The omnibus now returned with Tot and her family, consisting of an India-rubber baby with a very cracked face, and a rag body that had once sported a china head, and now had no head of any kind; but it was nicely dressed, and there were red shoes on the feet; and it answered Tot’s purpose very well.
“Dese my ’itty dirls,” said Tot, as Diddie received her, “an’ I tome in de bumberbuss.”
“What is your name?” asked Diddie.
“I name—I name—I name—Miss Gin-house,” said Tot, who had evidently never thought of a name, and had suddenly decided upon gin-house, as her eye fell upon that object.
“No, no, Tot, that’s a thing; that ain’t no name for folks,” said Diddie. “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 rarely objected to playing just as the others wished. Miss “Unker Bill” was shown 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 the dinner-bell, and they all assembled around a table that Riar had improvised out of a piece of plank supported on two bricks, and which was temptingly set out with mud pies and cakes and green leaves, and just such delicacies as Riar and Diddie could pick up.
As soon as Mrs. Washington laid eyes on the mud cakes and pies, she exclaimed,
“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 Unker Bill, 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.”