The next that came was Polanco, making a great noise, and asking for a long, sad-coloured gown, a big cross, an overgrown false beard, and a bell. He used to go about at night in this dress, crying, “Remember you are to die, and be kind to the souls departed, &c.,” which brought him in considerable alms; and when he found a house open, he went in, and if nobody was in the way stole all that came to his hand. If anybody saw him, he rung his bell, and in a dismal tone, as he knew how to frame it, cried, “Remember, brethren, &c.” All these and many more contrivances, and strange ways of stealing, I learned in a month I continued among them. To return where I left off: I showed the beads and told them the story; they applauded my ingenuity, and the old woman took them, and went about saying they belonged to a poor maiden gentlewoman, who was fain to sell them for bread, having her story ready for every occasion. The old jade wept whenever she pleased, wrung her hands, and sighed most bitterly; she called all the people, children; and over a good smock, jerkin, gown and petticoats, wore a tattered long robe of sackcloth, given her by an anchorite, her friend, who lived on the mountains by Alcalá. Her business was to manage the wardrobe, to counsel and conceal; but the devil, who is always kind to his servants, so ordered it, that going one day to a house to sell some clothes and other things, somebody there knew their own goods, sent for an officer, secured the old hag, whom we called Mother Lebrusca, and she presently discovered all the plot, told how we all lived, and that we were gentlemen of prey. The officer left her in the gaol, and came to our house, where he found me and all my companions. He had half a dozen under-catchpoles along with him, and removed the whole sharping congregation to the prison, where our gentility saw itself in great peril.
