Diddie, Dumps, and Tot; Or, Plantation Child-Life

by Louise Clarke Pyrnelle

“An’ did he marry the Robin?” asked Diddie.

“Now I done tol’ yer all I know,” said Uncle Bob. “I gun yer de tale jes like I hyearn it, an’ I ain’t er gwine ter make up nuffin’, an’ tell yer wat I dunno ter be de truff. Efn dar’s any mo’ ter it, den I ain’t neber hyearn hit. I gun yer de tale jes like hit wuz gunt ter me, an’ efn yer ain’t satisfied wid hit, den I can’t holp it.”

“But we are satisfied, Uncle Bob,” said Diddie. “It was a very pretty tale, and we are much obliged to you.”

“Yer mo’n welcome, honey,” said Uncle Bob, soothed by Diddie’s answer—“yer mo’n welcome; but hit’s gittin’ too late fur you chil’en ter be out; yer’d better be er gittin’ toerds home.”

Here the little girls looked at each other in some perplexity, for they knew Diddie had been missed, and they were afraid to go to the house.

“Uncle Bob,” said Diddie, “we’ve done er wrong thing this evenin’; we ran away fum Miss Carrie, an’ we’re scared of papa; he might er lock us all up in the library, an’ talk to us, an’ say he’s ’stonished an’ mortified, an’ so we’re scared to go home.”

“Umph!” said Uncle Bob; “you chil’en is mighty bad, anyhow.”

“I think we’re heap mo’ better’n we’re bad,” said Dumps.

“Well, dat mout er be so,” said the old man;

“I ain’t er ’sputin it, but you chil’en comes fum or mighty high-minded stock uv white folks, an’ hit ain’t becomin’ in yer fur ter be runnin’ erway an’ er hidin’ out, same ez oberseer’s chil’en, an’ all kin’ er po’ white trash.”