Go up to the stove and warm yourself." Andy obeyed, spreading out his little hands, and catching the grateful warmth, every now and then looking up into Pinky's face, and trying with a shrewder insight than is usually given to a child of his age to read the character and purposes it half concealed and half made known.
"Now, Andy," said Pinky, in a mild but very decided way--"your name's Andy ?" "Yes, ma'am," answered the child, fixing his large, intelligent eyes on her face.
"Well, Andy, if you'll be a good and quiet boy, you needn't be afraid of anything--you won't get hurt.

But if you make a fuss, I'll throw you at once right out of the window." Pinky frowned and looked so wicked as she uttered the last sentence that Andy was frightened.

It seemed as if a devouring beast glared at him out of her eyes.

She saw the effect of her threat, and was satisfied.
The short afternoon soon passed away.

The girl did not leave the room, nor talk with the child except in very low tones, so as not to attract the attention of any one in the house.