The old culprit fell on his knees, and trembling violently, prayed Cayley for the love of the Virgin to spare him.
‘One moment, caballeros,’ he cried, ‘I will give you all I possess. But I am poor, very poor, and I have a sick wife at the disposition of your worships.’
‘Wherefore art thou fumbling at thy foot? Thou carriest not thy wife in thy shoe?’
‘I cannot untie the string—my hand trembles; will your worships permit me to take out my knife?’
He did so, and cutting the carefully knotted thong of a leather bag which had been concealed in the leg of his stocking, poured out a handful of small coin and began to weep piteously.
Said Cayley, ‘Come, come, none of that, or we shall feel it our duty to shoot thy donkey that thou may’st have something to whimper for.’
The genuine tears of the poor old fellow at last touched the heart of the jester.
‘We know now that thou art poor,’ said he, ‘for we have taken all thou hadst. And as it is the religion of the Ingleses, founded on the practice of their celebrated saint, Robino Hoodo, to levy funds from the rich for the benefit of the needy, hold out thy sombero, and we will bestow a trifle upon thee.’
So saying he poured back the plunder; to which was added, to the astonishment of the receiver, some supplementary pieces that nearly equalled the original sum.