," said the other, "for we must put into the bags, to
keep the wind from blowing them away, half a dozen nice smooth pebbles,
all of the same weight; and in this way we shall be able to baste one
another without doing ourselves any harm or mischief."

"Body of my father!" said Sancho, "see what marten and sable, and pads of
carded cotton he is putting into the bags, that our heads may not be
broken and our bones beaten to jelly! But even if they are filled with
toss silk, I can tell you, senor, I am not going to fight; let our
masters fight, that's their lookout, and let us drink and live; for time
will take care to ease us of our lives, without our going to look for
fillips so that they may be finished off before their proper time comes
and they drop from ripeness."

"Still," returned he of the Grove, "we must fight, if it be only for half
an hour."

"By no means," said Sancho; "I am not going to be so discourteous or so
ungrateful as to have any quarrel, be it ever so small, with one I have
eaten and drunk with; besides, who the devil could bring himself to fight
in cold blood, without anger or provocation?"

"I can remedy that entirely," said he of the Grove, "and in this way:
before we begin the battle, I will come up to your worship fair and
softly, and give you three or four buffets, with which I shall stretch
you at my feet and rouse your anger, though it were sleeping sounder than
a dormouse."

"To match that plan," said Sancho, "I have another that is not a whit
behind it; I will take a cudgel, and before your worship comes near
enough to waken my anger I will send yours so sound to sleep with whacks,
that it won't waken unless it be in the other world, where it is known
that I am not a man to let my face be handled by anyone; let each look
out for the arrow--though the surer way would be to let everyone's anger
sleep, for nobody knows the heart of anyone, and a man may come for wool
and go back shorn; God gave his blessing to peace and his curse to
quarrels; if a hunted cat, surrounded and hard pressed, turns into a
lion, God knows what I, who am a man, may turn into; and so from this
time forth I warn you, sir squire, that all the harm and mischief that
may come of our quarrel will be put down to your account."

"Very good," said he of the Grove; "God will send the dawn and we shall
be all right."

And now gay-plumaged birds of all sorts began to warble in the trees, and
with their varied and gladsome