Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the kitchen—a dingy, untidy hole; I dare say you would not know it, it is so changed since it was in your charge.
By the fire stood a ruffianly child, strong in limb, and dirty in garb, with a look of Catherine in his eyes, and about his mouth.
"This is Edgar's legal nephew," I reflected—"mine in a manner; I must shake hands, and—yes—I must kiss him. It is right to establish a good understanding at the beginning."
I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, said—
"How do you do, my dear?"
He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend.
"Shall you and I be friends, Hareton?" was my next essay at conversation.
An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not "frame off" rewarded my perseverance.
"Hey, Throttler, lad!" whispered the little
