DIDDIE'S BOOK.
One morning Diddie came into the nursery with a big blank-book and a
lead-pencil in her hand.
"What's that, Diddie?" asked Dumps, leaving her paper dolls on the floor
where she had been playing with Chris, and coming to her sister's side.
"Now don't you bother me, Dumps," said Diddie; "I'm goin' to write a
book."
"Are you?" said Dumps, her eyes opening wide in astonishment. "Who's
goin' ter tell yer what ter say?"
"I'm goin' ter make it up out o' my head," said Diddie; "all about
little girls and boys and ladies."
"I wouldn't have no boys in it," said Dumps; "they're always so hateful:
there's Cousin Frank broke up my tea-set, an' Johnnie Miller tied er
string so tight roun' Cherubim's neck till hit nyearly choked 'im. Ef I
was writin' er book, I wouldn't have no boys in it."
"There's boun' ter be boys in it, Dumps; you can't write a book
without'n boys;" and Diddie seated herself, and opened the book before
her, while Dumps, with her elbows on the table and face in her hands,
looked on anxiously. "I'm not goin' ter write jes one straight book,"
said Diddie; "I'm goin' ter have little short stories, an' little pieces
of poetry, an' all kin' of things; an' I'll name one of the stories
'Nettie Herbert:' don't you think that's a pretty name, Dumps?"
"Jes' beautiful," replied Dumps; and Diddie wrote the name at the
beginning of the book.
"Don't you think two pages on this big paper will be long enough for one
story?" asked Diddie.
"Plenty," answered Dumps. So at the bottom of the second page Diddie
wrote "The END of Nettie Herbert."
"Now, what would you name the second story?" asked Diddie, biting her
pencil thoughtfully.
"I'd name it 'The Bad Little Girl,'" answered Dumps.
"Yes, that will do," said Diddie, and she wrote "The Bad Little Girl" at
the top of the third page; and, allowing two pages for the story, she
wrote "The END of The Bad Little Girl" at the bottom of the next page.
"And now it's time for some poetry," said Diddie, and she wrote "Poetry"
at the top of the fifth page, and so on until she had divided all of her
book into places for stories and poetry. She had three stories--"Nettie
Herbert," "The Bad Little Girl," and "Annie's Visit to her Grandma."
She had one place for poetry, and two places she had marked "History;"
for, as she told Dumps, she wasn't going to write anything unless it was
useful; she wasn't going to write just trash.
The titles being all decided upon, Dumps and Chris went back to their
dolls, and Diddie began to write her first story.
"Nettie Herbert."
"Nettie Herbert was a poor little girl;" and then she stopped and asked,
"Dumps, would you have Nettie Herbert a po' little girl?"
"No, I wouldn't have nobody er po' little girl," said Dumps,
conclusively, and Diddie drew a line through what she had written, and
began again.
"Nettie Herbert was a rich little girl, and she lived with her pa and ma
in a big house in Nu Orlins; and one time her father give her a gold
dollar, and she went down town, and bort a grate big wax doll with open
and shet eyes, and a little cooking stove with pots and kittles, and a
wuck box, and lots uv pieces uv clorf to make doll cloes, and a
bu-te-ful gold ring, and a lockit with her pas hare in it, and a big box
full uv all kinds uv candy and nuts and razens and ornges and things,
and a little git-ar to play chunes on, and two little tubs and some
little iuns to wash her doll cloes with; then she bort a little
wheelbarrer, and put all the things in it, and started fur home. When
she was going a long, presently she herd sumbody cryin and jes a sobbin
himself most to deaf; and twas a poor little boy all barefooted and jes
as hungry as he could be; and he said his ma was sick, and his pa was
dead, and he had nine little sisters and seven little bruthers, and he
hadn't had a mouthful to eat in two weeks, and no place to sleep, nor
nuthin'. So Nettie went to a doctors house, and told him she would give
him the gold ring fur some fyssick fur the little boys muther; and the
doctor give her some castor-oil and parrygorick, and then she went on
tell they got to the house, and Nettie give her the fyssick, and some
candy to take the taste out of her mouth, and it done her lots uv good;
and she give all her nuts and candy to the poor little chillen. And she
went back to the man what sold her the things, and told him all about
it; and he took back all the little stoves and tubs and iuns and things
she had bort, and give her the money, and she carried it strait to the
poor woman, and told her to buy some bread and cloes for her chillen.
