departing--"where're you going?"

"To London," answered Israel, turning round, heartily wishing the old
fellow any where else than present.

"Going to limp to Lunnun, eh? Well, success to ye."

"As much to you, sir," answers Israel politely.

Nigh the opposite suburbs of this village, as good fortune would have
it, an empty baggage-wagon bound for the metropolis turned into the main
road from a side one. Immediately Israel limps most deplorably, and begs
the driver to give a poor cripple a lift. So up he climbs; but after a
time, finding the gait of the elephantine draught-horses intolerably
slow, Israel craves permission to dismount, when, throwing away his
crutch, he takes nimbly to his legs, much to the surprise of his honest
friend the driver.

The only advantage, if any, derived from his trip in the wagon, was,
when passing through a third village--but a little distant from the
previous one--Israel, by lying down in the wagon, had wholly avoided
being seen.

The villages surprised him by their number and proximity. Nothing like
this was to be seen at home. Well knowing that in these villages he ran
much more risk of detection than in the open country, he henceforth did
his best to avoid them, by taking a roundabout course whenever they came
in sight from a distance. This mode of travelling not only lengthened
his journey, but put unlooked-for obstacles in his path--walls, ditches,
and streams.