"Well, well, indeed; they are not very good wishes."

"Oh, yes; I've got my senses about me. I think I'll make them good
wishes, after all."

The seven years, all but three days, had passed, and Billy was back
working at his forge, for all his money was gone, when the dark
gentleman stepped in and said:

"Now, Billy, during these last three days you may have as much money
as you like," and he disappeared.

On the last day of his seven years Billy was penniless, and he went
to the taproom of his favourite inn, which was full.

"Well, boys," said Billy, "we must have some money to-night. I'll
treat you, and give you a pound each," and rising, he placed his
tumbler in the middle of the table, and wished for twenty pounds. No
sooner had he wished than a ball of fire came through the ceiling,
and the twenty sovereigns fell into the tumbler. Everyone was taken
aback, and there was a noise as if a bomb had burst, and the
fireball disappeared, and rolled down the garden path, the landlord
following it. After this they each drank what they liked, and Billy
gave them a sovereign apiece before he went home.

The next morning he was in his smithy making a pair of horseshoes,
when the devil came in and said:

"Well, Billy, I'll want you this morning."