DIDDIE AND DUMPS GO VISITING.
It was some time in June that, the weather being fine, Mammy gave the
children permission to go down to the woods beyond the gin-house and
have a picnic.
They had a nice lunch put up in their little baskets, and started off in
high glee, taking with them Cherubim and Seraphim and the doll babies.
They were not to stay all day, only till dinner-time; so they had no
time to lose, but set to playing at once.
First, it was "Ladies come to see," and each of them had a house under
the shade of a tree, and spent most of the time in visiting and in
taking care of their respective families. Dumps had started out with
Cherubim for her little boy; but he proved so refractory, and kept her
so busy catching him, that she decided to play he was the yard dog, and
content herself with the dolls for her children. Riar, too, had some
trouble in _her_ family; in passing through the yard, she had inveigled
Hester's little two-year-old son to go with them, and now was desirous
of claiming him as her son and heir--a position which he filled very
contentedly until Diddie became ambitious of living in more style than
her neighbors, and offered Pip (Hester's baby) the position of
dining-room servant in her establishment; and he, lured off by the
prospect of playing with the little cups and saucers, deserted Riar for
Diddie. This produced a little coolness, but gradually it wore off, and
the visiting between the parties was resumed.
After "ladies come to see" had lost its novelty, they made little
leaf-boats, and sailed them in the ditch. Then they played "hide the
switch," and at last concluded to try a game of hide-and-seek. This
afforded considerable amusement, so they kept it up some time; and once,
when it became Dumps's time to hide, she ran away to the gin-house, and
got into the pick-room. And while she was standing there all by herself
in the dark, she thought she heard somebody breathing. This frightened
her very much, and she had just opened the door to get out, when a negro
man crawled from under a pile of dirty cotton, and said,
"Little missy, fur de Lord's sake, can't yer gimme sump'n t' eat?"
Dumps was so scared she could hardly stand; but, notwithstanding the
man's haggard face and hollow eyes, and his weird appearance, with the
cotton sticking to his head, his tone was gentle, and she stopped to
look at him more closely.
"Little missy," he said, piteously, "I'se er starvin' ter def. I ain't
had er mouf'l ter eat in fo' days."
"What's the reason?" asked Dumps. "Are you a runaway nigger?"
"Yes, honey; I 'longs ter ole Tight-fis' Smith; an' he wanted ter whup
me fur not gittin' out ter de fiel' in time, an' I tuck'n runned erway
fum 'im, an' now I'm skyeert ter go back, an' ter go anywhar; an' I
can't fin' nuf'n t' eat, an' I'se er starvin' ter def."
"Well, you wait," said Dumps, "an' I'll go bring yer the picnic."
"Don't tell nobody 'boutn my bein' hyear, honey."
"No, I won't," said Dumps, "only Diddie; she's good, an' she won't tell
nobody; an' she can read an' write, an' she'll know what to do better'n
me, because I'm all the time such a little goose. But I'll bring yer
sump'n t' eat; you jes wait er little minute; an' don't yer starve ter
def till I come back."
Dumps ran back to the ditch where the children were, and, taking Diddie
aside in a very mysterious manner, she told her about the poor man who
was hiding in the gin-house, and about his being so hungry.
"An' I tol' 'im I'd bring 'im the picnic," concluded Dumps; and Diddie,
being the gentlest and kindest-hearted little girl imaginable, at once
consented to that plan; and, leaving Tot with the little negroes in the
woods, the two children took their baskets, and went higher up the
ditch, on pretence of finding a good place to set the table; but, as
soon as they were out of sight, they cut across the grove, and were soon
at the gin-house. They entered the pick-room cautiously, and closed the
door behind them, The man came out from his hiding-place, and the little
girls emptied their baskets in his hands.
He ate ravenously, and Diddie and Dumps saw with pleasure how much he
enjoyed the nice tarts and sandwiches and cakes that Mammy had provided
for the picnic.
"Do you sleep here at night?" asked Diddie.
"Yes, honey, I'se skyeert ter go out anywhar; I'se so skyeert uv
Tight-fis' Smith."
"He's awful mean, ain't he?" asked Dumps.
"Dat he is, chile," replied the man; "he's cruel an' bad."
"Then don't you ever go back to him," said Dumps. "You stay right here
an' me'n Diddie'll bring you ev'y-thing ter eat, an' have you fur our
nigger."
