utter failure of any beneficial results from the
three wishes.

"We be just as we were," said he, "save that I've sold mysel', body
and soul, to the Evil One!"

Here he began to weep and lament very sore; and his wife was so much
overcome at the recital that she was nigh speechless through the
anguish she endured.

At length her tears began to lose their bitterness.

"It's no use greetin' at this gait," said she; "hie thee to the
parson, Michael, an' see if he canna quit thee o' this bond."

"Verily," said the poor tailor, with a piteous sigh, "that would be
leapin' out o' t' gutter into t' ditch. I should be burnt for a
he-witch an' a limb o' the de'il. I've yet seven years' respite from
torment, an' that would be to throw even these precious morsels away.
E'en let's tarry as we are, an' make the best on't. This comes of
idleness and drink; but if ever I put foot across Giles's doorstone
again, I wish--nay, it's no use wishing now, I've had enough o' sich
thriftless work for a bit. But I'll be sober an' mind my work, and
spend nothing idly, an' who knows but some plan or another may be hit
on to escape."

Now his disconsolate wife was much rejoiced at this determination, and
could not help saying--

"Who knows? perhaps it was for good, Mike, that this distress happened
thee."

He shook his head; but his resolution was made, and he adhered to it
in spite of the sneers and temptations of his former associates, who
often tried to lead him on to the same vicious courses again. He had
received a warning that he never forgot. The memory of it stuck to him
night and day; and he would as soon have thought of thrusting his hand
into the glowing coals as have entered Giles Chatburn's hovel again.
He was truly an altered man, but his wife was the first to feel
benefited by the change. He had plenty of work, and money came in
apace. The house was cleaned and garnished. There was abundance of
victuals, and a jug of their own brewing. He rarely stirred out but to
wait upon his customers, and then he came home as soon as the job was
completed. But there was an appearance of melancholy and dejection
continually about him. He looked wan and dispirited. Time was rapidly
passing by, and the last of the seven years was now ebbing away.

One night, as they were sitting a while after supper, he fetched a
heavy sigh.

"It is but a short time I have to live," said he.

"Nay," said the dame, let's hope that Heaven will not let t