which we were at a loss to understand, until Don Sanchez explained that
a certain number would have it we were real dancers, but that another
party, with Don Lopez, maintained these were but court dances, which
only proved the more we were of high quality to be thus accomplished.

"We'll convince 'em yet, Moll, with a pox of their doubts," cries
Dawson, starting to his feet again. "Tell 'em we will give 'em a stage
dance of a nymph and a wild man, Señor, with an excuse for our having no
costume but this. Play us our pastoral, Kit. And sing you your ditty of
'Broken Heart,' Moll, in the right place, that I may get my wind for the
last caper."

Moll nods, and with ready wit takes the ribbon from her head, letting
her pretty hair tumble all about her shoulders, and then whipping up her
long skirt, tucks one end under her girdle, thereby making a very dainty
show of pink lining against the dark stuff, and also giving more play
for her feet. And so thus they dance their pastoral, Don Sanchez taking
a tambourine and tapping it lightly to the measure, up to Moll's song,
which so ravished these hardy, stony men by the pathetic sweetness of
her voice,--for they could understand nothing save by her
expression,--that they would not let the dance go on until she had sung
it through again. To conclude, Jack springs up as one enamoured to
madness and flings out his last steps with such vigour and agility as to
quite astound all.

[Illustration: "MOLL AND HER FATHER DANCE A PASTORAL."]

And now the show being ended, and not one but is a-crying of "Hola!" and
"Animo!" Moll snatches the tambourine from Don Sanchez's hand, and
stepping before Don Lopez drops him a curtsey, and offers it for her