Scared into silence, Andy did not cry out, and the arm that grasped and dragged him away was so strong that he felt resistance to be hopeless.

Passing from Briar street, Pinky hurried on for a distance of a block, when she signaled a street-car.
As she lifted Andy upon the platform, she gave him another whispered threat: "Mind! if you cry, I'll kill you!" There were but few persons in the car, and Pinky carried the child to the upper end and sat him down with his face turned forward to the window, so as to keep it as much out of observation as possible.

He sat motionless, stunned with surprise and fear.

Pinky kept her eyes upon him.

His hands were laid across his breast and held against it tightly.
They had not gone far before Pinky saw great tear-drops falling upon the little hands.
"Stop crying!" she whispered, close to his ear; "I won't have it! You're not going to be killed." Andy tried to keep back the tears, but in spite of all he could do they kept blinding his eyes and falling over his hands.
"What's the matter with your little boy ?" asked a sympathetic, motherly woman who had noticed the child's distress.
"Cross, that's all." Pinky threw out the sentence in at snappish, mind-your-own-business tone.
The motherly woman, who had leaned forward, a look of kindly interest on her face, drew back, chilled by this repulse, but kept her eyes upon the child, greatly to Pinky's annoyance.