C3f 
 
 Bennett
 
 f ,
 
 MASTER SKYLARK
 
 "MASTEB 8KVLARK, THOU SHALT HAVE THY WISH. 1 SATI) QUEEN 
 ELIZABETH." (Seep. 261)
 
 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 A Story of 
 Shakspere's Time 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN BENNETT 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Century Co.
 
 Copyright, 1896, 1897, by 
 THE CENTURY Co. 
 
 Copyright, 1897, by 
 JOHN BENNETT 
 
 PB1NTE0 IN U. S. A.
 
 SRLi 
 URlj 
 
 ALL THAT NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S MOTHER 
 
 WAS TO HIM, AND MORE, MY OWN MOTHER HAS BEEN TO ME 
 
 AND TO HER HERE I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK 
 
 WITH A NEVER-FAILING LOVE
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 I THE LOKD ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS .... 1 
 
 II NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S HOME .... 9 
 
 III THE LAST STRAW 17 
 
 IV OFF FOR COVENTRY ...... 25 
 
 V IN THE WARWICK ROAD ..... 28 
 
 VI THE MASTER-PLATER 33 
 
 VII "WELL SUNG, MASTER SKYLARK!" ... 39 
 
 VIII THE ADMIRAL'S COMPANY ..... 46 
 
 IX THE MAY-DAY PLAY 52 
 
 X AFTER THE PLAY 60 
 
 XI DISOWNED 64 
 
 XII A STRANGE AIDE 69 
 
 XIII A DASH FOR FREEDOM ..... 79 
 
 XIV AT BAY 87 
 
 XV LONDON TOWN 91 
 
 XVI MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAREW .... 102 
 
 XVII CAREW'S OFFER 113 
 
 XVIII MASTER HEYWOOD PROTESTS .... 120 
 
 XIX THE ROSE PLAY-HOUSE 127 
 
 XX DISAPPOINTMENT ....... 134 
 
 XXI "THE CHILDREN OF PAUL'S" . . . .140 
 
 XXII THE SKYLARK'S SONG 147 
 
 vii
 
 Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXIII 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 155 
 
 XXIV 
 
 THE MAKING OF A PLAYER ... 
 
 . 161 
 
 XXV 
 
 THE WANING OF THE YEAR . . 
 
 . 170 
 
 XXVI 
 
 TO SlNG BEFORE THE QUEEN . . . 
 
 . 179 
 
 XXVII 
 
 THE QUEEN'S PLAISANCE .... 
 
 . 187 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS . . . 
 
 . 194 
 
 XXIX 
 XXX 
 
 BACK TO GASTON CAREW .... 
 
 . 208 
 214 
 
 XXXI 
 
 IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE . . . 
 
 . 221 
 
 XXXII 
 
 THE LAST OF GASTON CAREW 
 
 . 231 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 CICELY DISAPPEARS 
 
 . 241 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN .... 
 
 . 245 
 
 XXXV 
 
 A SUDDEN RESOLVE ..... 
 
 . 259 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 WAYFARING HOME ..... 
 
 . 266 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 TURNED ADRIFT ...... 
 
 . 278 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 A STRANGE DAY ..... 
 
 . 282 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL . . . 
 
 . 288
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "MABTEH SKYLARK, THOU SHALT HAVE THT WISH," SAID QUEEN 
 
 ELIZABETH Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLATERS. THE TRUMPETERS AND THE 
 DRUMMERS LED, THEIR HORSES PRANCING, WHITE PLUMES 
 WAVING IN THE BREEZE 6 
 
 "WHUH BE-EST GOING, NICK?" ASKED ROGER DAWSON . . 26 
 
 "WHAT! How Now?" CRIED THE STRANGER, SHARPLY. "Dosi 
 
 LIKE OR LIKE ME NOT?" 34 
 
 " NICK THOUGHT OF His MOTHER'S SINGING ON A SUMMER'S EVEN- 
 ING DREW A DEEP BREATH AND BEGAN TO SING ... 56 
 
 "NOBODY BREAKS NOBODY'S HEARTS IN OLD JO-OHN SMITHSES 
 SHO-OP," DRAWLED THE SMITH, IN HIS DEEP VOICE; "NoR 
 STEALS NOBODY, NOTHER" 88 
 
 "DiccoN HAD OFTEN MADE NICK WHISTLES FROM THE WILLOWS 
 
 ALONG THE AVON WHEN NICK WAS A TODDLER" . . . 118 
 
 NICK PUT ONE LEG OVER THE SILL AND LOOKED BACK . . 132 
 "On, NICK, THOU ART MOST BEAUTIFUL TO SEE!" CRIED CICELY 142 
 "THAT VOICE, THAT VOICE!" NAT GILES PANTED TO HIMSELF 152 
 
 NICK GAVE THE SILVER BUCKLE FROM His CLOAK TO A BOY WHO 
 
 STOOD CRYING WITH COLD AND HUNGER IN THE STREET . 174 
 
 So NICK RODE HOME UPON THE BACK OF THE EARL OF ARUNDEL'S 
 
 MAN-AT-ARMS 210 
 
 "WHY, SIR, I'LL SING FOR THEE Now," SAID NICK, CHOKING 238 
 
 "Do NA THOU STRIKE ME AGAIN, THOU ROGUE!" SAID NICK 250 
 
 "On, NICK, WHAT Is IT?" SHE CRIED 272 
 
 MASTER SHAKSPERE MET THEM WITH OUTSTRETCHED HANDS 282
 
 MASTER SKYLARK
 
 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS 
 
 rTIHERE was an unwonted buzzing in the east end of 
 I Stratford on that next to the last day of April, 1596. 
 It was as if some one had thrust a stick into a hive of 
 bees and they had come whirling out to see. 
 
 The low stone guard- wall of old Clopton bridge, built a 
 hundred years before by rich Sir Hugh, sometime Mayor 
 of London, was lined with straddling boys, like strawber- 
 ries upon a spear of grass, and along the low causeway 
 from the west across the lowland to the town, brown-faced, 
 barefoot youngsters sat beside the roadway with their 
 chubby legs a-dangle down the mossy stones, staring 
 away into the south across the grassy levels of the valley 
 of the Stour. 
 
 Punts were poling slowly up the Avon to the bridge . 
 and at the outlets of the town, where the streets came down 
 to the waterside among the weeds, little knots of men and 
 serving-maids stood looking into the south and listening.
 
 2 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Some had waited for an hour, some for two ; yet still 
 there was no sound but the piping of the birds in white- 
 thorn hedges, the hollow lowing of kine knee-deep in 
 grassy meadows, and the long rush of the river through 
 the sedge beside the pebbly shore ; and naught to see but 
 quiet valleys, primrose lanes, and Warwick orchards white 
 with bloom, stretching away to the misty hills. 
 
 But still they stood and looked and listened. 
 
 The wind came stealing up out of the south, soft and 
 warm and sweet and still, moving the ripples upon the 
 river with gray gusts ; and, scudding free before the wind, 
 a dog came trotting up the road with wet pink tongue and 
 sidelong gait. At the throat of Clopton bridge he stopped 
 and scanned the way with dubious eye, then clapped his 
 tail between his legs and bolted for the town. The laugh- 
 ing shout that followed him into the Warwick road seemed 
 not to die away, but to linger in the air like the drowsy 
 hum of bees a hum that came and went at intervals 
 upon the shifting wind, and grew by littles, taking body 
 till it came unbroken as a long, low, distance-muffled mur- 
 mur from the south, so faint as scarcely to be heard. 
 
 Nick Attwood pricked his keen young ears. " They 're 
 coming, Robin hark 'e to the trampling ! " 
 
 Robin Getley held his breath and turned his ear toward 
 the south. The far-off murmur was a mutter now, denned 
 and positive, and, as the two friends listened, grew into a 
 drumming roll, and all at once above it came a shrill, high 
 sound like the buzzing of a gnat close by the ear. 
 
 Little Tom Davenant dropped from the finger-post, and
 
 THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS 3 
 
 came running up from the fork of the Banbury road, his 
 feet making little white puffs in the dust as he flew. 
 " They are coming ! they are coming ! " he shrieked as he 
 ran. 
 
 Then up to his feet sprang Robin Getley, upon the 
 saddle-backed coping-stones, his hand upon Nick Att- 
 wood's head to steady himself, and looked away where 
 the rippling Stour ran like a thread of silver beside the 
 dust-buff London road, and the little church of Atherstone 
 stood blue against the rolling Cotswold Hills. 
 
 " They are coming ! they are coming ! " shrilled little 
 Tom, and scrambled up the coping like a squirrel up 
 a rail. 
 
 A stir ran out along the guard-wall, some crying out, 
 some starting up. " Sit down ! sit down ! " cried others, 
 peering askance at the water gurgling green down below. 
 " Sit down, or we shall all be off ! " 
 
 Robin held his hand above his eyes. A cloud of dust 
 was rising from the London road and drifting off across 
 the fields like smoke when the old ricks burn in damp 
 weather a long, broad-sheeted mist; and in it were bits 
 of moving gold, shreds of bright colors vaguely seen, and 
 silvery gleams like the glitter of polished metal in the 
 sun. And as he looked the shifty wind came down out of 
 the west again and whirled the cloud of dust away, and 
 there he saw a long line of men upon horses coming at an 
 easy canter up the highway. Just as he had made this out 
 the line came rattling to a stop, the distant drumming of 
 hoofs was still, and as the long file knotted itself into a
 
 4 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 rosette of ruddy color amid the April green, a clear, shrill 
 trumpet blew and blew again. 
 
 " They are coming ! " shouted Robin, " they are com- 
 ing ! " and, turning, waved his cap. 
 
 A shout went up along the bridge. Those down below 
 came clambering up, the punts came poling with a rush of 
 foam, and a ripple ran along the edge of Stratford town 
 like the wind through a field of wheat. Windows creaked 
 and doors swung wide, and the workmen stopped in the 
 garden-plots to lean upon their mattocks and to look. 
 
 " They are coming ! " bellowed Raf e Hickathrift, the 
 butcher's boy, standing far out in the street, with his red 
 hands to his mouth for a trumpet, " they are coming ! " 
 and at that the doors of Bridge street grew alive with 
 eager eyes. 
 
 At early dawn the Oxford carrier had brought the news 
 that the players of the Lord High Admiral were coming 
 up to Stratford out of London from the south, to play on 
 May-day there ; and this was what had set the town to 
 buzzing like a swarm. For there were in England then 
 but three great companies, the High Chamberlain's, the 
 Earl of Pembroke's men, and the stage-players of my 
 Lord Charles Howard, High Admiral of the Realm ; and 
 the day on which they came into a Midland market-town 
 to play was one to mark with red and gold upon the 
 calendar of the uneventful year. 
 
 Away by the old mill-bridge there were fishermen 
 angling for dace and perch; but when the shout came 
 down from the London road they dropped their poles and
 
 THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYEKS 5 
 
 ran, through the willows and over the gravel, splashing 
 and thrashing among the rushes and sandy shallows, not 
 to be last when the players came. And old John Carter, 
 coming down the Warwick road with a load of hay, laid on 
 the lash until piebald Dobbin snorted in dismay and broke 
 into a lumbering run to reach the old stone bridge in time. 
 
 The distant horsemen now were coming on again, riding 
 in double file. They had flung their banners to the breeze, 
 and on the changing wind, with the thumping of horses' 
 hoofs, came by snatches the sound of a kettledrummer 
 drawing his drumhead tight, and beating as he drew, and 
 the muffled blasts of a trumpeter proving his lips. 
 
 Fynes Morrison and Walter Stirley, who had gone to 
 Cowslip lane to meet the march, were running on ahead, 
 and shouting as they ran : " There 's forty men, and 
 sumpter-mules ! and, oh, the bravest banners and attire 
 and the trumpets are a cloth-yard long ! Make room for 
 us, make room for us, and let us up ! n 
 
 A bowshot off, the trumpets blew a blast so high, so 
 clear, so keen, that it seemed a flame of fire in the air, and 
 as the brassy fanfare died away across the roofs of the 
 quiet town, the kettledrums clanged, the cymbals clashed, 
 and all the company began to sing the famous old song 
 of the hunt : 
 
 "The hunt is up, the hunt is up, 
 Sing merrily we, the hunt is up ! 
 The wild birds sing, 
 The dun deer fling, 
 The forest aisles with music ring ! 
 Tantara, tautara, tantara !
 
 6 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 "Then ride along, ride along, 
 Stout and strong ! 
 
 Farewell to grief and care ; 
 With a rollicking cheer 
 For the high dun deer 
 
 And a life in the open air ! 
 Tantara, the hunt is up, lads ; 
 
 Tantara, the bugles bray ! 
 Tantara, tantara, tantara, 
 Hio, hark away ! " 
 
 The first of the riders had reached old Clopton bridge, 
 and the banners strained upon their staves in the freshen- 
 ing river-wind. The trumpeters and the drummers led, 
 their horses prancing, white plumes waving in the breeze, 
 and the April sunlight dancing on the brazen horns and 
 the silver bellies of the kettledrums. 
 
 Then came the banners of the company, curling down 
 with a silky swish, and unfurling again with a snap, like 
 a broad-lashed whip. The greatest one was rosy red, and 
 on it was a gallant ship upon a flowing sea, bearing upon 
 its mainsail the arms of my Lord Charles Howard, High 
 Admiral of England. Upon its mate was a giant-bearded 
 man with a fish's tail, holding a trident in his hand and 
 blowing upon a shell, the Triton of the seas which Eng- 
 land ruled ; this flag was bright sea-blue. The third was 
 white, and on it was a red wild rose with a golden heart, 
 the common standard of the company. 
 
 After the flags came twoscore men, the players of the 
 Admiral, the tiring-men, grooms, horse-boys, and serving- 
 knaves, well mounted on good horses, and all of them clad
 
 THE LORD ADMIRAL'S PLAYER& "THE TRUMPETERS AND THE DRTTMMERS LED, 
 THEIR HORSES PRANCING, WHITE PLUMES WAVING IN THE BREEZE,"
 
 THE LOED ADMIRAL'S PLAYERS 7 
 
 in scarlet tabards blazoned with the coat-armor of their 
 master. Upon their caps they wore the famous badge of 
 the Howards, a rampant silver demi-lion; and beneath 
 their tabards at the side could be seen their jerkins of 
 many-colored silk, their silver-buckled belts, and long, thin 
 Spanish rapiers, slapping their horses on the flanks at 
 every stride. Their legs were cased in high-topped riding- 
 boots of tawny cordovan, with gilt spurs, and the housings 
 of their saddles were of blue with the gilt anchors of the 
 admiralty upon them. On their bridles were jingling bits 
 of steel, which made a constant tinkling, like a thousand 
 little bells very far away. 
 
 Some had faces smooth as boys and were quite young ; 
 and others wore sharp-pointed beards with stiff- waxed mus- 
 taches, and were older men, with a tinge of iron in their hair 
 and lines of iron in their faces, hardened by the lif e they 
 led ; and some, again, were smooth-shaven, so often and so 
 closely that their faces were blue with the beard beneath 
 the skin. But, oh, to Nicholas Attwood and the rest of 
 Stratford boys, they were a dashing, rakish, admirable lot, 
 with the air of something even greater than lords, and a 
 keen knowingness in their sparkling, worldly eyes that 
 made a common wise man seem almost a fool beside them ! 
 
 And so they came riding up out of the south : 
 
 " Then ride along, ride along, 
 Stout and strong ! 
 
 Farewell to grief and care ; 
 With a rollicking cheer 
 For the high dun deer 
 
 And a life in the open air ! n
 
 8 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah ! God save the Queen ! " 
 
 A dropping shout went up the street like an arrow-flight 
 scattering over the throng ; and the players, waving their 
 scarlet caps until the long line tossed like a poppy-garden 
 in a summer rain, gave a cheer that fairly set the crockery 
 to dancing upon the shelves of the stalls in Middle Row. 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted Nicholas Attwood, his blue eyes 
 shining with delight. " Hurrah, hurrah, for the Admiral's 
 men ! " And high in the air he threw his cap, as a wild 
 cheer broke from the eddying crowd, and the arches of 
 the long gray bridge rang hollow with the tread of hoofs. 
 Whiff, came the wind; down dropped the hat upon the 
 very saddle-peak of one tall fellow riding along among the 
 rest. Catching it quickly as it fell, he laughed and tossed 
 it back; and when Nick caught it whirling in the air, a 
 shilling jingled from it to the ground. 
 
 Then up Fore Bridge street they all trooped after into 
 Stratford town. 
 
 " Oh," cried Robin, " it is brave, brave ! " 
 
 " Brave ? " cried Nick. " It makes my very heart jump. 
 And see, Robin, 't is a shilling, a real silver shilling oh, 
 what fellows they all be! Hurrah for the Lord High 
 Admiral's men ! "
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 NICHOLAS ATTWOOiyS HOME 
 
 NICK Attwood's father came home that night bitterly 
 wroth. 
 
 The burgesses of the town council had ordered him to 
 build a chimney upon his house, or pay ten shillings fine ; 
 and shillings were none too plenty with Simon Attwood, 
 the tanner of Old Town. 
 
 " Soul and body o' man ! " said he, " they talk as if they 
 owned the world, and a man could na live upon it save by 
 their leave. I must build my fire in a pipe, or pay ten 
 shillings fine ? Things ha' come to a pretty pass a pretty 
 pass, indeed ! " He kicked the rushes that were strewn 
 upon the floor, and ground the clay with his heel. " This 
 litter will ha' to be all took out. Atkins will be here at 
 six i' the morning to do the job, and a lovely mess he will 
 make o' the house ! " 
 
 " Do na fret thee, Simon," said Mistress Attwood, gen- 
 tly. " The rushes need a changing, and I ha' pined this 
 long while to lay the floor wi' new clay from Shottery 
 common. 'T is the sweetest earth ! Nick shall take the 
 
 9
 
 10 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 hangings down, and right things up when the chimley 's 
 done." 
 
 So at cockcrow next morning Nick slipped out of his 
 straw bed, into his clothes, and down the winding stair, 
 while his parents were still asleep in the loft, and, sousing 
 his head in the bucket at the well, began his work before 
 the old town clock in the chapel tower had yet stmck four. 
 
 The rushes had not been changed since Easter, and were 
 full of dust and grease from the cooking and the table. 
 Even the fresher sprigs of mint among them smelled stale 
 and old. When they were all in the barrow, Nick sighed 
 with relief and wiped his hands upon the dripping grass. 
 
 It had rained in the night, a soft, warm rain, and 
 the air was full of the smell of the apple-bloom and pear 
 from the little orchard behind the house. The bees were 
 already humming about the straw-bound hives along the 
 garden wall, and a misguided green woodpecker clung 
 upside down to the eaves, and thumped at the beams of 
 the house. 
 
 It was very still there in the gray of the dawn. He 
 could hear the rush of the water through the sedge in the 
 mill-race, and then, all at once, the roll of the wheel, the 
 low rumble of the mill-gear, and the cool whisper of the 
 wind in the willows. 
 
 When he went back into the house again the painted 
 cloths upon the wall seemed dingier than ever compared 
 with the clean, bright world outside. The sky-blue coat 
 of the Prodigal Son was brown with the winter's smoke ; 
 the Red Sea towered above Pharaoh's ill-starred host like
 
 NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S HOME 11 
 
 an inky mountain; and the homely maxims on the next 
 breadth " Do no Wrong," " Beware of Sloth," " Overcome 
 Pride/' and " Keep an Eye on the Pence "could scarcely 
 be read. 
 
 Nick jumped up on the three-legged stool and began to 
 take them down. The nails were crooked and jammed in 
 the wall, and the last came out with an unexpected jerk. 
 Losing his balance, Nick caught at the table-board which 
 leaned against the wall ; but the stool capsized, and he came 
 down on the floor with such a flap of tapestry that the 
 ashes flew out all over the room. 
 
 He sat up dazed, and rubbed his elbows, then looked 
 around and began to laugh. 
 
 He could hear heavy footsteps overhead. A door 
 opened, and his father's voice called sternly from the head 
 of the stair : " What madcap folly art thou up to now?" 
 
 " I be up to no folly at all," said Nick, " but down, sir. 
 I fell from the stool. There 's no harm done." 
 
 " Then be about thy business," said Attwood, coming 
 slowly down the stairs. 
 
 He was a gaunt man, smelling of leather and untanned 
 hides. His short iron-gray hair grew low down upon his 
 forehead, and his hooked nose, grim wide mouth, and 
 heavy under jaw gave him a look at once forbidding and 
 severe. His doublet of serge and his fustian hose were 
 stained with liquor from the vats, and his eyes were 
 heavy with sleep. 
 
 The smile faded from Nick's face. " Shall I throw the 
 rushes into the street, sir?"
 
 12 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Nay ; take them to the muck-hill. The burgesses ha' 
 made a great to-do about folk throwing trash into the 
 highways. Soul and body o' man ! " he growled, " a man 
 must ask if he may breathe. And good hides going 
 a-begging, too ! " 
 
 Nick hurried away, for he dreaded his father's sullen 
 moods. 
 
 The swine were squealing in their styes, the cattle 
 bawled about the straw-thatched barns in Chapel lane, 
 and long files of gabbling ducks waddled hurriedly down 
 to the river through the primroses under the hedge. He 
 could hear the milkmaids calling in the meadows; and 
 when he trundled slowly home the smoke was creeping up 
 in pale-blue threads from the draught-holes in the wall. 
 
 The tanner's house stood a little back from the thor- 
 oughfare, in that part of Stratford-on-Avon where the 
 south end of Church street turns from Bull lane toward 
 the river. It was roughly built of timber and plaster, the 
 black beams showing through the yellow lime in curious 
 squares and triangles. The roof was of red tiles, and 
 where the spreading elms leaned over it the peaked gable 
 was green with moss. 
 
