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,
“I'm Andy.”
“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 know,” was answered.
“Don't know!”
Andy shook his head.
“Where do you live?”