be afraid of," said the majordomo, "for we are all
here."

"Would it be possible, carver," said Sancho, "now that Doctor Pedro Recio
is not here, to let me eat something solid and substantial, if it were
even a piece of bread and an onion?"

"To-night at supper," said the carver, "the shortcomings of the dinner
shall be made good, and your lordship shall be fully contented."

"God grant it," said Sancho.

The farmer now came in, a well-favoured man that one might see a thousand
leagues off was an honest fellow and a good soul. The first thing he said
was, "Which is the lord governor here?"

"Which should it be," said the secretary, "but he who is seated in the
chair?"

"Then I humble myself before him," said the farmer; and going on his
knees he asked for his hand, to kiss it. Sancho refused it, and bade him
stand up and say what he wanted. The farmer obeyed, and then said, "I am
a farmer, senor, a native of Miguelturra, a village two leagues from
Ciudad Real."

"Another Tirteafuera!" said Sancho; "say on, brother; I know Miguelturra
very well I can tell you, for it's not very far from my own town."

"The case is this, senor," continued the farmer, "that by God's mercy I
am married with the leave and licence of the holy Roman Catholic Church;
I have two sons, students, and the younger is studying to become
bachelor, and the elder to be licentiate; I am a widower, for my wife
died, or more properly speaking, a bad doctor killed her on my hands,
giving her a purge when she was with child; and if it had pleased God
that the child had been born, and was a boy, I would have put him to
study for doctor, that he might not envy his brothers the bachelor and
the licentiate."

"So that if your wife had not died, or had not been killed, you would not
now be a widower," said Sancho.

"No, senor, certainly not," said the farmer.

"We've got that much settled," said Sancho; "get on, brother, for it's
more bed-time than business-time."

"Well then," said the farmer, "this son of mine who is going to be a
bachelor, fell in love in the said town with a damsel called Clara
Perlerina, daughter of Andres Perlerino, a very rich farmer; and this
name of Perlerines does not come to them by ancestry or descent, but
because all the family are paralytics, and for a better name they call
them Perlerines; though to tell the truth the damsel is as fair as an
Oriental pearl, and like a flower of the field, if you look at her on the