The poor woman thanked her very much, and Nettie told em good-by, and
started fur home."
Here Diddie stopped suddenly and said,
"Come here a little minute, Dumps; I want you to help me wind up this
tale." Then, after reading it aloud, she said, "You see, I've only got
six mo' lines of paper, an' I haven't got room to tell all that happened
to her, an' what become of her. How would you wind up, if you were me?"
"I b'lieve I'd say, she furgive her sisters, an' married the prince, an'
lived happy ever afterwards, like 'Cinderilla an' the Little Glass
Slipper.'"
"Oh, Dumps, you're such er little goose; that kind of endin' wouldn't
suit my story at all," said Diddie; "but I'll have to wind up somehow,
for all the little girls who read the book will want to know what become
of her, an' there's only six lines to wind up in; an' she's only a
little girl, an' she can't get married; besides, there ain't any prince
in Nu Orlins. No, somethin' will have to happen to her. I tell you, I
b'lieve I'll make a runaway horse run over her goin' home."
"Oh, no, Diddie, please don't," entreated Dumps; "po' little Nettie,
don't make the horse run over her."
"I'm _obliged to_, Dumps; you mustn't be so tender-hearted; she's got
ter be wound up somehow, an' I might let the Injuns scalp her, or the
bears eat her up, an' I'm sure that's a heap worse than jes er horse
runnin' over her; an' then you know she ain't no sho' nuff little girl;
she's only made up out of my head."
"I don't care, I don't want the horse to run over her. I think it's bad
enough to make her give 'way all her candy an' little tubs an' iuns an'
wheelbarrers, without lettin' the horses run over her; an' ef that's
the way you're goin' ter do, I sha'n't have nuthin' 'tall ter do with
it."
And Dumps, having thus washed her hands of the whole affair, went back
to her dolls, and Diddie resumed her writing:
"As she was agoin along, presently she herd sumthin cumin
book-er-ty-book, book-er-ty-book, and there was a big horse and a buggy
cum tearin down the road, and she ran jes hard as she could; but befo
she could git out er the way, the horse ran rite over her, and killed
her, and all the people took her up and carried her home, and put
flowers all on her, and buried her at the church, and played the organ
'bout her; and that's
"The END of Nettie Herbert."
"Oh, dear me!" she sighed, when she had finished, "I am tired of writin'
books; Dumps, sposin' you make up 'bout the 'Bad Little Girl,' an' I'll
write it down jes like you tell me."
"All right," assented Dumps, once more leaving her dolls, and coming to
the table. Then, after thinking for a moment, she began, with great
earnestness:
"Once pun er time there was er bad little girl, an' she wouldn't min'
nobody, nor do no way nobody wanted her to; and when her mother went ter
give her fyssick, you jes ought ter seen her cuttin' up! _she_ skweeled,
an' _she_ holler'd, an' _she_ kicked, an' she jes done ev'y bad way she
could; an' one time when she was er goin' on like that the spoon slipped
down her throat, an' choked her plum ter death; an' not long after that,
when she was er playin' one day--"
"Oh, but, Dumps," interrupted Diddie, "you said she was dead."
"No, I nuver said nuthin' 'bout her bein' dead," replied Dumps; "an' ef
you wrote down that she's dead, then you wrote a story, 'cause she's
livin' as anybody."
"You said the spoon choked her to death," said Diddie.
"Well, hit nuver killed her, anyhow," said Dumps; "hit jes only give her
spasums; an' now you've gone and put me all out; what was I sayin'?"