 At the side of the house was a garden of lettuce ; be- 
 yond the garden a rough wall on which the grass was 
 growing. Sometimes wild primroses grew on top of this 
 wall, and once a yellow daffodil. Beyond the wall were 
 other gardens owned by thrifty neighbors, and open lands 
 in common to them all, where foot-paths wandered here 
 and there in a free, haphazard way.
 
 NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S HOME 13 
 
 Behind the house was a well and a wood-pile, and along 
 the lane ran a whitewashed paling fence with a little gate, 
 from which the path went up to the door through rows of 
 bright, old-fashioned flowers. 
 
 Nick's mother was getting the breakfast. She was a 
 gentle woman with a sweet, kind face, and a little air of 
 quiet dignity that made her doubly dear to Nick by con- 
 trast with his father's unkempt ways. He used to think 
 that, in her worsted gown, with its falling collar of Ant- 
 werp linen, and a soft, silken coif upon her fading hair, 
 she was the most beautiful woman in all the world. 
 
 She put one arm about his shoulders, brushed back his 
 curly hair, and kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 " Thou art mine own good little son," said she, tenderly, 
 " and I will bake thee a cake in the new chimley on the 
 morrow for thy May-day feast." 
 
 Then she helped him fetch the trestles from the buttery, 
 set the board, spread the cloth, and lay the wooden plat- 
 ters, pewter cups, and old horn spoons in place. Break- 
 fast being ready, she then called his father from the 
 yard. Nick waited deftly upon them both, so that they 
 were soon done with the simple meal of rye-bread, lettuce, 
 cheese, and milk. 
 
 As he carried away the empty platters and brought 
 water and a towel for them to wash their hands, he said 
 quietly, although his eyes were bright and eager, "The 
 Lord High Admiral's company is to act a stage-play at 
 the guildhall to-morrow before Master Davenant the 
 Mayor and the town burgesses."
 
 14 MASTER SKYLABK 
 
 Simon Attwood said nothing, but his brows drew down. 
 
 "They came yestreen from London town by Oxford 
 way to play in Stratford and at Coventry, and are at the 
 Swan Inn with Master Geoffrey Inchbold oh, ever so 
 many of them, in scarlet jerkins, and cloth of gold, and 
 doublets of silk laced up like any lord ! It is a very good 
 company, they say." 
 
 Mistress Attwood looked quickly at her husband. 
 " What will they play ? " she asked. 
 
 "I can na say surely, mother ' Tamburlane,' perhaps, 
 or ' The Troublesome Reign of Old King John/ The play 
 will be free, father may I go, sir?" 
 
 " And lose thy time from school ? " 
 
 " There is no school to-morrow, sir." 
 
 " Then have ye naught to do, that ye waste the day in 
 idle folly ? " asked the tanner, sternly. 
 
 "I will do my work beforehand, sir," replied Nick, 
 quietly, though his hand trembled a little as he brushed 
 up the crumbs. 
 
 " It is May-day, Simon," interceded Mistress Attwood, 
 " and a bit of pleasure will na harm the lad." 
 
 " Pleasure ? " said the tanner, sharply. " If he does na 
 find pleasure enough in his work, his book, and his home, 
 he shall na seek it of low rogues and strolling scape- 
 graces." 
 
 " But, Simon," said Mistress Attwood, " 't is the Lord 
 Admiral's own company surely they are not all graceless ! 
 And," she continued with very quiet dignity, " since mine 
 own cousin Anne Hathaway married Will SKakspere the
 
 NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S HOME 15 
 
 play-actor, 't is scarcely kind to call all players rogues 
 and low." 
 
 "No more o' this, Margaret/ 7 cried Attwood, flushing 
 angrily. " Thou art ever too ready with the boy's part 
 against me. He shall na go I '11 find a thing or two for 
 him to do among the vats that will take this taste for 
 idleness out of his mouth. He shall na go : so that be all 
 there is on it." Rising abruptly, he left the room. 
 
 Nick clenched his hands. 
 
 " Nicholas," said his mother, softly. 
 
 " Yes, mother," said he ; "I know. But he should na 
 flout thee so ! And, mother, the Queen goes to the play 
 father himself saw her at Coventry ten years ago. Is 
 what the Queen does idle folly ? " 
 
 His mother took him by the hand and drew him to her 
 side, with a smile that was half a sigh. "Art thou the 
 Queen ? " 
 
 " Nay," said he ; " and it 's all the better for England, 
 bke enough. But surely, mother, it can na be wrong" 
 
 " To honour thy father ? " said she, quickly, laying her 
 finger across his lips. "Nay, lad; it is thy bounden 
 duty." 
 
 Nick turned and looked up at her wonderingly. 
 " Mother," said he, " art thou an angel come down out of 
 heaven ? " 
 
 " Nay," she answered, patting his flushed cheek ; " I be 
 only the every-day mother of a fierce little son who hath 
 many a hard, hard lesson to learn. Now eat thy break- 
 fast thou hast been up a long while."
 
 16 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Nick kissed her impetuously and sat down, but his heart 
 still rankled within him. 
 
 All Stratford would go to the play. He could hear the 
 murmur of voices and music, the bursts of laughter and 
 applause, the tramp of happy feet going up the guildhall 
 stairs to the Mayor's show. Everybody went in free at the 
 Mayor's show. The other boys could stand on stools and 
 see it all. They could hold horses at the gate of the inn 
 at the September fair, and so see all the farces. They 
 could see the famous Norwich puppet-play. But he what 
 pleasure did he ever have ? A tawdry pageant by a lot of 
 clumsy country bumpkins at Whitsuntide or Pentecost, or 
 a silly school-boy masque at Christmas, with the master 
 scolding like a heathen Turk. It was not fair. 
 
 And now he 'd have to work all May-day. May-day 
 out of all the year! Why, there was to be a May-pole 
 and a morris-dance, and a roasted calf, too, in Master 
 Wainwright's field, since Margery was chosen Queen of 
 the May. And Peter Finch was to be Robin Hood, and 
 Nan Rogers Maid Marian, and wear a kirtle of Kendal 
 green and, oh, but the May-pole would be brave ; high as 
 the ridge of the guildschool roof, and hung with ribbons 
 like a rainbow ! Geoffrey Hall was to lead the dance, 
 too, and the other boys and girls would all be there. And 
 where would he be ? Sousing hides in the tannery vats. 
 Truly his father was a hard man ! 
 
 He pushed the cheese away.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE LAST STRAW 
 
 ETTLE John Summer had a new horn-book that cost 
 a silver penny. The handle was carven and the 
 horn was clear as honey. The other little boys stood round 
 about in speechless envy, or murmured their A B C's and 
 " ba be bi's " along the chapel steps. The lower-form boys 
 were playing leap-frog past the almshouse, and Geoffrey 
 Gosse and the vicar's son were in the public gravel-pit, 
 throwing stones at the robins in the Great House elms 
 across the lane. 
 
 Some few dull fellows sat upon the steps behind the 
 school-house, anxiously poring over their books. But the 
 larger boys of the Fable Class stood in an excited group 
 beneath the shadow of the overhanging second story of 
 the grammar-school, talking all at once, each louder than 
 the other, until the noise was deafening. 
 
 " Oh, Nick, such goings on ! " called Robin Getley, 
 
 whose father was a burgess, as Nick Attwood came slowly 
 
 up the street, saying his sentences for the day over and 
 
 over to himself in hopeless desperation, having had no 
 
 * 17
 
 18 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 time to learn them at home. " Stratford Council has had 
 a quarrel, and there 's to be no stage-play after all." 
 
 " What ? " cried Nick, in amazement. " No stage-play ? 
 And why not ? " 
 
 "Why," said Robin, "it was just this way my father 
 told me of it. Sir Thomas Lucy, High Sheriff of Worces- 
 ter, y' know, rode in from Charlcote yesternoon, and 
 with him Sir Edward Greville of Milcote. So the bur- 
 gesses made a feast for them at the Swan Inn. Sir 
 Thomas fetched a fine, fat buck, and the town stood good 
 for ninepence wine and twopence bread, and broached a 
 keg of sturgeon. And when they were all met together 
 there, eating, and drinking, and making merry what? 
 Why, in came my Lord Admiral's players from London 
 town, ruffling it like high dukes, and not caring two pops 
 for Sir Thomas, or Sir Edward, or for Stratford burgesses 
 all in a heap ; but sat them down at the table straightway, 
 and called for ale, as if they owned the place ; and not 
 being served as soon as they desired, they laid hands upon 
 Sir Thomas's server as he came in from the buttery with 
 his tray full, and took both meat and drink." 
 
 "What? "cried Nick. 
 
 " As sure as shooting, they did ! n said Robin ; " and 
 when Sir Thomas's gentry yeomen would have seen to it 
 what ? Why, my Lord Admiral's master-player clapped 
 his hand to his poniard-hilt, and dared them come and 
 take it if they could." 
 
 " To Sir Thomas Lucy's men ? " exclaimed Nick, aghast 
 
 " Ay, to their teeth ! Sir Edward sprang up then, and
 
 THE LAST STRAW 19 
 
 said it was a shame for players to oenave so outrageously 
 in Will Shakspere's own home town. And at that Sir 
 Thomas, who, y' know, has always misliked Will, flared 
 up like a bull at a red rag, and swore that all stage-play- 
 ers be runagate rogues, anyway, and Will Shakspere 
 neither more nor less than a deer-stealing scape-gallows." 
 
 " Surely he did na say that in Stratford Council ? " pro- 
 tested Nick. 
 
 "Ay, but he did that very thing," said Robin; "and 
 when that was out, the master-player sprang upon the 
 table, overturning half the ale, and cried out that Will 
 Shakspere was his very own true friend, and the sweetest 
 fellow in all England, and that whosoever gainsaid it was 
 a hemp-cracking rascal, and that he would prove it upon 
 his back with a quarter-staff whenever and wherever he 
 chose, be he Sir Thomas Lucy, St. George and the Dragon, 
 Guy of Warwick, and the great dun cow, all rolled up in 
 one ! " 
 
 " Robin Getley, is this the very truth, or art thou cozen- 
 ing me ? " 
 
 "Upon my word, it is the truth," said Robin. "And 
 that 's not all. Sir Edward cried out * Fie ! ' upon the 
 player for a saucy varlet ; but the fellow only laughed, and 
 bowed quite low, and said that he took no offense from 
 Sir Edward for saying that, since it could not honestly be 
 denied, but that Sir Thomas did not know the truth from 
 a truckle-bed in broad daylight, and was but the remnant 
 of a gentleman to boot." 
 
 " The bold-faced rogue 1
 
 20 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Ay, that he is," nodded Robin ; " and for his boldness 
 Sir Thomas straightway demanded that the High Bailiff 
 refuse the company license to play in Stratford." 
 
 " Refuse the Lord High Admiral's players ? " 
 
 " Marry, no one else. And then Master John Shakspere. 
 wroth at what Sir Thomas had said of his son Will, vowed 
 that he would send a letter down to London town, and lay 
 the whole coil before the Lord High Admiral himself. 
 For ever since that he was High Bailiff, the best compa- 
 nies of England had always been bidden to play in Strat- 
 ford, and it would be an ill thing now to refuse the Lord 
 Admiral's company after granting licenses to both my 
 Lord Pembroke's and the High Chamberlain's." 
 
 " And so it would," spoke up Walter Roche ; " for there 
 are our own townsmen, Richard and Cuthbert Burbage, 
 who are cousins of mine, a,nd John Hemynge and Thomas 
 Greene, besides Will Sfyalbspere and his brother Edmund, 
 all playing in the Lord Chamberlain's company in London 
 before the Queen, ^t would be a black score against them 
 all with the Lorn Admiral I doubt not he would pay 
 them out." 
 
 " That he would," said Robin, " and so said my father 
 and Alderman Henry Walker, who, y' know, is Will 
 Shakspere's own friend. And some of the burgesses who 
 cared not a rap for that were afeard of offending the 
 Lord Admiral. But Sir Thomas vowed that my Lord 
 Howard was at Cadiz with Walter Raleigh and the young 
 Earl of Sussex, and would by no means hear of it. So 
 Master Bailiff Stubbes, who, 't is said, doth owe Sir Thomas
 
 THE LAST STRAW 21 
 
 forty pound, and is therefore under his thumb, forthwith 
 refused the company license to play in Stratford guild- 
 hall, inn-yard, or common. And at that the master-player 
 threw his glove into Master Stubbes's face, and called 
 Sir Thomas a stupid old bell-wether, and Stratford bur- 
 gesses silly sheep for following wherever he chose to 
 jump." 
 
 " And so they be," sneered Hal Saddler. 
 
 " How ? " cried Robin, hotly. " My father is a burgess. 
 Dost thou call him a sheep, Hal Saddler ? " 
 
 "Nay, nay," stammered Hal, hastily; "'t was not thy 
 father I meant." 
 
 " Then hold thy tongue with both hands," said Robin, 
 sharply, " or it will crack thy pate for thee some of these 
 fine days." 
 
 " But come, Robin," asked Nick, eagerly, " what became 
 of the quarrel ? " 
 
 "Well, when the master-player threw his glove into 
 Master Stubbes's face, the Chief Constable seized him for 
 contempt of Stratford Council, and held him for trial. 
 At that some cried ' Shame ! ' and some ' Hurrah ! ' but the 
 rest of the players fled out of town in the night, lest their 
 baggage be taken by the law and they be fined." 
 
 "Whither did they go?" asked Nick, both sorry and 
 glad to hear that they were gone. 
 
 "To Coventry, and left the master-player behind in 
 gaol." 
 
 "Why, they dare na use him so the Lord Admiral's 
 own man ! "
 
 22 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 "Ay, that they don't! Why, hark 'e, Nick! This 
 morning, since Sir Thomas has gone home, and the bur- 
 gesses' heads have all cooled down from the sack and the 
 clary they were in last night, la ! but they are in a pretty 
 stew, my father says, for fear that they have given offense 
 to the Lord Admiral. So they have spoken the master- 
 player softly, and given him his freedom out of hand, and 
 a long gold chain to twine about his cap, to mend the 
 matter with, beside." 
 
 " Whee-ew ! n whistled Nick. " I wish I were a master- 
 player ! " 
 
 " Oh, but he will not be pleased, and says he will have 
 his revenge on Stratford town if he must needs wait until 
 the end of the world or go to the Indies after it. And 
 he has had his breakfast served in Master Geoffrey Inch- 
 bold's own room at the Swan, and swears that he will 
 walk the whole way to Coventry sooner than straddle the 
 horse that the burgesses have sent him to ride." 
 
 " What ! Is he at the inn ? Why, let 's go down and 
 see him." 
 
 "Master Brunswood says that he will birch whoever 
 cometh late," objected Hal Saddler. 
 
 " Birch ? " groaned Nick. " Why, he does nothing but 
 birch! A fellow can na say his 'sum, es, est' without 
 catching it. And as for getting through the ' genitive 
 and 'vocativo' without a downright threshing He 
 shrugged his shoulders ruefully as he remembered his 
 unlearned lesson. Everything had gone wrong with him 
 that morning, and the thought of the birching that he
 
 THE LAST STRAW 23 
 
 was sure to get was more than lie could bear. "I will na 
 stand it any longer I'll run away!" 
 
 Kit Sedgewick laughed ironically. "And when the 
 skies fall we '11 catch sparrows, Nick Attwood," said he 
 "Whither wilt thou run?" 
 
 Stung by his tone of ridicule, Nick out with the first 
 thing that came into his head. "To Coventry, after the 
 stage-players," said he, defiantly. 
 
 The whole crowd gave an incredulous hoot. 
 
 Nick's face flushed. To be crossed at home, to be 
 birched at school, to work all May-day in the tannery 
 vats, and to be laughed at it was too much. 
 
 "Ye think that I will na? Well, I '11 show ye! T is 
 only eight miles to Warwick, and hardly more than that 
 beyond no walk at all; and Diccon Haggard, my 
 mother's cousin, lives in Coventry. So out upon your 
 musty Latin English is good enough for me this day! 
 There 's bluebells blowing in the dingles, and cuckoo-buds 
 no end. And while ye are all grinding at your old ^sop 
 I shall be roaming over the hills wherever I please." 
 
 As he spoke he thought of the dark, wainscoted walls 
 of the school-room with their narrow little windows over- 
 head, of the foul-smelling floors of the tannery in Southam's 
 lane, and his heart gave a great, rebellious leap. "Ay," 
 said he, exultantly, " I shall be out where the birds can 
 sing and the grass is green, and I shall see the stage-play, 
 while ye will be mewed up all day long in school, and 
 have nothing but a beggarly morris and a farthing May- 
 pole on the morrow."
 
 24 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Oh, no doubt, no doubt," said Hal Saddler, mockingly 
 " We shall have but bread and milk, and thou shalt have 
 a most glorious threshing from thy father when thou 
 comest home again ! " 
 
 That was the last straw to Nick's unhappy heart. 
 
 "'T is a threshing either way," said he, squaring his 
 shoulders doggedly. "Father will thresh me if I run 
 away, and Master Brunswood will thresh me if I don't. 
 I '11 not be birched four times a week for merely tripping 
 on a word, and have nothing to show for it but stripes. 
 If I must take a threshing, I '11 have my good day's game 
 out first." 
 
 "But wilt thou truly go to Coventry, Nick?" asked 
 Eobin Getley, earnestly, for he liked Nick more than all 
 the rest. 
 
 "Ay, truly, Eobin that I will"; and, turning, Nick 
 walked swiftly away toward the market-place, never look- 
 ing back.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 OFF FOR COVENTRY 
 
 AT the Bridge street crossing Nick paused irresolute. 
 t j\ Around the public pump a chattering throng of 
 housewives were washing out their towels and hanging 
 them upon the market-cross to dry. Along the stalls in 
 Middle Row the grumbling shopmen were casting up their 
 sales from tallies chalked upon their window-ledges, or 
 cuffing their tardy apprentices with no light hand. 
 
 John Gibson's cart was hauling gravel from the pits in 
 Henley street to mend the causeway at the bridge, which 
 had been badly washed by the late spring floods, and the 
 fine sand dribbled from the cart-tail like the sand in au 
 hour-glass. 
 
 Here and there loutish farm-hands waited for work; 
 and at the corner two or three stout cudgel-men leaned 
 upon their long staves, although the market was two 
 days closed, and there was not a Coventry merchant in 
 sight to be driven away from Stratford trade. 
 
 Goody Baker with her shovel and broom of twigs was 
 sweeping up the market litter in the square. Nick won- 
 
 25
 
 26 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 dered if his own mother's back would be so bent when 
 she grew old. 
 
 " Whur be-est going, Nick ? " 
 
 Roger Dawson sat astride a stick of timber in front of 
 Master Geoffrey Thompson's new house, watching Tom 
 Carpenter the carver cut fleur-de-lis and curling traceries 
 upon the front wall beams. He was a tenant-farmer's 
 son, this Roger, and a likely good-for-naught. 
 
 " To Coventry," said Nick, curtly 
 
 "Wilt take a fellow wi' thee?" 
 
 Poor company might be better than none. 
 
 " Come on." 
 
 Roger lumbered to his feet and trotted after. 
 
 " No school to-day ? " he asked. 
 
 "Not for me," answered Nick, shortly, for he did not 
 care to talk about it. 
 
 " Faither wull na have I go to school, since us ha' corned 
 to town, an' plough-land sold for grazings," drawled 
 Roger ; " Muster Pine o' Welf ord saith that I ha' learned 
 as much as faither ever knowed, an' 't is enow for I. 
 Faither saith it maketh saucy rogues o' sons to know 
 more than they's own dads." 
 
 Nick wondered if it did. His own father could neither 
 read nor write, while he could do both and had some Latin, 
 too. At the thought of the Latin he made a wry face. 
 
 "Joe Carter be-eth in the stocks," said Roger, peering 
 through the jeering crowd about the pillory and post ; " a 
 broke Tom Samson's pate wi' 's ale-can yestreen." 
 
 But Nick pushed on. A few ruddv-faced farmers and
 
 BE-EST GOING, NICK?- ASKKU BOOEB DAWSON."
 
 OFF FOR COVENTRY 27 
 
 drovers from the Red Horse Vale still lingered at the 
 Boar Inn door and by the tap-room of the Crown ; and in 
 the middle of the street a crowd of salters, butchers, and 
 dealers in hides, with tallow-smeared doublets and doubt- 
 ful hose, were squabbling loudly about the prices set upon 
 their wares. 
 
 In the midst of them Nick saw his father, and scurried 
 away into Back Bridge street as fast as he could, feeling 
 very near a sneak, but far from altering his purpose. 
 
 " Job Hortop," said Simon Attwood to his apprentice at 
 his side, looking out suddenly over the crowd, " was that 
 my Nick yonder ? " 
 
 " Nay, master, could na been," said Job, stolidly ; " Nick 
 be-eth in school by now the clock ha' struck. 'T 
 Dawson's Hodge and some like ne'er-do-welL"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IN THE WARWICK ROAD 
 
 THE land was full of morning sounds as the lads 
 trudged along the Warwick road together. An ax 
 rang somewhere deep in the woods of Arden ; cart-wheels 
 rattled on the stony road ; a blackbird whistled shrilly in 
 the hedge, and they heard the deep-tongued belling of 
 hounds far off in Fulbroke park. 
 
 Now and then a heron, rising from the river, trailed its 
 long legs across the sky, or a kingfisher sparkled in his 
 own splash. Once a lonely fisherman down by the Avon 
 started a wild duck from the sedge, and away it went pat- 
 tering up-stream with frightened wings and red feet 
 running along the water. And then a river-rat plumped 
 into the stream beneath the willows, and left a long string 
 of bubbles behind him. 
 