The man laughed softly at that idea, but said he would stay there for
the present, anyway; and the children, bidding him good-bye, and telling
him they would be sure to bring him something to eat the next day, went
back to their playmates at the ditch.
"Tot," said Diddie, "we gave all the picnic away to a poor old man who
was very hungry; but you don't mind, do you? we'll go back to the
house, and Mammy will give you just as many cakes as you want."
Tot was a little bit disappointed, for she had wanted to eat the picnic
in the woods; but Diddie soon comforted her, and before they reached the
house she was as merry and bright as any of them.
The next morning Diddie and Dumps were very much perplexed to know how
to get off to the gin-house without being seen. There was no difficulty
about obtaining the provisions; their mother always let them have
whatever they wanted to have tea-parties with, and this was their excuse
for procuring some slices of pie and cake, while Aunt Mary gave them
bread and meat, and Douglass gave them some cold buttered biscuit with
ham between.
They wrapped it all up carefully in a bundle, and then, watching their
chances, they slipped off from Tot and the little darkies, as well as
from Mammy, and carried it to their guest in the pick-room. He was truly
glad to see them, and to get the nice breakfast they had brought; and
the little girls, having now lost all fear of him, sat down on a pile of
cotton to have a talk with him.
"Did you always b'long to Mr. Tight-fis' Smith?" asked Diddie.
"No, honey; he bought me fum de Powell 'state, an' I ain't b'longst ter
him no mo'n 'boutn fo' years."
[Illustration: "BRINGIN' 'IM THE PICNIC."]
"Is he got any little girls?" asked Dumps.
"No, missy; his wife an' two chil'en wuz bu'nt up on de steamboat gwine
ter New 'Leans, some twenty years ergo; an' de folks sez dat's wat makes
'im sich er kintankrus man. Dey sez fo' dat he usen ter hab meetin' on
his place, an' he wuz er Christyun man hisse'f; but he got mad 'long er
de Lord caze de steamboat bu'nt up, an' eber sence dat he's been er
mighty wicked man; an' he won't let none er his folks sarve de Lord; an'
he don't 'pyear ter cyar fur nuffin' 'cep'n hit's money. But den, honey,
he ain't no born gemmun, nohow; he's jes only er oberseer wat made 'im
er little money, an' bought 'im er few niggers; an', I tells yer, he
makes 'em wuck, too; we'se got ter be in de fiel' long fo' day; an' I
oberslep' mysef tudder mornin' an' he wuz cussin' an' er gwine on, an'
'lowed he wuz er gwine ter whup me, an' so I des up an' runned erway fum
'im, an' now I'se skyeert ter go back; an', let erlone dat, I'se skyeert
ter stay; caze, efn he gits Mr. Upson's dogs, dey'll trace me plum
hyear; an' wat I is ter do I dunno; I jes prays constunt ter de Lord.
He'll he'p me, I reckon, caze I prays tree times eby day, an' den in
'tween times."
"Is your name Brer Dan'l?" asked Dumps, who remembered Uncle Bob's story
of Daniel's praying three times a day.
"No, honey, my name's Pomp; but den I'm er prayin' man, des same ez
Dan'l wuz."
"Well, Uncle Pomp," said Diddie, "you stay here just as long as you can,
an' I'll ask papa to see Mr. Tight-fis' Smith, an' he'll get--"
"Lor', chile," interrupted Uncle Pomp, "don't tell yer pa nuf'n 'boutn
it; he'll sho' ter sen' me back, an' dat man'll beat me half ter def:
caze I'se mos' loss er week's time now, an' hit's er mighty 'tickler
time in de crap."
"But, s'posin' the dogs might come?" said Dumps.
"Well, honey, dey ain't come yit; an' wen dey duz come, den hit'll be
time fur ter tell yer pa."
"Anyhow, we'll bring you something to eat," said Diddie, "and try and
help you all we can; but we must go back now, befo' Mammy hunts for us;
so good-bye;" and again they left him to himself.
As they neared the house, Dumps asked Diddie how far it was to Mr.
"Tight-fis' Smith's."
"I don't know exactly," said Diddie; "'bout three miles, I think."
"Couldn't we walk there, an' ask him not to whup Uncle Pomp? Maybe he
wouldn't, ef we was ter beg him right hard."
