old place, Will," I said to my companion.

"It is, indeed," he replied. "It looks in good repair, too. I wonder
if it's inhabited?"

"The best way to know is to go and see," I replied, and accordingly we
bent our steps thither.

As we drew nearer we saw a hollow, which looked as though it had been
scooped out by some giant's spade. In it were built two or three
cottages, and by the fact of there being some tumbled-down houses near,
we came to the conclusion that at one time a little village must have
stood there.

"What in the world have people to do or live for here?" said Will. "We
are five miles from any place that can be called a town, and there's
scarcely a house near. Everything is as weird and lonely as the
wilderness of Judea."

"I expect they live on the fish they catch, and the produce of their
little farms," I said; "but come, there's a man yonder, we'll question
him."

Accordingly we hailed him and he waited, evidently with some degree of
curiosity, until we came up.

"What's the name of this place?" asked Will.

"Trewinion," was the reply.

"Trewinion? Is it in the parish of Trewinion?"

"Iss."

"Is there a parish church anywhere near?"

"Iss."

"Where?"

"There," pointing southward.

We saw a little grey tower about half a mile away, evidently a part of
the building after which we had been inquiring.

"Are there any houses there?" we asked.

"Five."

"Whose are they?"

"Passon Teague's, Muster Yelland's, Bill Treloar's, Tom Williams's, and
Jack Jory's."

"And what's the name of yonder place?" asked Will, pointing to the old
house we had seen on the great headland.

The man looked at us curiously, and then replied:

"Trewinion Manor."

"It looks old," I said. "Is it?"

"Ould's Mathusla," was the brief reply.

"Who lives there?"

"Th' oull Sir Nick."

"Sir Nick" is the term usually applied by the Cornish people to his
Satanic Majesty. Scenting a story I eagerly inquired what he meant.

"Well, he d' live there," was the reply.

"And what does he do?"

The man shook his head gravely. "Nobody knows but hisself," was the
reply.

"But does the devil live there alone?" asked Will.

The man looked at us again, as though he wondered who we were.

"Who be you?" he said.

"We are simply out for a holiday," I replied, "and, as we were walking
along, we saw that old place, and wondering what it was, and to whom it
belonged, we thought we'd ask."

"Then you be'