 Nick's ill humor soon wore off as he breathed the fresh 
 air, moist from lush meadows, and sweet from hedges pink 
 and white with hawthorn bloom. The thought of being 
 pent up on such a day grew more and more unbearable, 
 and a blithe sense of freedom from all restraint blunted 
 the prick of conscience. 
 
 28
 
 IN THE WARWICK ROAD 29 
 
 " Why art going to Coventry, Nick ? " inquired Roger, 
 suddenly, startled by a thought coming into his wits like 
 a child by a bat in the room. 
 
 " To see the stage-play that the burgesses would na allow 
 in Stratford." 
 
 "Wulllsee, too?" 
 
 " If thou hast eyes the Mayor's show is free." 
 
 " Oh, f eckins, wun't it be fine ? " gaped Hodge. " Be it 
 a tailors' show, Nick, wi' Herod the King, and a rope for 
 to hang Judas ? An' wall they set the world afire wi' a 
 torch, an' make the earth quake fearful wi' a barrel full 
 o' stones ? Or wull it be Sin in a motley gown a-thumping 
 the Black Man over the pate wi' a bladder full o' peasen 
 an' angels wi' silver wingses, an' saints wi' goolden hair? 
 Or wull it be a giant nine yards high, clad in the beards 
 o' murdered kings, like granny saith she used to see ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! no," said Nick ; " none of those old-fashioned 
 things. These be players from London town, and I hope 
 they '11 play a right good English history-play, like ' The 
 Famous Victories of Henry Fift,' to turn a fellow's legs 
 all goose-flesh ! " 
 
 Hodge stopped short in the road. " La ! " said he, " I '11 
 go no furder if they turn me to a goose. I wunnot be 
 turned goose, Nick Attwood an' a plague on all witches, 
 says I ! " 
 
 " Oh, pshaw ! " laughed Nick ; " come on. No witch in 
 the world could turn thee bigger goose than thou art now. 
 Come along wi' thee ; there be no witches there at all." 
 
 " Art sure thou 'rt not bedaffing me ? " hesitated Hodge,
 
 30 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 "Good, then; I be na feared. Art sure there be no 
 witches ? " 
 
 " Why," said Nick, " would Master Burgess John Shak- 
 spere leave his son Will to do with witches ? " 
 
 "I dunno," faltered Hodge; "a told Muster Robin 
 Bowles it was na right to drownd 'em in the river." 
 
 Nick hesitated. " Maybe it kills the fish," said he ; " and 
 Master Will Shakspere always liked to fish. But they 
 burn witches in London, Hodge, and he has na put a stop 
 to it and he 's a great man in London town." 
 
 Hodge came on a little way, shaking his head like an 
 old sheep in a corner. " Wully Shaxper a great man ? " 
 said he. " Why, a's name be cut on the old beech-tree up 
 Snitterfield lane, where 's uncle Henry Shaxper lives, an' 
 t is but poorly done. I could do better wi' my own 
 whittle." 
 
 " Ay, Hodge," cried Nick ; " and that 's about all thou 
 canst do. Dost think that a man's greatness hangs on so 
 little a thing as his sleight of hand at cutting his name on 
 a tree?" 
 
 " Wull, maybe ; maybe not ; but if a be a great man, 
 Nick Attwood, a might do a little thing passing well so 
 there, now ! " 
 
 Nick pondered for a moment. " I do na know," said he, 
 slowly ; " heaps of men can do the little things, but parlous 
 few the big. So some one must be bigging it, or folks 
 would all sing very small. And he doeth the big most 
 beautiful, they say. They call him the Swan of Avon," 
 
 " Avon swans be mostly geese," said Hodge, vacantly.
 
 IN THE WARWICK EOAD 31 
 
 " Now, look 'e here, Hodge Dawson, don't thou be calL 
 ing Master Will Shakspere goose. He married my own 
 mother's cousin, and I will na have it." 
 
 "La, now," drawled Hodge, staring, "'t is nowt to me. 
 Thy Muster Wully Shaxper may be all the long-necked 
 fowls in Warrickshire for all I care. And, anyway, I 'd 
 like to know, Nick Attwood, since when hath a been ' Mus- 
 ter Shaxper 'that ne'er-do-well, play-actoring fellow ? " 
 
 "Ne'er-do-well? It is na so. When he was hero last 
 summer he was bravely dressed, and had a heap of good 
 gold nobles in his purse. And he gave Rick Hawkins, 
 that 's blind of an eye, a shilling for only holding his 
 horse." 
 
 " Oh, ay," drawled Hodge ; " a fool and a's money be 
 soon parted." 
 
 "Will Shakspere is no fool," declared Nick, hotly. 
 " He 's made a peck o' money there in London town, and *s 
 going to buy the Great House in Chapel lane, and come 
 back here to live." 
 
 " Then a 's a witless azzy ! " blurted Hodge. " If a 's 
 so great a man amongst the lords and earlses, a 'd na 
 come back to Stratford. An' I say a 's a witless loon 
 so there ! " 
 
 Nick whirled around in the road. " And I say, Hodge 
 Dawson," he exclaimed with flashing eyes, " that 't is a 
 shame for a lout like thee to so miscall thy thousand-time 
 betters. And what 's more, thou shalt unsay that, or I 
 will make thee swallow thy words right here and now ! " 
 
 " I 'd loike to see thee try," Hodge began ; but the words
 
 32 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 were scarcely out of his mouth when he found himself 
 stretched on the grass, Nick Attwood bending over him. 
 
 " There ! thou hast seen it tried. Now come, take that 
 back, or I will surely box thine ears for thee." 
 
 Hodge blinked and gaped, collecting his wits, which 
 had scattered to the four winds. "Whoy," said he, 
 vaguely, " if 't is all o' that to thee, I take it back." 
 
 Nick rose, and Hodge scrambled clumsily to his feet. 
 " I '11 na go wi' thee," said he, sulkily ; " I will na go whur 
 I be whupped." 
 
 Nick turned on his heel without a word, and started on. 
 
 "An' what 's more," bawled Hodge after him, "thy 
 Muster Wully Shaxper be-eth an old gray goose, an' boo 
 to he, says I ! " 
 
 As he spoke he turned, dived through the thin hedge, 
 and galloped across the field as if an army were at his 
 heels. 
 
 Nick started back, but quickly paused. " Thou needst 
 na run," he called ; " I 've not the time to catch thee now. 
 But mind ye this, Hodge Dawson : when I do come back, 
 I '11 teach thee who thy betters be Will Shakspere first 
 of all ! " 
 
 " Well crowed, well crowed, my jolly cockerel ! " on a 
 sudden called a keen, high voice beyond the hedge behind 
 him. 
 
 Nick, startled, whirled about just in time to see a 
 stranger leap the hedge and come striding up the road.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MASTER-PLAYER 
 
 HE had trim, straight legs, this stranger, and a slen. 
 der, lithe body in a tawny silken jerkin. Square- 
 shouldered, too, was he, and over one shoulder hung a 
 plum-colored cloak bordered with gold braid. His long 
 hose were the color of his cloak, and his shoes were russet 
 leather, with rosettes of plum, and such high heels as Nick 
 had never seen before. His bonnet was of tawny velvet, 
 with a chain twisted round it, fastened by a jeweled brooch 
 through which was thrust a curly cock-feather. A fine 
 white Holland-linen shirt peeped through his jerkin at the 
 throat, with a broad lace collar ; and his short hair curled 
 crisply all over his head. He had a little pointed beard, 
 and the ends of his mustache were twisted so that they 
 stood up fiercely on either side of his sharp nose. At his 
 side was a long Italian poniard in a sheath of russet leather 
 and silver filigree, and he had a reckless, high and mighty 
 fling about his stride that strangely took the eye. 
 
 Nick stood, all taken by surprise, and stared. 
 
 The stranger seemed to like it, but scowled nevertheless. 
 33
 
 34 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Wliat ! How now ? " he cried sharply. " Dost like or 
 like me not ? " 
 
 " Why, sir," stammered Nick, utterly lost for anything 
 to say "why, sir," and knowing nothing else to do, he 
 took off his cap and bowed. 
 
 " Come, come," snapped the stranger, stamping his foot, 
 " I am a swashing, ruffling, desperate Dick, and not to be 
 made a common jest for Stratford dolts to giggle at 
 What ! These legs, that have put on the very gentleman 
 in proud Verona's streets, laid in Stratford's common 
 stocks, like a silly apprentice's slouching heels? Nay, 
 nay ; some one should taste old Bless-his-heart here first ! n 
 and with that he clapped his hand upon the hilt of his 
 poniard, with a wonderful swaggering tilt of his shoulders. 
 " Dost take me, boy ?" 
 
 "Why, sir," hesitated Nick, no little awed by the 
 stranger's wild words and imperious way, "ye surely are 
 the master-player." 
 
 " There ! " cried the stranger, whirling about, as if defy- 
 ing some one in the hedge. " Who said I could not act T 
 Why, see, he took me at a touch ! Say, boy," he laughed, 
 and turned to Nick, " thou art no fool. Why, boy, I say 
 I love thee now for this, since what hath passed in Strat- 
 ford. A murrain on the town ! Dost hear me, boy ? a 
 black murrain on the town ! " And all at once he made 
 such a fierce stride toward Nick, gritting his white teeth, 
 and clapping his hand upon his poniard, that Nick drew 
 back afraid of him. 
 
 "But nay," hissed the stranger, and spat with scorn/
 
 "WHAT I HOW NOW?' CKIEJ) THE 8TRANGEK, SHABPLY. 'DOST LIKE OB 
 ME NOT?"'
 
 THE MASTER-PLAYER 35 
 
 "a town like that is its own murrain let it sicken on 
 itself!" 
 
 He struck an attitude, and waved his hand as if he were 
 talking quite as much to the trees and sky as he was to 
 Nick Attwood, and looked about him as if waiting for ap- 
 plause. Then all at once he laughed, a rollicking, merry 
 laugh, and threw off his furious manner as one does an 
 old coat. " Well, boy," said he, with a quiet smile, looking 
 kindly at Nick, " thou art a right stanch little friend to 
 all of us stage-players. And I thank thee for it in Will 
 Shakspere's name ; for he is the sweetest fellow of us all." 
 
 His voice was simple, frank, and free so different from 
 the mad tone in which he had just been ranting that Nick 
 caught his breath with surprise. 
 
 " Nay, lad, look not so dashed," said the master-player, 
 merrily ; " that was only old Jem Burbage's mighty tragic 
 style; and I I am only Gaston Carew, hail-fellow-well 
 met with all true hearts. Be known to me, lad ; what is 
 thy name ? I like thy open, pretty face." 
 
 Nick flushed. " Nicholas Attwood is my name, sir." 
 
 " Nicholas Attwood ? Why, it is a good name. Nick 
 Attwood, young Nick, I hope Old Nick will never catch 
 thee upon my word I do, and on the remnant of mine 
 honour ! Thou hast taken a player's part like a man, and 
 thou art a good fellow, Nicholas Attwood, and I love thee. 
 So thou art going to Coventry to see the players act? 
 Surely thine is a nimble wit to follow fancy nineteen miles. 
 Come; I am going to Coventry to join my fellows. Wilt 
 thou go with me, Nick, and dine with us this night at the
 
 36 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 best inn in all Coventry the Blue Boar ? Thou hast quite 
 plucked up my downcast heart for me, lad, indeed thou 
 hast; for I was sore of Stratford town and I shall not 
 soon forget thy plucky fending for our own sweet Will 
 Come, say thou wilt go with me." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said Nick, bowing again, his head all in a 
 whirl of excitement at this wonderful adventure, " indeed 
 I will, and that right gladly, sir." And with heart beat- 
 ing like a trip-hammer he walked along, cap in hand, not 
 knowing that his head was bare. 
 
 The master-player laughed a simple, hearty laugh. 
 " Why, Nick," said he, laying his hand caressingly upon 
 the boy's shoulder, "I am no such great to-do as all that 
 upon my word, I 'm not ! A man of some few parts, 
 perhaps, not common in the world; but quite a plain 
 fellow, after all. Come, put off this high humility and be 
 just friendly withal. Put on thy cap ; we are but two good 
 faring-fellows here." 
 
 So Nick put on his cap, and they went on together, Nick 
 in the seventh heaven of delight. 
 
 About a mile beyond Stratford, Welcombe wood creeps 
 down along the left. Just beyond, the Dingles wind 
 irregularly up from the foot-path below to the crest of 
 Welcombe hill, through straggling clumps and briery 
 hollows, sweet with nodding bluebells, ash, and hawthorn 
 
 Nick and the master-player paused a moment at tlje top 
 to catch their breath and to look back. 
 
 Stratford and the valley of the Avon lay spread before 
 them like a picture of peace, studded with blossoming
 
 THE MASTER-PLAYER 37 
 
 orchards and girdled with spring. Northward the forest 
 of Arden clad the rolling hills. Southward the fields of 
 Feldon stretched away to the blue knolls beyond which lay 
 Oxford and Northamptonshire. The ragged -stretches of 
 Snitterfield downs scrambled away to the left ; and on the 
 right, beyond Bearley, were the wooded uplands where 
 Guy of Warwick and Heraud of Arden slew the wild ox 
 and the boar. And down through the midst ran the Avon 
 southward, like a" silver ribbon slipped through Kendal 
 green, to where the Sto'ur comes down, past Luddington. 
 to Bidford, and away to the misty hills. 
 
 "Why," exclaimed the master-player "why, upon my 
 word, it is a fair town as fair a town as the heart of man 
 could wish. Wish? I wish 't were sunken in the sea, 
 with all its pack of fools ! Why," said he, turning wrath- 
 f ully upon Nick, " that old Sir Thingumbob of thine, down 
 there, called me a caterpillar on the kingdom of England, 
 a vagabond, and a common player of interludes ! Called 
 me vagabond ! Me ! Why, I have more good licenses 
 than he has wits. And as to Master Bailiff Stubbes, I 
 have permits to play from more justices of the peace than 
 he can shake a stick at in a month of Sundays ! " He 
 shook his fist wrathf ully at the distant town, and gnawed 
 his mustache until one side pointed up and the other down. 
 " But, hark 'e, boy, I '11 have my vengeance on them all- 
 ay, that will I, upon my word, and on the remnant of mine 
 honour or else my name 's not Gaston Carew ! " 
 
 "Is it true, sir," asked Nick, hesitatingly, "that they 
 despitef ully handled you ? n
 
 38 MASTEE SKYLAEK 
 
 " With their tongues, ay," said Carew, bitterly ; " but not 
 otherwise." He clapped his hand upon his poniard, and 
 threw back his head defiantly. " They dared not come to 
 blows they knew my kind ! Yet John Shakspere is no 
 bad sort he knoweth what is what. But Master Bailiff 
 Stubbes, I ween, is a long-eared thing that brays for 
 thistles. I '11 thistle him! He called Will Shakspere 
 rogue. Hast ever looked through a red glass ? " 
 
 " Nay," said Nick. 
 
 t: Well, it turns the whole world red. And so it is with 
 Master Stubbes. He looks through a pair of rogue's eyes 
 and sees the whole world rogue. Why, boy," cried the 
 master-player, vehemently, "he thought to buy my 
 tongue ! Marry, if tongues were troubles he has bought 
 himself a peck ! What ! Buy my silence ? Nay, he '11 
 see a deadly flash of silence when I come to my Lord the 
 Admiral again ! "
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 "WELL SUNG, MASTER SKYLARK!* 
 
 IT was past high noon, and they had long since left War- 
 wick castle far behind. " Nicholas," said the master- 
 player, in the middle of a stream of amazing stories of lif e 
 in London town, " there is Blacklow knoll." He pointed 
 to a little hill off to the left. 
 
 Nick stared ; he knew the tale : how grim old Guy de 
 Beauchamp had Piers Gaveston's head upon that hill for 
 calling him the Black Hound of Arden. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Carew, " times have changed since then, 
 boy, when thou couldst have a man's head off for calling 
 thee a name or I would have yon Master Bailiff Stubbes's 
 head off short behind the ears and Sir Thomas Lucy's 
 too ! " he added, with a sudden flash of anger, gritting his 
 teeth and clenching his hand upon his poniard. "But, 
 Nicholas, hast anything to eat ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, sir." 
 
 Master Carew pulled from his pouch some barley-cakes 
 and half a small Banbury cheese, yellow as gold and with 
 a keen, sharp savour. " 'T is enough for both of us," said 
 
 39
 
 40 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 he, as they came to a shady little wood with a clear, 
 mossy-bottomed spring running down into a green meadow 
 with a mild noise, murmuring among the stones. " Come 
 along, Nicholas ; *we '11 eat it under the trees." 
 
 He had a small flask of wine, but Nick drank no wine, 
 and went down to the spring instead. There was a wild 
 bird singing in a bush there, and as he trotted down the 
 slope it hushed its wandering tune. Nick took the sound 
 up softly, and stood by the wet stones a little while, 
 imitating the bird's trilling note, and laughing to hear it 
 answer timidly, as if it took him for some great new bird 
 Without wings. Cocking its shy head and watching him 
 shrewdly with its beady eye, it sat, almost persuaded that 
 it was only size which made them different, until Nick 
 clapped his cap upon his head and strolled back, singing 
 as he went. 
 
 It was only the thread of an old-fashioned madrigal 
 which he had often heard his mother sing, with quaint 
 words long since gone out of style and hardly to be un- 
 derstood, and between the staves a warbling, wordless re- 
 frain which he had learned out on the hills and in the 
 fields, picked up from a bird's glad-throated morning- 
 song. 
 
 He had always sung the plain-tunes in church without 
 taking any particular thought about it; and he sang 
 easily, with a clear young voice which had a fujl, flute- 
 like note in it like the high, sweet song of a thrush singing 
 in deep woods. 
 
 Gaston Carew, the master-player, was sitting with his
 
 "WELL SUNG, MASTER SKYLARK!" 41 
 
 back against an oak, placidly munching the last of the 
 cheese, when Nick began to sing. He started, straighten, 
 ing up as if some one had called him suddenly out of a 
 sound sleep, and, turning his head, listened eagerly. 
 
 Nick mocked the wild bird, called again with a mellow, 
 warbling trill, and then struck up the quaint old madrigal 
 with the bird's song running through it. Carew leaped to 
 his feet, with a flash in his dark eyes. " My soul ! my 
 soul ! " he exclaimed in an excited undertone. " It is not 
 nay, it cannot be why, 't is it is the boy ! Upon my 
 heart, he hath a skylark prisoned in his throat ! Wett 
 sung, well sung, Master Skylark ! " he cried, clapping his 
 hands in real delight, as Nick came singing up the bank. 
 " Why, lad, I vow I thought thou wert up in the sky some- 
 where, with wings to thy back ! Where didst thou learn 
 that wonder-song ? " 
 
 Nick colored up, quite taken aback. " I do na know, 
 sir," said he ; " mother learned me part, and the rest just 
 came, I think, sir." 
 
 The master-player, his whole face alive and eager, now 
 stared at Nicholas Attwood as fixedly as Nick had stared 
 at him. 
 
 It was a hearty little English lad he saw, about eleven 
 years of age, tall, slender, trimly built, and fair. A gray 
 cloth cap clung to the side of his curly yellow head, and 
 he wore a sleeveless jerkin of dark-blue serge, gray home- 
 spun hose, and heelless shoes of russet leather. The white 
 sleeves of his linen shirt were open to the elbow, and his 
 arms were lithe and brown. His eyes were frankly clear
 
 42 MASTER SKYLAEK 
 
 and blue, and his red mouth had a trick of smiling that 
 went straight to a body's heart. 
 
 " Why, lad, lad," cried Carew, breathlessly, " thou hast 
 a very fortune in thy throat ! " 
 
 Nick looked up in great surprise ; and at that the master 
 player broke off suddenly and said no more, though such 
 a strange light came creeping into his eyes that Nick, after 
 meeting his fixed stare for a moment, asked uneasily if 
 they would not better be going on. 
 
 Without a word the master-player started. Something 
 had come into his head which seemed to more than fill his 
 mind ; for as he strode along he whistled under his breath 
 and laughed softly to himself. Then again he snapped 
 his fingers and took a dancing step or two across the road, 
 and at last fell to talking aloud to himself, though Nick 
 could not make out a single word he said, for it was in, 
 some foreign language. 
 
 " Nicholas," he said suddenly, as they passed the wind' 
 ing lane that leads away to Kenilworth "Nicholas, dost 
 know any other songs like that ? " 
 
 "Not just like that, sir," answered Nick, not knowing 
 what to make of his companion's strange new mood; 
 "but I know Master Will Shakspere's 'Then nightly 
 sings the staring owl, tu-who, tu-whit, tu-who ! ' and 
 ' The ousel-cock so black of hue, with orange-tawny bill/ 
 and then, too, I know the throstle's song that goes with 
 it." 
 
 " Why, to be sure to be sure thou knowest old Nick 
 Bottom's song, for is n't thy name Nick? Well met, both
 
 "WELL SUNG, MASTER SKYLAEK!" 43 
 
 song and singer well met, I say ! Nay," he said hastily, 
 seeing Nick about to speak ; " I do not care to hear thee 
 talk. Sing me all thy songs. I am hungry as a wolf for 
 songs. Why, Nicholas, I must have songs! Come, lift 
 up that honeyed throat of thine and sing another song. 
 Be not so backward ; surely I love thee, Nick, and thou 
 wilt sing all of thy songs for me." 
 
 He laid his hand on Nick's shoulder in his kindly way, 
 and kept step with him like a bosom friend, so that Nick's 
 heart beat high with pride, and he sang all the songs he 
 knew as they walked along. 
 
 Carew listened intently, and sometimes with a fierce 
 eagerness that almost frightened the boy ; and sometimes 
 he frowned, and said under his breath, "Tut, tut, that 
 will not do ! " but oftener he laughed without a sound, 
 nodding his head in time to the lilting tune, and seeming 
 vastly pleased with Nick, the singing, and last, but not 
 least, with himself. 
 
