Israel stood glancing pensively around for a time.  By and by, moving the rolled mattress under the two air-slits, he mounted, to try if aught were visible beyond.  But nothing was to be seen but a very thin slice of blue sky peeping through the lofty foliage of a great tree planted near the side-portal of the mansion; an ancient tree, coeval with the ancient dwelling it guarded.

Sitting down on the Mattress, Israel fell into a reverie.

“Poverty and liberty, or plenty and a prison, seem to be the two horns of the constant dilemma of my life,” thought he.  “Let’s look at the prisoner.”

And taking up the shaving-glass, he surveyed his lineaments.

“What a pity I didn’t think to ask for razors and soap.  I want shaving very badly.  I shaved last in France.  How it would pass the time here.  Had I a comb now and a razor, I might shave and curl my hair, and keep making a continual toilet all through the two days, and look spruce as a robin when I get out.  I’ll ask the Squire for the things this very night when he drops in.  Hark! ain’t that a sort of rumbling in the wall?  I hope there ain’t any oven next door; if so, I shall be scorched out.  Here I am, just like a rat in the wainscot.  I wish there was a low window to look out of.  I wonder what Doctor Franklin is doing now, and 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 Israel.  “I hope he won’t forget all about me till to-morrow.”

He waited and listened; and listened and waited.