"That was a narrow escape, but how shall we get food?"
A few miles down the brook they began to feel very faint.
"See, there is a farm; let us ask for some milk and bread."
"Richard, you are not marked as I am, you go first."
A poor sort of farm in the woods—farmhouse, ricks, stables, barns, of rude construction. A woman was milking the cows in a hovel with open door.
"Please give us some milk," said Richard, standing in the doorway; "we are very hungry and thirsty."
"Drink from the bowl. How came you in the woods?"
"Lost."
"And there is another—your brother, is he?—round the door. Drink and pass it to him."
They both drank freely, Evroult turning away the bad cheek.