t of Moll's
dancing.

"It might be as well," says Don Sanchez, in his solemn, deliberate
manner, "if Mistress Moll were advised to practise her steps in our
rear."

"Aye, Senor," replied Dawson, "I've been of the same mind these last ten
minutes. But with your consent, Don Sanchez, I'll put her to a more
serious exercise."

The Don consenting with a bow, Jack continues:

"You may have observed that I haven't opened my lips since we left the
town, and the reason thereof is that I've been turning over in my mind
whether, having come thus far, it would not be advisable to let my Moll
know of our project. Because, if she should refuse, the sooner we
consider some other plan, the better, seeing that now she is in good
case and as careless as a bird on the bough, and she is less tractable
to our purposes than when she felt the pinch of hunger and cold and
would have jumped at anything for a bit of comfort."

"Does she not know of our design?" asks the Don, lifting his eyebrows.

"No more than the man in the moon, Senor," answers Jack. "For, though
Kit and I may have discoursed of it at odd times, we have been mighty
careful to shut our mouths or talk of a fine day at her approach."

"Very good," says Don Sanchez. "You are her father."

"And she shall know it," says Jack, with resolution, and taking a stride
or two in advance he calls to her to give over dancing and come to him.

"Have you forgot your breeding," he asks as she turns and waits for him,
"that you have no more respect for your elders than to choke 'em with
dust along of your shuffling?"

"What a thoughtless thing am I!" cries she, in a voice of contrition.
"Why, you're floured as white as a shade!"

Then taking up a corner of her waist-shawl, she gently rubs away the
dust from the tip of his nose, so that it stood out glowing red from his
face like a cherry through a hole in a pie-crust, at which she claps her
hands and rings out a peal of laughter.

"I counted to make a lady of you, Moll," says Jack, in sorrow, "but I
see plainly you will ever be a fool, and so 'tis to no purpose to speak
seriously."

"Surely, father, I have ever been what you wish me to be," answers she,
demurely, curious now to know what he would be telling her.

"Then do you put them plaguy clappers away, and listen to me patiently,"
says he.

Moll puts her hands behind her, and drawing a long lip and casting round
eyes at us over her shoulder, walks along very slowly by he