 And when Nick had ended the master-player had not 
 a word to say, but for half a mile gnawed his mustache in 
 nervous silence, and looked Nick all over with a long and 
 earnest look. 
 
 Then suddenly he slapped his thigh, and tossed his head 
 back boldly. " 1 11 do it," he said ; " I 01 do it if I dance 
 on air for it! I '11 have it out of Master Stubbes and 
 canting Stratford town, or may I never thrive ! My soul ! 
 it is the very thing. His eyes are like twin holidays, and 
 he breathes the breath of spring. Nicholas, Nicholas Sky- 
 Jark, Master Skylark, why, it is a good name, in sooth.
 
 44 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 a very good name ! 1 11 do it I will, upon my word, and 
 on the remnant of mine honour ! " 
 
 " Did ye speak to me, sir ? " asked Nick, timidly. 
 
 " Nay, Nicholas ; I was talking to the moon." 
 
 " Why, sir, the moon has not come yet," said Nick, star- 
 ing into the western sky. 
 
 " To be sure," replied Master Carew, with a queer laugh. 
 "Well, the silvery jade has missed the first act." 
 
 " Oh," cried Nick, reminded of the purpose of his long 
 walk, "what will ye play for the Mayor's play, sir?" 
 
 "I don't know," replied Carew, carelessly; "it will all 
 be done before I come. They will have had the free play 
 tijis afternoon, so as to catch the pence of all the May-day 
 crowd to-morrow." 
 
 Nick stopped in the road, and his eyes filled up with 
 tears, so quick and bitter was the disappointment. " Why," 
 he cried, with a tremble in his tired voice, " I thought the 
 free play would be on the morrow and now I have not a 
 farthing to go in ! " 
 
 " Tut, tut, thou silly lad ! " laughed Carew, frankly ; 
 " am I thy friend for naught ? What ! let thee walk all 
 the way to Coventry, and never see the play? Nay, on 
 iny soul ! Why, Nick, I love thee, lad ; and I '11 do for 
 thee in the twinkling of an eye. Canst thou speak lines 
 by heart? Well, then, say these few after me, and bear 
 them in thy mind." 
 
 And thereupon he hastily repeated some half a dozen 
 disconnecte,d lines in a high, reciting tone. 
 
 "Why, sir," cried Nick, bewildered, " it is a part ! "
 
 "WELL SUNG, MASTER SKYLARK!" 45 
 
 ft To be sure," said Carew, laughing, " it is a part and 
 a part of a very good whole, too a comedy by young 
 Tom Heywood, that would make a graven image split its 
 sides with laughing; and do thou just learn that part, 
 good Master Skylark, and thou shalt say it in to-morrow's 
 play." 
 
 " What, Master Carew ! " gasped Nick. " I truly ? 
 With the Lord Admiral's players ? " 
 
 " Why, to be sure ! " cried the master-player, in great 
 glee, clapping him upon the back. " Didst think I meant 
 a parcel of dirty tinkers? Nay, lad; thou art just the 
 very fellow for the part my lady's page should be a 
 pretty lad, and, soul o' me, thou art that same ! And, 
 Nick, thou shalt sing Tom Heywood's newest song. It is 
 a pretty song ; it is a lark-song like thine own." 
 
 Nick could hardly believe his ears. To act with the 
 Lord Admiral's company ! To sing with them before ail 
 Coventry ! It passed the wildest dream that he had ever 
 dreamed. What would the boys in Stratford say ? 'Aha ! 
 they would laugh on the other side of their mouths now ! 
 
 " But will they have me, sir ? " he asked doubtfully. 
 
 "Have thee?" said Master Carew, haughtily. "If I 
 say go, thou shalt go. I am master here. And I tell thee, 
 Nick, that thou shalt see the play, and be the play, in part, 
 and well, we shall see what we shall see." 
 
 With that he fell to humming and chuckling to himself, 
 as if he had swallowed a water-mill, while Nick turned 
 ecstatic cart-wheels along the grass beside the road, until 
 presently Coventry came in sight
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE ADMIRAL'S COMPANY 
 
 ancient city of Coventry stands upon a little hill, 
 JL with old St. Michael's steeple and the spire of Holy 
 Trinity church rising above it against the sky ; and as the 
 master-player and the boy came climbing upward from 
 the south, walls, towers, chimneys, and red-tiled roofs 
 were turned to gold by the glow of the setting sun. 
 
 To Nick it seemed as if a halo overhung the town a 
 ruddy glory and a wonder bright ; for here the Grey Friars 
 of the great monastery had played their holy mysteries 
 and miracle-plays for over a hundred years; here the 
 trade-guilds had held their pageants when the friars' day 
 was done ; here were all the wonders that old men told by 
 winter fires. 
 
 People were coming and going through the gates like 
 bees about a hive, and in the distance Nick could hear 
 the sound of many voices, the rush of feet, wheels, and 
 hoofs, and the shrill pipe of music. Here and there were 
 little knots of country folk making holiday : a father and 
 mother with a group of rosy children ; a lad and his lass, 
 
 46
 
 THE ADMIRAL'S COMPANY 47 
 
 spruce in new finery, and gay with bits of ribbon merry 
 groups that were ever changing. Gay banners flapped 
 on tall ash staves. The suburb fields were filled with 
 booths and tents and stalls and butts for archery. The 
 very air seemed eager with the eve of holiday. 
 
 But what to Nick was breathless wonder was to Carew 
 only a twice-told tale ; so he pushed through the crowded 
 thoroughfares, amid a throng that made Nick's head spin 
 round, and came quickly to the Blue Boar Inn. 
 
 The court was crowded to the gates with horses, trav- 
 elers, and serving-men ; and here and there and everywhere 
 rushed the busy innkeeper, with a linen napkin fluttering 
 on his arm, his cap half off, and in his hot hand a pewter 
 flagon, from which the brown ale dripped in spatters on 
 his fat legs as he flew. 
 
 "They 're here," said Carew, looking shrewdly about; 
 "for there is Gregory Goole, my groom, and Stephen 
 Magelt, the tire-man. In with thee, Nicholas." 
 
 He put Nick before him with a little air of patronage, 
 and pushed him into the room. 
 
 It was a large, low chamber with heavy beams overhead, 
 hung with leather jacks and pewter tankards. Around 
 the walls stood rough tables, at which a medley of guests 
 sat eating, drinking, dicing, playing at cards, and talking 
 loudly all at once, while the tapster and the cook's knave 
 sped wildly about. 
 
 At a great table in the midst of the riot sat the Lord 
 High Admiral's players a score or more loud-swashing 
 gallants, richly clad in ruffs and bands, embroidered
 
 48 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 shirts, Italian doublets slashed and laced, Venetian hose, 
 gay velvet caps with jeweled bands, and every man a pon- 
 iard or a rapier at his hip. Nick felt very much like a little 
 brown sparrow in a flock of gaudy Indian birds. 
 
 The board was loaded down with meat and drink, and 
 some of the players were eating with forks, a new trick 
 from the London court, which Nick had never seen 
 before. But all the diners looked up when Carew's face 
 was recognized, and welcomed him with a deafening 
 shout. 
 
 He waved his hand for silence. 
 
 "Thanks for these kind plaudits, gentle friends," said 
 he, with a mocking air ; " I have returned." 
 
 " Yes ; we see that ye have, Gaston," they all shouted, 
 and laughed again. 
 
 "Ay," said he, thrusting his hand into his pouch, "ye 
 fled, and left me to be spoiled by the spoiler, but ye see I 
 have left the spoiler spoiled." 
 
 Lifting his hand triumphantly, he shook in their faces 
 the golden chain that the burgesses of Stratford had given 
 him, and then, laying his hand upon Nick's shoulder, 
 bowed to them all, and to him with courtly grace, and said : 
 " Be known, be known, all ! Gentlemen, my Lord Admi- 
 ral's Players, Master Nicholas Skylark, the sweetest singer 
 in all the kingdom of England ! " 
 
 Nick's cheeks flushed hotly, and his eyes fell ; for they 
 all stared curiously, first at him, and then at Carew stand- 
 ing up behind him, and several grinned mockingly and 
 winked in a knowing way. He stole a look at Carew ; but
 
 THE ADMIRAL'S COMPANY 49 
 
 the master-player's face was frank and quite unmoved, so 
 that Nick felt reassured. 
 
 " Why, sirs," said Carew, as some began to laugh and to 
 speak to one another covertly, " it is no jest. He hath a 
 sweeter voice than Cyril Davy's, the best woman's- voice in 
 all London town. Upon my word, it is the sweetest voice 
 a body ever heard outside of heaven and the holy 
 angels ! " He lowered his tone and bowed his head a 
 little. " I '11 stake mine honour on it ! " 
 
 " Hast any, Gaston ? " called a jeering voice, whereat the 
 whole room roared. 
 
 But Carew cried again in a high voice that would be 
 heard above the noise : " Now, hark 'e ; what I say is so. 
 It is, upon my word, and on the remnant of mine honour ! 
 And to-morrow ye shall see, for Master Skylark is to sing 
 and play with us." 
 
 When he had said that, nothing would do but Nick mnst 
 sit down and eat with them ; so they made a place for him 
 and for Master Carew. 
 
 Nick bent his head and said a grace, at which some of 
 them laughed, until Carew shook his head with a stern 
 frown ; and before he ate he bowed politely to them all, as 
 his mother had taught him to do. They all bowed mock- 
 ingly, and hilariously offered him wine, which, when he 
 refused, they pressed upon him, until Carew stopped them, 
 saying that he would have no more of that. As he spoke 
 he clapped his hand upon his poniard and scowled biackly. 
 XHey all laughed, but offered Nick no more wine ; instead, 
 they picked him choice morsels, and made a great deal of
 
 50 MASTEK SKYLAEK 
 
 him, until his silly young head was quite turned, and he 
 sat up and gave himself a few airs not many, for Strat- 
 ford was no great place in which to pick up airs. 
 
 When they had eaten they wanted Nick to sing ; but 
 again Carew interposed. " Nay," said he ; " he hath just 
 eaten his fill, so he cannot sing. Moreover, he is no jack- 
 daw to screech in such a cage as this. He shall not sing 
 until to-morrow in the play." 
 
 At this some of the leading players who held shares in 
 the venture demurred, doubting if Nick could sing at 
 all ; but" Hark 'e," said Master Carew, shortly, clapping 
 his hand upon his poniard, " I say that he can. Do ye 
 take me?" 
 
 So they said no more ; and shortly after he took Nick 
 away, and left them over their tankards, singing uproar- 
 iously. 
 
 The Blue Boar Inn had not a bed to spare, nor had the 
 players kept a place for Carew; at which he smiled 
 grimly, said he 'd not forget it, and took lodgings for 
 himself and Nick at the Three Tuns in the next street. 
 
 Nick spoke indeed of his mother's cousin, with whom 
 he had meant to stay, but the master-player protested 
 warmly ; so, little loath, and much flattered by the atten- 
 tions of so great a man, Nick gave over the idea and said 
 no more about it. 
 
 When the chamberlain had shown them to their room 
 and they were both undressed, Nick knelt beside the bed 
 and said a prayer, as he always did at home. Carew 
 watched him curiously. It was quiet there, and the light
 
 THE ADMIRAL'S COMPANY 51 
 
 dim ; Nick was young, and his yellow hair was very curly. 
 Carew could hear the faint breath murmuring through 
 the boy's lips as he prayed, and while he stared at the little 
 white figure his mouth twitched in a queer way. But he 
 tossed his head, and muttered to himself, " What, Gaston 
 Carew, turning soft ? Nay, nay. I '11 do it on my soul, 
 I will ! " rolled into bed, and was soon fast asleep. 
 
 As for Nick, what with the excitement of the day, the 
 dazzling fancies in his brain, his tired legs, the weird night 
 noises in the town, and strange, tremendous dreams, he 
 scarce could get to sleep at all ; but toward morning he 
 fell into a refreshing doze, and did not wake until the town 
 was loud with May.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE MAY-DAY PLAY 
 
 IT was soon afternoon. All Coventry was thronged 
 with people keeping holiday, and at the Blue Boar a 
 scene of wild confusion reigned. 
 
 Tap-room and hall were crowded with guests, and in 
 the cobbled court horses innumerable stamped and whin- 
 nied. The players, with knitted brows, stalked about the 
 quieter nooks, going over their several parts, and looking 
 to their costumes, which were for the most part upon their 
 backs ; while the thumping and pounding of the carpen- 
 ters at work upon the stage in the inn-yard were enough 
 to drive a quiet-loving person wild. 
 
 Nick scarcely knew whether he were on his head or on 
 his heels. The master-player would not let him eat at all 
 after once breaking his fast, for fear it might affect his 
 voice, and had him say his lines a hundred times until he 
 had them pat. Then he was off, directing here, there, and 
 everywhere, until the court was cleared of all that had no 
 business there, and the last surreptitious small boy had 
 
 52
 
 THE MAY-DAY PLAY 53 
 
 been duly projected from the gates by Peter Hostler's 
 hobnailed boot. 
 
 "Now, Nick," said Carew, coming up all in a gale, and 
 throwing a sky-blue silken cloak about Nick's shoulders, 
 " thou 'It enter here " ; and he led him to a hallway door 
 just opposite the gates. " When Master Whitelaw, as the 
 Duke, calls out, ' How now, who comes ? I '11 match him 
 for the ale ! ' be quickly in and answer to thy part ; and, 
 marry, boy, don't miss thy cues, or tsst, thy head 's not 
 worth a peascod ! " With that he clapped his hand upon 
 his poniard and glared into Nick's eyes, as if to look clear 
 through to the back of the boy's wits. Nick heard his 
 white teeth grind, and was all at once very much afraid of 
 him, for he did indeed look dreadful. 
 
 So Nicholas Attwood stood by the entry door, with his 
 heart in his throat, waiting his turn. 
 
 He could hear the pages in the courtyard outside shout- 
 ing for stools for their masters, and squabbling over the 
 best places upon the stage. Then the gates creaked, and 
 there came a wild rush of feet and a great crying out 
 as the 'prentices and burghers trooped into the inn-yard, 
 pushing and crowding for places near the stage. Those 
 who had the money bawled aloud for farthing stools. The 
 rest stood jostling in a wrangling crowd upon the ground, 
 while up and down a girl's shrill voice went all the time, 
 crying high, " Cherry ripe, cherry ripe ! Who '11 buy my 
 sweet May cherries f " 
 
 Then there was another shout, and a rattling tread of 
 feet along the wooden balconies that ran around the walls
 
 54 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 of the inn-yard, and cries from the apprentices below: 
 " Good-day, fair Master Harrington ! Good-day, Sir Thomas 
 Parkes ! Good-day, sweet Mistress Nettleby and Master 
 Nettleby ! Good-day, good-day, good-day ! " for the richer 
 folk were coming in at twopence each, and all the gal- 
 leries were full. And then he heard the baker's boy with 
 sugared cakes and ginger-nuts go stamping up the stairs. 
 
 The musicians in the balcony overhead were tuning up. 
 There was a flute, a viol, a gittern, a fiddle, and a drum ; 
 and behind the curtain, just outside the door, Nick could 
 hear the master-player's low voice giving hasty orders to 
 the others. 
 
 So he said his lines all over to himself, and cleared his 
 throat. Then on a sudden a shutter opened high above 
 the orchestra, a trumpet blared, the kettledrum crashed, 
 and he heard a loud voice shout : 
 
 " Good citizens of Coventry, and high-born gentles all : 
 know ye now that we, the players of the company of His 
 Grace, Charles, Lord Howard, High Admiral of England, 
 Ireland, Wales, Calais, and Boulogne, the marches of Nor. 
 mandy, Gascony, and Aquitaine, Captain-General of the 
 Navy and the Seas of Her Gracious Majesty the Queen" 
 
 At that the crowd in the courtyard cheered and cheered 
 again. 
 
 " will, with your kind permission, play forthwith the 
 laughable comedy of ' The Three Grey Gowns,' by Master 
 Thomas Heywood, in which will be spoken many good 
 things, old and new, and a brand-new song will be sung. 
 Now, hearken all the play begins ! n
 
 THE MAY-DAY PLAY 55 
 
 The trumpet blared, the kettledrum crashed again, and 
 as a sudden hush fell over the throng without Nick heard 
 the voices of the players going on. 
 
 It was a broad farce, full of loud jests and nonsense, a 
 great thwacking of sticks and tumbling about ; and Nick, 
 with his eye to the crack of the door, listened with all his 
 ears for his cue, far too excited even to think of laughing 
 at the rough jokes, though the crowd in the inn-yard 
 roared till they held their sides. 
 
 Carew came hurrying up, with an anxious look in his 
 restless eyes. 
 
 " Ready, Nicholas ! " said he, sharply, taking Nick by the 
 arm and lifting the latch. " Go straight down front now 
 as I told thee mind thy cues speak boldly sing as thou 
 didst sing for me and if thou wouldst not break mine 
 heart, do not fail me now ! I have staked it all upon thee 
 here and we must win ! " 
 
 " How now, who comes ? " Nick heard a loud voice call 
 outside the door-latch clicked behind him he was out in 
 the open air and down the stage before he quite knew 
 where he was. 
 
 The stage was built against the wall just opposite the 
 gates. It was but a temporary platform of planks laid 
 upon trestles. One side of it was against the wall, and 
 around the three other sides the crowd was packed close 
 to the platform rail. 
 
 At the ends, upon the boards, several wealthy gallants 
 sat on high, three-legged stools, within arm's reach of the 
 players acting there. The courtyard was a sea of heads,
 
 56 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 and the balconies were filled with gentlefolk in holiday 
 attire, eating cakes and chaffing gaily at the play. All 
 was one bewildered cloud of staring eyes to Nick, and the 
 only thing which he was sure he saw was the painted sign 
 that hung upon the curtain at the rear, which in the lack 
 of other scenery announced in large red print : " This is a 
 Room in Master Jonah Jackdawe's House." 
 
 And then he heard the last quick words, " I '11 match 
 him for the ale ! " and started on his lines. 
 
 It was not that he said so ill what little he had to say, 
 but that his voice was homelike and familiar in its sound, 
 one of their own, with no amazing London accent to the 
 words just the speech of every-day, the sort that they all 
 knew. 
 
 First, some one in the yard laughed out a shock-headed 
 ironmonger's apprentice, " Whoy, bullies, there be hayseed 
 in his hair. 'T is took off pasture over-soon. I fecks ! 
 they Ve plucked him green ! " 
 
 There was a hoarse, exasperating laugh. Nick hesitated 
 in his lines. The player at his back tried to prompt him , 
 but only made the matter worse, and behind the green cur- 
 tain at the door a hand went " clap " upon a dagger-hilt. 
 The play lagged, and the crowd began to jeer. Nick's 
 heart was full of fear and of angry shame that he had 
 dared to try. Then all at once there came a brief pause, 
 in which he vaguely realized that no one spoke. The man 
 behind him thrust him forward, and whispering wrathfully, 
 "Quick, quick sing up, thou little fool!" stepped back 
 and left him there alone.
 
 NICK THOUGHT OF HIS MOTHER'S SINGING ON A SUMMEB'8 EVENING DKEW 
 A DEEP BEEATH AND BEGAN TO SING."
 
 THE MAY-DAY PLAY 57 
 
 A viol overhead took up the time, the gittern struck a 
 few sharp notes. This unexpected music stopped the 
 noise, and all was still. Nick thought of his mother's 
 voice singing on a summer's evening among the hollyhocks, 
 and as the viol's droning died away he drew a deep breath 
 and began to sing the words of " Hey wood's newest song " : 
 
 " Pack, clouds, away, and welcome, day ; 
 
 With night we banish sorrow ; 
 Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft, 
 To give my love good-morrow ! " 
 
 It was only a part of a madrigal, the air to which they 
 had fitted the words, the same air that Nick had sung in 
 the woods, a thing scarce meant ever to be sung alone, a 
 simple strain, a few plain notes, and at the close one brief, 
 queer, warbling trill like a bird's wild song, that rose and 
 fell and rose again like a silver ripple. 
 
 The instruments were still ; the fresh young voice came 
 out alone, and it was done so soon that Nick hardly knew 
 that he had sung at all. For a moment no one seemed to 
 breathe. Then there was a very great noise, and all the 
 court seemed hurling at him. A man upon the stage 
 sprang to his feet. What they were going to do to him 
 Nick did not know. He gave a frightened cry, and ran 
 past the green curtain, through the open door, and into 
 the master-player's excited arms. 
 
 "Quick, quick!" cried Carew. "Go back, go back! 
 There, hark! dost not hear them call? Quick, out 
 again they call thee back ! " With that he thrust Nick 
 through the door. The man upon the stage came up,
 
 58 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 slipped something into his hand Nick, all bewildered, 
 knew not what ; and there he stood, quite stupefied, not 
 knowing what to do. Then Carew came out hastily and 
 led him down the stage, bowing, and pressing his hand to 
 his heart, and smiling like a summer sunrise ; so that Nick, 
 seeing this, did the same, and bowed as neatly as he could ; 
 though, to be sure, his was only a simple, country-bred 
 bow, and no such ceremonious to-do as Master Carew's 
 courtly London obeisance. 
 
 Every one was standing up and shouting so that not a 
 soul could hear his ears, until the ironmonger's apprentice 
 bellowed above the rest ; " Whoy, bullies ! " he shouted, 
 amid a chorus of cheers and laughter, " did n't I say 't was 
 catched out in the fields it be a skylark, sure enough ! 
 Come, Muster Skylark, sing that song again, an' thou shalt 
 ha' my brand-new cap ! " 
 
 Then many voices cried out together, " Sing it again ! 
 The Skylark-the Skylark ! " 
 
 Nick, looked up, startled. " Why, Master Carew," said 
 he, with a tremble in his voice, " do they mean me ? " 
 
 Carew put one hand beneath Nick's chin and turned his 
 face up, smiling. The master-player's cheeks were flushed 
 with triumph, and his dark eyes danced with pride. " Ay, 
 Nicholas Skylark ; 't is thou they mean." 
 
