“If that’s the case,” says Mr. Pengelly, “yu may dig my garden for me, and I will give yu one shilling and twopence a day.” Wages were then eighteen pence, or one and eightpence. “Done,” said the man. So he was given a spade, and he worked capitally. Mr. Pengelly watched him from his windows, from behind a wall, and the man never left off work except to spit on his hands; that was his only relaxation, and he did not do that over-often. Mr. Pengelly was mighty pleased with his workman; he sent him to sleep in the barn, and paid him his day’s wage that he might buy himself a bit of bread. Next morning Mr. Pengelly was up with the lark. But the workman was up before Mr. Pengelly or the lark either, and was digging diligently in the garden. Mr. Pengelly was more and more pleased with his man. He went to him during the morning; then the fellow stuck his spade into the ground, and said: “I’ll tell yu what it is, sir, I like work! I love it! but I cannot dig without butes or shoes. Yu may look: I’ve no soles to my feet, and the spade nigh cuts through them.” “Yu must get a pair of shoes,” said Mr. Pengelly. “That’s just it,” says the man; “but no boot-maker will trust me; and I cannot pay down, for I haven’t the money, sir.” “What would a pair of shoes cost, now?” asks his employer, looking at the man’s feet wholly devoid of leather soles. “Fefteen shilling, maybe,” says he. “Fefteen shilling!” exclaims Mr. Pengelly; “yu’ll never get that to pay him.” “Then I must go to some other farmer who’ll advance me the money,” says the man. “Now don’t’y be in no hurry,” says Mr. Pengelly, in a fright lest he should lose a man worth half a crown a day by his work. “Suppose I were to let’y have five shilling. Then yu might go to Stratton, and pay that, and in five days you would have worked it out, keeping twopence a day for your meat; and that will do nicely if yu’re not dainty. Then I would let’y have another five shilling, till yu’d paid up.” “Done,” says the man. So Mr. Pengelly pulled the five shillings out, in two half-crown pieces, and gave them to the man. Directly he had the money in his hand, the fellow drove the spade into the ground, and, making for the gate, took off his hat and said: “I wish yu a gude morning, Mr. Pengelly, and many thanks for the crown. Now I’m off to Taunton like a long dog.” And like a long dog (greyhound) he went off, and Mr. Pengelly never saw him or his two half-crowns again. So the man who cheated the Devil was cheated by a tramp: that shows how clever tramps are.