Six Little Bunkers at Mammy Junes | Page 5

the corner of the section had cut Mun Bun's
head?"
"I should have been awful sorry," admitted Russ. "I guess I didn't think
much, Mother. I was only trying to amuse 'em 'cause they were cold."
"It is cold in here, Amy. Don't scold the boy. See! The storm is getting
worse. I don't know what we shall do about the fire. Parker and Annie
don't seem to know what to do about the heater and I'm sure I don't. Oh,
dear!"
"B-r-rrr!" shivered Mother Bunker. "I am not fond of your New
England winters, Jo. I hope we shall go South----"
"Oh, Mother!" cried Rose excitedly. "Shall we really go down South
with Daddy? Won't that be glorious?"
"I guess it's warm down there," said Laddie. "Or maybe the steampipes
hum."
"Do the steampipes hum down South?" asked Violet.
While the four older children were exceedingly interested in this new
proposal for excitement and adventure, Margy and Mun Bun had
returned to the great window that overlooked the street and the front
steps. They flattened their noses against the cold pane and stared down
into the driving snow. Within this short time, since the storm had begun,
everything was white and the few people passing in the street were like
snowmen, for the white flakes stuck to their coats and other wraps.

"Oh, see that man!" Margy cried to Mun Bun. "He almost fell down."
"He's not a man," said her little brother with confidence. "He's a boy."
"Oh! He's a black boy--a colored boy. That's right, so he is."
The figure in the snow stumbled along the sidewalk, clinging to the
iron railings. When he reached the steps of Aunt Jo's house he slipped
down upon the second step and seemed unable to get up again. His
body sagged against the iron railing post, and soon the snow began to
heap on him and about him.
"Oh!" gasped Margy. "He is a reg'lar snowman."
"He's a black snowman," said Mun Bun. "It must be freezing cold out
there, Margy."
"Of course it is. He'll turn into a nicicle if he stays there on the steps,"
declared the little girl, with some anxiety.
"And he hasn't a coat and scarf like you and me," Mun Bun said.
"Maybe he hasn't any Grandma Bell to knit scarfs for him."
"I believe we ought to help him, Mun Bun," said Margy, decidedly.
"We have plenty of coats."
"And scarfs," agreed Mun Bun. "Let's."
So they immediately left the room quite unnoticed by the older people
in it. This is a remarkable fact. Whenever Margy and Mun Bun had
mischief in mind they never asked Mother about it. Now, why was that,
do you suppose?
The two little ones went swiftly downstairs into the front hall. Both had
coats and caps and scarfs hung on pegs in a little dressing-room near
the big door. They knew that they should not touch the outer garments
belonging to the older children; but they got their own wraps.
"Maybe he's too big for them," murmured Margy. "But I guess he can

squeeze into the coats--into one of them, anyway."
"Course he can," said Mun Bun. "Mine's a nawful warm coat. And that
black snowman isn't much bigger than I am, Margy."
"I don't know," said his sister slowly, for she was a little wiser than
Mun Bun about most things. "Open the door."
Mun Bun could do that. This was the inside door, and they stepped into
the vestibule. Pressing his face close to the glass of one of the outer
doors, Mun Bun stared down at the "black snowman" on the step.
"He's going to sleep in the snow," said the little boy. "I guess we've got
to wake him up, Margy."
He pounded on the glass with his fat fist. He knocked several times
before the figure below even moved. Then the colored boy, who was
not more than seventeen or eighteen, turned his head and looked up
over his shoulder at the faces of the two children in the vestibule.
He was covered with snow. His face, though moderately black as a
usual thing, was now gray with the cold. His black eyes, even, seemed
faded. He was scantily clad, and his whole body was trembling with the
cold.
"Come up here!" cried Mun Bun, beckoning to the strange boy. "Come
up here!"
The boy in the snow seemed scarcely to understand. Or else he was so
cold and exhausted that he could not immediately get up from the step
on which he was sitting.
CHAPTER III
UNCLE SAM'S NEPHEW
The fluffy, sticky snowflakes gathered very fast upon the colored boy's
clothing. As Mun Bun had first announced, he looked like a snowman,

only his face was grayish-black.
He was slim, and when he finally