The rude fellow, with his accustomed insolence, began abusing the
old country folks.
The English were great bullies, he said; they thought no one could
fight but themselves; but the Yankees had whipped them, and would
whip them again. He was not afear'd of them, he never was afear'd
in his life.
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when a horrible apparition
presented itself to his view. Slowly rising from his bed, and
putting on the fictitious nose, while he drew his white nightcap
over his ghastly and livid brow, Tom thrust his face through the
aperture, and uttered a diabolical cry; then sank down upon his
unseen couch as noiselessly as he had arisen. The cry was like
nothing human, and it was echoed by an involuntary scream from the
lips of our maid-servant and myself.
"Good God! what's that?" cried Satan, falling back in his chair, and
pointing to the vacant aperture. "Did you hear it? did you see it?
It beats the universe. I never saw a ghost or the devil before!"
Moodie, who had recognised the ghost, and greatly enjoyed the fun,
pretended profound ignorance, and coolly insinuated that Old Satan
had lost his senses.
