The Friar who had entertained us with this story, finished here. After which his friend and himself commenced a conversation respecting the wars of Granada. During all this time the muleteer, perceiving that we were almost at the gates of Cazalla, seemed particularly anxious to say a few words to me in private. Since our last adventure, he had not uttered a word, but, as we were now about to part, perhaps never to meet again, he at length broke silence by demanding of me three crowns, for the charges of my journey, as well as for my share of what we had expended at the inn where we had supped so well the preceding evening, and breakfasted so delicately that very morning. This was any thing but a joke to me, who little expected such a demand, and might have defied him or any other person to have made me pay it, not having half that sum in my purse; and we soon grew so warm in our arguments against each other on this subject, that I had armed myself with two flints, which I should certainly have levelled at his head, had not the Friars taken compassion on me, and prevented me from getting myself well thrashed. These gentlemen set themselves up for umpires in the case, and after having heard both parties, condemned me to pay the muleteer a fourth part of what he demanded. I was obliged to obey this decree, which, favorable as it was towards me, reduced my finances so low, that I had scarcely sufficient remaining in my purse to defray the expences of a supper and night’s lodging at another Inn, whither I repaired after having taken leave of the two Friars, and the unlucky muleteer, who had no great reason, in my opinion, to thank his stars that he ever met with me. CHAP. X. _Guzman becomes an Innkeeper’s Boy._ Behold me now, friendly reader, in the best inn at Cazalla, twelve leagues from Seville, where the money I had left was sufficient to pay for a good supper and a good bed to lie down on. Instead, however, of enjoying a profound sleep, which such excellent fare was calculated to procure me, the state of my affairs presented itself to my imagination in a thousand distressing forms, and prevented me from sleeping a wink the whole of the night. “Hitherto,” said I to myself, “I have always had plenty to eat and drink. But this will now soon be over. When a man has bread to eat he may support himself under any affliction. ’Tis well to have a father; ’tis well to have a mother; but nothing is to be compared to a good bellyful.”