"I have some bread and milk here," said Bert. "I couldn't find any butter. There were some cold beans and doughnuts, but—"
"The bread and milk are better. Give them to me. I am almost famished."
The bread was dry and stale, but Phineas was not in the mood to be particular. He ate like one famished, and drained the pitcher to the last drop.
"I feel better," he said then, with a sigh of relief.
"I suppose I had better take the pitcher back to the kitchen. It will be missed," reflected Bert, and he started downstairs again in his bare feet. He paused at the kitchen door, and heard the farmer talking in his sleep. This alarmed him. He decided that it would not do to replace the pitcher in the pantry, as he would be likely to be heard. He waited where he was for five minutes, and then ventured into the kitchen. This time he was successful, and with mind relieved returned to his chamber.
Phineas was dozing in his chair.
"You had better get into the bed, Mr. Wilson," said Bert, filled with compassion for the weary wayfarer. "I'll lie on the floor."
"If you don't mind. I am fagged out."
Bert made a pillow of his coat and trousers, and stretched himself on the floor. He found that there was an inside bolt, with which he fastened the door, to guard against any unexpected visit from Mr. or Mrs. Wilson.
He fell asleep again, and was only roused by a loud voice at the foot of the back stairs.