This old man gloried in being a true Guernseyman, one of the old
stock, of direct descent from those who fought for their country
against the band of adventurers who invaded the island under Ivan of
Wales. He did not say that the islanders had the worst of the fight.
He only spoke in the patois, which Frank understood very well.

This species of the genus "homo" hailed from the parish of Torteval,
and, being an old peasant and very illiterate, there is no cause for
being astonished that he was superstitious.

Frank perceived this only a few days after he had engaged him. It
was a Friday, and the old man who was told to go and gather a few
tomatoes--the first of the season--exclaimed: "What! begin on a
Friday, but you forget yourself, Mr. Mathers."

Frank laughed at him and told him to go all the same, adding that
he was surprised people believed in such nonsense. Old Pierre obeyed
muttering: "He is a young man, and he will lose a nice lot of money
on his crops, defying fate in that way. But it's as the proverb
says: 'Experience is a thing which is bought.'"

Although Frank did not believe in any of the old man's notions, the
continual remarks which he heard made him eager to know more. When
they had dined, the two men proceeded to a garden seat and while the
elder smoked his pipe, the younger questioned him.

Pierre was very reticent in his information. What was the use of
telling this young man anything; he would not believe him.

As time passed on, he began to have more confidence in his employer,
and seeing that he never laughed at what he said, he gradually
became more talkative.

One day, when Frank was questioning him, the old man asked: "Have
you ever seen the _feu bellanger_?"

"I don't think so," responded Frank, "at any rate, I had never heard
that name mentioned before."

"Well," said Mait Pierre, "if you care to listen, I shall tell you
all about it; you appear eager to know everything."

He took his pipe from between his teeth; well emptied the bowl, and
put the blackened clay pipe in his pocket with studied carefulness.
Then he began: "The _feu bellanger_ is one of the devil's angels
which takes the shape of fire, and goes about at night, generally
when it is very dark, and tries to pounce upon some victim."

Here, he stopped and looked inquiringly at Frank, who, in his
desire to hear what old Pierre had to say, kept a very grave face.

Apparently satisfied at the young man's appearance, the