English literature -- England -- Lancashire; Legends -- England -- Lancashire
"Holy father," said the tailor, on entering the cell, "I crave thy
benison."
The anchorite, who was on his knees before a crucifix, did not speak
until he had finished his devotions. He then rose and pronounced the
usual benedictory welcome.
"So far all is well," thought Mike; "I've got one blow at the devil
anyhow."
The holy father was very old, but he was hale and active. His white
silky beard almost touched his girdle, and his sharp though rheumy
eyes peered inquisitively on the person of his guest.
"What is thine errand, my son?" inquired the recluse.
"I have fallen into a grievous temptation, and would crave your
succour and advice."
"Heaven wills it oft, my son, that we fall into divers extremities to
humble us, and to show the folly and weakness of our hearts. What is
thy trouble and thy petition?"
"Alas!" said the other, weeping, "I have been face to face with the
father of lies, and I have suffered much damage therefrom."
"Thou hast not been tampering with forbidden arts, I hope?"
"Truly, that have I, and to my soul's cost, I fear," said the tailor,
with a groan of heartrending despair.
"Thy sin is great, my son; but so likewise is the remedy. Heaven
willeth not a sinner's death, if he turn again to Him with repentance
and contrition of spirit. I trust thou hast not trifled with thy
soul's welfare by taking and using any of the gifts whereby the old
serpent layeth hold on the souls of men?"
"Verily, nay; but he frightened me into the signing of a terrible
bond, wherein I promised, that after seven years were past and gone I
would be his!"
"Thy danger is terrible indeed. But he gave thee some equivalent for
the bargain? thou didst not sell thyself for nought?" said the hermit,
fixing his eye sternly on the trembling penitent; "and now, when thou
hast wasted the price of thy condemnation, thou comest for help; and
thou wouldest even play at cheatery with the devil!"
"Nay, most reverend father," said Michael, wiping his eyes; "never a
gift have I had from the foul fiend, save a bacon collop, and that was
cast out untouched." And with that he told of the manner in which he
was inveigled, and the scurvy trick which the deceiver had played him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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