at the door, he hastily shut up the book, and ordered me
to be gone, in a surly tone, as if he were ashamed of being caught in
the fact."

"I thought no tear had ever dropped from his eye," said the other. "Why,
he laughed when his daughter Susan went off at the hall; and, when she
died, folks said he received hush-money to say nought about it. _That_
were a bad business, anyhow; and now that his grandson Luke be taken in
the fact of housebreaking, he minds it no more, not he, than if nothing
had happened."

"Don't be too sure of that," replied Burtenshaw; "he may be scheming
summat all this time. Well, I've known Peter Bradley now these
two-and-fifty years, and, excepting that one night, I never saw any good
about him, and never heard of nobody who could tell who he be, or where
he do come from."

"One thing's certain, at least," replied the other farmer--"he were
never born at Rookwood. How he came here the devil only knows. Save us!
what a crash!--this storm be all of his raising, I tell 'ee."

"He be--what he certainly will be," interposed another speaker, in a
louder tone, and with less of apprehension in his manner than his
comrade, probably from his nerves being better fortified with strong
liquor. "Dost thou think, Samuel Plant, as how Providence would entrust
the like o' him with the command of the elements? No--no, it's rank
blasphemy to suppose such a thing, and I've too much of the true
Catholic and apostate church about me, to stand by and hear that said."

"Maybe, then, he gets his power from the Prince of Darkness," replied
Plant; "no man else could go on as he does--only look at him. He seems
to be watching for the thunderbowt."

"I wish he may catch it, then," returned the other.

"That's an evil wish, Simon Toft, and thou mayst repent it."

"Not I," replied Toft; "it would be a good clearance to the neighborhood
to get rid o' th' old croaking curmudgeon."

Whether or not Peter overheard the conversation, we pretend not to say,
but at that moment a blaze of lightning showed him staring fiercely at
the group.

"As I live, he's overheard you, Simon," exclaimed Plant. "I wouldn't be
in your skin for a trifle."

"Nor I," added Burtenshaw.

"Let him overhear me," answered Toft; "who cares? he shall hear summat
worth listening to. I'm not afraid o' him or his arts, were they as
black as Beelzebuth's own; and to show you I'm not, I'll go and have a
crack with him on the spot."

"Thou'rt a fool