"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.