asked me to step into heaven; but Dawson was quick enough to say something.
"That will we," cries he, "and God bless your worship for taking pity on us, for I doubt not you have heard of our troubles."
The other bowed his head and set a chair at the end of the table for Moll, which she took with a pretty curtsey, but saying never a word, for glee did seem to choke us all. And being seated, she cast her eyes on the bread hungrily, as if she would fain begin at once, but she had the good manners to restrain herself. Then his worship (as we called him), having shown us the chairs on either side, seated himself last of all, at the head of the table, facing our Moll, whom whenever he might without discourtesy, he regarded with most scrutinising glances from first to last. Then the door flinging open, two drawers brought in those same fat pullets we had seen browning before the fire, and also the pasty, with abundance of other good cheer, at which Moll, with a little cry of delight, whispers to me:
"'Tis like a dream. Do speak to me, Kit, or I must think 'twill all fade away presently and leave us in the snow."
Then I, finding my tongue, begged his worship would pardon us if our manners were more uncouth than the society to which he was accustomed.
"Nay," says Dawson. "Your worship will like us none the worse, I warrant, for seeing what we are and aping none."
Finding himself thus beworshipped on both hands, our good friend says:
"You may call me Señor. I am a Spaniard. Don Sanchez del Castillo de Castelaña." And then to turn the subject, he adds: "I have seen you play twice."
