me, what a helpless varlet!" So
saying, he laid hold of a kettle, and sousing it into one of the
half-jars, he fished out three pullets and a couple of geese, and said
to Sancho, "Eat, friend, and make your breakfast of this scum, to stay
your stomach till dinner-time."

"I have nothing to put it in," answered Sancho.

"Then take ladle and all," quoth the cook; "for Camacho's riches and joy
supply everything."

While Sancho was thus employed, Don Quixote stood observing the entrance
of a dozen peasants at one side of the spacious arbor, each mounted on a
beautiful mare, in rich and gay caparisons, hung round with little
bells. They were clad in holiday apparel, and in a regular troop made
sundry careers about the meadow, with a joyful Moorish cry of "Long live
Camacho and Quiteria! he as rich as she is fair, and she the fairest of
the world!"

Don Quixote hearing this, said to himself, "These people, it is plain,
have never seen my Dulcinea del Toboso; otherwise they would have been
less extravagant in the praise of their Quiteria."

Soon after there entered, on different sides of the arbor, various sets
of dancers, among which was one consisting of four-and-twenty
sword-dancers; handsome, sprightly swains, all arrayed in fine white
linen, and handkerchiefs wrought with several colors of fine silk. One
of those mounted on horseback inquired of a young man who led the
sword-dance, whether any of his comrades were hurt.

"No," replied the youth; "thank Heaven, as yet we are all well;" and
instantly he twined himself in among his companions with so many turns,
and so dexterously, that though Don Quixote had often seen such dances
before, none had ever pleased him so well. Another dance also delighted
him much, performed by twelve damsels, young and beautiful, all clad in
green stuff of Cuenza, having their hair partly plaited, and partly
flowing, all of golden hue, rivalling the sun itself, and covered with
garlands of jessamine, roses and woodbine. They were led up by a
venerable old man and an ancient matron, to whom the occasion had given
more agility than might have been expected from their years. A Zamora
bagpipe regulated their motions, which being no less sprightly and
graceful than their looks were modest and maidenly, more lovely dancers
were never seen in the world.

A pantomimic dance now succeeded, by eight nymphs, divided into two
ranks--"Cupid" leading the one, and "Interest," the other; the former
e