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 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.