Moodie, who had recognised the ghost, and greatly enjoyed the fun, pretended profound ignorance, and coolly insinuated that Old Satan had lost his senses.  The man was bewildered; he stared at the vacant aperture, then at us in turn, as if he doubted the accuracy of his own vision. “’Tis tarnation odd,” he said; “but the women heard it too.”

“I heard a sound,” I said, “a dreadful sound, but I saw no ghost.”

“Sure an’ ’twas himsel’,” said my lowland Scotch girl, who now perceived the joke; “he was a-seeken’ to gie us puir bodies a wee fricht.”

“How long have you been subject to these sort of fits?” said I.  “You had better speak to the doctor about them.  Such fancies, if they are not attended to, often end in madness.”

“Mad!” (very indignantly) “I guess I’m not mad, but as wide awake as you are.  Did I not see it with my own eyes?  And then the noise—­I could not make such a tarnation outcry to save my life.  But be it man or devil, I don’t care, I’m not afear’d,” doubling his fist very undecidedly at the hole.  Again the ghastly head was protruded—­the dreadful eyes rolled wildly in their hollow sockets, and a yell more appalling than the former rang through the room.  The man sprang from his chair, which he overturned in his fright, and stood for an instant with his one-eyeball starting from his head, and glaring upon the spectre; his cheeks deadly pale; the cold perspiration streaming from his face; his lips dissevered, and his teeth chattering in his head.

“There—­there—­there.  Look—­look, it comes again!—­the devil!—­the devil!”

Here Tom, who still kept his eyes fixed upon his victim, gave a knowing wink, and thrust his tongue out of his mouth.

“He is coming!—­he is coming!” cried the affrighted wretch; and clearing the open doorway with one leap, he fled across the field at full speed.  The stream intercepted his path—­he passed it at a bound, plunged into the forest, and was out of sight.

“Ha, ha, ha!” chuckled poor Tom, sinking down exhausted on his bed.  “Oh that I had strength to follow up my advantage, I would lead Old Satan such a chase that he should think his namesake was in truth behind him.”

During the six weeks that we inhabited that wretched cabin, we never were troubled by Old Satan again.

As Tom slowly recovered, and began to regain his appetite, his soul sickened over the salt beef and pork, which, owing to our distance from —–­, formed our principal fare.  He positively refused to touch the sad bread, as my Yankee neighbours very appropriately termed the unleavened cakes in the pan; and it was no easy matter to send a man on horseback eight miles to fetch a loaf of bread.

“Do, my dear Mrs. Moodie, like a good Christian as you are, give me a morsel of the baby’s biscuit, and try and make us some decent bread.  The stuff your servant gives us is uneatable,” said Wilson to me, in most imploring accents.