 wat Uncle Douglas washes de winders wid."
"See, Mammy, here's Agnes and Polly and Frances," said Diddie, as they entered the nursery; "mamma let us have them, and they are to stay here a long time and play Injuns with us." "Now, Miss Diddie, honey," said Mammy, "Injuns is sich a sackremenchus play, an' makes so much litter and fuss; git yer dolls, an' play like er little lady."
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