Nothing.
Oddly enough one of my favorite childhood memories involves sour milk. I was around 6 years old and was suppose to be in the potato field playing, but I got hungry. So I decided to sneak back to my grandparents house (they were all in the fields working) for something to eat. My dear sweet great-grandfather must have seen me. So he followed me back to the house. I was far enough a head of him to have got the bowl, graham crackers, and milk all out. I had just taken the first bite, when I realized something wasn't right. That was when I got busted by Granddad. He had a Jimmy Stewart mannerism about him. He said now what do we have here? I busted out crying that something wasn't right. He figured it out right quick. Wiped my tears, found the fresh milk and made me a whole new bowl. By that time, it was figured out that I was missing. When my grandmother came in he said Well Erma (my DGM, his DDIL), we both got a little hungry and needed something to fill us up. He never told on me for wondering off, but made me promise I would never do it again.