“Ay, him Sir John tell about on Sundays.”
“Save and help us!” said Yeo; “and what was he like unto?”
She made various signs to intimate that he had a monkey's face, and a gray beard like Yeo's. So far so good: but now came a series of manipulations about her pretty little neck, which set all their fancies at fault.
“I know,” said Cary, at last, bursting into a great laugh. “Sir Urian had a ruff on, as I live! Trunk-hose too, my fair dame? Stop—I'll make sure. Was his neck like the senor commandant's, the Spaniard?”
Ayacanora clapped her hands at finding herself understood, and the questioning went on.
“The 'devil' appeared like a monkey, with a gray beard, in a ruff;—humph!—”
“Ay!” said she in good enough Spanish, “Mono de Panama; viejo diablo de Panama.”
Yeo threw up his hands with a shriek—“Oh Lord of all mercies! Those were the last words of Mr. John Oxenham! Ay—and the devil is surely none other than the devil Don Francisco Xararte! Oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! my sweet young lady! my pretty little maid! and don't you know me? Don't you know Salvation Yeo, that carried you over the mountains, and used to climb for the monkey-cups for you, my dear young lady? And William Penberthy too, that used to get you flowers; and your poor dear father, that was just like Mr. Cary there, only he had a black beard, and black curls, and swore terribly in his speech, like a Spaniard, my dear young lady?”
And the honest fellow, falling on his knees, covered Ayacanora's hands with kisses; while all the crew, fancying him gone suddenly mad, crowded aft.
“Steady, men, and don't vex him!” said Amyas. “He thinks that he has found his little maid at last.”