“But I want ter make the mud cakes,” persisted Dumps, an’ Tot can be the folks at the hotel—she and the doll-babies.”
“No, I doin’ ter make de mud takes, too,” said Tot, and the hotel seemed in imminent danger of being closed for want of custom, when a happy thought struck Dilsey.
“Lor-dy, chil’en! I tell yer: le’s play Ole Billy is er gemman what writ ter Miss Diddie in er letter dat he was er comin’ ter de hotel, an’ ter git ready fur ’im gins he come.”
“Yes,” said Diddie, and lets play Dumps an’ Tot was two mo’ niggers I had ter bring up from the quarters to help cook; an’ we’ll make out Ole Billy is some great general or somethin’, an’ we’ll have ter make lots of cakes an’ puddin’s for ’im. Oh, I know; we’ll play he’s Lord Burgoyne.”
All of the little folks were pleased at that idea, and Diddie immediately began to issue her orders.
“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 wan’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, an’ he ain’t runned after nobody to-day.”