 The viol and the music came again from overhead, and 
 when they ceased Nick sang the little song once more. 
 And when the master-player had taken him outside, and 
 the play was over, some fine ladies came and kissed him, 
 to his great confusion ; for no one but his mother or his
 
 THE MAY-DAY PLAY 59 
 
 kin had ever done so before, and these had much perf umb 
 about them, musk and rose-attar, so that they smelled like 
 rose-mallows in July. The players of the Lord Admiral's 
 company were going about shaking hands with Carew and 
 with each other as if they had not met for years, and slap- 
 ping one another upon the back ; and one came over, a tall, 
 solemn, black-haired man, he who had written the song, 
 and stood with his feet apart and stared at Nick, but spoke 
 never a word, which Nick thought was very singular. 
 But as he turned away he said, with a world of pity in his 
 voice, " And I have writ two hundred plays, yet never saw 
 thy like. Lad, lad, thou art a jewel in a wild swine's 
 snout ! " which Nick did not understand at all ; nor why 
 Master Carew said so sharply, " Come, Heywood, hold thy 
 blabbing tongue ; we are all in the same sty." 
 
 " Speak for thyself, Gat Carew ! " answered Master Hey- 
 wood, firmly. " I '11 have no hand in this affair, I tell thee 
 once for all ! " 
 
 Master Carew flushed queerly and bit his lip, and, turn- 
 ing hastily away, took Nick to walk about the town. Nick 
 then, for the first time, looked into his hand to see what 
 the man upon the stage had given him. It was a gold 
 rose-noble.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AFTER THE PLAY/ 
 
 THROUGH the high streets of the third city of the 
 realm Master Gaston Carew strode as if he were a 
 very king, and Coventry his kingdom. 
 
 There was music everywhere, of pipers and fiddlers, 
 drums, tabrets, flutes, and horns, and there were dan- 
 cing bears upon the corners, with minstrels, jugglers, 
 chapmen crying their singsong wares, and such a mighty 
 hurly-burly as Nick had never seen before. And wherever 
 there was a wonder to be seen, Carew had Nick see it, 
 though it cost a penny a peep, and lifted him to watch the 
 fencing and quarter-staff play in the market-place. And 
 at one of the gay booths he bought gilt ginger-nuts and 
 caraway cakes with currants on the top, and gave them 
 all to Nick, who thanked him kindly, but said, if Master 
 Carew pleased, he 'd rather have his supper, for he was 
 very hungry. 
 
 " Why, to be sure," said Carew, and tossed a silver penny 
 for a scramble to the crowd; ''thou shalt have the finest 
 supper in the town." 
 
 66
 
 AFTER THE PLAY 61 
 
 Whereupon, bowing to all the great folk they met, and 
 being bowed to most politely in return, they came to the 
 Three Tuns. 
 
 Stared at by a hundred curious eyes, made way for 
 everywhere, and followed by wondering exclamations of 
 envy, it was little wonder that Nick, a simple country lad, 
 at last began to think that there was not in all the world 
 another gentleman so grand as Master Gaston Carew, and 
 also to have a pleasant notion that Nicholas Attwood was 
 no bad fellow himself. 
 
 The lordly innkeeper came smirking and bobbing 
 obsequiously about, with his freshest towel on his arm, 
 and took the master-player's order as a dog would take a 
 bone. 
 
 " Here, sirrah," said Carew, haughtily ; " fetch us some 
 repast, I care not what, so it be wholesome food a green 
 Banbury cheese, some simnel bread and oat-cakes; a 
 pudding, hark 'e, sweet and full of plums, with honey and 
 a pasty a meat pasty, marry, a pasty made of fat and 
 toothsome eels ; and moreover, fellow, ale to wash it down 
 none of thy penny ale, mind ye, too weak to run out of 
 the spigot, but snapping good brew dost take me ? with 
 beef and mustard, tripe, herring, and a good fat capon 
 broiled to a turn ! " 
 
 The innkeeper gaped like a fish. 
 
 "How now, sirrah? Dost think I cannot pay thy 
 score ? " quoth Carew, sharply. 
 
 "Nay, nay," stammered the host; "but, sir, where 
 where will ye put it all without bursting into bits ? n
 
 62 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Be off with thee ! " cried Carew, sharply. " That is 
 my affair. Nay, Nick," said he, laughing at the boy's, 
 astonished look ; " we shall not burst. What we do not 
 have to-night we '11 have in the morning. 'T is the way 
 with these inns, to feed the early birds with scraps, so 
 the more we leave from supper the more we '11 have for 
 breakfast. And thou wilt need a good breakfast to ride 
 on all day long." 
 
 " Ride ? " exclaimed Nick. " Why, sir, I was minded to 
 walk back to Stratford, and keep my gold rose-noble 
 whole." 
 
 " Walk ? " cried the master-player, scornfully. " Thou, 
 with thy golden throat? Nay, Nicholas, thou shalt ride 
 to-morrow like a very king, if I have to pay for the horse 
 myself, twelvepence the day ! " and with that he began 
 chuckling as if it were a joke. 
 
 But Nick stood up, and, bowing, thanked him gratefully ; 
 at which the master-player went from chuckling to laugh- 
 ing, and leered at Nick so oddly that the boy would have 
 thought him tipsy, save that there had been nothing yet 
 to drink. And a queer sense of uneasiness came creeping 
 over him as he watched the master-player's eyes opening 
 and shutting, opening and shutting, so that one moment 
 he seemed to be staring and the next almost asleep ; though 
 all the while his keen, dark eyes peered out from between 
 the lids like old dog-foxes from their holes, looking Nick 
 over from head to foot, and from foot to head again, as if 
 measuring him with an ellwand. 
 
 When the supper came, filling the whole table and the
 
 AFTER THE PLAY 63 
 
 sideboard too, Nick arose to serve the meat as he was used 
 at home ; but, " Nay, Nicholas Skylark, my honey-throat," 
 cried Carew, " sit thee down ! Thou wait on me thou 
 songster of the silver tongue ? Nay, nay, sweetheart ; the 
 knave shall wait on thee, or I '11 wait on thee myself I 
 will, upon my word ! Why, Nick, I tell thee I loye thee, 
 and dost think I 'd let thee wait or walk ? nay, nay, thou 'It 
 ride to-morrow like a king, and have all Stratford wait for 
 thee ! " At this he chuckled so that he almost choked upon 
 a mouthful of bread and meat. 
 
 " Canst ride, Nicholas ? n 
 
 "Fairly, sir." 
 
 " Fairly ? Fie, modesty ! I warrant thou canst ride like 
 a very centaur. What sayest I '11 ride a ten-mile race 
 with thee to-morrow as we go ? n 
 
 " Why," cried Nick, " are ye going back to Stratford to 
 play, after all ? " 
 
 " To Stratford ? Nay ; not for a bushel of good gold 
 Harry shovel-boards ! Bah ! That town is ratsbane and 
 nightshade in my mouth ! Nay, we '11 not go back to 
 Stratford town; but we shall ride a piece with thee, 
 Nicholas, we shall ride a piece with thee." 
 
 Chuckling again to himself, he fell to upon the pasty 
 and said no more. 
 
 Nick held his peace, as he was taught to do unless first 
 spoken to; but he could not help thinking that stage- 
 players, and master-players in particular, were very 
 queer folk.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 DISOWNED 
 
 NIGHT came down on Stratford town that last sweet 
 April day, and the pastured kine came lowing home. 
 Supper-time passed, and the cool stars came twinkling 
 out; but still Nick Attwood did not come. 
 
 " He hath stayed to sleep with Robin, Master Burgess 
 Getley's son," said Mistress Attwood, standing in the door, 
 and staring out into the dusk ; " he is often lonely here." 
 
 " He should ha' telled thee on it, then," said Simon Att- 
 wood. " This be no way to do. I Ve a mind to put him 
 to a trade." 
 
 " Nay, Simon," protested his wife ; " he may be careless, 
 he is young yet, but Nicholas is a good lad. Let him 
 have his schooling out he '11 be the better for it." 
 
 " Then let him show it as he goes along," said Attwood, 
 grimly, as he blew the candle out. 
 
 But May-day dawned; mid-morning came, mid-after- 
 noon, then supper-time again ; and supper-time crept into 
 dusk and still no Nicholas Attwood. 
 
 His mother grew uneasy ; but his father only growled : 
 
 64
 
 DISOWNED 65 
 
 " We '11 reckon up when lie coineth home. Master Bruns- 
 wood tells me he was na at the school the whole day yes- 
 terdayand he be feared to show his face. I '11 fear him 
 with a bit of birch ! " 
 
 " Do na be too hard with the lad, Simon," pleaded Mis- 
 tress Attwood. " Who knows what hath happened to him 1 
 He must be hurt, or he 'd 'a' come home to his mother " 
 and she began to wring her hands. " He may ha' fallen 
 from a tree, and lieth all alone out on the hill or, Simon, 
 the Avon ! Thou dost na think our lad be drowned ? " 
 
 " Fudge ! " said Simon Attwood. " Born to hang '11 
 never drown ! " 
 
 When, however, the next day crept around and still his 
 son did not come home, a doubt stole into the tanner's 
 own heart. Yet when his wife was for starting out to 
 seek some tidings of the boy, he stopped her wrathfully. 
 
 " Nay, Margaret," said he ; " thou shalt na go traipsing 
 around the town like a hen wi' but one chick. I wull na ha' 
 thee made a laughing-stock by all the fools in Stratford." 
 
 But as the third day rolled around, about the middle of 
 the afternoon the tanner himself sneaked out at the back 
 door of his tannery in Southam's lane, and went up into 
 the town. 
 
 " Robin Getley," he asked at the guildschool door, " was 
 my son wi' thee overnight ? " 
 
 " Nay, Master Attwood. Has he not come back ? " 
 
 " Come back ? From where ? " 
 
 Robin hung his head. 
 
 " From where ? " demanded the tanner. " Come, boy ! n
 
 66 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 " From Coventry," said Robin, knowing that the truth 
 would out at last, anyway. 
 
 " He went to see the players, sir," spoke up Hal Saddler, 
 briskly, not heeding Robin's stealthy kick. " He said 
 he 'd bide wi' Diecon Haggard overnight ; an' he said he 
 wished he were a master-player himself, sir, too." 
 
 Simon Attwood, frowning blackly, hurried on. It ivas 
 Nick, then, whom he had seen crossing the market-square. 
 
 Wat Raven, who swept Clopton bridge, had seen two 
 boys go up the Warwick road. " One were thy Nick, Mus- 
 ter Attwood," said he, thumping the dirt from his broom 
 across the coping-stone, "and the other were Dawson's 
 Hodge." 
 
 The angry tanner turned again into the market-place. 
 His brows were knit, and his eyes were hot, yet his step 
 was heavy and slow. Above all things, he hated disobe- 
 dience, yet in his surly way he loved his only son ; and 
 far worse than disobedience, he hated that his son should 
 disobey. 
 
 Astride a beam in front of Master Thompson's house 
 sat Roger Dawson. Simon Attwood took him by the col- 
 lar none too gently. 
 
 " Here, leave be ! " choked Roger, wriggling hard ; but 
 the tanner's grip was like iron. " Wert thou in Coventry 
 May-day ? " he asked sternly. 
 
 " Nay, that I was na," sputtered Hodge. " A plague on 
 Coventry ! " 
 
 " Do na lie to me thou wert there wi' my son Nicholas." 
 
 "I was na," snarled Hodge. "Nick Attwood threshed
 
 DISOWNED 67 
 
 me in the Warrick road; an' I be no dawg to follow at 
 the heels o' folks as threshes me." 
 
 " Where be he, then?" demanded Attwood, with a sud- 
 den sinking at heart in spite of his wrath. 
 
 " How should I know ? A went away wi' a play-actor- 
 ing fellow in a plum-colored cloak ; and play-actoring fel- 
 low said a loved him like a's own, and patted a's back, 
 and flung me hard names, like stones at a lost dawg. Now 
 le* me go, Muster Attwood cross my heart, 't is all I 
 know ! " 
 
 " Is 't Nicholas ye seek, Master Attwood ? " asked Tom 
 Carpenter, turning from his fleurs-de-lis. " Why, sir, he 'a 
 gone got famous, sir. I was in Coventry myseP May-day ; 
 and why, sir, Nick was all the talk ! He sang there at 
 the Blue Boar inn-yard with the Lord High Admiral's 
 players, and took a part in the play ; and, sir, ye 'd scarce 
 believe me, but the people went just daft to hear him sing, 
 sir." 
 
 Simon Attwood heard no more. He walked down High 
 street in a daze. With hard men bitter blows strike 
 doubly deep. He stopped before the guildhall school. 
 The clock struck five ; each iron clang seemed beating upon 
 his heart. He raised his hand as if to shut the clangor 
 out, and then his face grew stern and hard. " He hath 
 gone his own wilful way," said he, bitterly. " Let him 
 follow it to the end." 
 
 Mistress Attwood came to meet him, running in the 
 garden-path. " Nicholas 1 " was all that she could say. 
 
 " Never speak to me of hi again," he said, and passed
 
 68 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 her by into the house. " He hath gone away with a pack 
 of stage-playing rascals and vagabonds, whither no man 
 knoweth." 
 
 Taking the heavy Bible down from the shelf, he lit a 
 rushlight at the fire, although it was still broad daylight, 
 and sat there with the great book open in his lap until 
 the sun went down and the chill night wind crept in along 
 the floor ; yet he could not read a single word and never 
 turned a page.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A STRANGE RIDE 
 
 RAT-A-TAT-TAT at the first dim hint of dawn went 
 the chamberlain's knuckles upon the door. To Nick 
 it seemed scarce midnight yet, so sound had been his sleep. 
 
 Master Carew having gotten into his high-topped rid- 
 ing-boots with a great puffing and tugging, they washed 
 their faces at the inn-yard pump by the smoky light of 
 the hostler's lantern, and then in a subdued, half -wakened 
 way made a hearty breakfast off the fragments of the last 
 night's feast. Part of the remaining cold meat, cheese, 
 and cakes Carew stowed in his leather pouch. The rest 
 he left in the lap of a beggar sleeping beside the door. 
 
 The street was dim with a chilly fog, through which a 
 few pale stars still struggled overhead. The houses were 
 all shut and barred ; nobody was abroad, and the night- 
 watch slept in comfortable doorways here and there, with 
 lolling heads and lanterns long gone out. As they came 
 along the crooked street, a stray cat scurried away with 
 scared green eyes, and a kenneled hound set up a lonesome 
 howl.
 
 70 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 But the Blue Boar Inn was stirring like an ant-hill, with 
 firefly lanterns flitting up and down, and a cheery glow 
 about the open door. The horses of the company, scrubbed 
 unreasonably clean, snorted and stamped in little 
 bridled clumps about the courtyard, and the stable-boys, 
 not scrubbed at all, clanked at the pump or shook out 
 wrinkled saddle-cloths with most prodigious yawns. The 
 grooms were buckling up the packs ; the chamberlain and 
 sleepy-lidded maids stood at the door, waiting their fare- 
 well farthings. 
 
 Some of the company yawned in the tap-room ; some 
 yawned out of doors with steaming stirrup-cup in hand ; 
 and some came yawning down the stairways pulling on 
 their riding-cloaks, booted, spurred, and ready for a long 
 day's ride. 
 
 "Good-morrow, sirs," said Carew, heartily. "Good- 
 morrow, sir, to you," said they, and all came over to speak 
 to Nicholas in a very kindly way ; and one or two patted 
 him on the cheek and walked away speaking in under- 
 tones among themselves, keeping one eye on Carew all 
 the while. And Master Tom Heywood, the play-writer, 
 came out with a great slice of fresh wheat-bread, thick 
 with butter and dripping with yellow honey, and gave it 
 to Nick; and stood there silently with a very queer ex- 
 pression watching him eat it, until Carew's groom led up 
 a stout hackney and a small roan palfrey to the block, 
 and the master-player, crying impatiently, " Up with thee, 
 Nick ; we must be ambling ! " sprang into the saddle of the 
 gray.
 
 A STEANGE BIDE 71 
 
 The sleepy inn-folk roused a bit to send a cheery vol- 
 ley of, "Fare ye well, sirs; come again," after the depart- 
 ing players, and the long cavalcade cantered briskly out 
 of the inn-yard, in double rank, with a great clinking of 
 bridle-chains and a drifting odor of wet leather and heavy 
 perfume. 
 
 Nick sat very erect and rode his best, feeling like some 
 errant knight of the great Round Table, ready to right the 
 whole world's wrongs. " But what about the horse ? " said 
 he. " We can na keep him in Stratford, sir." 
 
 " Oh, that 's all seen to," said the master-player. " 'T is 
 to be sent back by the weekly carrier." 
 
 "And where do I turn into the Stratford road, sir?" 
 asked Nick, as the players clattered down the cobbled 
 street in a cloud of mist that steamed up so thickly from 
 the stones that the horses seemed to have no legs, but to 
 float like boats. 
 
 " Some distance further on," replied Carew, carelessly. 
 " 'T is not the way we came that thou shalt ride to-day ; 
 that is t' other end of town, and the gate not open yet. 
 But the longest way round is the shortest way home, so 
 let 's be spurring on." 
 
 At the corner of the street a cross and sleepy cobbler 
 was strapping a dirty urchin, who bellowed lustily. Nick 
 winced. 
 
 " Hollo ! " cried Carew. " What 's to do ? " 
 
 " Why, sir," said Nick, ruefully, " father will thresh me 
 well this night." 
 
 " Nay," said Carew, in a quite decided tone ; " that he '11
 
 72 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 not, I promise thee ! "and as he spoke he chuckled softly 
 to himself. 
 
 The man before them turned suddenly around and 
 grinned queerly; but, catching the master-player's eye, 
 whipped his head about like a weather-vane in a gale, and 
 cantered on. 
 
 As they came down the narrow street the watchmen 
 were just swinging wide the city gates, and gave a cheer 
 to speed the parting guests, who gave a rouse in turn, and 
 were soon lost to sight in the mist which hid the valley in 
 a great gray sea. 
 
 " How shall I know where to turn off, sir ? " asked Nick, 
 a little anxiously. " 'T is all alike." 
 
 " I '11 tell thee," said the master-player ; " rest thee easy 
 on that score. I know the road thou art to ride much 
 better than thou dost thyself." 
 
 He smiled quite frankly as he spoke, and Nick could 
 not help wondering why the man before them again turned 
 around and eyed him with that sneaking grin. 
 
 He did not like the fellow's looks. He had scowling 
 black brows, hair cut as close as if the rats had gnawed it 
 off, a pair of ill-shaped bandy-legs, a wide, unwholesome 
 slit of a mouth, and a nose like a raspberry tart. His 
 whole appearance was servile and mean, and there was a sly 
 malice in his furtive eyes. Besides that, and a thing which 
 strangely fascinated Nick's gaze, there was a hole through 
 the gristle of his right ear, scarred about as if it had been 
 burned, and through this hole the fellow had tied a bow 
 of crimson ribbon, like a butterfly alighted upon his ear
 
 A STRANGE RIDE 73 
 
 " A pretty fellow ! " said Carew, with a shrug. " He '11 
 be hard put to dodge the hangman yet ; but he 's a right 
 good fellow in his way, and he has served me he has 
 served me." 
 
 The first loud burst of talk had ceased, and all rode 
 silently along. The air was chill, and Nick was grateful 
 for the cloak that Carew threw around him. There was 
 no sound but the beat of many hoofs in the dust-padded 
 road, and now and then the crowing of a cock somewhere 
 within the cloaking fog. The stars were gone, and the 
 sky was lighting up ; and all at once, as they rode, the 
 clouds ahead, low down and to the right, broke raggedly 
 away and let a red sun-gleam shoot through across the 
 mist, bathing the riders in dazzling rosy light. 
 
 "Why, Master Carew," cried Nick, no little startled, 
 " there comes the sun, almost ahead ! We 're riding east- 
 ward, sir. We Ve missed the road ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, we 've not," said Carew ; " nothing of the sort." 
 His tone was so peremptory and sharp that Nick said 
 nothing more, but rode along, vaguely wishing that he 
 was already clattering down Stratford High street. 
 
 The clouds scattered as the sun came up, and the morn- 
 ing haze drifted away into cool dales, and floated off upon 
 the breeze. And as the world woke up the players wa- 
 kened too, and rode gaily along, laughing, singing, and 
 chattering together, until Nick thought he had never in 
 all his life before seen such a jolly fellowship. His heart 
 was blithe as he reined his curveting palfrey by the mas- 
 ter-player's side, and watched the sunlight dance and spar-
 
 74 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 kle along the dashing line from dagger-hilts and jeweled 
 clasps, and the mist-lank plumes curl crisp again in the 
 warmth of the rising sun. 
 
 The master-player, too, had a graceful, taking way of 
 being half familiar with the lad ; he was besides a mar- 
 velous teller of wonderful tales, and whiled away the 
 time with jests and quips, mile after mile, till Nick forgot 
 both road and time, and laughed until his sides were 
 sore. 
 
 Yet slowly, as they rode along, it came home to him 
 with the passing of the land that this was country new 
 and strange. So he began to take notice of this and that 
 beside the way ; and as he noticed he began to grow un- 
 easy. Thrice had he come to Coventry, but surely never 
 by a road like this. 
 
 Yet still the master-player joked and laughed and 
 pleased the boy with little things until Nick laughed 
 too, and let the matter go. At last, however, when they 
 had ridden fully an hour, they passed a moss-grown abbey 
 on the left-hand side of the road, a strange old place that 
 Nick could not recall. 
 
