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. As the day waned snow began to fall, and by the time night set in it was coming down thick and fast. As soon as it was fairly dark, Pinky wrapped a shawl about Andy, pinning it closely, so as to protect him from the cold, and quietly left the house. He made no resistance. A car was taken, in which they rode for a long distance, until they were on the outskirts of the city. The snow had already fallen to a depth of two or three inches, and the storm was increasing. When she left the car in that remote neighborhood, not a person was to be seen on the street. Catching Andy into her arms, Pinky ran with him for the distance of half a block, and then turned into a close alley with small houses on each side. At the lower end she stopped before one of these houses, and without knocking pushed open the door. “Who's that?” cried a voice from an upper room, the stairway to which led up from the room below. “It's me. Come down, and be quiet,” answered Pinky, in a warning voice. A woman, old and gray, with all the signs of a bad life on her wrinkled face, came hastily down stairs and confronted Pinky. “What now? What's brought you here?” she demanded, in no friendly tones. “There, there, Mother Peter! smooth down your feathers. I've got something for you to do, and it will pay,” answered Pinky, who had shut the outside door and slipped the bolt. At this, the manner of Mother Peter, as Pinky had called her, softened, and she said, “What's up? What deviltry are you after now, you huzzy?” Without replying to this, Pinky began shaking the snow from Andy and unwinding the shawl with which she had bound him up. After he was free from his outside wrappings, she said, looking toward the woman, “Now, isn't he a nice little chap? Did you ever see such eyes?” The worn face of the woman softened as she turned toward the beautiful child, but not with pity. To that feeling she had long been a stranger. “I want you to keep him for a few days,” said Pinky, speaking in the woman's ears. “I'll tell you more about it after he's in bed and asleep.” “He's to be kept shut up out of sight, mind,” was Pinky's injunction, in the conference that followed. “Not a living soul in the neighborhood must know he's in the house, for the police will be sharp after him. I'll pay you five dollars a week, and put it down in advance. Give him plenty to eat, and be as good to him as you can, for you see it's a fat job, and I'll make it fatter for you if all comes out right.”