Paul Jones? Hark! there's a bird singing in the leaves. Bell for dinner,
that."

And for pastime, he applied himself to the beef and bread, and took a
draught of the wine and water.

At last night fell. He was left in utter darkness. No Squire.

After an anxious, sleepless night, he saw two long flecks of pale gray
light slanting into the cell from the slits, like two long spears. He
rose, rolled up his mattress, got upon the roll, and put his mouth to
one of the griffins' months. He gave a low, just audible whistle,
directing it towards the foliage of the tree. Presently there was a
slight rustling among the leaves, then one solitary chirrup, and in
three minutes a whole chorus of melody burst upon his ear.

"I've waked the first bird," said he to himself, with a smile, "and he's
waked all the rest. Now then for breakfast. That over, I dare say the
Squire will drop in."

But the breakfast was over, and the two flecks of pale light had changed
to golden beams, and the golden beams grew less and less slanting, till
they straightened themselves up out of sight altogether. It was noon,
and no Squire.

"He's gone a-hunting before breakfast, and got belated," thought Israel.

The afternoon shadows lengthened. It was sunset; no Squire.

"He must be very busy trying some sheep-stealer in the hall," mused