 "Are ye sure, Master Carew," he ventured timidly 
 "are ye sure we be na going wrong, sir?" 
 
 At that the master-player took on so offended an air 
 that Nick was sorry he had spoken. 
 
 " Why, now," said Carew, haughtily, " if thou dost know 
 the roads of England better than I, who have trudged and 
 ridden them all these years, I '11 sit me down and learn of 
 thee how to follow mine own nose. I tell thee I know the
 
 A STRANGE RIDE 75 
 
 road thou art to ride this day better than thou dost thy- 
 self ; and I '11 see to it that thou dost come without fail to 
 the very place that thou art going. I will, upon my word, 
 and on the remnant of mine honour ! " 
 
 But in spite of this assurance, and in spite of the mas- 
 ter-player's ceaseless stream of gaiety and marvels, Nick 
 became more and more uneasy. The road was certainly 
 growing stranger and stranger as they passed. The com- 
 pany, too, instead of ambling leisurely along, as they had 
 done at first, were now spurring ahead at a good round 
 gallop, in answer to a shrill whistle from the master- 
 player ; and the horses were wet with sweat. 
 
 They passed a country village, too, that was quite un- 
 known to Nick, and a great highway running to the north 
 that he had never seen before ; and when they had ridden 
 for about two hours, the road swerved southward to a 
 shining ford, and on a little tableland beyond he saw the 
 gables of a town he did not know. 
 
 " Why, Master Carew ! " he cried out, half indignant, 
 half perplexed, and thoroughly frightened, " this is na the 
 Stratford road at all. I 'm going back. I will na ride 
 another mile ! " 
 
 As he spoke he wheeled the roan sharply out of the 
 clattering file with a slash of the rein across the withers, 
 and started back along the hill past the rest of the com- 
 pany, who came thumping down behind. 
 
 " Stop him ! Stop him there ! " he heard the master- 
 player shout, and there was something in the fierce, high 
 voice that turned his whole heart sick. What right had
 
 76 MASTER SKYLAKK 
 
 they to stop him ? This was not the Stratford road ; he 
 was certain of that now. But "Stop him stop him 
 there ! '' he heard the master-player call, and a wild, un- 
 reasoning fright came over him. He dug his heels into 
 the paJlr^y's heaving sides and urged him up the hill 
 through the cloud of dust that came rolling down behind 
 the horsemen. The hindmost riders had plunged into 
 those before, and the whole array was struggling, shout- 
 ing, and wrangling in wild disorder ; but out of the flurry 
 Carew and the bandy-legged man with the ribbon in his 
 ear spurred furiously and came galloping after him at the 
 top of their speed. 
 
 Nick cried out, and beat the palfrey with the rein ; but 
 the chase was short. They overtook him as he topped the 
 hill, one on each side, and, leaning over, Carew snatched 
 the bridle from his hand. " Thou little imp ! " he panted, 
 as he turned the roan around and started down the hill. 
 " Don't try this on again ! " 
 
 " Oh, Master Carew," gasped Nick, " what are ye going 
 to do wi' me T " 
 
 "Do with thee? n cried the master-player, savagely 
 clapping his hand upon his poniard, "why, I am going 
 to do with thee just whatever I please. Dost hear ? And, 
 hark 'e, this sort of caper doth not please me at all ; and 
 by the whistle of the Lord High Admiral, if thou triest it 
 on again, thy life is not worth a rotten peascod ! " 
 
 Unbuckling the rein, he tossed one end to the bandy- 
 legged man, and holding the other in his own hand, with 
 Nick riding helplessly between them, they trotted down the
 
 A STRANGE RIDE 77 
 
 hill again, took their old places in the ranks, and spattered 
 through the shallow ford. 
 
 The bandy-legged man had pulled a dagger from be* 
 neath his coat, and held it under his bridle-rein, shining 
 through the horse's mane as they dashed through the still 
 half -sleeping town. Nick was speechless with terror. 
 
 Beyond the town's end they turned sharply to the north- 
 east, galloping steadily onward for what was perhaps 
 half an hour, though to Nick it seemed a forever, until 
 they came out into a great highway running southward. 
 " Watling street ! " he heard the man behind him say, and 
 knew that they were in the old Roman road that stretched 
 from London to the north. Still they were galloping, 
 though long strings dribbled from the horses' mouths, and 
 the saddle-leathers dripped with foam. One or two looked 
 back at him and bit their lips ; but Carew's eyes were hot 
 and fierce, and his hand was on his poniard. The rest, 
 after a curious glance or two, shrugged their shoulders 
 carelessly and galloped on : this affair was Master Gaston 
 Carew's business, not theirs. 
 
 Until high noon they hurried on with neither stop nor 
 stay. Then they came to a place where a little brook sang 
 through the grass by the roadside in a shady nook beneath 
 some mighty oaks, and there the master-player whistled 
 for a halt, to give the horses breath and rest, and to water 
 them at the brook-pools. Some of the players sauntered 
 up and down to stretch their tired legs, munching meat 
 and bread ; and some lay down upon the grass and slept a 
 little. Two of them came, offering Nick some cakes and
 
 78 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 cheese ; but he was crying hard and would neither eat nor 
 drink, though Carew urged him earnestly. Then Master 
 Tom Heywood, with an ugly look at Carew, and without 
 so much as an if-ye-please or a by-your-leave, led Nick up 
 the brook to a spot where it had not been muddied by the 
 horses, and made him wash his dusty face and hands in 
 the cool water and dampen his hair, though he complied 
 as if in a daze. And indeed Nick rode on through the 
 long afternoon, clinging helplessly to the pommel of his 
 saddle, sobbing bitterly until for very weariness he could 
 no longer sob. 
 
 It was after nine o'clock that night when they rode into 
 Towcester, and all that was to be seen was a butcher's boy 
 carting garbage out of the town and whistling to keep his 
 courage up. The watch had long since gone to sleep 
 about the silent streets, but a dim light burned in the tap- 
 room of the Old Brown Cow ; and there the players rested 
 for the night.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A DASH FOR FREEDOM 
 
 NICK awoke from a heavy, burning sleep, aching from 
 head to foot. The master-player, up and dressed, 
 stood by the window, scowling grimly out into the ashy 
 dawn. Nick made haste to rise, but could not atifle a 
 sharp cry of pain as he staggered to his feet, he was so 
 racked and sore with riding. 
 
 At the boy's smothered cry Carew turned, and his dark 
 face softened with a sudden look of pity and concern. 
 " Why, Nick, my lad," he cried, and hurried to his side, 
 " this is too bad, indeed ! " and without more words took 
 him gently in his arms and carried him down to the court- 
 yard well, where he bathed him softly from neck to heel 
 in the cold, refreshing water, and wiped him with a soft, 
 clean towel as tenderly as if he had been the lad's own 
 mother. And having dried him thoroughly, he rubbed him 
 with a waxy ointment that smelled of henbane and poppies, 
 until the aching was almost gone. So soft and so kind was 
 he withal that Nick took heart after a little and asked tim- 
 idly, " And ye will let me go home to-day, sir, will ye not f " 
 
 79
 
 80 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 The master-player frowned. 
 
 " Please, Master Carew, let me go." 
 
 "Come, come," said Carew, impatiently, "enough of 
 this!" and stamped his foot. 
 
 " But, oh, Master Carew," pleaded Nick, with a sob in 
 his throat, " my mother's heart will surely break if I do 
 na come home ! " 
 
 Carew started, and his mouth twitched queerly 
 " Enough, I say enough ! " he cried. " I will not hear; 
 I '11 have no more. I tell thee hold thy tongue be dumb ! 
 I '11 not have ears thou shalt not speak! Dost hear?" 
 He dashed the towel to the ground. "I bid thee hold 
 thy tongue." 
 
 Nick hid his face between his hands, and leaned against 
 the rough stone wall, a naked, shivering, wretched little 
 chap indeed. " Oh, mother, mother, mother ! " he sobbed 
 pitifully. 
 
 A singular expression came over the master-player's face. 
 " I will not hear I tell thee I will not hear ! " he choked , 
 and, turning suddenly away, he fell upon the sleepy hos- 
 tler, who was drawing water at the well, and rated him 
 outrageously, to that astounded worthy's great amazement 
 
 Nick crept into his clothes, and stole away to the kitchen 
 door. There was a red-faced woman there who bade him 
 not to cry 't would soon be breakfast-time. Nick thought 
 he could not eat at all ; but when the savory smell crept 
 out and filled the chilly air, his poor little empty stomach 
 would not be denied, and he ate heartily. Master Hey- 
 wood sat beside him and gave him the choicest bits from
 
 A DASH FOR FREEDOM 81 
 
 his own trencher ; and Carew himself, seeing that he ate, 
 looked strangely pleased, and ordered him a tiny mutton- 
 pie, well spiced. Nick pushed it back indignantly ; but 
 Heywood took the pie and cut it open, saying quietly: 
 " Come, lad, the good God made the sheep that is in this 
 pie, not Gaston Carew. Eat it come, 't will do thee good ! " 
 and saw him finish the last crumb. 
 
 From Towcester south through Northamptonshire is a 
 pretty country of rolling hills and undulating hollows, 
 ribboned with pebbly rivers, and dotted with fair parks 
 and tofts of ash and elm and oak. Straggling villages 
 now and then were threaded on the road like beads upon 
 a string, and here and there the air was damp and misty 
 from the grassy fens along some winding stream. 
 
 It was against nature that a healthy, growing lad should 
 be so much cast down as not to see and be interested in 
 the strange, new, passing world of things about him ; and 
 little by little Nick roused from his wretchedness and 
 began to look about him. And a wonder grew within his 
 brain : why had they stolen him ? where were they tak- 
 ing him ? what would they do with him there ? or would 
 they soon let him go again ? 
 
 Every yellow cloud of dust arising far ahead along the 
 road wrought up his hopes to a Bluebeard pitch, as regu- 
 larly to fall. First came a cast-off soldier from the war 
 in the Netherlands, rakishly forlorn, his breastplate full 
 of rusty dents, his wild hair worn by his steel cap, swag- 
 gering along on a sorry hack with an old belt full of pis- 
 toJets, and his long sword thumping Rosinante's ribs. 
 i
 
 82 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 Then a peddling chapman, with a dust-white pack and a 
 cunning Hebrew look, limped by, sulkily doffing his greasy 
 hat. Two sturdy Midland journeymen, in search of south- 
 ern handicraft, trudged down with tool-bags over their 
 shoulders and stout oak staves in hand. Of wretched 
 beggars and tattered rogues there was an endless string. 
 But of any help no sign. 
 
 Here and there, like a moving dot, a ploughman turned 
 a belated furrow ; or a sweating ditcher leaned upon his 
 reluctant spade and longed for night ; or a shepherd, quite 
 as silly as his sheep, gawked up the morning hills. But 
 not a sign of help for Nick. 
 
 Once, passing through a little town, he raised a sudden 
 cry of " Help ! Help they be stealing me away ! " But 
 at that the master-player and the bandy-legged man waved 
 their hands and set up such a shout that his shrill outcry 
 was not even heard. And the simple country bumpkins, 
 standing in a grinning row like so many Old Aunt Sallys 
 at a fair, pulled off their caps and bowed, thinking it some 
 company of great lords, and fetched a clownish cheer as 
 the players galloped by. 
 
 Then the hot dust got into Nick's throat, and he began 
 to cough. Carew started with a look of alarm. " Come, 
 come, Nicholas, this will never do never do in the world j 
 thou 'It spoil thy voice." 
 
 " I do na care," said Nick. 
 
 " But I do," said Carew, sharply. " So we '11 have no 
 more of it ! " and he clapped his hand upon his poniard. 
 u But, nay nay, lad, I did not mean to threaten thee 't is
 
 A DASH FOR FREEDOM 83 
 
 but a jest. Come, smooth thy throat, and do not shriek 
 no more. We play in old St. Albans town to-night, and 
 thou art to sing thy song for us again." 
 
 Nick pressed his lips tight shut and shook his head. He 
 would not sing for them again. 
 
 " Come, Nick, I 've promised Tom Heywood that thou 
 shouldst sing his song ; and, lad, there 's no one left in all 
 the land to sing it if thou 'It not. Tom doth dearly love 
 thee, lad why, sure, thou hast seen that ! And, Nick, I 've 
 promised all the company that thou wouldst sing Tom's 
 song with us to-night. 'T will break their hearts if thou 
 wilt not. Come, Nick, thou 'It sing it for us all, and set 
 old Albans town afire ! " said Carew, pleadingly. 
 
 Nick shook his head. 
 
 "Come, Nick," said Carew, coaxingly, "we must hear 
 that sweet voice of thine in Albans town to-night. Come, 
 there 's a dear, good lad, and give us just one little song ! 
 Come, act the man and sing, as thou alone in all the world 
 canst sing, in Albans town this night ; and on my word, 
 and on the remnant of mine honour, I '11 leave thee go 
 back to Stratford town to-morrow morning ! " 
 
 "To Stratford to-morrow ?" stammered Nick, with a 
 glad, incredulous cry, while his heart leaped up within 
 him. 
 
 " Ay, verily ; upon my faith as the fine fag-end of a very 
 proper gentleman thou shalt go back to Stratford town 
 to-morrow if thou wilt but do thy turn with us to-night." 
 
 Nick caught the master-player's arm as they rode along, 
 almost crying for very joy : " Oh, that I will, sir and do
 
 84 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 my very best. And, oh, Master Carew, I ha' thought so 
 ill o' thee ! Forgive me, sir ; I did na know thee well." 
 
 <wew winced. Hastily throwing the rein to Nick, he 
 left him to master his own array. 
 
 As for Nick, as happy as a lark he learned his new 
 lines as he rode along, Master Carew saying them over to 
 him from the manuscript and over again until he made 
 not a single mistake ; and was at great pains to teach him 
 the latest fashionable London way of pronouncing all the 
 words, and of emphasizing his set phrases. " Nay, nay," 
 he would cry laughingly, "not that way, lad; but this: 
 'Good my lord, I bring a letter from the duke' as if 
 thou hadst indeed a letter, see, and not an empty fist. 
 And when thou dost hand it to him, do it thus and not 
 as if thou wert about to stab him in the paunch with a 
 cheese-knife ! " And at the end he clapped him upon the 
 back and said again and again that he loved him, that 
 he was a dear, sweet figure of a lad, and that his voice 
 among the rest of England's singers, was like clear honey 
 dropping into a pot of grease. 
 
 But it is a long ride from Towcester to St. Albans town 
 in Herts, though the road runs through a pleasant, billowy 
 land of oak- walled lanes, wide pastures, and quiet parks ; 
 and the steady jog, jog of the little roan began to rack 
 Nick's tired bones before the day was done. 
 
 Yet when they marched into the quaint old town to the 
 blare of trumpets and the crash of the kettledrums, all the 
 long line gaudy with the coat-armour of the Lord High 
 Admiral beneath their flaunting banners, and the horses
 
 A DASH FOR FREEDOM 85 
 
 pricked up their ears and arched their necks and pranced 
 along the crowded streets, Nick, stared at by all the good 
 townsfolk, could not help feeling a thrill of pride that he 
 was one of the great company of players, and sat up very 
 straight and held his head up haughtily as Master Carew 
 did, and bore himself with as lordly an air as he knew how. 
 
 Bur when morning came, and he danced blithely back 
 from washing himself at the horse-trough, all ready to 
 start for home, he found the little roan cross-bridled as 
 before between the master-player's gray and the bandy- 
 legged fellow's sorrel mare. 
 
 " What, there ! cast him loose," said he to the horse-boy 
 who held the three. " I am not. going on with the players 
 I ; m to go back to Stratford." 
 
 " Then ye go afoot," coolly rejoined the other, grinning, 
 " for the hoss goeth on wi' the rest." 
 
 " What is this, Master Carew ? " cried Nick, indignantly, 
 bursting into the tap-room, where the players were at ale. 
 " They will na let me have the horse, sir. Am I to walk 
 the whole way back to Stratford town ? " 
 
 " To Stratford ? " asked Master Carew, staring with an 
 expression of most innocent surprise, as he set his ale-can 
 down and turned around. " Why, thou art not going to 
 Stratford." 
 
 " Not going to Stratford ! " gasped Nick, catching at the 
 table with a sinking heart. " Why, sir, ye promised that 
 I should to-day." 
 
 "Nay, now, that I did not, Nicholas. I promised thee
 
 86 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 that thou shonldst go back to-morrow were not those my 
 very words?" 
 
 " Ay, that they were," cried Nick ; " and why will ye na 
 leave me go?" 
 
 " Why, this is not to-morrow, Nick. Why, see, I can- 
 not leave thee go to-day. Thou knowest that I said to- 
 morrow; and this is not to-morrow on thine honour, is 
 it now ? " 
 
 "How can I tell?" cried Nick, despairingly. "Yester- 
 day ye said it would be, and now ye say that it is na. 
 Ye Ve twisted it all up so that a body can na tell at all. 
 But there is a falsehood a wicked, black falsehood 
 somewhere betwixt you and me, sir ; and ye know that I 
 have na lied to you, Master Carew ! " 
 
 Through the tap-room door he saw the open street and 
 the hills beyond the town. Catching his breath, he sprang 
 across the sill, and ran for the free fields at the top of his 
 speed.
 
 CHAPTER XTV 
 
 AT BAY 
 
 "AFTER him! stop him! catch the rogue!" cried 
 JLjL Carew, running out on the cobbles with his ale-can 
 in his hand. "A shilling to the man that brings him 
 back unharmed! No blows, nor clubs, nor stabbing, 
 hark 'e, but catch me the knave straightway ; he hath 
 snatched a fortune from my hands ! " 
 
 At that the hostler, whip in hand, and the tapster with 
 his bit, were off as fast as their legs could carry them, 
 bawling " Stop, thief, stop ! " at the top of their lungs ; 
 and at their backs every idle varlet about the inn grooms, 
 stable-boys, and hangers-onran whooping, howling, and 
 hallooing like wild huntsmen. 
 
 Nick's frightened heart was in his mouth, and his breath 
 came quick and sharp. Tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap went his feet 
 on the cobblestones as down the long street he flew, run- 
 ning as he had never run before. 
 
 It seemed as if the whole town bellowed at his back ; 
 for windows creaked above his head, and doors banged 
 wildly after him ; curs from every alley- way came yelping 
 
 87
 
 88 MASTEE SKYLAEK 
 
 at his heels ; apprentices let go the shutter-bars, and joined 
 in the chase ; and near and nearer came the cry of " Stop, 
 thief, stop ! " and the kloppety-klop of hob-nailed shoes in 
 wild pursuit. 
 
 The rabble filled the dark old street from wall to wall, 
 as if a cloud of good-f or-naughts had burst above the town ; 
 and far in front sped one small, curly-headed lad, running 
 like a frightened fawn. He had lost his cap, and his 
 breath came short, half sobbing in his throat as the sound 
 of footfalls gained upon his ear ; but even yet he might 
 have beaten them all and reached the open fields but 
 for the dirt and garbage in the street. Three times he 
 slipped upon a rancid bacon-rind and almost fell ; and the 
 third time, as he plunged across the oozing drain, a dog 
 dashed right between his feet. 
 
 He staggered, nearly fell, threw out his hand against the 
 house and saved himself; but as he started on again he 
 saw the town-watch, wakened by the uproar, standing with 
 their long staves at the end of the street, barring the way. 
 
 The door of a smithy stood open just ahead, with forge- 
 fires glowing and the hammer ringing on the anvil. Nick 
 darted in, past the horses, hostlers, and blacksmith's boys, 
 and caught at the leather apron of the sturdy smith himself. 
 
 " Hoo, man, what a dickens ! " snorted he, dropping the 
 red-hot shoe on which he was at work, and staring like a 
 startled ox at the paniing little fugitive. 
 
 " Do na leave them take me ! " panted Nick. " They 
 ha' stolen me away from Stratford town and will na leave 
 me go ! "
 
 H * 
 
 00 Q 
 
 M 
 
 I? 
 
 O M 
 
 Q 
 J O 
 15
 
 AT BAY 89 
 
 At that Will Hostler bolted in, red-faced and scant of 
 wind. " Thou young rascal," quoth he, " I have thee now ! 
 Come out o' that ! " and he tried to take Nick by the collar. 
 
 "So-oftly, so-oftly!" rumbled the smith, tweaking up 
 the glowing shoe in his great pincers, and sweeping a sput- 
 tering half -circle in front of the cowering lad. " Droive 
 slow through the cro-owd ! What hath youngster here 
 did no-ow ? " 
 
 " He hath stolen a fortune from his master at the Three 
 Lions and the shilling for him 's mine ! n 
 
 " Hath stealed a fortune ? Whoy, huttlety-tut ! " roared 
 the burly smith, turning ponderously upon Nick, who was 
 dodging around him like a boy at tag around a tree. 
 " Whoy, lad," said he, scratching his puzzled head with his 
 great, grimy fingers, " where hast putten it ? " 
 
 All the rout and the riot now came plunging into the 
 smithy, breathless with the chase. Master Carew himself, 
 his ale-can still clutched in his hand, and bearing himself 
 with a high air of dignity, followed after them, frowning. 
 
 "What?" said he. angrily, "have ye earthed the cub 
 and cannot dig him out ? Hast caught him there, fellow ? " 
 
 "Ay, master, that I have!" shouted Will Hostler. 
 u Shilling 's mine, sir." 
 
 " Then fetch him out of this hole ! " cried Carew, sniffing 
 disdainfully at the low, smoky door. 
 
 "But he will na be fetched," stammered the doughty 
 Will, keeping a most respectful distance from the long black 
 pincers and the sputtering shoe with which the farrier stol- 
 idly mowed the air round about Nick Attwood and himself.
 
