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"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 ter him no mo'n 'boutn fo' years." "Is he got any little girls?" asked Dumps. "No, missy; his wife an' two chil'en wuz bu'nt up on de steamboat gwine ter New 'Leans, some twenty years ergo; an' de folks sez dat's wat makes 'im sich er kintankrus man.

"I don't think I'm scared, Dumps," replied Diddie; "but I'm not right comfor'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 mean white man, an, he might er get mad erlong us, an' take us all fur his niggers." "But we ain't black, Diddie an' me," said Dumps.

And Uncle Pomp mounted the donkey that Dilsey had ridden, and rode off with his master, while Diddie and Dumps climbed on top of the fence to catch the last glimpse of them, waving their sun-bonnets and calling out, "Good-bye, Mr. Tight-fis' Smith and Uncle Pomp." His negroes not only had holiday, but a barbecue, and it was a day of general mirth and festivity.

"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 'boutn it; 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 'tickler time in de crap."

"Are you a runaway nigger?" "Yes, honey; I 'longs ter ole Tight-fis' Smith; an' he wanted ter whup me fur not gittin' out ter de fiel' in time, an' I tuck'n runned erway fum 'im, an' now I'm skyeert ter go back, an' ter go anywhar; an' I can'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."

"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.

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 he wouldn'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 with us, 'cause she knows the way."

"Yes, honey, I'se skyeert ter go out any-whar; I'se so skyeert uv Tight-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 here an' me'n Diddie'll bring you ev'ything ter eat, an' have you fur our nigger."