“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 mantelpiece; 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—­”