“Oh, yes indeed. Don’t you worry about me. Now you go hide in my house—a kennel they call it. And when they bring me out my dinner I’ll give you all you want.”
“Will there be enough for both of us?” asked Blackie.
“Oh, yes. They bring me plenty of dinner. Look out, here they come with it now. Into the kennel with you!”
Blackie looked and saw, coming down the back stoop, a fat colored cook. In her hand she carried a dish, and even as she ran into the dog’s house Blackie could smell that it held something good.
“I believe it is chicken,” thought the black cat. “Oh, how nice!”
Don stood in front of the kennel, as Blackie ran inside. Along came the fat cook, who was a nice, black shiny color, almost like the cat herself, only, of course the cook did not have fur on.
“Heah’s yo’ dinnah, Don,” said the cook. “I done brought yo’ good an’ plenty this time, ’cause I thought you’d be hungry. An’ I thought I done see a cat ’round yeah a while ago, but I guess maybe I must be mistook, ’cause you wouldn’t let no cats stay in dish yeah yard; would you, Don?”
Don barked and wagged his tail. Just what he said to the cook, she, of course, did not know, for she could not understand dog language. But Don was sort of laughing to himself. There a cat was in his kennel all the while and the fat, black cook did not know it!
“Heah’s yo’ dinnah, now, Don. Eat it,” she continued. “I’ll get you some fresh watah, too.”
And when she had set down the dish of chicken, which was left over from the family dinner, and had given Don some fresh water, the cook went back in the house.