Something in those eyes and in the firmly-set mouth checked the woman's purpose if she had meant violence, but she thrust him out into the damp street, nevertheless, though not roughly, and shut the door against him.
Andy did not cry; poor little baby that he was, he had long since learned that for him crying did no good.

It brought him nothing.

Just across the street a door stood open.

As a stray kitten creeps in through an open door, so crept he through this one, hoping for shelter and a place of rest.
"Who're you ?" growled the rough but not unkindly voice of a man, coming from the darkness.

At the same moment a light gleamed out from a match, and then the steadier flame of a candle lit up the small room, not more than eight or nine feet square, and containing little that could be called furniture.