“But Trilby did not budge. Trilby had adopted herself a new home in her old age—the run-down old house where her dog friend used to live which her mistress did not like. Every chance Trilby got, she were there. In fact, Trilby did not stay at home at all any more if she could help it. And every time that old white woman would come after her dog, them two old women would say words to each other folks never knowed they knew and which are not in the books. Finally, even I got sorry for that mean old white lady whose mean old dog did not want to come home.

“‘Trilby! Now, Trilby!’ she begged.

“But she had to drag Trilby home each and every day. Then she would pet her, humor her, and dine her on fine fresh liver. She even bought Trilby a soft new rag rug to lay on. But as soon as the door were open, off went Trilby back to that other house.

“‘Trilby! Trilby! Please, Trilby!’

“She reached out her hand to pet her, but Trilby commenced to snarl at her mistress what had bought her that expensive liver. She growled, bared her teeth, and growled again each time that old lady come near. Then one day she snapped at her, and a little speck of blood come on that white lady’s finger.

“‘Why, Trilby, you snapped at me! Me, what loves you! And you done bit the hand that fed you!’

“Well, that old woman did not live very long after that. She taken so low sick she could not come to drag Trilby home no more. And the day she died all by herself, Trilby were laying on that other rug in that other house inside that other door.”

Enter Cousin Minnie

Enter Cousin Minnie

“GUESS who has come to town now?” said Simple, pushing an empty beer glass back from the bar and frowning deeply.

“Who,” I said, “has come?”

“Some new cousin name of Minnie,” said Simple.

“Minnie? How does she look?” I inquired.

“Like the junior wrath of God,” groaned Simple. “Yet, ugly as she is, last week she walks up to my door, all unknown to me, and rings my bell, and states, ‘I am your Cousin Minnie.’

“I says, ‘Whose Cousin Minnie?’

“‘Yours,’ says she, out of the clear blue sky. ‘Ain’t you Jesse B. Semple?’

“‘I am,’ says I. ‘But who are you?’

“Your mother’s brother’s youngest child,’ says she.

“‘How come I never heard of you before?’ says I.

“‘Because I am an offshoot from the family,’ says she.

“‘What shot you back at me?’ I asked before I thought, because I really did not mean to insult the girl.