"Why, of course it was," I nodded, "a ghost, or the devil himself, hoof, horns, tail, and all—to say nothing of the fire and brimstone."
"Peter," said the Ancient, straightening his bent old back proudly, "oh, Peter!—tell 'em I'm a man o' truth, an' no liar—tell 'em, Peter."
"They know that," said I; "they know it without my telling them,
Ancient."
"But," said Job, staring at me aghast, "do 'ee mean to say as you live in a place as is 'aunted by the—devil 'isself?"
"Oh, Lord bless 'ee!" cried the old man, laying his hand upon my arm,
"Peter don't mind Old Nick no more 'n I do—Peter aren't afeard of 'im.
'Cause why? 'Cause 'e 'ave a clean 'eart, 'ave Peter. You don't mind
Old Nick, do 'ee, lad?
"Not in the least," said I, whereupon those nearest instinctively shrank farther from me, while Old Amos rose and shuffled towards the door.
"I've heerd o' folk sellin' theirselves to the devil afore now." said he.
"You be a danged fule, Joel Amos!" exclaimed the Ancient angrily.
"Fule or no—I never see a chap wi' such a tur'ble dark-lookin' face afore, an' wi' such eyes—so black, an' sharp, an' piercin' as needles, they be—ah! goes through a man like two gimblets, they do!" Now, as he spoke, Old Amos stretched out one arm towards me with his first and second fingers crossed: which fingers he now opened wide apart, making what I believe is called "the horns," and an infallible safeguard against this particular form of evil.
"It's the 'Evil Eye,'" said he in a half whisper, "the 'Evil Eye'!" and, turning about, betook himself away.