This she did, and passed by the miller, pausing a moment to look at him with bright curious eyes, that flashed from under the brim of her wide-rimmed feathered hat; but the miller blinked lazily up at the sun and took no heed of her.
Osra passed on, found the pail, poured out a cup of milk, and drank it. Then, refilling the cup, she carried it to the miller.
"Will you not have some?" said she with a smile.
"I was too lazy to get it," said the miller; and he held out his hand, but did not otherwise change his position.
Osra's brow puckered and her cheek flushed as she bent down, holding the cup of milk so that the miller could reach it. He took and drained it, gave it back to her, and put his pipe in his mouth again. Osra sat down by him and watched him. He puffed and blinked away, never so much as looking at her.
"What have you for dinner?" asked she presently.
"A piece of cold pie," said he. "There's enough for two, if you're hungry."
"Would you not like it better hot?"