y, and when I punish him for his carelessness and
knavery he says I do it out of niggardliness, to escape paying him the
wages I owe him, and before God, and on my soul, he lies."

"Lies before me, base clown!" said Don Quixote. "By the sun that
shines on us, I have a mind to run you through with this lance. Pay
him at once, without another word; if not, by the God that rules us, I
will make an end of you, and annihilate you on the spot; release him
instantly."

The farmer hung his head, and without a word untied his servant, of
whom Don Quixote asked how much his master owed him.

He replied, nine months at seven reals a month. Don Quixote added it
up, found that it came to sixty-three reals, and told the farmer to
pay it down immediately if he did not want to die for it.

The trembling clown replied that as he lived and by the oath he had
sworn (though he had not sworn any) it was not so much; for there were
to be taken into account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had
given him, and a real for two blood-lettings when he was sick.

"All that is very well," said Don Quixote; "but let the shoes and the
blood-lettings stand as a set-off against the blows you have given him
without any cause; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you paid
for, you have damaged that of his body, and if the barber took blood
from him when he was sick, you have drawn it when he was sound; so on
that score he owes you nothing."

"The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money here; let Andres
come home with me, and I will pay him all, real by real."

"I go with him!" said the youth. "Nay, God forbid! no, senor, not for
the world; for once alone with me, he would flay me like a Saint
Bartholomew."

"He will do nothing of the kind," said Don Quixote; "I have only to
command and he will obey me, and he has sworn to me by the order of
knighthood which he has received. I leave him free, and I guarantee
the payment."

"Consider what you are saying, senor," said the youth; "this master of
mine is not a knight, nor has he received any order of knighthood; for
he is Juan Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar."

"That matters little," replied Don Quixote; "there may be Haldudos
knights; moreover, every one is the son of his works."

"That is true," said Andres; "but this master of mine--of what work is
he the son, when he refuses me the wages of my sweat and labor?"

"I do not refuse, brother Andres," said the farmer; "be good enou