g like wood--nothing that resembled the
boarding of a box.

But I was equally certain that it was not linen, for the blade
penetrated as freely as it would have done into a mass of butter, and
this would not have been the case had it been a bale of linen. Knowing
it could not be this, my mind was easy. I would rather have had to deal
with anything else.

I tried in several places--in fact, all over the top--and at every point
I could bury my blade as far as the haft would let it go, with a very
slight effort used to push it in. Certainly the package consisted of
some substance I had not before encountered, but as to what it was I
could form no idea.

However, it did not feel as though it would present a serious obstacle
to my progress; and under this pleasant impression, I went to work to
undermine it, by taking a board out of the lid upon which it lay.

This, of course, required me to go through the tedious and painful
process of making a cross-section with my knife--a kind of work that
absorbed more of my time, and caused me more labour, than all the rest
put together. But it was absolutely necessary, for there was no other
plan by which I could tunnel through the tops of the boxes. On each
rested the heavy weight of the packages above, and to start one of the
planks, with this weight pressing down upon it, was impossible. It was
only by cutting them across that they could be removed.

The lid of the bonnet-box did not prove so difficult to cut through. It
was of thin deal, and in about a half or three quarters of an hour I had
the middle piece of the three--for there were just three boards in it--
cut into twain. The sections were easily bent downwards, and removed.

A patch of the canvas covering was then hacked off, and I could now get
my hand upon the unknown package that was resting on the top. I
recognised the object at once. I had been enough about my uncle's barn
to know the feel of a sack. This, then, was a _sack_.

It was full of something: of what?--wheat, or barley, or oats? No, it
was not grain--something softer and finer: was it a sack of meal?

I should soon ascertain that. My blade entered the sack, and a slit was
cut large enough to admit my fist. I had no need to thrust my hand
inside, for as I held it under the vent thus opened, I felt a soft,
powdery substance streaming downward, with which my palm was instantly
filled; and as my fingers closed upon it, I felt satisfied that I