'They'll mek' a good steady fire for the night,' he remarked. Then he seized the billy.
'What d'ye say to a drop o' milk?' he said. 'We could manage that, I shouldn't wonder. When I wor' up in the wood I seen a man milkin' some cows t'other side o' the coppice, an' now as I wor' luggin' these sticks back I seen him a-comin' down the bank. Theer he goes.'
Chippy pointed, and Dick saw a man crossing the common with two shining milk-pails hanging from a yoke. At this warm season of the year the cows were out day and night, and the man had clearly come to milk them on the spot, and thus make a single journey instead of the double one involved in fetching them home and driving them back to the feeding-ground.
Dick turned out twopence, and Chippy pursued the retreating milkman. He returned, carrying the billy carefully.
'He wor' a good sort,' cried Chippy. 'He gied me brimmin' good measure for the money.'
The scouts now made a cheerful supper. Chippy broiled the trout in the ashes; Mrs. Hardy's sandwiches were very good, and the milk was heated in the billy and drunk hot from their tin cups.
Supper was nearly over when a small, reddish-coated creature came slipping through the grass towards them.
'There's a weasel,' said Dick, and the scouts watched it.
The little creature came quite near the fire, loping along, its nose down as if following a track. Then it paused, raised its head on the long snake-like neck, and looked boldly at the two boys, its small bright eyes glittering with a fierce light.
'Pretty cheeky,' said Dick, and threw a scrap of wood at it. The weasel gave a cry, more of anger than alarm, and glided away.