The first village at which I made an attempt was Cobenna, about three leagues from Madrid.  I was dressed in the fashion of the peasants in the neighbourhood of Segovia, in Old Castile; namely, I had on my head a species of leather helmet or montera, with a jacket and trousers of the same material.  I had the appearance of a person between sixty and seventy years of age, and drove before me a borrico with a sack of Testaments lying across its back.  On nearing the village, I met a genteel-looking young woman leading a little boy by the hand:  as I was about to pass her with the customary salutation of vaya usted con Dios, she stopped, and after looking at me for a moment, she said:  “Uncle (Tio), what is that you have got on your borrico?  Is it soap?”

“Yes,” I replied:  “it is soap to wash souls clean.”

She demanded what I meant; whereupon I told her that I carried cheap and godly books for sale.  On her requesting to see one, I produced a copy from my pocket and handed it to her.  She instantly commenced reading with a loud voice, and continued so for at least ten minutes, occasionally exclaiming:  “Que lectura tan bonita, que lectura tan linda!” What beautiful, what charming readings!” At last, on my informing her that I was in a hurry, and could not wait any longer, she said, “true, true,” and asked me the price of the book:  I told her “but three reals,” whereupon she said, that though what I asked was very little, it was more than she could afford to give, as there was little or no money in those parts.  I said I was sorry for it, but that I could not dispose of the books for less than I had demanded, and accordingly, resuming it, wished her farewell, and left her.  I had not, however, proceeded thirty yards, when the boy came running behind me, shouting, out of breath:  “Stop, uncle, the book, the book!” Upon overtaking me, he delivered the three reals in copper, and seizing the Testament, ran back to her, who I suppose was his sister, flourishing the book over his head with great glee.

On arriving at the village, I directed my steps to a house, around the door of which I saw several people gathered, chiefly women.  On my displaying my books, their curiosity was instantly aroused, and every person had speedily one in his hand, many reading aloud; however, after waiting nearly an hour, I had disposed of but one copy, all complaining bitterly of the distress of the times, and the almost total want of money, though, at the same time, they acknowledged that the books were wonderfully cheap, and appeared to be very good and Christian-like.  I was about to gather up my merchandise and depart, when on a sudden the curate of the place made his appearance.  After having examined the book for some time with considerable attention, he asked me the price of a copy, and upon my informing him that it was three reals, he replied that the binding was worth more, and that he was much afraid that I had stolen the