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 cough-bottle and the liniment," said Mr.Bhaer, after his eyes had exchanged telegrams with his wife's.
Nat looked a little anxious at the preparations, but forgot his fears in a hearty laugh, when Mrs.Bhaer whispered to him, with a droll look: "Hear my rogue Teddy try to cough.

The syrup I'm going to give you has honey in it; and he wants some." Little Ted was red in the face with his exertions by the time the bottle came, and was allowed to suck the spoon after Nat had manfully taken a dose and had the bit of flannel put about his throat.
These first steps toward a cure were hardly completed when a great bell rang, and a loud tramping through the hall announced supper.

Bashful Nat quaked at the thought of meeting many strange boys, but Mrs.Bhaer held out her hand to him, and Rob said, patronizingly, "Don't be 'fraid; I'll take care of you." Twelve boys, six on a side, stood behind their chairs, prancing with impatience to begin, while the tall flute-playing youth was trying to curb their ardor.