“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Ringworth, getting up, “but he’s my dog, and I’m going to have him. Come home, Blackie!”
I was sitting beside Daisy, who had laid three beautiful eggs, and I trembled nervously, for I hate to see human beings upset. I had never before seen Mrs. Martin angry, and I was sorry to see the red spots in her cheeks. Our Mary said nothing, but just sat patting the dog.
“Of course he is a fool of a dog,” said Mrs. Ringworth, “and can do nothing but roll over
and act silly, but I have got used to him and like him.”
“Has he never talked to you?” asked our Missie.
“Talked to me—what do you mean?”
“Has he never asked you for a crumb?” said Missie coldly.
Mrs. Ringworth stared at her, as if she thought she were crazy.
“A crumb—how foolish!—but I remember that you Martins are always reading things into dogs. Of course he can’t talk.”
“Niger,” said Mrs. Martin, “can’t you say, ‘Jus’ a crumb?’”