The floor was bare.

In one corner were some old bits of carpet and a blanket.

A small table, a couple of chairs with the backs broken off and a few pans and dishes made up the inventory of household goods.
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 ?" "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.