“I dunno wat yer kill’n yerse’f laffin’ ‘bout, got me er settin’ on dis hyear beas’; I ain’t gwine wid yer no mo’.”

Major Waldron was sitting on the veranda as the cavalcade came up, and was surprised to see his little daughters with Mr. Smith, and still more so to learn that they had walked all the way to his house on a mission of mercy; but being a kind man, and not wishing to check the germs of love and sympathy in their young hearts, he forbore to scold them, and went with them and Mr. Smith to the gin-house for the runaway.

On reaching the pick-room, the children went in alone, and told Uncle Pomp that his master had come for him, and had promised not to punish him; but still the old man was afraid to go out, and stood there in alarm till Mr. Smith called: 

“Come out, Pomp!  I’ll keep my promise to the little ones; you shall not be punished in any way.  Come out, and let’s go home.”

And Uncle Pomp emerged from his hiding-place, presenting a very ludicrous spectacle, with his unwashed face and uncombed hair, and the dirty cotton sticking to his clothes.

“Ef’n yer’ll furgib de ole nigger dis time, marster, he ain’t neber gwine run erway no mo’ an’, mo’n dat, he gwine ter make speshul ’spress ‘rangemunce fur ter git up sooner in de mornin’; he is dat, jes sho’s yer born!” said the old negro, as he came before his master.

“Don’t make too many promises, Pomp,” kindly replied Mr. Smith; “we will both try to do better; at any rate, you shall not be punished this time.  Now take your leave of your kind little friends, and let’s get towards home; we are losing lots of time this fine day.”

“Good-bye, little misses,” said Uncle Pomp, grasping Diddie’s hand in one of his and Dumps’s in the other; “good-bye; I gwine pray fur yer bof ev’y night wat de Lord sen’; an’, mo’n dat, I gwine fotch yer some pattridge aigs de fus’ nes’ wat I fin’s.”

And Uncle Pomp mounted the donkey that Dilsey had ridden, and rode off with his master, while Diddie and Dumps climbed on top of the fence to catch the last glimpse of them, waving their sun-bonnets and calling out,

“Good-bye, Mr. Tight-fis’ Smith and Uncle Pomp.”

CHAPTER XV

 The fourth of July

“The glorious Fourth” was always a holiday on every Southern plantation, and, of course, Major Waldron’s was no exception to the rule.  His negroes not only had holiday, but a barbecue, and it was a day of general mirth and festivity.

On this particular “Fourth” the barbecue was to be on the banks of the creek formed by the back-waters of the river, and was to be a “fish-fry” as well as a barbecue.