"How thou dost take to thy ale!" she said. "Ay, how naturally we do take to all bad habits, Mistress Hilberry; but a man cannot be perfect, and the possession of one wicked little devil may keep out seven devils, all much worse. I don't think it would be right to be quite good, Mistress Hilberry, so I take my ale." "If thou never take nothing worse, master," said Mistress Hilberry--who was in a good temper--"thou wilt do;" and she seized the empty vessel and went out. "Hah!" sighed Master Peasegood, taking his pipe off the mantel-piece, and looking at it ruefully, "I talked to her about one little devil, and, lo! here is another. That makes two who possess me, if King Jamie's right. I'll just have a little of the devilish weed before I go out. Nay, resist the devil, and he will flee from thee. Go, little devil, back to thy place, and let's see what our good Protestant King does say." He put back the pipe, and took from his scantily-furnished shelves a copy of his Majesty's Counterblast against Tobacco, seated himself comfortably, and began to read. Master Peasegood's countenance was a study: for what he read did not seem to agree with him. He frowned, he pursed up his lips, he nodded, he shook his head; and at last, after half-an-hour's study, he dashed the book down upon the floor, doubled his fist, and brought it heavily upon the table. "If this book had not been written by our sovereign lord, James the First, by the Grace of God King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, as it says in the dedication to my Bible--and what a thumping lie it is--I should say that it was the work of one of the silliest, most dunder-headed, and bumble-brained fools who ever walked God's earth. Tchah, tchah, tchah, tchah. I don't believe the pipe's a little devil after all. "Here! I must be off," he said, with a sigh. "There's work to be done. I'll go see my poor old friend Cobbe, and try and comfort him in his trouble. "Nay, I will not; it will be like running right into temptation. He'll bring out pipes and ale. "But he is in trouble sore, and I have not been of late. I must go-- "`Into temptation.' "Nay, it cannot be into temptation, for it is to do good works. The ale is not a devil of possession, after all. "Mistress Hilberry, I'm going down to Jeremiah Cobbe, if any one should call." "All right, master," she said; and the stout parson rolled out, and sauntered down to the cottage the founder occupied now. "Ah! Master Cobbe," he cried, "I've been remiss in visiting you these last few weeks, but I'm glad to see thee look so well." "Well? Master Peasegood," said the founder, sadly. "Nay, I am not well. Perhaps I am, though--perhaps I am. I have been busy lately, very busy. A goodly store of cannon and ammunition has been sent off to his Majesty this past week." "Ay, so I hear," said the parson.