 90 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 At that the crowd set up a shout 
 
 Carew thrust fiercely into the press, the louts and loaf- 
 ers giving way. " What, here ! Nicholas Attwood," said 
 he, harshly, " come hither." 
 
 " Do na leave him take me," begged Nick. " He is not 
 my master; I am not bound out apprentice they are 
 stealing me away from my own home, and it will break 
 my mother's heart." 
 
 " Nobody breaks nobody's hearts in old Jo-ohn Smithses 
 sho-op," drawled the smith, in his deep voice ; " nor steals 
 nobody, nother. We be honest-dealing folk in Albans 
 town, an' makes as good horse-shoes as be forged in all 
 England" and he went placidly on mowing the air with 
 the glimmering shoe. 
 
 " Here, fellow, stand aside," commanded Master Carew, 
 haughtily. " Stand aside and let me pass ! " As he spoke 
 he clapped his hand upon his poniard with a fierce snarl, 
 showing his white teeth like a wolf-hound. 
 
 The men about him fell back with unanimous alacrity, 
 making out each to put himself behind the other. But 
 the huge smith only puffed out his sooty cheeks as if to 
 blow a fly off the next bite of cheese. " So-oftly, so-oftly, 
 muster," drawled he ; " do na go to ruffling it here. This 
 shop be mine, and I be free-born Englishman. I '11 stand 
 aside for no swash-buckling rogue on my own ground. 
 Come, now, what wilt thou o' the lad? and speak thee 
 fair, good muster, or thou 'It get a dab o' the red-hot shoe." 
 As he spoke he gave the black tongs an extra whirl.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 LONDON TOWN 
 
 ," growled the blacksmith, gripping his tongs, 
 " what wilt thou have o' the lad ? " 
 
 " What will I have o' the lad ? " said Master Carew, mim- 
 icking the blacksmith in a most comical way, with a wink 
 at the crowd, as if he had never been angry at all, so 
 quickly could he change his face "What will I have o' 
 the lad?" and all the crowd laughed. "Why, bless thy 
 gentle heart, good man, I want to turn his farthings into 
 round gold crowns if thou and thine infernal hot shoe 
 do not make zanies of us all ! Why, Master Smith, 't is 
 to London town I 'd take him, and fill his hands with 
 more silver shillings than there be cast-off shoes in thy 
 whole shop." 
 
 " La, now, hearken till him ! " gaped the smith, staring 
 in amazement. 
 
 " And here thou needs must up and spoil it all, because, 
 forsooth, the silly child goes a trifle sick for home and 
 whimpers for his minnie ! " 
 
 " But the lad saith thou hast stealed him awa-ay from 's 
 
 91
 
 92 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 ho-ome," rumbled the smith, like a doubtful earthquake , 
 11 and we '11 ha' no stealing o' lads awa-ay from ho-ome in 
 County Herts ! " 
 
 " Nay, that we won't ! " cried one. " Hurrah, John Smith 
 fair play, fair play ! " and there came an ugly, threaten- 
 ing murmur from the crowd. 
 
 " What ! Fair play ? " cried Master Carew, turning so 
 sharply about, with his hand upon his poniard, that each 
 made as if it were not he but his neighbor had growled. 
 " Why, sirs, what if I took any one of ye out of your pov- 
 erty and common clothes down into London town, horse- 
 back like a king, and had ye sing before the Queen, and 
 play for earls, and talk with the highest dames in all the 
 land ; and fed ye well, and spoke ye fair, and lodged ye 
 soft, and clad ye fine, and wrought the whole town on to 
 cheer ye, and to fill your purses full of gold ? What, sir," 
 said he, turning to the gaping farrier" what if I promised 
 thee to turn thine every word to a silver sixpence, and 
 thy smutty grins to golden angels what wouldst thou? 
 Knock me in the head with thy dirty sledge, and bawl 
 foul play ? " 
 
 "Nay, that I 'd not," roared the burly smith, with a 
 stupid, ox-like grin, scratching his tousled head ; " I 'd say, 
 ' Go it, bully, and a plague on him that said thee nay ! ' n 
 
 " And yet when I would fill this silly fellow's jerkin full 
 of good gold Harry shovel-boards for the simple drawing 
 of his breath, ye bawl ' Foul play ! ' " 
 
 " What, here ! come out, lad," roared the smith, with a 
 great horse-laugh, swinging Nick forward and thwacking
 
 LONDON TOWN 93 
 
 him jovially between the shoulders with his brawny hand ; 
 "come out, and go along o' the master here, 't is for thy 
 good, and ho-ome wull keep, I trow, till thou dost come 
 again." 
 
 But Nick hung back, and clung to the blacksmith's grimy 
 arm, crying in despair : " I will na oh, I will na ! " 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " cried Master Carew. " Come, Nicholas ; I 
 mean thee well, I '11 speak thee fair, and I '11 treat thee 
 true" and he smiled so frankly that even Nick's doubts 
 almost wavered. " Come, I '11 swear it on my hilt," said 
 he. 
 
 The smith's brow clouded. " Nay," said he ; " we '11 no 
 swearing by hilts or by holies here ; the bailiff will na have 
 it, sir." 
 
 " Good ! then upon mine honour as an Englishman ! * 
 cried Carew. " What, how, bullies ? Upon mine honour 
 as an Englishman ! how is it? Here we be, all English- 
 men together ! " and he clapped his hand to Will Hostler's 
 shoulder, whereat Will stood up very straight and looked 
 around, as if all at once he were somebody instead of some- 
 what less than nobody at all of any consequence. " What ! 
 ye are all for fair play ? and I am for fair play, and 
 good Master Smith, with his beautiful shoe, here, is for 
 fair play ! Why, sirs, my bullies, we are all for fair play ; 
 and what more can a man ask than good, downright Eng- 
 lish fair play T Nothing, say I. Fair play first, last, and 
 all the time ! " and he waved his hand. " Hurrah for 
 downright English fair play ! n 
 
 " Hurrah, hurrah ! bellowed the crowd, swept along
 
 94 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 like bubbles in a flood. " Fair play, says we English fair 
 playhurrah j And those inside waved their hands, 
 and those that were outside tossed up their caps, in sheer 
 delight of good fair play. 
 
 " Hurrah, my bullies ! That 's the cry ! " said Carew, in 
 his hail-f ellow-well-met, royal way. " Why, we 're the very 
 best of fellows, and the very fastest friends ! Come, all 
 to the old Three Lions inn, and douse a can of brown 
 March brew at my expense. To the Queen, to good fair 
 play, and to all the fine fellows in Albans town ! " 
 
 And what did the crowd do but raise a shout, like a 
 parcel of school-boys loosed for a holiday, and troop off to 
 the Three Lions inn at Master Carew's heels, Will Hostler 
 and the brawny smith bringing up the rear with Nick be- 
 tween them, hand to collar, half forgotten by the rest, and 
 his heart too low for further grief. 
 
 And while the crowd were still roaring over their tank- 
 ards and cheering good fair play, Master Gaston Carew 
 up with his prisoner into the saddle, and, mounting him- 
 self, with the bandy-legged man grinning opposite, shook 
 the dust of old St. Albans from his horse's heels. 
 
 " Now, Nicholas Attwood," said he, grimly, as they gal- 
 loped away, "hark 'e well to what I have to say, and do 
 not let it slip thy mind. I am willed to take thee to 
 London town dost mark me ? and to London town thou 
 shalt go, warm or cold. By the whistle of the Lord High 
 Admiral, I mean just what I say ! So thou mayst take thy 
 choice." 
 
 He gripped Nick's shoulder as they rode, and glared into
 
 LONDON TOWN 95 
 
 his eyes as if to sear them with his own. Nick heard his 
 poniard grating in its sheath, and shut his eyes so that he 
 might not see the master-player's horrid stare; for the 
 opening and shutting, opening and shutting, of the blue 
 lids made him shudder. 
 
 " And what 's more," said Carew, sternly, " I shall call 
 thee Master Skylark from this time forth dost hear f And 
 when I bid thee go, thou 'It go ; and when I bid thee come, 
 thou 'It come ; and when I say, ' Here, follow me ! ' thou 'It 
 follow like a dog to heel ! " He drew up his lip until his 
 white teeth showed, and Nick, hearing them gritting to- 
 gether, shrank back dismayed. 
 
 " There ! " laughed Carew, scornfully. " He that knows 
 better how to tame a vixen or to cozen a pack of gulls, 
 now let him speak ! " and said no more until they passed 
 by Chipping Barnet. Then, "Nick," said he, in a quiet, 
 kindly tone, as if they had been friends for years, " this is 
 the place where Warwick fell"; and pointed down the 
 field. " There in the corner of that croft they piled the 
 noble dead like corn upon a threshing-floor. Since then," 
 said he, with quiet irony, "men have stopped making 
 English kings as the Dutch make dolls, of a stick and a 
 poll thereon." 
 
 Pleased with hearing his own voice, he would have gone 
 on with many another thing ; but seeing that Nick listened 
 not at all to what he said, he ceased, and rode on silently 
 or chatting with the others. 
 
 The country through Middlesex was in most part flat, 
 and heavy forests overhung the road from time to time.
 
 96 MASTER SXYLARK 
 
 There the players slipped their poniards, and rode with 
 rapier in hand ; for many a dark deed and cruel robbery 
 had been done along this stretch of Watling street. And 
 as they passed, more than one dark-visaged rogue with 
 branded hand and a price upon his head peered at them 
 from the copses by the way. 
 
 In places where the woods crept very near they pressed 
 closer together and rode rapidly ; and the horse-boy and 
 the grooms lit up the matches of their pistolets, and 
 laid their harquebuses ready in rest, and blew the creep- 
 ing sparkle snapping red at every turn; not so much 
 really fearing an attack upon so stout a party of reckless, 
 dashing blades, as being overawed by the great, mysteri- 
 ous silence of the forest, the semi-twilight all about, and 
 the cold, strange-smelling wind that fanned their faces. 
 
 The wild spattering of hoofs in water-pools that lay un- 
 sucked by the sun in shadowy stretches, the grim silence 
 of the riders, and the wary eying of each covert as they 
 passed, sent a thrill of excitement into Nick's heart too 
 keen for any boy to resist. 
 
 Then, too, it was no everyday tale to be stolen away 
 from home. It was a wild, strange thing with a strange, 
 wild sound to it, not altogether terrible or unpleasant to 
 a brave boy's ears in that wonder-filled age, when all the 
 world was turned adventurer, and England led the fore ; 
 when Francis Drake and the " Golden Hind," John Haw- 
 kins and the "Victory," Frobisher and his cockleshells, 
 were gossip for every English fireside; when the whole 
 world rang with English steel, and the wide sea foamed
 
 LONDON TOWN 97 
 
 with English keels, and the air was full of the blaze of the 
 living and the ghosts of the mighty dead. And down in 
 Nick's plucky young English heart there came a spark like 
 that which burns in the soul of a mariner when for the 
 first time an unknown ocean rolls before his eyes. 
 
 So he rode on bravely, filled with a sense of daring and 
 the thrill of perils more remote than Master Carew's alto- 
 gether too adjacent poniard, as well as with a sturdy de- 
 termination to escape at the first opportunity, in spite of 
 all the master-player's threats. 
 
 Up Highgate Hill they rattled in a bracing northeast 
 wind, the rugged country bowling back against the tumbled 
 sky. Far to south a rusty haze had gloomed against the 
 sun like a midday fog, mile after mile ; and suddenly, as 
 they topped the range and cleared the last low hill, they 
 saw a city in the south spreading away until it seemed to 
 Nick to girdle half the world and to veil the sky in a reek 
 of murky sea-coal smoke. 
 
 " There !" said Carew, reining in the gray, as Nick looked 
 up and felt his heart almost stand still; "since Parma 
 burned old Antwerp, and the Low Countries are dead, 
 there lies the market-heart of all the big round world ! " 
 
 " London ! " cried Nick, and, catching his breath with a 
 quick gasp, sat speechless, staring. 
 
 Carew smiled. "Ay, Nick," said he, cheerily; "'t is 
 London town. Pluck up thine heart, lad, and be no more 
 cast down ; there lies a New World ready to thine hand. 
 Thou canst win it if thou wilt. Come, let it be thine 
 Indies, thou Francis Drake, and I thy galleon to carry 
 i
 
 98 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 home the spoils ! And cheer up. It grieves my heart to 
 see thee sad. Be merry for my sake." 
 
 "For thy sake?" gasped Nick, staring blankly in his 
 face. " Why, what hast thou done for me ? " A sudden 
 sob surprised him, and he clenched his fists it was too 
 cruel irony. "Why, sir, if thou wouldst only leave me 
 go!" 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " cried Carew, angrily. " Still harping on 
 that same old string? Why, from thy waking face I 
 thought thou hadst dropped it long ago. Let thee go? 
 Not for all the wealth in Lombard street ! Dost think me 
 a goose- witted gull ? and dost ask what I have done for 
 thee ? Thou simpleton ! I have made thee rise above the 
 limits of thy wildest dream have shod thy feet with gold 
 have filled thy lap with glory have crowned thine head 
 with fame ! And yet, ' What have I done for thee ? ' Fie ! 
 Thou art a stubborn-hearted little fool. But, marry come 
 up ! I '11 mend thy mind. I '11 bend thy will to suit my 
 way, or break it in the bending ! " 
 
 Clapping his hand upon his poniard, he turned his back, 
 and did not speak to Nick again. 
 
 And so they came down the Kentish Town road through 
 a meadow-land threaded with flowing streams, the wild 
 hill thickets of Hampstead Heath to right, the huddling 
 villages of Islington, Hoxton, and Clerkenwell to left. And 
 as they pissed through Kentish Town, past Primrose Hill 
 into Hampstead way, solitary farm-houses and lowly cot- 
 tages gave way to burgher dwellings in orderly array, with 
 manor-houses here and there, and in the distance palaces
 
 LONDON TOWN 99 
 
 and towers reared their heads above the crowding chini- 
 ney-pots. 
 
 Then the players dressed themselves in fair array, and 
 flung their banners out, and came through Smithfield to- 
 Aldersgate, mocking the grim old gibbet there with railing 
 gaiety ; and through the gate rode into London town, with 
 a long, loud cheer that brought the people crowding ta 
 their doors, and set the shutters creaking everywhere. 
 
 Nick was bewildered by the countless shifting gables 
 and the throngs of people flowing onward like a stream, 
 and stunned by the roar that seemed to boil out of the 
 very ground. The horses' hoofs clashed on the unevenly 
 paved street with a noise like a thousand smithies. The 
 houses hung above him till they almost hid the sky, and 
 seemed to be reeling and ready to fall upon his head 
 when he looked up ; so that he urged the little roan with 
 his uneasy heels, and wished himself out of this monstrous 
 ruck where the walls were so close together that there 
 was not elbow-room to live, and the air seemed only heat, 
 thick and stifling, full of dust and smells. 
 
 Shop after shop, and booth on booth, until Nick won- 
 dered where the gardens were ; and such a maze of lanes, 
 byways, courts, blind alleys, and passages that his simple 
 country footpath head went all into a tangle, and he could 
 scarcely have told Tottenham Court road from the river 
 Thames. 
 
 All that he remembered afterward was that, turning 
 from High Holborn into the Farringdon road, he saw a 
 great church, under Ludgate Hill, with spire burned and
 
 100 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 fallen, and its massive tower, black with age and smoke, 
 staring on the town. But he was too confused to know 
 whither they went or what he saw in passing ; for of such 
 a forest of houses he had never even dreamed, with people 
 swarming everywhere like ants upon a hill, and among 
 them all not one kind face he knew. Through the spirit 
 of adventure that had roused him for a time welled up a 
 great heart-sickness for his mother and his home. 
 
 Out of a bewildered daze he came at last to realize this 
 much : that the master-player's house was very tall and 
 very dark, standing in a dismal, dirty street, and that it 
 had a gloomy hallway full of shadows that crept and 
 wavered along the wall in the dim light of the late after- 
 noon. 
 
 Then the master-player pushed him up a narrow stair- 
 case and along a black corridor to a door at the end of the 
 passage, through which he thrust him into a darkness like 
 night, and slammed the door behind him. 
 
 Nick heard the bolts shoot heavily, and Master Carew 
 call through the heavy panels: "Now, Jackanapes, sit 
 down and chew the cud of solitude awhile. It may cool 
 thy silly pate for thee, since nothing else will serve. When 
 thou hast found thy common sense, perchance thou 'It find 
 thy freedom, not before." Then his step went down the 
 corridor, down the stair, through the long hall a door 
 banged with a hollow sound that echoed through the 
 house, and all was still. 
 
 At first, in the utter darkness, Nick could not see at all, 
 and did not move for fear of falling down some awful
 
 LONDON TOWN 101 
 
 hole ; but as his eyes grew used to the gloom he saw that 
 he was in a little room. The only window was boarded 
 up, but a dim light crept in through narrow cracks and 
 made faint bars across the air. Little motes floated up 
 and down these thin blue bars, wavering in the uncertain 
 light and then lost in the darkness. Upon the floor was 
 a pallet of straw, covered with a coarse sheet, and having 
 a rough coverlet of sheepskin. A round log was the only 
 pillow. 
 
 Something moved. Nick, startled, peered into the 
 shadows : it was a strip of ragged tapestry which fluttered 
 on the wall. As he watched it flapping fitfully there came 
 a hollow rattle in the wainscot, and an uncanny sound like 
 the moaning of wind in the chimney. 
 
 " Let me out ! " he cried, beating upon the door. " Let 
 me out, I say ! " A stealthy footstep seemed to go away 
 outside. " Mother, mother ! " he cried shrilly, now quite 
 unstrung by fright, and beat frantically upon the door 
 until his hands ached ; but no one answered. The window 
 was beyond his reach. Throwing himself upon the hard 
 pallet, he hid his eyes in the coverlet, and cried as if his 
 heart would break.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAKEW 
 
 HOW long he lay there in a stupor of despair Nick 
 Attwood never knew. It might have been days 
 or weeks, for all that he took heed ; for he was thinking 
 of his mother, and there was no room for more. 
 
 The night passed by. Then the day came, by the lines 
 of light that crept across the floor. The door was opened 
 at his back, and a trencher of bread and meat thrust in. 
 He did not touch it, and the rats came out of the wall and 
 pulled the meat about, and gnawed holes in the bread, 
 and squeaked, and ran along the wainscot ; but he did not 
 care. 
 
 The afternoon dragged slowly by, and the creeping light 
 went up the wall until the roofs across the street shut out 
 the sunset. Sometimes Nick waked and sometimes he 
 slept, he scarce knew which nor cared ; nor did he hear 
 the bolts grate cautiously, or see the yellow candle-light 
 steal in across the gloom. 
 
 " Boy ! " said a soft little voice. 
 
 He started up and looked around. 
 
 .102
 
 MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAREW 103 
 
 For an instant he thought that he was dreaming, and 
 was glad to think that he would waken by and by from 
 what had been so sad a dream, and find himself safe in his 
 own little bed in Stratford town. For the little maid who 
 stood in the doorway was such a one as his eyes had never 
 looked upon before. 
 
 She was slight and graceful as a lily of the field, and 
 her skin was white as the purest wax, save where a damask 
 rose-leaf red glowed through her cheeks. Her black hair 
 curled about her slender neck. Her gown was crimson, 
 slashed with gold, cut square across the breast and simply 
 made, with sleeves just elbow-long, wide-mouthed, and 
 lined with creamy silk. Her slippers, too, were of crimson 
 silk, high-heeled, jaunty bits of things ; her silken stockings 
 black. In one hand she held a tall brass candlestick, and 
 through the fingers of the other the candle-flame made a 
 ruddy glow like the sun in the heart of a hollyhock. And 
 in the shadow of her hand her eyes looked out, as Nick 
 said long afterward, like stars in a summer night. 
 
 Thinking it was all a dream, he sat and stared at her. 
 
 " Boy ! " she said again, quite gently, but with a quaint 
 little air of reproof, " where are thy manners ? " 
 
 Nick got up quickly and bowed as best he knew how 
 If not a dream, this was certainly a princess and per- 
 chancehis heart leaped up perchance she came to set 
 him free ! He wondered who had told her of him ? Diccon 
 Field, perhaps, whose father had been Simon Attwood's 
 partner till he died, last Michaelmas. Diccon was in 
 London now, printing: books, he had heard. Or maybe it
 
 104 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 was John, Hal Saddler's older brother. No, it could not 
 be John, for John was with a carrier ; and Nick had doubts 
 if carriers were much acquainted at court. 
 
 Wondering, he stared, and bowed again. 
 
 "Why, boy," said she, with a quaint air of surprise, 
 " thou art a very pretty fellow ! Why, indeed, thou look- 
 est like a good boy ! Why wilt thou be so bad and break 
 my father's heart?" 
 
 " Break thy father's heart ? " stammered Nick. " Pr'y- 
 thee, who is thy father, Mistress Princess f " 
 
 " Nay," said the little maid, simply ; " I am no princess. 
 I am Cicely Carew." 
 
 " Cicely Carew ? " cried Nick, clenching his fists. " Art 
 thou the daughter of that wicked man, Gaston Carew ? " 
 
 " My father is not wicked ! " said she, passionately, 
 drawing back from the threshold with her hand trembling 
 upon the latch. "Thou shalt not say that I will not 
 speak with thee at all ! " 
 
 11 1 do na care ! If Master Gaston Carew is thy father, 
 he is the wickedest man in the world ! " 
 
 " Why, fie, for shame ! " she cried, and stamped her little 
 foot. " How darest thou say such a thing ? " 
 
 " He hath stolen me from home," exclaimed Nick, indig- 
 nantly ; " and I shall never see my mother any more ! " 
 With that he choked, and hid his face in his arm against 
 the wall. 
 
