“I don’t like her, nohow,” said Dumps, “an’ I’m glad me an’ Tot’s too little ter go ter school; I don’t want never to learn to read all my life.  An’, Mammy, can’t you go an’ turn Diddie erloose?”

“No, I can’t,” answered Mammy.  “Yer pa don’t ’low me fur ter do it; he won’t do it hisse’f, an’ he won’t let dem do it wat wants ter.  I dunno wat’s gittin’ in ‘im myse’f.  But, you chil’en, put on yer bunnits, an’ run an’ play in de yard tell I fixes dis chis’ uv cloes; an’ you little niggers, go wid ’em, an’ tuck cyar uv ’em; an’ ef dem chil’en git hut, yer’ll be sorry fur it, mun; so yer’d better keep em off’n seesaws an’ all sich ez dat.”

Dumps and Tot, attended by their little maids, went out in the yard at Mammy’s bidding, but not to play; their hearts were too heavy about poor little Diddie, and the little negroes were no less grieved than they were, so they all held a consultation as to what they should do.

“Le’s go ‘roun’ ter de schoolroom winder, an’ talk ter her,” said Dilsey.  And, accordingly, they repaired to the back of the house, and took their stand under the schoolroom window.  The schoolroom was on the first floor, but the house was raised some distance from the ground by means of stone pillars, so none of the children were tall enough to see into the room.

Dilsey called Diddie softly, and the little girl appeared at the window.

“Have you said your lesson yet?” asked Dumps.

“No, an’ I ain’t ergoin’ to, neither,” answered Diddie.

“An’ yer ain’t had yer dinner, nuther, is yer, Miss Diddie?” asked Dilsey.

“No; but I don’t care ’bout that; I sha’n’t say my lesson not ef she starves me clean ter death.”

At this dismal prospect, the tears sprang to Tot’s eyes, and saying, “I’ll dit it, Diddie; don’ yer min’, I’ll dit it,” she ran as fast as her little feet could carry her to the kitchen, and told Aunt Mary, the cook, that “Diddie is sut up; dey lock her all up in de woom, an’ s’e neber had no dinner, an’ s’e’s starve mos’ ter def.  Miss Tawwy done it, an’ s’e’s des ez mean!” Then, putting her chubby little arms around Aunt Mary’s neck, she added, “Please sen’ Diddie some dinner.”

And Aunt Mary, who loved the children, rose from the low chair on which she was sitting to eat her own dinner, and, picking out a nice piece of fried chicken and a baked sweet potato, with a piece of bread and a good slice of ginger pudding, she put them on a plate for the child.

Now it so happened that Douglas, the head dining-room servant, was also in the kitchen eating his dinner, and, being exceedingly fond of Tot, he told her to wait a moment, and he would get her something from the house.  So, getting the keys from Aunt Delia, the housekeeper, on pretence of putting away something, he buttered two or three slices of light bread, and spread them with jam, and, putting with them some thin chips of cold ham and several slices of cake, he carried them back to the kitchen as an addition to Diddie’s dinner.