“What, the divil?”
“Aye, even Beelzebub, disguised as the peddler; and them fellows we thought to be Skinners were his imps.”
“Well sure, sargeant dear, ye’re but little out this time, anyway; for if the divil’s imps go at large in the county Westchester, sure it is the Skinners, themselves.”
“Mrs. Flanagan, I mean in their incarnate spirits; the evil one knew there was no one we would arrest sooner than the peddler Birch, and he took on his appearance to gain admission to your room.”
“And what should the divil be wanting of me?” cried Betty, tartly. “And isn’t there divils enough in the corps already, without one’s coming from the bottomless pit to frighten a lone body?”
“’Twas in mercy to you, Betty, that he was permitted to come. You see he vanished through the door in your form, which is a symbol of your fate, unless you mend your life. Oh! I noticed how he trembled when I gave him the good book. Would any Christian, think you, my dear Betty, write in a Bible in this way; unless it might be the matter of births and deaths, and such lawful chronicles?”
The washerwoman was pleased with the softness of her lover’s manner, but dreadfully scandalized at his insinuation. She, however, preserved her temper, and with the quickness of her own country’s people, rejoined, “And would the divil have paid for the clothes, think ye?—aye, and overpaid.”
“Doubtless the money is base,” said the sergeant, a little staggered at such an evidence of honesty in one of whom, as to generals, he thought so meanly. “He tempted me with his glittering coin, but the Lord gave me strength to resist.”
“The goold looks well; but I’ll change it, anyway, with Captain Jack, the day. He is niver a bit afeard of any divil of them all!”
“Betty, Betty,” said her companion, “do not speak so disreverently of the evil spirit; he is ever at hand, and will owe you a grudge, for your language.”