“G’long, yo — pore white trash!” she cried.

“I’m no poor white trash,” he murmured. “Be Bishop Towah in the house?”

“Co’se he in de haouse. Whar yo s’poses he be dis time de mawnin’?” She made with all haste toward her kitchen, bearing her armful of wood, muttering as she went.

“I reckon I’ll set hyar ontwell he kin see me,” he said, dropping to the doorstep in sheer exhaustion. And there he was allowed to sit while she prepared breakfast in her own leisurely way, having no intention of disturbing her “white folkses fer no sech trash.”

The odor of coffee and hot cakes was maddening to the starving boy, as he