"Ha! that's queer again," cried the knight.

"Hark ye, fellow," said a brisk servant, approaching from the porch,
"this is Sir John Millet."

Seeming to take pity on his seeming ignorance, as well as on his
undisputable poverty, the good knight now told Israel that if he would
come the next morning he would see him supplied with a hoe, and moreover
would hire him.

It would be hard to express the satisfaction of the wanderer at
receiving this encouraging reply. Emboldened by it, he now returns
towards a baker's he had spied, and bravely marching in, flings down all
four pennies, and demands bread. Thinking he would not have any more
food till next morning, Israel resolved to eat only one of the pair of
two-penny loaves. But having demolished one, it so sharpened his longing,
that yielding to the irresistible temptation, he bolted down the second
loaf to keep the other company.

After resting under a hedge, he saw the sun far descended, and so
prepared himself for another hard night. Waiting till dark, he crawled
into an old carriage-house, finding nothing there but a dismantled old
phaeton. Into this he climbed, and curling himself up like a
carriage-dog, endeavored to sleep; but, unable to endure the constraint
of such a bed, got out, and stretched himself on the bare boards of the
floor.

No sooner was light in the east than he fastened to await the commands
of one who, his instinct told him, was destined to prove his benefactor.
On his father's farm accustomed to rise with the lark, Israel was