She seemed ashamed, and with much reserve in her manner, said, that it was her fault--she had underrated the distance, and imprudently allowed her father to start too late in the day.
"No, no," said the old man; "it is not the distance, it is the want of nourishment." The girl put her arms round his neck with tender concern, but took that opportunity of whispering, "Father, a stranger--a young man!" But it was too late.

Gerard, with simplicity, and quite as a matter of course, fell to gathering sticks with great expedition.

This done, he took down his wallet, out with the manchet of bread and the iron flask his careful mother had put up, and his everlasting tinder-box; lighted a match, then a candle-end, then the sticks; and put his iron flask on it.
Then down he went on his stomach, and took a good blow: then looking up, he saw the girl's face had thawed, and she was looking down at him and his energy with a demure smile.

He laughed back to her.

"Mind the pot," said he, "and don't let it spill, for Heaven's sake: there's a cleft stick to hold it safe with;" and with this he set off running towards a corn-field at some distance.
Whilst he was gone, there came by, on a mule with rich purple housings, an old man redolent of wealth.