"When she was er playin' one day," prompted Diddie.
"Oh yes," continued Dumps, "when she was er playin' one day on the side
uv the creek with her little sister, she got ter fightin' an' pinchin'
an' scrougin', an' the fus thing she knowed, she fell kersplash in the
creek, and got drownded. An' one time her mammy tol' 'er not nuber ter
clim' up on the fender, an' she neber min' 'er, but clum right upon the
fender ter git an apple off'n the mantel-piece; an' the fender turned
over, an' she fell in the fire an' burnt all up. An' another time, jes
er week after that, she was er foolin' 'long--"
"Dumps, what are you talkin' 'bout?" again interrupted Diddie. "She
couldn't be er foolin' long o' nothin' ef she's dead."
"But she ain't dead, Diddie," persisted Dumps.
"Well, you said the fire burned her up," retorted Diddie.
"I don't care ef hit did," said Dumps; "she nuver died bout hit; an' ef
you're goin' ter keep sayin' she's dead, then I sha'n't tell yer no
mo'."
"Go on, then," said Diddie, "and I won't bother you."
"Well, one time," continued Dumps, "when she was er foolin' 'long o'
cow, what she had no business, the cow run his horns right through her
neck, an' throwed her way-ay-ay up yon'er; an' she nuver come down no
mo', an' that's all."
"But, Dumps, what become of her?" asked Diddie.
"I dunno what become uv her," said Dumps. "She went ter hebn, I reckon."
"But she couldn't go ter hebn ef she's so bad," said Diddie; "the angel
wouldn't let her come in."
"The cow throwed her in," said Dumps, "an' the angel wan't er lookin',
an' he nuver knowed nuthin' 'bout it."
"That's er mighty funny story," said Diddie; "but I'll let it stay in
the book--only you ain't finished it, Dumps, Hyear's fo' mo' lines of
paper ain't written yet."
"That's all I know," replied Dumps. And Diddie, after considering
awhile, said she thought it would be very nice to wind it up with a
piece of poetry. Dumps was delighted at that suggestion, and the little
girls puzzled their brains for rhymes. After thinking for some time,
Diddie wrote,
"Once 'twas a little girl, and she was so bad,"
and read it aloud; then said, "Now, Dumps, sposin' you make up the nex'
line."
Dumps buried her face in her hands, and remained in deep study for a few
moments, and presently said,
"And now she is dead, an' I am so glad."
"Oh, Dumps, that's too wicked," said Diddie. "You mustn't never be glad
when anybody's dead; that's too wicked a poetry; I sha'n't write it in
the book."
"Well, I nuver knowed nuthin' else," said Dumps. "I couldn't hardly make
that up; I jes had ter study all my might; and I'm tired of writin
poetry, anyhow; you make it up all by yoursef."
Diddie, with her brows drawn together in a frown, and her eyes tight
shut, chewed the end of her pencil, and, after a few moments, said,
"Dumps, do you min' ef the cow was to run his horns through her _forrid_
stid of her neck?"
"No, hit don't make no diffrence to me," replied Dumps.
"Well, then," said Diddie, "ef 'twas her _forrid_, I kin fix it."
So, after a little more study and thought, Diddie wound up the story
thus:
"Once 'twas er little girl, so wicked and horrid,
Till the cow run his horns right slap through her forrid,
And throwed her to hebn all full of her sin,
And, the gate bein open, he pitched her right in."
And that was "The END of the Bad Little Girl."
"Now there's jes one mo' tale," said Diddie, "and that's about 'Annie's
Visit,' an' I'm tired of makin' up books; Chris, can't you make up
that?"
"I dunno hit," said Chris, "but I kin tell yer 'bout'n de tar baby, ef
dat'll do."
"Don't you think that'll do jes as well, Dumps?" asked Diddie.
