"Peter—oh, Peter!" said he, with a sudden quaver in his voice, "who was it—what was it, Peter?" and he laid a beseeching hand upon mine. "Peter!" His voice had sunk almost to a whisper, and the hand plucked tremulously at my sleeve, while in the wrinkled old face was a look of pitiful entreaty. "Oh, Peter! oh, lad! 'twere Old Nick as done it—'twere the devil as done it, weren't it—? oh! say 'twere the devil, Peter." And, seeing that hoary head all a-twitch with eagerness as he waited my answer, how could I do other than nod? "Yes, it was the devil, Ancient." The old man subsided into his chair; embracing himself exultantly. "I knowed it! I knowed it!" he quavered. "'Twere the devil flyin' off wi' Peter,' says I, an' they fules laughed at me, Peter, ay, laughed at me they did, but they won't laugh at the old man no more—not they; old I be, but they won't laugh at me no more, not when they see your face an' I tell 'em." Here he paused to fumble for his snuff-box, and, opening it, held it towards me. "Tak' a pinch wi' me, Peter." "No, thank you, Ancient." "Come, 'twould be a wonnerful thing to tell as I'd took snuff out o' my very own box wi' a man as 'ad fou't wi' the devil—come—tak' a pinch, Peter," he pleaded. Whereupon, to please him, I did so, and immediately fell most violently a-sneezing. "And," pursued the old man when the paroxysm was over, "did ye see 'is 'orns, Peter, an' 'is—" "Why, no, Ancient; you see, he happened to be wearing a bell-crowned hat and a long coat." "A 'at an' coat!" said the old man in a disappointed tone—"a 'at, Peter?" "Yes," I nodded. "To be sure, the Scripters say as 'e goeth up an' down like a ravening lion seekin' whom 'e may devour." "Yes," said I, "but more often, I think, like a fine gentleman!" "I never heerd tell o' the devil in a bell-crowned 'at afore, but p'r'aps you 'm right, Peter—tak' another pinch o' snuff." "No more," said I, shaking my head. "Why, it's apt to ketch you a bit at first, but, Lord! Peter, for a man as 'as fou't wi' the devil—" "One pinch is more than enough, Ancient." "Oh, Peter, 'tis a wonnerful thing as you should be alive this day!" "And yet, Ancient, many a man has fought the devil before now and lived—nay, has been the better for it." "Maybe, Peter, maybe, but not on sech a tur'ble wild night as last night was." Saying which, the old man nodded emphatically and, rising, hobbled to the door; yet there he turned and came back again. "I nigh forgot, Peter, I have noos for ye." "News?" "Noos as ever was—noos as'll surprise ye, Peter." "Well?" I inquired. "Well, Peter, Black Jarge be 'took' again." "What?" I exclaimed. "Oh! I knowed 'twould come—I knowed 'e couldn't last much longer. I says to Simon, day afore yesterday it were, 'Simon,' I says, 'mark my words, 'e'll never last the month out—no.'" "How did it happen, Ancient?"