Mr. Pengelly was very ill and like to die. So one night the Devil came to the side of his bed, and said to him: “Mr. Pengelly, I will trouble yu, if you please.”
“Yu will trouble me with what, your honour?” says Mr. Pengelly, sitting up in bed.
“Why, just to step along of me, sir,” says the Devil.
“Oh! but I don’t please at all,” replies Mr. Pengelly, lying down again and tucking his pillow under his cheek.
“Well, sir, but time’s up, yu know,” was the remark the Devil made thereupon; “and whether it pleases yu or no, yu must come along of me to once, sir. It isn’t much of a distance to speak of from Morwenstow,” says he by way of apology.
“If I must go, sir,” says Mr. Pengelly, wiping his nose with his blue pocket-handkerchief covered with white spots, and R. P. marked in the corner in red cotton, “why, then, I suppose yu ain’t in a great hurry. Yu’ll give me ten minutes?”
“What do’y want ten minutes for, Mr. Pengelly?” asks the Devil.
“Why, sir,” says Mr. Pengelly, putting his blue pocket-handkerchief over his face, “I’m ashamed to name it, but I shu’d like to say my prayers. Leastwise, they couldn’t du no harm,” exclaimed he, pulling the handkerchief off and looking out.
“They wouldn’t du yer no gude, Mr. Pengelly,” says the Devil.
“I shu’d be more comfable in my mind, sir, if I said ’em,” says he.