"
William was loth to give up his treasure.
"Well, I'll carry it now," he said, "but when I begin' fightin' folks,
I'll give it you to hold."
They walked along for about a mile without meeting anyone. William
began to be aware of a sinking feeling in the region of his waist.
"I wonder wot they _eat_," he said at last. "I'm gettin' so's I
wouldn't mind sumthin' to eat."
"We di'n't ought to have set off before dinner," said the squire with
after-the-event wisdom. "We ought to have waited till _after_ dinner."
"You ought to have _brought_ sumthin'," said William severely. "You're
the squire. You're not much of a squire not to have brought sumthin'
for me to eat."
"An' me," put in Ginger. "If I'd brought any I'd have brought it for
me more'n for you."
William fingered his minute pistol.
"If we meet any wild animals ..." he said darkly.
A cow gazed at them mournfully over a hedge.
"You might go an' milk that," suggested William. "Milk 'ud be better'n
nothing."
"_You_ go 'an milk it."
"No, I'm not squire. I bet squires did the milkin'. Knights wu'n't of
done the milkin'."
"I'll remember," said Ginger bitterly, "when you're squire, all the
things wot you said a squire ought to do when I was squire."
They entered the field and gazed at the cow from a respectful
distance. She turned her eyes upon them sadly.
"Go on!" said the knight to his reluctant squire.
"I'm not good at cows," objected that gentleman.
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