"But why should I deny it, George; why should I tell you all of a Scotsman?" "Why, y' see, Peter," said George, in his heavy way, "you be such a strange sort o' chap!" "George," said I, "let us get back to work." Yet, in a little while, I set aside the hammer, and turned to the door. "Peter, wheer be goin'?" "To try and make my peace with the Ancient," I answered, and forthwith crossed the road to "The Bull." But with my foot on the step I paused, arrested by the sound of voices and laughter within the tap, and, loudest of all, was the voice of the pseudo blacksmith, Job. "If I were only a bit younger!" the Ancient was saying. Now, peeping in through the casement, a glance at his dejected attitude, and the blatant bearing of the others, explained to me the situation then and there. "Ah! but you ain't," retorted old Amos, "you 'm a old, old man an' gettin' older wi' every tick o' the clock, you be, an' gettin' mazed-like wi' years." "Haw! haw!" laughed Job and the five or six others. "Oh, you—Job! if my b'y Simon was 'ere 'e'd pitch 'ee out into the road, so 'e would—same as Black Jarge done," quavered the Ancient. "P'r'aps, Gaffer, p'r'aps!" returned Job, "but I sez again, I believe what Peter sez, an' I don't believe there never was no ghost at all." "Ay, lad, but I tell 'ee theer was—I seed un!" cried the old man eagerly, "seed un wi' these two eyes, many's the time. You, Joel Amos—you've 'eerd un a-moanin' an' a-groanin'—you believe as I seed un, don't 'ee now come?" "He! he!" chuckled Old Amos, "I don't know if I du, Gaffer—ye see you 'm gettin' that old—" "But I did—I did—oh, you chaps, I tell 'ee I did!" "You 'm gettin' old, Gaffer," repeated Amos, dwelling upon the theme with great unction, "very, very old—" "But so strong as a bull, I be!" added the Ancient, trying manfully to steady the quaver in his voice. "Haw! haw!" laughed Job and the others, while Old Amos chuckled shrilly again. "But I tell 'ee I did see un, I—I see'd un plain as plain," quavered the Ancient, in sudden distress. "Old Nick it were, wi' 'orns, an' a tail." "Why, Peter told us 'twere only a Scottish man wi' a bagpipe," returned Job. "Ay, for sure," nodded Old Amos, "so 'e did." "A lie, it be—a lie, a lie!" cried the Ancient, "'twere Old Nick, I see un—plain as I see you." "Why, ye see, you 'm gettin' dre'fful old an' 'elpless, Gaffer," chuckled Old Amos again, "an' your eyes plays tricks wi' you." "Ah, to be sure they do!" added Job; whereupon Old Amos chuckled so much that he was taken by a violent fit of coughing. "Oh! you chaps, you as I've seen grow up from babbies—aren't theer one o' ye to tak' the old man's word an' believe as I seen un?" The cracked old voice sounded more broken than usual, and I saw a tear crawling slowly down the Ancient's furrowed cheek. Nobody answered, and there fell a silence broken only by the shuffle and scrape of heavy boots and the setting down of tankards.