“Oh, this blessed sunlight!  There is nought in the world like it—­no, not the richest wine—­to swell one’s heart with content.”

And then he fell again to recalling our old adventures and mirthful escapades.  He gave the rascals who fetched us ashore a piece more than they demanded, hugely delighted to find they understood his Spanish and such quips as he could call to mind.  Then being landed, he falls to extolling everything he sees and hears, calling upon Moll to justify his appreciation; nay, he went so far as to pause in a narrow street where was a most unsavoury smell, to sniff the air and declare he could scent the oranges in bloom.  And Lord! to hear him praise the whiteness of the linen, the excellence of the meat and drink set before us at the posada, one would have said he had never before seen clean sheets or tasted decent victuals.

Seeing that neither Moll nor I could work ourselves up (try as we might) to his high pitch of enthusiasm, he was ready with an excuse for us.

“I perceive,” says he, “you are still suffering from your voyage.  Therefore, we will not quit this town before to-morrow” (otherwise I believe he would have started off on our expedition as soon as our meal was done).  “However,” adds he, “do you make enquiry, Kit, if you can get yourself understood, if there be ever a bull to be fought to-day or any diversion of dancing or play-acting to-night, that the time hang not too heavy on our hands.”

As no such entertainments were to be had (this being the season of Lent, which is observed very strictly in these parts), Dawson contented himself with taking Moll out to visit the shops, and here he speedily purchased a pair of clappers for her, a tambour for himself, and a guitar for me, though we were difficult to please, for no clappers pleased Moll as those she had first bought; and it did seem to me that I could strike no notes out of any instrument but they had a sad, mournful tone.

Then nothing would satisfy him but to go from one draper’s to another, seeking a short petticoat, a waist-cloth, and a round hat to Moll’s taste, which ended to his disappointment, for she could find none like the old.

“Why, don’t you like this?” he would say, holding up a gown; “to my eyes ’tis the very spit of t’other, only fresher.”

And she demurring, whispers, “To-morrow, dear, to-morrow,” with plaintive entreaty for delay in her wistful eyes.  Disheartened, but not yet at the end of his resources, her father at last proposed that she should take a turn through the town alone and choose for herself.  “For,” says he, “I believe we do rather hinder than help you with our advice in such matters.”

After a moment’s reflection, Moll agreed to this, and saying she would meet us at the posada for supper, left us, and walked briskly back the way we had come.

When she was gone, Dawson had never a word to say, nor I either, for dejection, yet, had I been questioned, I could have found no better reason for my despondency than that I felt ’twas all a mistake coming here for happiness.