THE CHILDREN AND THE SHEEP.
Diddie, Dumps, and Tot were three little girls who lived on a plantation in Mississippi many years ago. Their real names were Madeleine, Elinor, and Eugenia, but nobody ever called them by anything except their funny pet names. The three little girls had three little colored maids, who waited on them, shared their plays, and went with them everywhere. The pet who gave them so much trouble on the afternoon of this story was a sheep, who had belonged to Diddie since he was a lamb. Then he had been very gentle, but he had grown cross and stubborn with age, though Diddie kept on loving him dearly.
You may all look at his picture on the cover of this number of Young People. They were playing that he was Lord Burgoyne, and that a feast was being made in his honor. But, alas! his lordship objected to being carried to the entertainment.
"You, Dumps, an' Tot, an' Dilsey, an' all of yer, I've got er letter from Lord Burgoyne, an' he'll be here to-morrow, an' I want you all to go right into the kitchen an' make pies an' cakes." And so the whole party adjourned to a little ditch where mud and water were plentiful (and which on that account had been selected as the kitchen), and began at once to prepare an elegant dinner.
Dear me! how busy the little housekeepers were! and such beautiful pies they made, and lovely cakes all iced with white sand, and bits of grass laid around the edges for trimming! and all the time laughing and chatting 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 her fat little arms muddy to the elbows; "an' ain't you glad we slipped off, Diddie? I tol' yer there wa'n't nothin' goin' to hurt us."
"And ain't you glad we let Billy come?" said Diddie. "We wouldn't er had nobody to be Lord Burgoyne."
"Yes," replied Dumps, "an' he ain't behaved bad at all; he ain't butted nobody, and he ain't runned after nobody to-day."
"'Ook at de take," interrupted Tot, holding up a mud-ball that she had moulded with her own little hands, and which she regarded with great pride.
And now, the plank being as full as it would hold, they all returned to the hotel to arrange the table. But after the table was set the excitement was all over, for there was nobody to be the guest.
"Ef Ole Billy wa'n't so mean," said Chris, "we could fotch 'im hyear in de omnibus. I wush we'd a let Chubbum an' Suppum come; dey'd er been Lord Bugon."
"I b'lieve Billy would let us haul 'im," said Diddie, who was always ready to take up for her pet; "he's rael gentle now, an' he's quit buttin'; the only thing is, he's so big we couldn't get 'im in the wheelbarrer."
"Me 'n' Chris kin put 'im in," said Dilsey. "We kin lif 'im, ef dat's all;" and accordingly the omnibus was dispatched for Lord Burgoyne, who was quietly nibbling grass on the ditch bank at some little distance from the hotel.
He raised his head as the children approached, and regarded them attentively. "Billy! Billy! po' Ole Billy!" soothingly murmured Diddie, who had accompanied Dilsey and Chris with the omnibus, as she had more influence over Old Billy than anybody else. He came now at once to her side, and rubbed his head gently against her; and while she caressed him, Dilsey on one side and Chris on the other lifted him up to put him on the wheelbarrow.
And now the scene changed. Lord Burgoyne, all unmindful of love or gratitude, and with an eye single to avenging this insult to his dignity, struggled from the arms of his captors, and planting his head full in Diddie's chest, turned her a somersault in the mud. Then, lowering his head and rushing at Chris, he butted her with such force that over she went head-foremost into the ditch; and now, spying Dilsey, who was running with all her might to gain the lumber pile, he took after 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 her face. Diddie and Chris had by this time regained their feet, both of them very muddy, and Chris with her face all scratched from the roots and briers in the ditch. Seeing Old Billy occupied with Dilsey, they started on a run for the lumber; but the wily old sheep was on the look-out, and taking after them full tilt, he soon landed them flat on the ground. And now Dilsey had scrambled up, and was wiping the dirt from her eyes, preparatory to making a fresh start. Billy, however, seemed to have made up his mind that nobody had a right to stand up except himself, and before the poor little darky could get out of his way, once more he had butted her down.
Diddie and Chris were more fortunate this time; they were nearer the lumber than Dilsey, and, not losing a minute, they set out for the pile as soon as Old Billy's back was turned, and made such good time that they both reached it, and Chris had climbed to the top before he saw them; 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 the lumber, and it cut a gash in her forehead and made the blood come. This alarmed Dumps and Tot, and they both began to cry, though they, with Riar, 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 butt at Dilsey, Chris and Riar caught hold of her hands and drew her up on the pile.
Poor little Dilsey was now in a very sad predicament. Billy, seeing that the other children were out of his reach, devoted his entire time and attention 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 full blow upon it.
The children were at their wits' end. It was long past their dinner-time, and they were getting hungry; their clothes were all muddy, and Diddie's dress almost torn off of her; the blood was trickling down from 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 disconsolate little group that sat huddled together on top of the lumber, while old Billy stood guard over Dilsey, but with one eye on the pile, ready to make 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'll hafter stay here all night, an' not have no supper nor nothin'."
"I didn't let 'im come," replied Diddie. "He come himself, an 'ef you hadn't made us run away fum Mammy, we wouldn't er happened to all this trouble."
"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 staid at home. You're all time pettin' 'im an' feedin' 'im, hateful old thing! tell he thinks he's got ter go ev'ywhere we go. You ought to be 'shamed er yourse'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 mighty glad he was here jes now, to be Lord Burgoyne; he's jes doin' this fur fun."
It was now almost dark, and Old Billy showed no signs of weariness; his vigilance was unabated, and the children were very miserable, when they heard 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 appeared coming through the woods.
Instantly Old Billy dashed at her, releasing poor Dilsey.
"Now' yer gwuf fum yer, gwuf fum yer," said Mammy, furiously waving a cotton stalk at Old Billy. "Gwuf fum yer, I tell you! I ain't hodern you. I jes cum fur de chil'en, an' yer bet not fool 'long er me, yer low-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 backward. At this the children, who loved Mammy dearly, set up a yell, and Mammy, still waving the cotton stalk, attempted to rise, but Billy was ready for her, and, with a well aimed blow, sent her back to the earth.
"Now yer stop dat," said Mammy. "Yer better gwuf fum yer!" But Billy, being master of the situation, stood his ground, and I dare say Mammy would have been lying there yet, but fortunately 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.—[From Diddie, Dumps, and Tot, published by Harper & Brothers.]
We insert this little paragraph for the benefit of uncles and aunties and older brothers and sisters who are looking about now to find beautiful books for holiday gifts to the little ones. The group of volumes of which we give the titles are great favorites with some fortunate little people of our acquaintance:
Harold and the Monks; or, A Little Boy's Travels in Dream-land. A Fairy Tale for Small Folk. By Alfred C. Fryer. (J. E. Cornish, Manchester, England. Publisher.)—The White Rat, and Some Other Stories. By Lady Barker. Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy.—Milly and Olly; or, A Holiday among the Mountains. By Miss J. H. Ward. Illustrated by Mrs. Alma Tadema.—Household Stories from the Collection of the Brothers Grimm. Translated from the German by Lucy Crane, and Done into Pictures by Walter Crane. (Macmillan & Co., London, Publishers.)—Abroad. Illustrated by Thomas Crane and Ellen Houghton. (Marcus Ward & Co., New York.)