When I came back from the spring with the bucket, the mare had demolished the whole two loaves, and was going on upon some grass which Hilda had plucked for her.
"She hasn't had enough, poor dear," Hilda said, patting her neck.

"A couple of loaves are penny buns to her appetite.

Let her drink the water, while I go in and fetch out the rest of the baking." I hesitated.

"You CAN'T go in there again, Hilda!" I cried.

"Wait, and let me do it." Her white face was resolute.