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.
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