"Yes, that's jest what we'll do, Dumps; and we'll get Dilsey to go with
us, 'cause she knows the way."
Dilsey was soon found, and was very willing to accompany them, but was
puzzled to know why they wanted to go. The children, however, would not
gratify her curiosity, and they started at once, so as to be back in
time for dinner.
It was all of three miles to Mr. Smith's plantation, and the little
girls were very tired long before they got there. Dumps, indeed, almost
gave out, and once began to cry, and only stopped with Diddie's
reminding her of poor Uncle Pomp, and with Dilsey's carrying her a
little way.
At last, about two o'clock, they reached Mr. Smith's place. The hands
had just gone out into the field after dinner, and of course their
master, who was only a small planter and kept no overseer, was with
them. The children found the doors all open, and went in.
The house was a double log-cabin, with a hall between, and they entered
the room on the right, which seemed to be the principal living-room.
There was a shabby old bed in one corner, with the cover all
disarranged, as if its occupant had just left it. A table, littered with
unwashed dishes, stood in the middle of the floor, and one or two rude
split-bottomed chairs completed the furniture.
The little girls were frightened at the unusual silence about the place,
as well as the dirt and disorder, but, being very tired, they sat down
to rest.
"Diddie," asked Dumps, after a little time, "ain't yer scared?"
"I don't think I'm scared, Dumps," replied Diddie; "but I'm not right
comfor'ble."
"_I'm_ scared," said Dumps. "I'm _jes_ ez fraid of Mr. Tight-fis'
Smith!"
"Dat's hit!" said Dilsey. "Now yer talkin', Miss Dumps; dat's er mean
wite man, an' he mighter git mad erlong us, an' take us all fur his
niggers."
"But we ain't black, Diddie an' me," said Dumps.
"Dat don't make no diffunce ter him; he des soon hab wite niggers ez
black uns," remarked Dilsey, consolingly; and Dumps, being now
thoroughly frightened, said,
"Well, I'm er goin' ter put my pen'ence in de Lord. I'm er goin' ter
pray."
Diddie and Dilsey thought this a wise move, and, the three children
kneeling down, Dumps began,
"Now, I lay me down to sleep."
And just at this moment Mr. Smith, returning from the field, was
surprised to hear a voice proceeding from the house, and, stepping
lightly to the window, beheld, to his amazement, the three children on
their knees, with their eyes tightly closed and their hands clasped,
while Dumps was saying, with great fervor,
"If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take;
An' this I ask for Jesus' sake."
"Amen!" reverently responded Diddie and Dilsey; and they all rose from
their knees much comforted.
"I ain't 'fraid uv him now," said Dumps, "'cause I b'lieve the Lord'll
he'p us, an' not let Mr. Tight-fis' Smith git us."
"I b'lieve so too," said Diddie; and, turning to the window, she found
Mr. Smith watching them.
"Are you Mr. Tight-fis' Smith?" asked Diddie, timidly.
"I am Mr. Smith, and I have heard that I am called '_tight_-fisted' in
the neighborhood," he replied, with a smile.
"Well, we are Major Waldron's little girls, Diddie and Dumps, an' this
is my maid, Dilsey, an' we've come ter see yer on business."
"On business, eh?" replied Mr. Smith, stepping in at the low window.
"Well, what's the business, little ones?" and he took a seat on the side
of the bed, and regarded them curiously. But here Diddie stopped, for
she felt it was a delicate matter to speak to this genial,
pleasant-faced old man of cruelty to his own slaves. Dumps, however, was
troubled with no such scruples; and, finding that Mr. Smith was not so
terrible as she had feared, she approached him boldly, and, standing by
his side, she laid one hand on his gray head, and said:
"Mr. Smith, we've come ter beg you please not ter whup Uncle Pomp if he
comes back. He is runned erway, an' me an' Diddie know where he is, an'
we've ben feedin' him, an' we don't want you ter whup him; will you
please don't?" and Dumps's arm slipped down from the old man's head,
until it rested around his neck; and Mr. Smith, looking into her eager,
childish face, and seeing the blue eyes filled with tears, thought of
the little faces that long years ago had looked up to his; and, bending
his head, he kissed the rosy mouth.
"You won't whup him, will you?" urged Dumps.
