“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.
“Is it good?” asked the man.
“I bet you!” was the cheery answer.
“Well, you're a little brick,” laughed the man as he stroked Andy's head. “And you don't live anywhere?”
“No.”