As the light made all things clear in this poor room, Andy saw the bloodshot eyes, and grizzly face of a man, not far past middle life.
“Who are you, little one?” he growled again as the light gave him a view of Andy's face. This growl had in it a tone of kindness and welcome to the ears of Andy who came forward, saying,
“Indeed! You're Andy, are you?” and he reached out one of his hands.
“Yes; I'm Andy,” returned the child, fixing his eyes with a look so deep and searching on the man's face that they held him as by a kind of fascination.
“Well, Andy, where did you come from?” asked the man.
“Don't live nowhere,” returned the child; “and I'm hungry.”
“Hungry?” The man let the hand he was still holding drop, and getting up quickly, took some bread from a closet and set it on the old table.
Andy did not wait for an invitation, but seized upon the bread and commenced eating almost ravenously. As he did so the man fumbled in his pockets. There were a few pennies there. He felt them over, counting them with his fingers, and evidently in some debate with himself. At last, as he closed the debate, he said, with a kind of compelled utterance,
“I say, young one, wouldn't you like some milk with your bread?”
“Milk! oh my I oh goody! yes,” answered the child, a gleam of pleasure coming into his face.
“Then you shall have some;” and catching up a broken mug, the man went out. In a minute or two he returned with a pint of milk, into which he broke a piece of bread, and then sat watching Andy as he filled himself with the most delicious food he had tasted for weeks, his marred face beaming with a higher satisfaction than he had known for a long time.
“Well, you're a little brick,” laughed the man as he stroked Andy's head. “And you don't live anywhere?”
Andy looked toward the empty bowl from which he had made such a satisfying meal, and said,
“It will hold us both. You're not very big;” and as he said this the man drew his arm about the boy in a fond sort of way.
“I guess you're tired,” he added, for Andy, now that an arm was drawn around him, leaned against it heavily.
“And sleepy too, poor little fellow! It isn't much of a bed I can give you, but it's better than a door-step or a rubbish corner.”