These strange and never-before-seen ceremonies being ended, Don Quixote could not rest until he was mounted on horseback that he might go to seek adventures. He therefore caused Rozinante to be instantly saddled, leaped on his back, and embracing the Innkeeper, thanked him in a thousand wild and ridiculous ways for the great favour he had done him in dubbing him Knight. The Innkeeper, who was only eager to be rid of him without delay, answered him in the same fashion, and let him march off without demanding from him a single farthing for his food or lodging.
[Illustration: DON QUIXOTE TO THE RESCUE OF ANDREW]
Of what befell our Knight when he left the Inn
It was dawn when Don Quixote went out from the Inn, so full of pleasure to behold himself knighted that his very horse-girths were ready to burst for joy. But calling to memory some advice that the Innkeeper had given him, about the necessity of carrying with him money and clean shirts when he went on his adventures, he determined to return to his house and obtain these things, and also find for himself a Squire. For this office he fixed in his own mind upon a ploughman, a neighbour of his, a poor man who had many children, but yet a man who was very fit as he thought to be his Squire.
With this view he turned Rozinante towards his own village, who, knowing that he was on his way home, began to trot along with so good a will that he seemed not to touch the ground.
He had not travelled far when he heard from a thicket hard by the shrill cries of some weak and delicate mortal in grievous distress.
No sooner did he hear them than he exclaimed: 'I am indeed thankful for the favour done to me by giving me so soon an opportunity of performing what is due to my profession, and gathering the fruits of my desires. These cries doubtless come from some distressed man or woman who has need of my protection and aid.'
Then turning the reins, he guided Rozinante towards the place whence the voice seemed to proceed. And within a few paces after he had entered into the thicket, he saw a mare tied up to one oak, and to another was tied a youth, all naked from the middle upward, of about fifteen years of age. Now it was he that cried so pitifully, and not without cause. For a sturdy fellow of a farmer was beating him soundly with a girdle, accompanying each stroke with a reproof and piece of advice, saying: 'The tongue must peace and the eyes be wary.' And the boy, whose name was Andrew, answered: 'I will never do it again, good master, I will never do it again. I promise to have more care of your things from henceforth.'