"Certingly!" replied Dumps. So Diddie drew her pencil through "Annie's
Visit," and wrote in its place,
"The Tar Baby,"
and Chris began:
"Once pun a time, 'twuz er ole Rabbit an' er ole Fox and er ole Coon:
an' dey all lived close togedder; an' de ole Fox he had him er mighty
fine goober-patch, w'at he nuber 'low nobody ter tech; an' one mornin'
atter he git up, an' wuz er walkin' 'bout in his gyarden, he seed
tracks, an' he foller de tracks, an' he see whar sumbody ben er grabbin'
uv his goobers. An' ev'y day he see de same thing; an' he watch, an' he
watch, an' he couldn't nuber cotch nobody! an' he went, he did, ter de
Coon, and he sez, sezee, 'Brer Coon, dar's sumbody stealin' uv my
goobers.'
"'Well,' sez Brer Coon, sezee, 'I bet yer hit's Brer Rabbit.'
"'I lay I'll fix 'im,' sez Brer Fox; so he goes, he does, and he tuck'n
made er man out'n tar, an' he sot 'im, he did, right in de middle uv de
goober-patch. Well, sar, soon ez eber de moon riz, Brer Rabbit, he stole
outn his house, and he lit right out fur dem goobers; and by'mby he sees
de tar man er stanin' dar, an' he hollers out, 'Who's dat er stanin' dar
an' er fixin' ter steal Brer Fox's goobers?' Den he lis'en, and nobody
nuver anser, and he 'gin ter git mad, and he sez, sezee, 'Yer brack
nigger you, yer better anser me wen I speaks ter yer;' and wid dat he
hault off, he did, and hit de tar baby side de head, and his han' stuck
fas' in de tar. 'Now yer better turn me er loose,' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee; 'I got er nuther han' lef',' and 'ker bum' he come wid his udder
han', on de tar baby's tuther jaw, an' dat han' stuck.
"'Look er hyear! who yer foolin' wid?' sez Brer Rabbit; 'I got er foot
yit.' Den he kick wid all his might, an' his foot stuck. Den he kick wid
his udder foot, an' dat stuck. Den Brer Rabbit he 'gun ter git madder'n
he wuz, an' sezee, 'Ef yer fool 'long o' me mun, I'll butt de life out'n
yer;' an' he hault off wid his head, an' butt de tar baby right in de
chis, an' his head stuck. Den dar he wuz! an' dar he had ter stay, till,
by'mby, Brer Fox he come er long, an' he seed de Rabbit er stickin' dar,
an' he tuck him up, an' he cyard 'im long ter Brer Coon's house, an' he
sez, sezee,
"'Brer Coon, hyear's de man wat stole my goobers; now wat mus' I do wid
'im?'
"Brer Coon tuck de Fox off one side, he did, an' he say, 'Le's give 'im
his chice, wheder he'd er ruther be tho'd in de fire or de brier-patch;
an' ef he say de fire, den we'll fling 'im in de briers; an' ef he say
de briers, den we'll fling 'im in de fire.' So dey went back ter de
Rabbit, an' ax 'im wheder he'd er ruther be tho'd in de fire or de
briers.
"'Oh, Brer Fox,' sezee, 'plee-ee-eeze don't tho me in de briers, an' git
me all scratched up; plee-ee-eeze tho me in de fire; fur de Lord's
sake,' sezee, 'don't tho me in de briers.'
"And wid dat, Brer Fox he lif' 'im up, an' tho'd 'im way-ay-ay over in
de briers. Den Brer Rabbit he kick up his heels, he did, an' he laugh,
an' he laugh, an' he holler out,
"'Good-bye, Brer Fox! Far' yer well, Brer Coon! I wuz born an' riz in de
briers!' And wid dat he lit right out, he did, an' he nuber stop tell he
got clean smack home."
[Illustration: "THE TAR BABY."]
The children were mightily pleased with this story; and Diddie, after
carefully writing underneath it,
"The END of The Tar Baby,"
said she could write the poetry and history part some other day; so she
closed the book, and gave it to Mammy to put away for her, and she and
Dumps went out for a ride on Corbin.