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The old man looked up at the sound of a knock at the door. Who would be calling at this time of night? And in winter, too. He levered himself out of his armchair and walked to the door.
When he opened it, he saw a young boy with black hair.
“Come on, boy,” he said, after a moment’s silence.
Still silent, the boy followed the old man.
The old man looked at the boy and shook his head. He was hardly wearing enough to keep himself warm on a cold winter night. Sruffy jeans and shoes, and a worn sweater.
“You hungry?” he asked.
The boy nodded, keeping his head down.
The old man led him into the warm kitchen where he split a bagel and put it into to toaster. While it was toasting, he studied the boy. He was sitting at the table, staring at his hands in his lap, shaggy hair hiding his face.
“What’s your name?” the old man asked.
The boy shook his head.
“Don’t you have a name?”
The boy shrugged.
“How about parents, a home?”
The boy shook his head to both questions.
“Look up at me,” the old man ordered.
The boy tensed, then looked up slowly.
The man frowned; the boy had a split lip. Small wonder he wouldn’t talk.
The bagel popped out of the toaster and the old man proceeded to spread cream cheese on both halves, which he set in front of the boy, who looked at the man, afraid.
“I won’t kick you out because of a simple split lip,” the old man told the boy, “I had a club foot when I was born.”
The boy’s eyes widened and he looked under the table to look at the old man’s feet. The old man smiled and removed his slippers, revealing two normal feet.
“They do have surgeries to cure such things, you know.”
The boy shook his head and bit into one of the bagels. The old man set a glass of milk beside the plate and when he was finished, the boy drank it.
“Thank. You,” he said haltingly.
“That’s better. Come on, you can sleep in the living room,” the old man said.
The old man left the boy sitting on the couch to go get some blankets from a closet.
When he got back, he found that his gray tom, Uther, had seen the boy.
“Never mind Uther,” he told the boy, setting the blankets on the couch, “He’s just a little keen to meet you. Hold your hand out to him.”
Tentatively, the boy stretched his hand out. Uther sniffed it, then butted his head against it.
“Well, he seems to like you.”
The boy smiled.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
The old man showed him where the bathroom was.
“Soap, shampoo,” the old man pointed to them, “Come out only when you’ve used both of them and gotten rid of all the dirt and grime. Got it?”
The boy nodded.