Having torn off the collar of his shirt, and flung it into a hedge, he ventured to accost a respectable carpenter at a pale fence, about a mile this side of Brentford, to whom his deplorable situation now induced him to apply for work.  The man did not wish himself to hire, but said that if he (Israel) understood farming or gardening, he might perhaps procure work from Sir John Millet, whose seat, he said, was not remote.  He added that the knight was in the habit of employing many men at that season of the year, so he stood a fair chance.

Revived a little by this prospect of relief, Israel starts in quest of the gentleman’s seat, agreeably to the direction received.  But he mistook his way, and proceeding up a gravelled and beautifully decorated walk, was terrified at catching a glimpse of a number of soldiers thronging a garden.  He made an instant retreat before being espied in turn.  No wild creature of the American wilderness could have been more panic-struck by a firebrand, than at this period hunted Israel was by a red coat.  It afterwards appeared that this garden was the Princess Amelia’s.

Taking another path, ere long he came to some laborers shovelling gravel.  These proved to be men employed by Sir John.  By them he was directed towards the house, when the knight was pointed out to him, walking bare-headed in the inclosure with several guests.  Having heard the rich men of England charged with all sorts of domineering qualities, Israel felt no little misgiving in approaching to an audience with so imposing a stranger.  But, screwing up his courage, he advanced; while seeing him coming all rags and tatters, the group of gentlemen stood in some wonder awaiting what so singular a phantom might want.

“Mr. Millet,” said Israel, bowing towards the bare-headed gentleman.

“Ha,—­who are you, pray?”

“A poor fellow, sir, in want of work.”

“A wardrobe, too, I should say,” smiled one of the guests, of a very youthful, prosperous, and dandified air.

“Where’s your hoe?” said Sir John.

“I have none, sir.”

“Any money to buy one?”

“Only four English pennies, sir.”

“English pennies.  What other sort would you have?”

“Why, China pennies to be sure,” laughed the youthful gentleman.  “See his long, yellow hair behind; he looks like a Chinaman.  Some broken-down Mandarin.  Pity he’s no crown to his old hat; if he had, he might pass it round, and make eight pennies of his four.”

“Will you hire me, Mr. Millet,” said Israel.

“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.