"Very good," says Don Sanchez. "You are her father."

"And she shall know it," says Jack, with resolution, and taking a stride
or two in advance he calls to her to give over dancing and come to him.

"Have you forgot your breeding," he asks as she turns and waits for him,
"that you have no more respect for your elders than to choke 'em with
dust along of your shuffling?"

"What a thoughtless thing am I!" cries she, in a voice of contrition.
"Why, you're floured as white as a shade!"

Then taking up a corner of her waist-shawl, she gently rubs away the
dust from the tip of his nose, so that it stood out glowing red from his
face like a cherry through a hole in a pie-crust, at which she claps her
hands and rings out a peal of laughter.

"I counted to make a lady of you, Moll," says Jack, in sorrow, "but I
see plainly you will ever be a fool, and so 'tis to no purpose to speak
seriously."

"Surely, father, I have ever been what you wish me to be," answers she,
demurely, curious now to know what he would be telling her.

"Then do you put them plaguy clappers away, and listen to me patiently,"
says he.

Moll puts her hands behind her, and drawing a long lip and casting round
eyes at us over her shoulder, walks along very slowly by her father's