When I was a child, my parents often took me to an old house in a thick forest. No other children ever stayed there. I didn't even have the choice of playing with a brother or sister. I could never understand what the attraction  of the house was, even for my parents, who enjoyed nothing better than to sit in silence with a good book. The woman in the house, my father's distant cousin, was a terrible cook and her food was _ . One day, when I was wandering around the garden behind the house, I noticed a wooden house which had clearly been abandoned . As I walked towards it, I heard a noise, like an animal moving hurriedly away. Then I saw a man with a long beard standing at the door. I was greatly surprised. "Please don't tell them you saw me," he said. "They never use this place, and I have nowhere else to live." "Don't worry," I said. "I won't tell anyone. But are you all right out here? I mean--do you have enough to eat?" The old man shook his head. The same evening, I took a small plastic bag into the dining room and, while no one was looking, emptied some of the food into it. Later, I got out of the back door secretly and gave the food to the old man, whose name I had discovered was Taff. I had never seen anything else as lovely as the smile of satisfaction on Taff's face when he ate the food. From then on, my visits to the old house had a purpose, and I enjoyed every minute of the rest of my stay. The writer discovered the old man   _   the old house.
near the back door of in the dining room of in the garden behind among the bushes before