tasted. "Give it me; we'll go and bury it somewhere else; we'll put it
in yonder," he added, pointing vaguely toward the distance.

David screwed on the lid, while Jacob, looking grave, rose and grasped
his pitchfork. Then, seeing David's bundle, he snatched it, like a too
officious Newfoundland, stuck his pitchfork into it and carried it over
his shoulder in triumph as he accompanied David and the box out of the
thicket.

What on earth was David to do? It would have been easy to frown at
Jacob, and kick him, and order him to get away; but David dared as soon
have kicked the bull. Jacob was quiet as long as he was treated
indulgently; but on the slightest show of anger, he became unmanageable,
and was liable to fits of fury which would have made him formidable even
without his pitchfork. There was no mastery to be obtained over him
except by kindness or guile. David tried guile.

"Go, Jacob," he said, when they were out of the thicket--pointing towards
the house as he spoke; "go and fetch me a spade--a spade. But give _me_
the bundle," he added, trying to reach it from the fork, where it hung
high above Jacob's tall shoulder.

But Jacob showed as much alacrity in obeying as a wasp shows in leaving a
sugar-basin. Near David, he felt himself in the vicinity of lozenges: he
chuckled and rubbed his brother's back, brandishing the bundle higher out
of reach. David, with an inward groan, changed his tactics, and walked
on as fast as he could. It was not safe to linger. Jacob would get
tired of following him, or, at all events, could be eluded. If they
could once get to the distant highroad, a coach would overtake them,
David would mount it, having previously by some ingenious means secured