“It were wintertime when the white dog died, and old Mrs. Jenkins were left dogless. Then Trilby did not have nobody to play with. Trilby’s mean old lady-owner were glad that other dog had died. She did not like Mrs. Jenkins nohow. And with that other dog gone, she took for granted Trilby would stay home, not be playing in old lady Jenkins’ yard come summer, nor romping on her porch with her dog. Now, she would not have to bribe Trilby into staying home with her. But such were not the case. Meanwhile, Trilby begun to lose her appetite that winter. Come spring she were a thin old rail of a black dog, with white circles around her eyes. Trilby looked like she were made up for Halloween. And she become meaner than ever, snapping and snarling at the mailman, the milkman, and also at me delivering papers. So I took to passing on the other side of the street.

“But that mean old white lady loved her mean old dog. The butcher said she even bought Trilby fresh calf’s liver every day to build up her vitamins—which were unheard of in our town where dogs just ate scraps and bones from the table. Not Trilby—she had liver. But, as nice as that old lady treated her, Trilby showed her anatomy. Come spring, as soon as the door were opened, Trilby went down to Mrs. Jenkins’ house, spite of the fact that Trilby’s friend-dog was dead and there was nobody for her to romp and play with there. But, don’t you know, that dog just opened Mrs. Jenkins’ screen and nudged herself into the house—which were the first time she had been inside—and laid down on the rug where that other dog used to lay.

“Her old mistress would call her from up the street, ‘Trilby! Trilby! Hey, Trilby!’ But Trilby would not come. Finally the woman had to go right to that other house and holler from the sidewalk, ‘You-all send my dog home.’

“No answer, so she had to go up to the door and knock to get results. Trilby caused them two old womens—one white and one colored—to exchange words for the first time in years. But what they said were not Christian on neither side. Trilby’s madam had to drag her by the scruff of the neck. Next day, it being warm and the doors being open, Trilby were right back again, nudging at Mrs. Jenkins’ screen door with her bony old nose. She went in, and settled down on the rug.

“‘Trilby! Trilby! Come here, Trilby!’ called Miss White Lady.