From that time I wished evil to the cruel blind man, and, although he was kind to me afterwards and cured me, I saw very well that he enjoyed my cruel punishment. He washed the bruises and places torn by the bits of the broken jug, but he smiled as he did so, saying, “What would you have, Lazaro? If I wish you ill I cure you and restore you to health,” with other jokes which were not to my taste, when I had only half recovered from my wounds. I now wanted to free myself from him, thinking that a few more such blows might free him from me. He was not much inclined to see to my health and welfare, and even if I had wished to forgive him the blow with the jug, his evil treatment of me from that time would have prevented it. Without cause or reason, the malignant blind man was always beating me and knocking me about. If any one asked him why he treated me so badly, he told the story of the jug, adding: “Think you that my boy is a little innocent? Well, listen and judge whether the devil himself could have played such tricks. Who could believe that such a small boy could be so depraved.” Then they said: “Chastise him in God’s name,” and he never did anything else. So I led him by the worst ways, seeking to do him harm, taking him over stony places and into mud. [Sidenote: Lazaro is beaten, so the blind man is led into the mud.] He always beat me on the back of my head, so that it was covered with bruises, and although I cried out that I did not do it on purpose, but only because there was no better road, he did not believe me, such was the astuteness and intelligence of the old ruffian. In order that your Honour may judge of the cleverness of this knowing old man I will relate one thing out of many that happened while I was with him. When we left Salamanca his intention was to go to Toledo, for he said that the people there were richer, though not very charitable. He repeated this saying, “The hard man gives more than the penniless man.” We took the road by the best places, where we were well received. It happened that we came to a place called Almorox[16] at the time of the vintage. A grape-gatherer gave us a bunch out of charity. As the baskets are knocked about, and the grapes at that time are very hard, the blind man kept the bunch in his hand and, to content me, he determined to have a banquet with it, instead of putting it in his bag. For on that day he had given me many blows and kicks. [16] Almorox is a village with three hundred houses formed in irregular streets and an open square. The church of San Cristoval has a fine north door. The place belonged to the Duke of Escalona. Its vineyards produce wine like Valdepeñas. It is about twelve miles from the town of Escalona.