Said he, after I had beaten him down to a reasonable price, "Twould be
easy enough, one would think, to spare an honest man a groat of the
fortune Pengersick makes on these dark nights."
"Thou lying thief!" said I. "What new slander is this?"
"Come, come," says he, looking roguish; "that won't do for me that have
seen the false light on Cuddan Point more times than I can count; and so
has every fisherman in the bay."
Well, I kicked him through the gate for it, and flung his basket after
him; but the tale could not be so dismissed. "It may be," thought I,
"some one of Pengersick has engaged upon this wickedness on his own
account"; and for my Master's credit I resolved to keep watch.
I took therefore the porter into my secret, who agreed to let me through
the gate towards midnight without telling a soul. I took a sheepskin
with me and a poignard for protection; and for a week, from midnight to
dawn, I played sentinel on Cuddan Point, walking to and fro, or
stretched under the lee of a rock whence I could not miss any light
shown on the headland, if Peter Chynoweth's tale held any truth.
By the eighth trial I had pretty well made up my mind (and without
astonishment) that Peter Chynoweth was a liar. But scarcely had I
reached my post that night when, turning, I descried a radiance as of a
lantern, following me at some fifty paces. On the instant I gripped my
poignard and stepped behind a boulder.
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