As meditating over this difficulty, he was passing along, suddenly he saw a man in black standing right in his path, about fifty yards distant, in a field of some growing barley or wheat.  The gloomy stranger was standing stock-still; one outstretched arm, with weird intimation pointing towards the deceased Squire’s abode.  To the brooding soul of the now desolate Israel, so strange a sight roused a supernatural suspicion.  His conscience morbidly reproaching him for the terrors he had bred in making his escape from the house, he seemed to see in the fixed gesture of the stranger something more than humanly significant.  But somewhat of his intrepidity returned; he resolved to test the apparition.  Composing itself to the same deliberate stateliness with which it had paced the hall, the phantom of Squire Woodcock firmly, advanced its cane, and marched straight forward towards the mysterious stranger.

As he neared him, Israel shrunk.  The dark coat-sleeve flapped on the bony skeleton of the unknown arm.  The face was lost in a sort of ghastly blank.  It was no living man.

But mechanically continuing his course, Israel drew still nearer and saw a scarecrow.

Not a little relieved by the discovery, our adventurer paused, more particularly to survey so deceptive an object, which seemed to have been constructed on the most efficient principles; probably by some broken down wax figure costumer.  It comprised the complete wardrobe of a scarecrow, namely:  a cocked hat, bunged; tattered coat; old velveteen breeches; and long worsted stockings, full of holes; all stuffed very nicely with straw, and skeletoned by a frame-work of poles.  There was a great flapped pocket to the coat—­which seemed to have been some laborer’s—­standing invitingly opened.  Putting his hands in, Israel drew out the lid of an old tobacco-box, the broken bowl of a pipe, two rusty nails, and a few kernels of wheat.  This reminded him of the Squire’s pockets.  Trying them, he produced a handsome handkerchief, a spectacle-case, with a purse containing some silver and gold, amounting to a little more than five pounds.  Such is the difference between the contents of the pockets of scarecrows and the pockets of well-to-do squires.  Ere donning his present habiliments, Israel had not omitted to withdraw his own money from his own coat, and put it in the pocket of his own waistcoat, which he had not exchanged.

Looking upon the scarecrow more attentively, it struck him that, miserable as its wardrobe was, nevertheless here was a chance for getting rid of the unsuitable and perilous clothes of the Squire.  No other available opportunity might present itself for a time.  Before he encountered any living creature by daylight, another suit must somehow be had.  His exchange with the old ditcher, after his escape from the inn near Portsmouth, had familiarized him with the most deplorable of wardrobes.  Well, too, he knew, and had experienced it, that for a man desirous of avoiding notice, the more wretched the clothes, the better.  For who does not shun the scurvy wretch, Poverty, advancing in battered hat and lamentable coat?