Then he found a crock of goat's milk.

Lifting it to his mouth, he drank with big, quick gulps until he had to stop for breath.

Just as he was about to raise it to his lips again, some instinct of danger made him look up.

There in the doorway stood Brossard, bigger and darker and more threatening than he had ever seemed before.
[Illustration: "IT FELL TO THE FLOOR WITH A CRASH."] A frightened little gasp was all that the child had strength to give.

He turned so sick and faint that his nerveless fingers could no longer hold the crock.