ee little Armatages. But
the latter were not jealous at all. Phillis and Alice and Frane, Junior,
were likewise delighted with the children from the North.

Christmas Day dawned brilliantly, and although there was what Mr.
Armatage called "a tang" in the air it was so warm that it was hard for
the Bunker children to realize that this was the day that they expected
up North to be "white."

"A 'white Christmas' doesn't mean anything down here in Georgia," said
Daddy Bunker. "Though once in a while they have a little snow here. But
they never speak of it--not the natives. It is a sort of scandal in the
family," and he laughed, looking at Mother Bunker, who understood him if
the children did not.

But white or green, that Christmas Day was a delightful one. Even
without a gaudily lighted and trimmed tree, the Bunkers were pleased in
every way. Their presents were stacked with those belonging to the
Armatage children under the chimneypiece in the big front parlor, and
Mr. Armatage himself made the presentations.

There were presents from "all over" for the six little Bunkers; for no
matter how far they were away from their many relatives and friends, the
six were fondly remembered. Even Cowboy Jack sent gifts from Texas!

With the presents from Aunt Jo came a letter particularly addressed to
the children. Russ read it aloud to them all. It gave news of William's
neuralgia (Vi still insisted on calling it "croup") and about Annie and
Parker. Even the Great Dane, Alexis, was mentioned. But the most
important thing spoken of in the letter to the children's minds was the
fact that Aunt Jo said she meant to keep Sam, the colored boy Mun Bun
and Margy had introduced into her Back Bay home, all winter.

"The boy is really a treasure," said Aunt Jo. "He can do something
besides dance--although he does plenty of that in the kitchen to the
delight of Parker, Annie and William. He has been taught to work, and is
really a very good houseboy. And he looks well in his uniform."

"I'd like to see him in a uniform," said Laddie. "Is he a soldier, or a
policeman?"

"He's a 'buttons,'" replied Mother Bunker, laughing. "Aunt Jo has always
wanted to have a boy in buttons to answer the door and clean the
knives."

"I'd rather see him dance again," said Russ, and he slyly tried to cut
that pigeon wing once more. But he made a dismal failure of it.

There was dancing in plenty at the negro quarters that Christmas
evening. All the white