"And he could have had mine, too," declared Margy quite as earnestly.

"What do these tots mean?" gasped Aunt Jo, holding up both hands.

But Mother Bunker, who understood her little Bunkers very well indeed,
in a flash knew all about it. She cried:

"The poor boy! Bring him back! He did look cold and wet."

"Oh, he's just a tramp," objected Aunt Jo.

"He's poor, Josephine, and unfortunate," answered Mother Bunker, as
though that settled all question as to what they should do about the
colored boy.

Russ Bunker had already got his cap and mackinaw. He darted out of the
house, down the steps, and followed the shuffling figure of the colored
boy, now all but hidden by the fast-driving snow. How it did snow, to be
sure!

"Say! Wait a minute!" Russ called, and caught the strange youth by the
elbow.

"What yo' want, little boy?" demanded the other. "I ain't done nothin'
to them child'en. No, I ain't. Dey called me up to dat do' or I wouldn't
have been there."

"I know that," said Russ, urgently detaining him. "But come back. My
mother wants to speak to you, and I guess my Aunt Jo'll treat you nice,
too. You're cold and hungry, aren't you?"

"Sure is," groaned the boy.

"Then they will give you something to eat and let you get warm. You'd
better come," added Russ very sensibly, "for it looks as if it would be
a big storm."

"Sure do," agreed the colored boy again. "Ah don' like dis snow. Don't
have nothin' like dis down whar I come f'om. No, suh."

"Now, come on," said Russ eagerly. "My mother's waiting for us."

The negro lad hesitated no longer. Even Russ saw how weary and weak he
was as he stumbled on beside him. His shoes were broken, his trousers
were very ragged, and his coat that he had buttoned up closely was
threadbare. His cap was just the wreck of a cap!

"Yo' sure she ain't goin' to send for no policeman, little boy?" queried
the stranger. "I wasn't goin' to take them clo'es. No, suh!"

"She understands," said Russ confidently, and holding to the boy's
ragged sleeve led him up the steps of Aunt Jo's pretty house.

Russ saw Mr. North, the nice old gentleman who lived over the way,
staring out of his window at this surprising fact: Aunt Jo allowing a
beggar to enter at her front door! Still, Mr. North, as well as the
rest of the neighbors, had decided before this that almost anything
astonishing could happen while the six little Bunkers were visiting
their Aunt Jo in Boston's Back Bay district.