“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.” It was now almost dark, and Old Billy showed no signs of weariness; his vigilance was unabated, and the children were very miserable, when they heard the welcome sound of Mammy’s voice calling “Chil’en! O-o-o-o, chil’en!” “Ma-a-a-m!” answered all of the little folks at once. “Whar is yer?” called Mammy, “On top the lumber-pile,” answered the children; and soon Mammy appeared coming through the woods. She had missed the children at snack-time, and had been down to the quarters, and, in fact, all over the place, hunting for them. The children were delighted to see her now, and so, indeed, seemed Old Billy, for, quitting his position at Dilsey’s head, he set out at his best speed for Mammy; and Dilsey immediately jumped to her feet, and was soon on the lumber with her companions. “Now yer gwuf fum yer, gwuf fum yer!” said Mammy, furiously waving a cotton-stalk at Old Billy. “Gwuf fum yer, I tell you! _I_ ain’t bodern’ you. I jes come fur de chil’en, an’ yer bet not fool ’long er me, yer low-life sheep.”