"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.