bustling about so energetically that Nat found himself in the cosy
little chair, with dry socks and warm slippers on his feet, before he
would have had time to say Jack Robinson, if he had wanted to try.
He said "Thank you, ma'am," instead; and said it so gratefully that
Mrs. Bhaer's eyes grew soft again, and she said something merry,
because she felt so tender, which was a way she had.

"There are Tommy Bangs' slippers; but he never will remember to
put them on in the house; so he shall not have them. They are too
big; but that's all the better; you can't run away from us so fast as if
they fitted."

"I don't want to run away, ma'am." And Nat spread his grimy little
hands before the comfortable blaze, with a long sigh of
satisfaction.

"That's good! Now I am going to toast you well, and try to get rid
of that ugly cough. How long have you had it, dear?" asked Mrs.
Bhaer, as she rummaged in her big basket for a strip of flannel.

"All winter. I got cold, and it wouldn't get better, somehow."

"No wonder, living in that damp cellar with hardly a rag to his
poor dear back!" said Mrs. Bhaer, in a low tone to her husband,
who was looking at the boy with a skillful pair of eyes that marked
the thin temples and feverish lips, as well as the hoarse voice and
frequent fits of coughing that shook the bent shoulders under the
patched jacket.

"Robin, my man, trot up to Nursey, and tell her to give thee the