“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 stayed at home. You’re all time pettin’ ’im an’ feedin’ ’im—hateful old thing—tell he thinks he’s got ter go ev’rywhere we go. You ought ter 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; an’ ef Chris was my nigger, I’d make her git down an’ drive ’im away.”
Chris belonged to Dumps, and Mammy had taught the children never to give orders to each other’s maids, unless with full permission of the owner.
“I ain’t gwine hab nuf’n ter do wid ’im,” said Chris.
“Yes you are, Chris,” replied Dumps, who had eagerly caught at Diddie’s suggestion of having him driven away. “Get down this minute, an’ drive ’im off; ef yer don’t, I’ll tell Mammy you wouldn’t min’ me.”
“Mammy ’ll hatter whup me, den,” said Chris (for Mammy always punished the little negroes for disobedience to their mistresses); “she’ll hatter whup me, caze I ain’t gwine ter hab nuf’n tall ter do wid dat sheep; I ain’t gwine ter meddle long ’im, hab ’im buttin’ me in de ditch.”
“Riar, you go,” said Diddie; “he ain’t butted you yet.”
“He ain’t gwine ter, nuther,” said Riar, “caze I gwine ter stay up hyear long o’ Miss Tot, like Mammy tell me. I ’longs to her, an’ I gwine stay wid ’er myse’f, an’ nuss ’er jes like Mammy say.”