“Yu will trouble me with what, your honour?” says Mr. Pengelly, sitting up in bed. “Why, just to step along of me, sir,” says the Devil. “Oh! but I don’t please at all,” replies Mr. Pengelly, lying down again and tucking his pillow under his cheek. “Well, sir, but time’s up, yu know,” was the remark the Devil made thereupon; “and whether it pleases yu or no, yu must come along of me to once, sir. It isn’t much of a distance to speak of from Morwenstow,” says he by way of apology. “If I must go, sir,” says Mr. Pengelly, wiping his nose with his blue pocket-handkerchief covered with white spots, and R. P. marked in the corner in red cotton, “why, then, I suppose yu ain’t in a great hurry. Yu’ll give me ten minutes?” “What do’y want ten minutes for, Mr. Pengelly?” asks the Devil. “Why, sir,” says Mr. Pengelly, putting his blue pocket-handkerchief over his face, “I’m ashamed to name it, but I shu’d like to say my prayers. Leastwise, they couldn’t du no harm,” exclaimed he, pulling the handkerchief off and looking out. “They wouldn’t du yer no gude, Mr. Pengelly,” says the Devil. “I shu’d be more comfable in my mind, sir, if I said ’em,” says he. “Now, I’ll tell yu what, Mr. Pengelly,” says the Devil after a pause, “I’d like to deal handsome by yu. Yu’ve done me many a gude turn in your day. I’ll let you live as long as yonder cann’l-end burns.” “Thank’y kindly, sir,” says Mr. Pengelly. And presently he says, for the Devil did not make signs of departing: “Would yu be so civil as just tu step into t’other room, sir? I’d take it civil. I can’t pray comfably with yu here, sir.” “I’ll oblige yu in that too,” said the Devil; and he went out to look after Mrs. Pengelly. No sooner was his back turned, than Mr. Pengelly jumped out of bed, extinguished the candle-end, clapped it in the candle-box, and put the candle-box under his bed. Presently the Devil came in, and said: “Now, Mr. Pengelly, yu’re all in the dark: I see the cann’l’s burnt out, so yu must come with me.” “I’m not so much in the dark as yu, sir,” says the sick man, “for the cann’l’s not burnt out, and isn’t like to. He’s safe in the cann’l-box. And I’ll send for yu, sir, when I want yu.” Mr. Pengelly is still alive; but let not the visitor to his farm ask him what he keeps in his candle-box, or, old man of seventy-eight though he is, he will jump out of his chair, and lay his stick across the shoulders of his interrogator. “They du say,” said my informant, “that Mrs. Pengelly hev tried a score of times to get hold of the cann’l-end, and burn it out; but the master is tu sharp for his missus, and keeps it as tight from her as he does from the Devil.” Mr. Pengelly has the credit of having been only once in his life cheated, and that was by a tramp, in this wise:— One day a man in tatters, and with his shoes in fragments, came to his door, and asked for work. “I like work,” says the man, “I love it. Try me.”