"Don't you think he ought to be punished for running away and staying
all this time, when I needed him in the crop?" asked Mr. Smith, gently.
"But, indeed, he _is_ punished," said Diddie; "he was almost starved to
death when me and Dumps carried him the picnic; and then he is so
scared, he's been punished, Mr. Smith; so please let him come home, and
don't whup him."
"Yes, PLE-EE-ASE promise," said Dumps, tightening her hold on his neck;
and Mr. Smith, in memory of the little arms that once clung round him,
and the little fingers that in other days clasped his, said:
"Well, I'll promise, little ones. Pomp may come home, and I'll not whip
or punish him in any way;" and then he kissed them both, and said they
must have a lunch with him, and then he would take them home and bring
Pomp back; for he was astonished to learn that they had walked so long a
distance, and would not hear of their walking back, though Diddie
persisted that they must go, as they had stolen off, and nobody knew
where they were.
He made the cook bake them some hot corn hoe-cakes and boil them some
eggs; and while she was fixing it, and getting the fresh butter and
buttermilk to add to the meal, Mr. Smith took them to the June
apple-tree, and gave them just as many red apples as they wanted to eat,
and some to take home to Tot. And Dumps told him all about "Old Billy"
and Cherubim and Seraphim, and the old man laughed, and enjoyed it all,
for he had no relatives or friends, and lived entirely alone--a stern,
cold man, whose life had been embittered by the sudden loss of his loved
ones, and it had been many weary years since he had heard children's
voices chatting and laughing under the apple-tree.
After the lunch, which his guests enjoyed very much, Mr. Smith had a
little donkey brought out for Dilsey to ride, and, taking Diddie behind
him on his horse, and Dumps in his arms, he started with them for home.
There was but one saddle, so Dilsey was riding "bareback," and had to
sit astride of the donkey to keep from falling off, which so amused the
children that merry peals of laughter rang out from time to time;
indeed, Dumps laughed so much, that, if Mr. Smith had not held her
tightly, she certainly would have fallen off. But it was not very funny
to Dilsey; she held on with all her might to the donkey's short mane,
and even then could scarcely keep her seat. She was highly indignant
with the children for laughing at her, and said.
"I dunno wat yer kill'n yerse'f laffin' 'bout, got me er settin' on dis
hyear beas'; I ain't gwine wid yer no mo'."
Major Waldron was sitting on the veranda as the cavalcade came up, and
was surprised to see his little daughters with Mr. Smith, and still more
so to learn that they had walked all the way to his house on a mission
of mercy; but being a kind man, and not wishing to check the germs of
love and sympathy in their young hearts, he forbore to scold them, and
went with them and Mr. Smith to the gin-house for the runaway.
On reaching the pick-room, the children went in alone, and told Uncle
Pomp that his master had come for him, and had promised not to punish
him; but still the old man was afraid to go out, and stood there in
alarm till Mr. Smith called:
"Come out, Pomp! I'll keep my promise to the little ones; you shall not
be punished in any way. Come out, and let's go home."
And Uncle Pomp emerged from his hiding-place, presenting a very
ludicrous spectacle, with his unwashed face and uncombed hair, and the
dirty cotton sticking to his clothes.
"Ef'n yer'll furgib de ole nigger dis time, marster, he ain't neber
gwine run erway no mo'; an', mo'n dat, he gwine ter make speshul 'spress
'rangemunce fur ter git up sooner in de mornin'; he is dat, jes sho's
yer born!" said the old negro, as he came before his master.
"Don't make too many promises, Pomp," kindly replied Mr. Smith; "we
will both try to do better; at any rate, you shall not be punished this
time. Now take your leave of your kind little friends, and let's get
towards home; we are losing lots of time this fine day."
"Good-bye, little misses," said Uncle Pomp, grasping Diddie's hand in
one of his and Dumps's in the other; "good-bye; I gwine pray fur yer bof
ev'y night wat de Lord sen'; an', mo'n dat, I gwine fotch yer some
pattridge aigs de fus' nes' wat I fin's."
And Uncle Pomp mounted the donkey that Dilsey had ridden, and rode off
with his master, while Diddie and Dumps climbed on top of the fence to
catch the last glimpse of them, waving their sun-bonnets and calling
out,
"Good-bye, Mr. Tight-fis' Smith and Uncle Pomp."