“This may undo us,” says Don Sanchez, in a low voice of displeasure, drawing us away.  “Here are a dozen visitors who will presently be examining Moll as a marvel.  Who can say but that one of them may know her again hereafter to our confusion?  We must be seen together no more than is necessary, until we are out of this country.  I shall leave here in the morning, and you will meet me next at the Turk, in Gracious Street, to-morrow afternoon.”  Therewith he goes up to his room, leaving us to shift for ourselves; and we into the parlour to warm our feet at the fire till we may be served with some victuals, both very silent and surly, being still sore, and as tired as any dogs with our day’s jolting.

While we are in this mood, Moll, having finished her play, comes to us in amazing high spirits, and all aglow with pleasure shows us a handful of silver given her by the gentry; then, pulling up a chair betwixt us, she asks us a dozen questions of a string as to where we have been, what we have done, etc., since we left her.  Getting no answer, she presently stops, looks first at one, then at the other, and bursting into a fit of laughter, cries:  “Why, what ails you both to be so grumpy?”

“In the first place, Moll,” says Jack, “I’ll have you to know that I am your father, and will not be spoken to save with becoming respect.”

“Why, I did but ask you where you have been.”

“Children of your age should not ask questions, but do as they’re bid, and there’s an end of it.”

“La, I’m not to ask any questions.  Is there nothing else I am not to do?”

“Yes; I’ll not have you playing of Galimaufray to cook wenches and such stuff.  I’ll have you behave with more decency.  Take your feet off the hearth, and put ’em under your chair.  Let me have no more of these galanty-shows.  Why, ’twill be said I cannot give you a basin of porridge, that you must go a-begging of sixpences like this!”

“Oh, if you begrudge me a little pocket-money,” cries she, springing up with the tears in her eyes, “I’ll have none of it.”

And with that she empties her pocket on the chair, and out roll her sixpences together with a couple of silver spoons.

“What,” cries Jack, after glancing round to see we were alone.  “You have filched a couple of spoons, Moll?”

“And why not?” asks she, her little nose turning quite white with passion.  “If I am to ask no questions, how shall I know but we may have never a spoon to-morrow for your precious basin of porridge?”

CHAPTER VII.

Of our journey through France to a very horrid pass in the Pyraneans.