“I’ll tell you my mind, and that
Holds good to the gates of Zion:
I would rather be the head of a rat
Than be the tail of a lion.”
“I know I’m not much to look at,” admitted Pedrillo, a trifle aggrieved by the comparison.
“No, you are not,” assented Tia Marta. “Truth is God’s daughter. But you are a handy little piece of a man, and since I have a loaf of bread, I’ll not ask for cheese-cakes. The poor should be contented with what they find and not go seeking for truffles at the bottom of the sea.”
The two were so absorbed in each other that they failed to notice Pilarica, who had ridden up on Don Quixote and was now charging joyously down the line, telling everybody that Don Pedrillo and Tia Marta, while both making believe to kiss Juanito, had really kissed each other. The news was received with peals of laughter, and all the carriers ran forward, voicing saucy congratulations:
“No summer like a late summer,” mocked Bastiano.
“You would better take me, Doña Marta,” advised Tenorio, whose legs looked longer than ever, attired in their festival garb of chestnut-colored breeches, with rows of glass buttons down the sides, “for I have a nose, at least.” And then, turning back, he sang over his shoulder at Pedrillo:
“Poor boy! You haven’t a nose,
For God did not will it so;
Fairings you buy at the fair,
But as for noses, no.”
“Don’t trust him, Doña Marta,” teased Hilario, whose shabby suit was set off for the occasion by a red and gold handkerchief. “He loses his heart to somebody every trip.
“ ‘His loves I might compare
To plates of earthenware.
Break one, and Mother of Grace!
Another takes its place.’ ”