Cudred. Then thou shalt share the calf's crib to-night. Perchance thou art hungry, too?
Alfred. To say truth, father, I have not broken my fast to-day; neither have I had aught to drink save from these marshy streams. I shall be right thankful for some food, even a crust of coarsest rye bread.
Cudred. Rye bread, forsooth! Thou talkest of dainties indeed! Thou wilt get nothing better than flat oaten cakes here.
Alfred. I have always wished to taste an oaten cake.
Cudred. Follow me, then, and thou shalt have thy desire. Switha, Switha!
Switha. Well, I hear thee!
Cudred. Switha, I have brought thee home a guest who will be glad to partake of our supper.
Switha. A guest! And thinkest thou I've naught better to do than broil fish and bake cakes for all the vagabonds who roam the land?
Cudred. Patience, good Switha. I have not asked thee to cook for a vagabond. This is an honest Saxon whom it will be charity to feed and shelter for the night.
Switha. Let me hold the torch and see this Saxon guest. Thou lookest like a guest of fashion, sorry fellow!