alling our old adventures and mirthful
escapades. He gave the rascals who fetched us ashore a piece more than
they demanded, hugely delighted to find they understood his Spanish and
such quips as he could call to mind. Then being landed, he falls to
extolling everything he sees and hears, calling upon Moll to justify his
appreciation; nay, he went so far as to pause in a narrow street where
was a most unsavoury smell, to sniff the air and declare he could scent
the oranges in bloom. And Lord! to hear him praise the whiteness of the
linen, the excellence of the meat and drink set before us at the posada,
one would have said he had never before seen clean sheets or tasted
decent victuals.

Seeing that neither Moll nor I could work ourselves up (try as we might)
to his high pitch of enthusiasm, he was ready with an excuse for us.

"I perceive," says he, "you are still suffering from your voyage.
Therefore, we will not quit this town before to-morrow" (otherwise I
believe he would have started off on our expedition as soon as our meal
was done). "However," adds he, "do you make enquiry, Kit, if you can get
yourself understood, if there be ever a bull to be fought to-day or any
diversion of dancing or play-acting to-night, that the time hang not too
heavy on our hands."

As no such entertainments were to be had (this being the season of Lent,
which is observed very strictly in these parts), Dawson contented
himself with taking Moll out to visit the shops, and here he speedily
purchased a pair of clappers for her, a tambour for himself, and a
guitar for me, though we were difficult to please, for no clappers
pleased Moll as those she had first bought; and it did seem to me that I
could strike no notes out of any instrument but they had a sad, mournful
tone.

Then nothing would satisfy him but to go from one draper's to another,
seeking a short petticoat, a waist-cloth, and a round hat to Moll's
taste, which ended to his disappointment, for she could find none like
the old.

"Why, don't you like this?" he would say, holding up a gown; "to my eyes
'tis the very spit of t'other, only fresher."

And she demurring, whispers, "To-morrow, dear, to-morrow," with
plaintive entreaty for delay in her wistful eyes. Disheartened, but not
yet at the end of his resources, her father at last proposed that she
should take a turn through the town alone and choose for herself. "For,"
says he, "I believe we do rather hinder than help you