“Is he yours. Mr. Lugi?” mother asked, and the ash-man smiled and nodded:
“Yes. mine—my Rafael.”
“Does he go to Sunday-school?” put in Francie eagerly.
“No, no school—too little, him.”
“Oh, but it's just Sundays and we sing and there's pictures. Couldn't he please go with me. Mr. Lugi?” begged Francie, “I'll take awful good care of him.”
Mother explained a little more, and at last Mr. Lugi said Rafael might go, only—“No dress up, no clothes,” he said sadly.
But that did not trouble Francie. “Why, he can have my brown suit, can't he, mother? I'd just as soon.”
The next day mother took Francie down to see Mrs. Lugi. Little Rafael was shy at first, but he soon got over it and was friendly as could be. The little black-eyed Italian mother was very glad to see them.
“I like Rafael go the Christ-church,” she said. “I use go myself, home—Italy.”
The brown suit, too small for Francie, was just right for Rafael, and it would have been hard to find two happier little boys than Francie and his fish when they walked into the Primary class together.