Worn out, scared and disconsolate, the hapless Livingstone walked down to the road that passed his house, the highway before referred to, and was immediately greeted by a rough wagoner, who had stopped his team and who wanted to know why the devil Livingstone had stretched a rope across the highway and fastened it to a tree on either side, so as to impede travel. Livingstone knew that there were trees, as the wagoner said, on both sides of the road, but he saw no rope and wondered what the apparently drunken teamster meant by accusing him of such an absurd thing. The driver angrily demanded that the obstruction be removed at once and Livingstone disdained to make any reply, the infuriated teamster drew a knife and slashed at the rope, but the blade met with no resistance and, while the obstruction was palpable to his eye, it was but an airy nothing to his touch. It was now the wagoner's turn to be amazed. He knew not whether to offer an apology or not and, while he was still pondering the matter, another team arrived and its driver went through the same performance as the other, with the same result. At length, Livingstone mildly suggested that they should drive on, regardless of the intangible rope and so they did and passed along without difficulty, attributing their delusion, no doubt, to the bad whiskey of the neighborhood. Soon, however, other teams arrived and again the spectre rope was in the way and again were repeated the perplexity and the profanity of the first encounter. Every new arrival brought the luckless Livingstone a fresh cursing, and so it was kept up for several weeks. In the course of time, the demon, now acknowledged to be around the place, adopted a new method of annoyance. A sharp, clipping noise, as if from a pair of invisible shears, was heard all through and around the house and, worse yet, all the clothes of the family, their table cloths and bed coverings were cut and gashed, the slits being all in the shape of a crescent. Of course, the news of these unearthly doings soon spread, and people from all directions crowded to see and hear what was going on. There are still preserved in some families pocket-handkerchiefs that were folded in the pockets of their owners when they visited the place, but, yet, were cut and marked in his peculiar way by the demon of the scissors that kept up his "clip-clip" around them while they were condoling with the afflicted family. One lady visitor was complimenting Mrs. Livingstone on a fine flock of ducks that were waddling through her yard on their way, perhaps, to the neighboring Opequon, when "clip-clip" went the uncanny and invisible shears and one after another the ducks were all cleanly decapitated in broad daylight before the very eyes of the ladies and many other witnesses.