ow go," he said, "and tell your righter of wrongs. I wish I had
flayed you alive, you young whelp."

And so ended Don Quixote's first attempt to right wrongs.

As the Knight cantered along, very well pleased with himself, about
two miles from where he had freed the boy he saw riding towards him
six men, each shading himself under a large umbrella. With them were
four mounted servants, and three on foot.

No sooner did Don Quixote see this party than it struck him that here
was the chance for which, above all others, he had been longing.

Posting himself in the middle of the road, he waited till the men were
at no great distance. Then, "Halt!" shouted he. "Let all know that no
man shall pass further till he owns that in the whole world there is
no damsel more beautiful than the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso."

"But," said the men (who were merchants of Toledo, on their way to buy
silks), "we do not know the lady. We have never seen her. How then can
we say that she is beautiful?"

"What!" roared Don Quixote in a terrible rage, "not know the beauteous
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso! That only makes matters worse. Do you dare
to argue?"

And with that he couched his spear, drove his spurs into "Rozinante,"
and rode furiously at the nearest merchant.

What he would have done it is not possible to say. But as he galloped,
it chanced that "Rozinante" stumbled and fell heavily, rolling Don
Quixote over and over. There the Knight lay helpless, the weight of
his armor preventing him from rising to his feet. But as he lay, he
continued to cry out at the top of his voice, "Stop, you rascals! Do
not fly. It is my horse's fault that I lie here, you cowards!"

One of the grooms, hearing his master called a rascal and a coward,
thereupon ran up and snatched away Don Quixote's spear, which he broke
in pieces. Then with each piece he belabored the poor Knight till the
broken lance flew into splinters. The merchants then rode away,
leaving Don Quixote lying where he fell, still shouting threats, but
quite unable to rise.

There he was found by a man who knew him well, and who with great
difficulty mounted him on his donkey and took him home. When at last
they reached Don Quixote's house, the poor Knight was put to bed,
where he lay for many days, raving, and very ill.

During this time the Curate of the village and the Barber came and
burned nearly all the books which Don Quixote had so loved.

"For," said they, "it is by reading