But de Lord he ’lowed he wouldn’t have it so. O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign; So de rich mus’ die jes’ same as de po’, O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign.” This was one of the plantation hymns with which Mammy often used to sing Tot to sleep, and all the children were familiar with the words and air; so now they all joined in the singing, and very sweet music it was. They had sung it through several times, and the puppies, finding themselves so outdone in the matter of noise, had curled up in the children’s laps and were fast asleep, when Diddie interrupted the chorus to ask: “Dumps, what are you goin’ ter name your doggie?” “I b’lieve I’ll name ’im ‘Papa,’” replied Dumps, “because he give ’im ter me.” “‘Papa,’ indeed!” said Diddie, contemptuously; “that’s no name for a dog; I’m goin’ ter name mine after some great big somebody.” “Lord-ee! I tell yer, Miss Diddie; name ’im Marse Samson, atter de man w’at Mammy wuz tellin’ ’bout totin’ off de gates,” said Dilsey. “No yer don’t, Miss Diddie; don’t yer name ’im no sich,” said Chris; “le’s name im’ Marse Whale, w’at swallered de man an’ nuber chawed ’im.” “No, I sha’n’t name him nothin’ out’n the Bible,” said Diddie, “because that’s wicked, and maybe God wouldn’t let him live, just for that; I b’lieve I’ll name him Christopher Columbus, ’cause if he hadn’t discovered America there wouldn’t er been no people hyear, an’ I wouldn’t er had no father nor mother, nor dog, nor nothin’; an’, Dumps, sposin’ you name yours Pocahontas, that was er _beau-ti-ful_ Injun girl, an’ she throwed her arms ’roun’ Mr. Smith an’ never let the tomahawks kill ’im.” “I know I ain’t goin’ to name mine no Injun,” said Dumps, decidedly. “Yer right, Miss Dumps; now yer’s er talkin’,” said Riar; “I wouldn’t name ’im no Injun; have ’im tearin’ folks’ hyar off, like Miss Diddie reads in de book. I don’t want ter hab nuffin ’tall ter _do_ wid no Injuns; no, sar! I don’t like’ dem folks.” “Now, chil’en de dogs is ’sleep,” said Mammy, yawning and rubbing her eyes; “go ter bed, won’t yer?” And the little girls, after laying the puppies in the box and covering them with an old shawl, were soon fast asleep. But there was not much sleep in the nursery that night; the ungrateful little dogs howled and cried all night. Mammy got up three times and gave them warm milk, and tucked them up in the shawl; but no sooner would she put them back in the box than they would begin to cry and howl. And so at the breakfast-table next morning, when Dumps asked her papa to tell her something to name her puppy, Diddie gravely remarked, “I think, Dumps, we had better name ’um Cherubim an’ Seraphim, for they continually do cry.” And her papa was so amused at the idea that he said he thought so too; and thus the puzzling question of the names was decided, and the little wooly poodles were called Cherubim and Seraphim, and became great pets in the household. CHAPTER II CHRISTMAS ON THE OLD PLANTATION