"Did I?"
"Ay, that ye did--James Dutton see ye, an' 'is wife, she see ye
tu, and I see ye."
"Then," said I, "probably I did. Well?"
"Well," said the old man, looking round upon his hearers, and
bringing out each word with the greatest unction, "that theer
evenin' were last Monday evenin' as ever was--the very same hour
as Dutton's pigs sickened an' died!" Hereupon John Pringle and
Job rose simultaneously from where they had been sitting, and
retreated precipitately to the door.
"Lord!" exclaimed John.
"I might ha' knowed it!" said Job, drawing a cross in the air
with his finger.
"An' so James Dutton wants to ax ye to tak' it off, Peter," said
Old Amos.
"To take what off?"
"Why, the spell, for sure." Hereupon I gave free play to my
amusement, and laughed, and laughed, while the others watched me
with varying expressions.
"And so you think that I bewitched Dutton's pigs, do you?" said
I, at last, glancing from Old Amos to the perspiring Apology (who
immediately began to mop at his face and neck again). "And why,"
I continued, seeing that nobody appeared willing to speak, "why
should you think it of me?"
"W'y, Peter, ye bean't like ordinary folk; your eyes goes through
an' through a man. An' then, Peter, I mind as you come a-walkin'
into Siss'n'urst one night from Lord knows wheer, all covered wi'
dust, an' wi' a pack on your back."
"You are wrong there, Amos," said I, "it was afternoon when I
came, and the Ancient was with me."
"Ah! an' wheer did 'e find ye, Peter?--come, speak up an' tell us."
"In the Hollow," I answered.
"Ay, 'e found 'ee in the very spot wheer the Wanderer o' the
Roads 'ung 'isself, sixty an' six years ago."
"There is nothing very strange in that!" said I.
"What's more, you come into the village an' beat Black Jarge
throwin' th' 'ammer, an' 'im the strongest man in all the South
Country!"
"I beat him because he did not do his best--so there is nothing
strange in that either."
"An' then, you lives all alone in that theer ghashly 'Oller--an'
you fights, an' struggles wi' devils an' demons, all in the wind
an' rain an' tearin' tempest--an' what's most of all--you comes
back--alive; an' what's more yet, wi' devil-marks upon ye an'
your throat all tore wi' claws. Old Gaffer be over proud o'
findin' ye, but old Gaffer be dodderin'--dodderin' 'e be, an'
fulish wi' years; 'e'd ha' done much better to ha' left ye alone
--I've heerd o' folk sellin' theirselves to the devil afore now,
I've likewise heerd o' the 'Evil Eye' afore now--ah! an' knows
one when I sees it."