he liked. David had made up his mind not to steal any more, even from
people who were fond of him: it was an unpleasant way of making your
fortune in a world where you were likely to surprised in the act by
brothers. Such alarms did not agree with David's constitution, and he
had felt so much nausea this evening that no doubt his liver was
affected. Besides, he would have been greatly hurt not to be thought
well of in the world: he always meant to make a figure, and be thought
worthy of the best seats and the best morsels.

Ruminating to this effect on the brilliant future in reserve for him,
David by the help of his check-string kept himself on the alert to seize
the time of earliest dawn for his rising and departure. His brothers, of
course, were early risers, but he should anticipate them by at least an
hour and a half, and the little room which he had to himself as only an
occasional visitor, had its window over the horse-block, so that he could
slip out through the window without the least difficulty. Jacob, the
horrible Jacob, had an awkward trick of getting up before everybody else,
to stem his hunger by emptying the milk-bowl that was "duly set" for him;
but of late he had taken to sleeping in the hay-loft, and if he came into
the house, it would be on the opposite side to that from which David was
making his exit. There was no need to think of Jacob; yet David was
liberal enough to bestow a curse on him--it was the only thing he ever
did bestow gratuitously. His small bundle of clothes was ready packed,
and he was soon treading lightly on the steps of the horse-block, soon
walking at a smart pace across the fields towards the thicket. It would
take him no more than two minutes to get out the box; he could make out
the tree it was under by the pale strip where the bark was off, although
the dawning light was rather dimmer in the thicket. But what, in the
name of--burnt pastry--was that large body with a staff planted beside
it, close at the foot of the ash-tree? David paused, not to make up his