an' hit ain't becomin' in yer fur ter be runnin' erway an' er hidin'
out, same ez oberseer's chil'en, an' all kin' er po' white trash."

"We _are_ sorry about it now, Uncle Bob," said Diddie "but what would
you 'vize us to do?" "Well, my invice is _dis_," said Uncle Bob, "fur
ter go ter yer pa, an' tell him de truff; state all de konkumstances des
like dey happen; don't lebe out none er de facks; tell him you're sorry
yer 'haved so onstreperous, an' ax him fur ter furgib yer; an' ef he
_do_, wy dat's all right; an' den ef he _don't_, wy yer mus' 'bide by de
kinsequonces. But fuss, do, fo' yer axes fur furgibness, yer mus' turn
yer min's ter repintunce. Now I ax you chil'en _dis_,
Is--you--sorry--dat--you--runned--off?
an'--is--you--'pentin'--uv--wadin'--in--de--ditch?"

Uncle Bob spoke very slowly and solemnly, and in a deep tone; and
Diddie, feeling very much as if she had been guilty of murder, replied,

"Yes, I am truly sorry, Uncle Bob."

Dumps and Tot and the three little darkies gravely nodded their heads in
assent.

"Den jes go an' tell yer pa so," said the old man. "An', anyway, yer'll
hatter be gwine, caze hit's gittin' dark."

The little folks walked off slowly towards the house, and presently
Dumps said,

"Diddie, I don't b'lieve I'm _rael_ sorry we runned off, an' I don't
_right_ 'pent 'bout wadin' in the ditch, cause we had er mighty heap er