I sat all through that dreary day alone, and getting faint and hungry-- though my memories of my encounter with Mr Blakeford kept me from thinking much about the latter, and it must have been nearly five o'clock when the door once more opened, and Mr Rowle stood there, holding a bundle tied up in a red handkerchief in one hand; his pipe in the other. "Why, here you are then, young 'un," he said. "I thought old Blakeford had carried you off. Lookye here! you're just right. I'm going to have a bit of wittles down here in peace, and you'll join in." As he unfastened the bundle handkerchief and displayed a pork pie and a small loaf, he took a couple of table-knives from his tail-pocket. "Borrowed," he said, holding them up. "They're a part of lot hundred and forty-seven. Stop a moment, let's make sure." One hand dived into the breast-pocket of his old coat to bring out a dirty catalogue, leaf after leaf of which he turned over, and then, running a dirty thumb down one page he read out: "Lot hundred and forty-seven: sixteen black--No, that ain't it. Here it is, young 'un. Lot hundred and fifty-seven: two dozen and seven ivory balance-handle knives. Them's them, and they won't be none the worse for my using on 'em." Mr Rowle's intentions were most friendly, but I could hardly eat a mouthful, and I was sitting watching him making heavy onslaughts upon the loaf when I heard Mr Blakeford's voice calling me, and I started up, feeling as if I must run away. "What are you up to?" said Mr Rowle, with his mouth full. "Let me go," I cried excitedly. "Let me run somewhere." "Gammon! Why, what for? You go out like a man and meet him, and if he gives it to you again, why, there, if I was you I'd take it like a man, that I would." I hesitated for a moment, and then took my rough friend's advice by going out into the garden, where I found Mr Blakeford with a black bag in his hand. "Take that," he said harshly, and threw the bag towards me. I was taken by surprise, caught at and dropped the bag, which burst open, and a number of papers tied with red tape fell out. "Bah! you clumsy oaf," he exclaimed angrily. "There, pick them up." I hastily stooped, gathered them together, and tremblingly replaced the packets in the bag, and as soon as it was closed followed my new master towards the gate, through which he passed to where a man was holding a thin pony attached to a shabby four-wheeled chaise.