Myself. - Good day to you, my gentleman. The weather is hot, and
yonder water appears delicious. I am almost tempted to dismount
and regale myself with a slight draught.
Guide. - Your worship can do no better. The day is, as you say,
hot; you can do no better than drink a little of this water. I
have myself just drunk. I would not, however, advise you to give
that pony any, it appears heated and blown.
Myself. - It may well be so. I have been galloping at least two
leagues in pursuit of a fellow who engaged to guide me to
Finisterra, but who deserted me in a most singular manner, so much
so, that I almost believe him to be a thief, and no true man. You
do not happen to have seen him?
Guide. - What kind of a man might he be?
Myself. - A short, thick fellow, very much like yourself, with a
hump upon his back, and, excuse me, of a very ill-favoured
countenance.
Guide. - Ha, ha! I know him. He ran with me to this fountain,
where he has just left me. That man, Sir Cavalier, is no thief.
If he is any thing at all, he is a Nuveiro, - a fellow who rides
upon the clouds, and is occasionally whisked away by a gust of
wind.
