surprise; "your clothes here don't look as if you had seen prosperous
times since you left me. Why, you look like a scarecrow."

"That may well be," replied Israel, very soberly. "But what do you say?
will you sell me your suit?--here's the cash."

"I don't know about it," said the farmer, in doubt; "let me look at the
money. Ha!--a silk purse come out of a beggars pocket!--Quit the house,
rascal, you've turned thief."

Thinking that he could not swear to his having come by his money with
absolute honesty--since indeed the case was one for the most subtle
casuist--Israel knew not what to reply. This honest confusion confirmed
the farmer, who with many abusive epithets drove him into the road,
telling him that he might thank himself that he did not arrest him on
the spot.

In great dolor at this unhappy repulse, Israel trudged on in the
moonlight some three miles to the house of another friend, who also had
once succored him in extremity. This man proved a very sound sleeper.
Instead of succeeding in rousing him by his knocking, Israel but
succeeded in rousing his wife, a person not of the greatest amiability.
Raising the sash, and seeing so shocking a pauper before her, the woman
upbraided him with shameless impropriety in asking charity at dead of
night, in a dress so improper too. Looking down at his deplorable
velveteens, Israel discovered that his extensive travels had produced a
great rent in one loin of the rotten old breeches, through which a
whitish fragment protruded.

Remedying this oversight as well as he might, he again implored the