ant no friend or 'lation to un up there?" he said.

"None."

"Nor you wa'ant say nothin' to un ef I tell 'ee?"

"Not a word."

"Well, then, ould Squire Trewinion do live there."

"Alone?"

The man shook his head.

"Two ould servants," he said, solemnly.

"Is there anything strange about him?" I asked.

"Shud think ther es," he replied.

"What?"

"What! Why he've sold hisself to tho'ull Sir Nick, who do stick to un
like a limpet to a rock."

As this mediaeval belief has scarcely died away among the Cornish
people, I attached no importance to it, but asked in a jocular way for
what he had sold himself.

"Nobody knows," the man replied, "but he hev sould hisself, and now he
do never come out to shaw hisself nor nothin'. He wa'ant speak to
nobody, and is as ugly as sin."

"Are these Trewinions important people?" asked Will.

"'Portant!" said the man, "sh'd think they be; why oal the land round
do belong to un, and I've heerd my faather say as 'ow in th' ould days
it was the grandest plaace in oal Cornwall; but now--m--m--m!"

"Now, what?" I asked.

"Hunted!"

"Hunted! Haunted, I suppose you mean. By what?"

"Ghoasts and evil sperrits, as well as with th' oull Sir Nick."

"Do you ever go up there?"

"No; I kip away in the daytime, and as fur goin' ther after dark, I
wouldn't for a crock of gould."

We asked the man many more questions, but could get nothing much
further from him. All I could gather was that the Trewinions had been
a great people, but had fallen on evil days as the result of their own
sinning, and that the present representative of the family was a
recluse, living alone in the old Manor House, and that many curious
stories were told about him.

"Well," said Will to me, "I think we've heard enough; let us get away
from this outlandish place."

"Not until I've inquired at the place itself," I replied.

"You are mad," said he. "Evidently this old man is some strange
creature, who prefers living alone, and will no doubt think it a piece
of impudence on our part if we call. Perhaps he will set the dogs
after us."

"Nevertheless, I'm going," I replied. "If you like to remain behind,
you may do so; but I want to know the truth of this. I suspect a good
story."

"Oh, well, if you will be foolish, I'll go," said Will, "but remember
we have to walk twelve miles before we get to our resting-place
to-night."

I did not reply, but went away in the direction of Trewinion Man