His whole mind was given to stories - stories of knights and their daring deeds.
He cared nothing for poetry or philosophy. He read no histories nor books of travel. Now, what kind of books do you suppose he read? He was so wrapped up in his books that he forgot his horse, his dog, and even his niece. When the weather was fine he would sit in his little library, or under the apple trees in his garden, and read all day. He was seldom seen without a book in his hand. He spent almost all his time in reading, reading, reading. But of this horse I will tell you much more in the course of my story. In the barn there was a horse as old and as lean as the greyhound. But all old-fashioned gentlemen kept greyhounds in those days. This dog was very lean and slender, and his hunting days had long been past. On the kitchen doorstep an old greyhound was always lying. These weapons had belonged to his great-grandfather, long ago, when men knew but little about guns and gunpowder. In the hallway of his old-fashioned house a short, rusty sword was always hanging and leaning against the wall were a rusty lance and a big rawhide shield. On Sundays, however, he put on a plush coat and short velvet breeches and soft slippers with silver buckles. On week days he wore a coarse blouse and blue trousers of homespun stuff. His face was thin, his nose was long, his hair was turning gray. He was more than fifty years of age, and quite tall and slender. Quixana was rather odd in his appearance and dress, as all old-fashioned gentlemen are apt to be. A poor man who lived in a cottage near by was employed to do the work on the farm and he did so well that the master had much leisure time and was troubled but little with the cares of business.
So the house was kept and managed by an old servant woman who was more wrinkled than wise and more talkative than handsome. His niece was not yet twenty years of age. He lived with his niece in his own farmhouse close by a quiet little village in the province of La Mancha. He was gentle and kind, and very brave and all who knew him loved him. Some said it was this, some said it was that but his neighbors called him "the good Mr. What his real name was, no one outside of his village seemed to know.
This gentleman had so many odd ways and did so many strange things that he not only amused his neighbors and distressed his friends, but made himself famous throughout the world. Many years ago there lived in Spain a very old-fashioned gentleman whom you would have been glad to know.
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