Her frail little body shook with terror.

"Mother'll beat me when I go home," she said.
"What does mother do when you bring the jug back safe and sound ?" Alban asked.
"Gives me bren-butter." "Very well.

Now listen to me.

Mother shall give you bread and butter again this time." The child stared at him with the tears suspended in her eyes.

He went on talking to her as seriously as ever.
"You understand what I have just said to you ?" "Yes, sir." "Have you got a pocket-handkerchief ?" "No, sir." "Then dry your eyes with mine." He tossed his handkerchief to her with one hand, and picked up a fragment of the broken jug with the other.