"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?