Nan listened to this in both amusement and surprise. The girl was a new specimen to her.
“Come in, anyway,” she urged. “I can't keep the window open.”
“I'll climb in, then,” declared the other suddenly, and, suiting the action to the word, she swarmed over the sill; but she left one huge boot in the snow, and Nan, laughing delightedly, ran for the poker to fish for it, and drew it in and shut down the window.
The strange girl was warming her hands at the fire. Nan pushed a chair toward her and took one herself, but not the complaining spring rocking chair.
“Now tell me all about yourself,” the girl demanded.
“I'm Nan Sherwood, and I've come here to Pine Camp to stay while my father and mother have gone to Scotland.”
“I've heard about Scotland,” declared the girl with the very prominent eyes.
“Have you?”
“Yes. Gran'ther Llewellen sings that song. You know:
“'Scotland's burning! Scotland's burning! Where, where? Where, where? Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! Pour on water! Pour on water! Fire's out! Fire's out!'”