off for a while.

Now, there was a little fellow living over to Penryn in those
times, Tommy Warne by name, that gave out he knew how to conjure.
Folks believed in him more than he did himself: for, to tell truth,
he was a lazy shammick, who liked most ways of getting a living
better than hard work. Still, he was generally made pretty welcome
at the farm-houses round, for he could turn a hand to anything and
always kept the maids laughing in the kitchen. One morning he
dropped in on Farmer Joby and asked for a job to earn his dinner; and
Joby gave him some straw to spin for thatching. By dinner-time Tom
had spun two bundles of such very large size that the farmer rubbed
his chin when he looked at them.

"Why," says he, "I always thought you a liar--I did indeed. But now
I believe you can conjure, sure enough."

As for Mrs. Joby, she was so much pleased that, though she felt
certain the devil must have had a hand in it, she gave Tom an extra
helping of pudding for dinner.

Some time after this, Farmer Joby missed a pair of pack-saddles.
Search and ask as he might, he couldn't find out who had stolen them,
or what had become of them.

"Tommy Warne's a clever fellow," he said at last. "I must see if he
can tell me anything." So he walked over to Penryn on purpose.

Tommy was in his doorway smoking when Farmer Joby came down the
street. "So you'm after they pack-saddles," said he.

"Why, how ever did you know?"

"That's my business. Will it do if you find 'em after harvest?"

"To be sure 'twill. I only want to know where they be."

"Very well, then; after harvest they'll be found."

Home the farmer went. Sure enough, after harvest, he went to unwind
Tommy's two big bundles of straw-rope for thatching the mow, and in
the middle of each was one of his missing pack-saddles.

"Well, now," said Joby's wife, "that fellow must have a real gift of
conjurin'! I wonder, my dear, you don't go and consult him about that
there cross-eye of yours."

"I will, then," said Joby; and he walked over to Penryn again the
very next market-day.

"'Cure your eyes,' is it?" said Tommy Warne. "Why, to be sure I can.
Why didn't you ax me afore? I thought you _liked_ squintin'."

"I don't, then; I hate it."

"Very well; you shall see straight this very night if you do what I
tell you. Go home and tell your wife to make your bed on the roof of
the four-poster; and she must make it widdershins, turnin' bed-tie
and all aga