Even at that age it knew enough to keep away from the bright coals of wood, but how could it know that the dark, cold-looking andirons had been heated to the danger point by the fire?
It thrust out a tentative nose, touched the iron, and then its shrill yelp of pain went startlingly through the room.

It pulled the three grown-ups out of their thoughts; it brought Joan scampering across the room with a little happy cry.
The puppy would have escaped if it could, for it had in mind the dark, warm, familiar corner in Li's kitchen where no harm ever came near, but the agile hands of Joan caught him; he was swept into her arms.

That little wail of helpless pain, the soft fluff of fur against her cheek, wiped all other things from Joan's mind.

Out the window and across the gloomy hills she had been staring at the picture of the cave, and bright-eyed Satan, and the shadowy form of Bart, and the swift, gentle hand of Daddy Dan; but the cry of the puppy blotted the picture out.

She was no longer lonely, having this small, soft body to protect.