 The little maid looked at him with an air of troubled 
 surprise, and, coming into the room, touched him on the 
 arm. " There," she said soothingly, " don't cry ! " and
 
 MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAREW 105 
 
 stroked him gently as one would a little dog that was 
 hurt. "My father will send thee home to thy mother, I- 
 know ; for he is very kind and good. Some one hath lied 
 to thee about him." 
 
 Nick wiped his swollen eyes dubiously upon his sleeve ; 
 yet the little maid seemed positive. Perhaps, after all, 
 there was a mistake somewhere. 
 
 "Art hungry, boy?" she asked suddenly, spying the 
 empty trencher on the floor. " There is a pasty and a cake 
 in the buttery, and thou shalt have some of it if thou wilt 
 not cry any more. Come, I cannot bear to see thee cry 
 it makes me weep myself ; and that will blear mine eyes, 
 and father will feel bad." 
 
 " If he but felt as bad as he hath made me feel" 
 began Nick, wrathfully; but she laid her little hand 
 across his mouth. It was a very white, soft, sweet little 
 hand. 
 
 " Come," said she ; " thou art hungry, and it hath made 
 thee cross ! " and, with no more ado, took him by the 
 hand and led him down the corridor into a large room 
 where the last daylight shone with a smoky glow. 
 
 The walls were wainscoted with many panels, dark, old, 
 and mysterious ; and in a burnished copper brazier at the 
 end of the room cinnamon, rosemary, and bay were burn- 
 ing with a pleasant smell. Along the walls were joined- 
 work chests for linen and napery, of brass-bound oak 
 one a black, old, tragic sea-chest, carved with grim faces 
 and weird griffins, that had been cast up by the North Sea 
 from the wreck of a Spanish galleon of war. The floor
 
 106 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 was waxed in the French fashion, and was so smooth that 
 Nick could scarcely keep his feet. The windows were high 
 up in the wall, with their heads among the black roof- 
 beams, which with their grotesquely carven brackets were 
 half lost in the dusk. Through the windows Nick could 
 see nothing but a world of chimney-pots. 
 
 "Is London town all smoke-pipes?" he asked con- 
 fusedly. 
 
 " Nay," replied the little maid ; " there are people." 
 
 Pushing a chair up to the table, she bade him sit down. 
 Then pulling a tall, curiously-made stool to the other side 
 of the board, she perched herself upon it like a fairy upon 
 a blade of grass. " Greg ! " she called imperiously, " Greg ! 
 What, how ! Gregory Goole, I say ! " 
 
 " Yes, ma'm'selle," replied a hoarse voice without ; and 
 through a door at the further end of the room came the 
 bandy-legged man with the bow of crimson ribbon in his 
 ear. 
 
 Nick turned a little pale ; and when the fellow saw him 
 sitting there, he came up hastily, with a look like a crock 
 of sour milk. "Tut, tut! ma'm'selle," said he; "Master 
 Carew will not like this." 
 
 She turned upon him with an air of dainty scorn. 
 " Since when hath father left his wits to thee, Gregory 
 Goole ? I know his likes as well as thou and it likes him 
 not to let this poor boy starve, I '11 warrant. Go, fetch 
 the pasty and the cake that are in the buttery, with a glass 
 of cordial, the Certosa cordial, and that in the shaking 
 of a black sheep's tail, or I will tell my father what thou
 
 MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAEEW 107 
 
 hottest of." And she looked the very picture of diminutive 
 severity. 
 
 " Very good, ma'm'selle ; just as ye say," said Gregory, 
 fawning, with very poor grace, however. " But, knave," 
 he snarled, as he turned away, with a black scowl at Nick, 
 " if thou dost venture on any of thy scurvy pranks while 
 t be gone, I '11 break thy pate." 
 
 Cicely Carew knitted her brows. "That is a saucy 
 rogue," said she; "but he hath served my father well. 
 And, what is much in London town, he is an honest man 
 withal, though I have caught him at the Spanish wine 
 behind my father's back; so he doth butter his tongue 
 with smooth words when he hath speech with me, for I am 
 the lady of the house." She held up her head with a very 
 pretty pride. " My mother" 
 
 Nick caught his breath, and his eyes filled. 
 
 " Nay, boy," said she, gently ; " 't is I should weep, not 
 thou ; for my mother is dead. I do not think I ever saw 
 her that I know," she went on musingly ; " but she was a 
 Frenchwoman who served a murdered queen, and she was 
 the loveliest woman that ever lived." Cicely clasped her 
 hands and moved her lips. Nick saw that she was pray- 
 ing, and bent his head. 
 
 "Thou art a good boy," she said softly; "my father 
 will like that"; and then went quietly on: "That is why 
 Gregory Goole doth call me * ma'm'selle 'because my 
 mother was a Frenchwoman. But I am a right English 
 girl for all that; and when they shout, 'God save the 
 Queen I ' at the play, why, I do too ! And, oh, boy," she
 
 108 MASTEE SKYLAEK 
 
 cried, " it is a brave thing to hear ! " and she clapped her 
 hands with sparkling eyes. " It drove the Spaniards off 
 the sea, my father ofttimes saith." 
 
 " Poh ! " said Nick, stoutly, for he saw the pasty coming 
 in, " they can na beat us Englishmen ! " and with that fell 
 upon the pasty as if it were the Spanish Armada in one 
 lump and he Sir Francis Drake set on to do the job alone. 
 
 As he ate his spirits rose again, and he almost forgot 
 that he was stolen from his home, and grew eager to be 
 seeing the wonders of the great town whose ceaseless roar 
 came over the housetops like a distant storm. He was 
 still somewhat in awe of this beautiful, flower-like little 
 maid, and listened in shy silence to the wonderful tales she 
 told : how that she had seen the Queen, who had red hair, 
 and pearls like gooseberries on her cloak; and how the 
 court went down to Greenwich. But the bandy-legged 
 man kept popping his head in at the door, and, after all, 
 Nick was but in a prison-house ; so he grew quite dismal 
 after a while. 
 
 "Dost truly think thy father will leave me go?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Of course he will," said she. " I cannot see why thou 
 dost hate him so ? " 
 
 "Why, truly," hesitated Nick, "perhaps it is not thy 
 father that I hate, but only that he will na leave me go. 
 And if he would but leave me go, perhaps I 'd love him 
 very much indeed." 
 
 " Good, Nick ! thou art a trump ! " cried Master Carew's 
 voice suddenly from the further end of the hall, where in
 
 MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAREW 109 
 
 spite of all the candles it was dark ; and, coming forward, 
 the master-player held out his hands in a most genial way. 
 "Come, lad, thy hand 't is spoken like a gentleman. 
 Nay, I will kiss thee for I love thee, Nick, upon my word, 
 and on the remnant of mine honour ! " Taking the boy's 
 half -unwilling hands in his own, he stooped and kissed 
 him upon the forehead. 
 
 "Father," said Cicely, gravely, "hast thou forgotten 
 me?" 
 
 " Nay, sweetheart, nay," cried Carew, with a wonderful 
 laugh that somehow warmed the cockles of Nick's forlorn 
 heart ; and turning quickly, the master-player caught up 
 the little maid and kissed her again and again, so tenderly 
 that Nick was amazed to see how one so cruel could be so 
 kind, and how so good a little maid could love so bad a 
 man ; for she twined her arms about his neck, and then 
 lay back with her head upon his shoulder, purring like a 
 kitten in his arms. 
 
 "Father," said she, patting his cheek, "some one hath 
 told him naughty things of thee. Come, daddy, say they 
 are not so ! " 
 
 The master-player's face turned red as flame. He 
 coughed and looked up among the roof -beams. "Why, 
 of course they 're not," said he, uneasily. 
 
 "There, boy!" cried she; "I told thee so. Why, 
 daddy, think! they said that thou hadst stolen him 
 away from his own mother, and wouldst not leave him 
 go!" 
 
 " Hollo ! " ejaculated the master-player, abruptly, with a
 
 110 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 quiver in his voice ; " what a hole thou hast made in the 
 pasty, Nick ! " 
 
 "Ah, daddy," persisted Cicely, "and what a hole it 
 would make in his mother's heart if he had been stolen 
 away ! " 
 
 " Wouldst like another draught of cordial, Nick ? " cried 
 Carew, hurriedly, reaching out for the tall flagon with a 
 trembling hand. " 'T is good to cheer the troubled heart, 
 lad. Not that thou hast any reason in the world to let thy 
 heart be troubled," he added hastily. " No, indeed, upon 
 my word ; for thou art on the doorstep of a golden-lined 
 success. See, Nick, how the light shines through ! " and 
 he tilted up the flagon. " It is one of old Jake Vessaline's 
 Murano-Venetian glasses; a beautiful thing, now, is it 
 not ? 'T is good as any made abroad ! " but his hand was 
 shaking so that half the cordial missed the cup and ran 
 into a little shimmering pool upon the table-top. 
 
 "And thou 'It send him home again, daddy, wilt thou 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course why, to be sure we '11 send him 
 anywhere that thou dost say, Golden-heart : to Persia or 
 Cathay ay, to the far side of the green-cheese moon, or 
 to the court of Tamburlaine the Great," and he laughed a 
 quick, dry, nervous laugh that had no laughter in it. " I 
 had one of De Lannoy's red Bohemian bottles, Nick," he 
 rattled on feverishly ; " but that butter-fingered rogue " 
 he nodded his head at the outer stair" dropped it, smash ! 
 and made a thousand most counterfeit fourpences out of 
 what cost me two pound sterling."
 
 MA'M'SELLE CICELY CAKEW 111 
 
 " But will ye truly leave me go, sir ? " faltered Nick. 
 
 " Why, of course to be sure yes, certainly yes, yes. 
 But, Nick, it is too late this night. Why, come, thou 
 couldst not go to-night. See, 't is dark, and thou a stranger 
 in the town. 'T is far to Stratford town thou couldst 
 not walk it, lad ; there will be carriers anon. Come, stay 
 awhile with Cicely and me we will make thee a right 
 welcome guest ! " 
 
 " That we will," cried Cicely, clapping her hands. " Oh, 
 do stay ; I am so lonely here ! The maid is silly, Margot 
 old, and the rats run in the wall." 
 
 "And thou must to the theater, my lad, and sing for 
 London town ay, Nicholas," and Carew's voice rang 
 proudly. " The highest heads in London town must hear 
 that voice of thine, or I shall die unshrift. What ! lad ? 
 come all the way from Coventry, and never show that face 
 of thine, nor let them hear thy skylark's song? Why, 
 't were a shame ! And, Nick, my lord the Admiral shall 
 hear thee sing when he comes home again ; perchance the 
 Queen herself. Why, Nick, of course thou It sing. Thou 
 hast not heart to say thou wilt not sing even for me whom 
 thou hatest." 
 
 Nick smiled in spite of himself, for Cicely was leaning 
 on the arm of his chair, devouring him with her great 
 dark eyes. " Dost truly, truly sing ? " she asked. 
 
 Nick laughed and blushed, and Carew laughed. " What, 
 doth he sing? Why, Nick, come, tune that skylark note 
 of thine for little Golden-heart and me. 'T will make her 
 think she hears the birds in verity and, Nick, the lass
 
 112 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 hath never seen a bird that sang, except within a cage. 
 Nay, lad, this is no cage ! " he cried, as Nick looked about 
 and sighed. " We will make it very home for thee will 
 Cicely and I." 
 
 " That we will ! " cried Cicely. " Come, boy, sing for 
 me my mother used to sing." 
 
 At that G-aston Carew went white as a sheet, and put 
 his hand quickly up to his face. Cicely darted to his side 
 with a frightened cry, and caught his hand away. He 
 tried to smile, but it was a ghastly attempt. " Tush, tush 1 
 little one ; ? t was something stung me ! " said he, huskily, 
 " Sing, Nicholas, I beg of thee ! " 
 
 There was such a sudden world of weariness and sorrow 
 in his voice that Nick felt a pity for he knew not what, 
 and lifting up his clear young voice, he sang the quaint 
 old madrigal. 
 
 Carew sat with his face in his hand, and after it was 
 done arose unsteadily and said, " Come, Golden-heart ; 't is 
 music such as charmeth care and lureth sleep out of her 
 dark valley we must be trotting off to bed." 
 
 That night Nick slept upon a better bed, with a sheet 
 and a blue serge coverlet, and a pillow stuffed with chaff. 
 
 But as he drifted off into a troubled dreamland, he 
 heard the door-bolt throb into its socket, and knew that 
 he was fastened in.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 CAREW'S OFFER 
 
 NEXT morning Carew donned his plum-colored cloak, 
 and with Nick's hand held tightly in his own went 
 out of the door and down the steps into a drifting fog 
 which filled the street, the bandy-legged man with the 
 ribbon in his ear following close upon their heels. 
 
 People passed them like shadows in the mist, and all 
 the houses were a blur until they came into a wide, open 
 place where the wind blew free above a wall with many 
 great gates. 
 
 In the middle of this open place a huge gray building 
 stood, staring out over the housetops a great cathedral, 
 wonderful and old. Its walls were dark with time and 
 smoke and damp, and the lofty tower that rose above it 
 was in part but a hollow shell split by lightning and black- 
 ened by fire. But crowded between its massive buttresses 
 were booths and chapmen's stalls ; against its hoary side 
 a small church leaned like a child against a mother's 
 breast; and in and round about it eddied a throng of 
 men like ants upon a busy hill. 
 " 113
 
 114 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 All around the outer square were shops with gilded 
 fronts and most amazing signs : golden angels with out- 
 stretched wings, tiger heads, bears, brazen serpents, and 
 silver cranes; and in and out of the shop-doors darted 
 apprentices with new-bound books and fresh-printed slips ; 
 for this was old St. Paul's, the meeting-place of London 
 town, and in Paul's Yard the printers and the bookmen 
 dealt. 
 
 With a deal of elbowing the master-player came up the 
 broad steps into the cathedral, and down the aisle to the 
 pillars where the merchant-tailors stood with table-books 
 in hand, and there ordered a brand-new suit of clothes 
 for Nick of old Roger Shearman, the best cloth-cutter in 
 Threadneedle street. 
 
 While they were deep in silk and silver thread, Haerlem 
 linen, and Leyden camelot, Nick stared about him half 
 aghast ; for it was to him little less than monstrous to see 
 a church so thronged with merchants plying their trades 
 as if the place were no more sacred than a booth in the 
 public square. 
 
 The long nave of the cathedral was crowded with mercers 
 from Cheapside, drapers from Throgmorton street, sta- 
 tioners from Ludgate Hill, and goldsmiths from Foster 
 lane, hats on, loud-voiced, and using the very font itself 
 for a counter. By the columns beyond, sly, foxy-faced 
 lawyers hobnobbed; and on long benches by the wall, 
 cast-off serving-men, varlets, grooms, pastry-bakers, and 
 pages sat, waiting to be hired by some new master. Be- 
 sides these who came on business there was a host of gal-
 
 CAEEWS OFFER 115 
 
 lants in gold-laced silk and velvet promenading up and 
 down the aisle, with no business there at all but to show 
 their faces and their clothes. And all about were solemn 
 shrines and monuments and tombs, and overhead a splen- 
 did window burned like a wheel of fire in the eastern wall. 
 
 While Nick stared, speechless, a party of the Admiral's 
 players came strolling by, their heads half hidden in their 
 huge starched ruffs, and with prodigious swords that 
 would have dragged along the ground had they not been 
 cocked up behind so fiercely in the air. Seeing Master 
 Carew and the boy, they stopped in passing to greet them 
 gaily. 
 
 Master Heywood was there, and bowed to Nick with a 
 kindly smile. His companion was a handsome, proud- 
 mouthed man with a blue, smooth-shaven face and a jet- 
 black periwig. Him Carew drew aside and spoke with in 
 an earnest undertone. As he talked, the other began to 
 stare at Nick as if he were some curious thing in a cage. 
 
 " Upon my soul," said Carew, " ye never heard the like 
 of it. He hath a voice as sweet and clear as if Puck had 
 burst a honey-bag in his throat." 
 
 " No doubt," replied the other, carelessly ; " and all the 
 birds will hide their heads when he begins to sing. But 
 we don't want him, Carew not if he had a voice like 
 Miriam the Jew. Henslowe has just bought little Jem 
 Bristow of Will Augusten for eight pound sterling, and 
 business is too bad to warrant any more." 
 
 " Who spoke of selling ? " said Carew, sharply. " Don't 
 flatter your chances so, Master Alleyn. I would n't sell
 
 116 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 the boy for a world full of Jem Bristows. Why, his mouth 
 is a mint where common words are coined into gold ! Sell 
 him ? I think I see myself in Bedlam for a fool ! Nay, 
 Master Alleyn, what I am coming at is this : I '11 place 
 him at the Rose, to do his turn in the play with the rest 
 of us, or out of it alone, as ye choose, for one fourth of 
 the whole receipts over and above my old share in the 
 venture. Do ye take me ? " 
 
 " Take you ? One fourth the whole receipts f Zounds ! 
 man, do ye think we have a spigot in El Dorado ? " 
 
 "Tush! Master Alleyn, don't make a poor mouth; 
 you 're none so needy. You and Henslowe have made a 
 heap of money out of us all." 
 
 " And what of that ? Yesterday's butter won't smooth 
 to-day's bread. 'T is absurd of you, Carew, to ask one 
 fourth and leave all the risk on us, with the outlook as it 
 is ! Here 's that fellow Langley has built a new play- 
 house in Paris Garden, nearer to the landing than we are, 
 and is stealing our business most scurvily ! " 
 
 Carew shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " And what 's more, the very comedy for which Ben 
 Jonson left us, because we would not put it on, has been 
 taken up by the Burbages on Will Shakspere's say-so, and 
 is running famously at the Curtain." 
 
 " I told you so, Master Alleyn, when the fellow was fresh 
 from the Netherlands," said Carew ; " but your ears were 
 plugged with your own conceit. Young Jonson is no 
 flatfish, if he did lay brick j he 's a plum worth anybody's 
 picking."
 
 CAREW'S OFFER 117 
 
 "But, plague take it, Carew, those Burbages have all 
 the plums ! Since they weaned Will Shakspere from us 
 everything has gone wrong. Kemp has left us ; old John 
 Lowin, too ; and now the Lord Mayor and Privy Council 
 have soured on the play again and forbidden all playing 
 on the Bankside, outside the City or no." 
 
 Carew whistled softly to himself. 
 
 "And since my Lord Chamberlain has been patron of 
 the Burbages he will not so much as turn a hand to revive 
 the old game of bull- and bear-baiting, and Phil and I 
 have kept the Queen's bulldogs going on a twelvemonth 
 now at our own expense a pretty canker on our profits ! 
 Why, Carew, as Will Shakspere used to say, ' One woe doth 
 tread the other's heels, so fast they follow ! ' And what 's 
 to do?" 
 
 "What 's to do?" said Carew. "Why, I Ve told ye 
 what 's to do. Ye 've heard Will say, ' There is a tide 
 leads on to fortune if ye take it at the flood'? Well, 
 Master Alleyn, here 's the tide, and at the flood. I have 
 offered you an argosy. Will ye sail or stick in the mud ? 
 Ye '11 never have such a chance again. Come, one fourth 
 over my old share, and I will fill your purse so full of gold 
 that it will gape like a stuffed toad. His is the sweetest 
 skylark voice that ever sugared ears ! " 
 
 " But, man, man, one fourth ! " 
 
 " Better one fourth than lose it all," said Carew. " But, 
 pshaw ! Master Ned Alleyn, I '11 not beg a man to swim 
 that 's bent on drowning ! We will be at the play-house 
 this afternoon ; mayhap thou 'It have thought better of it
 
 118 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 by then." With a curt bow he was off through the crowd, 
 Nick's hand in his own clenched very tight. 
 
 They had hard work getting down the steps, for two 
 hot-headed gallants were quarreling there as to who should 
 come up first, and there was a great press. But Carew 
 scowled and showed his teeth, and clenched his poniard- 
 hilt so fiercely that the commoners fell away and let them 
 down. 
 
 Nick's eyes were hungry for the printers' stalls where 
 ballad-sheets were sold for a penny, and where the books 
 were piled along the shelves until he wondered if all 
 London were turned printer. He looked about to see if 
 he might chance upon Diccon Field ; but Carew came so 
 quickly through the crowd that Nick had not time to 
 recognize Diccon if he had been there. Diccon had often 
 made Nick whistles from the pollard willows along the 
 Avon below the tannery when Nick was a toddler in 
 smocks, and the lad thought he would like to see him 
 before going back to Stratford. Then, too, his mother 
 had always liked Diccon Field, and would be glad to hear 
 from him. At thought of his mother he gave a happy 
 little skip; and as they turned into Paternoster Row, 
 " Master Carew," said he, " how soon shall I go home ? " 
 
 Carew walked a little faster. 
 
 There had arisen a sound of shouting and a trampling 
 of feet. The constables had taken a purse-cutting thief, 
 and were coming up to the Newgate prison with a great 
 rabble behind them. The fellow's head was broken, and 
 his haggard face was all screwed up with pain ; but that
 
 "IHCCON HATl OFTEN MADE NICK WHISTLES FROM THE WILLOWS ALONG THE 
 AVON WHEN NICK WAS A TODDLEK."
 
 CAEEW'S OFFER 119 
 
 did not stop the boys from hooting at him, and asking in 
 mockery how he thought he would like to be hanged and 
 to dance on nothing at Tyburn Hill. 
 
 " Did ye hear me, Master Carew ? " asked Nick. 
 
 The master-player stepped aside a moment into a door- 
 way to let the mob go by, and then strode on. 
 
 Nick tried again : " I pray thee, sir" 
 
 " Do not pray me," said Carew, sharply ; " I am no In- 
 dian idol." 
 
 " But, good Master Carew" 
 
 " Nor call me good I am not good." 
 
 " But, Master Carew," faltered Nick, with a sinking sen- 
 sation around his heart, " when will ye leave me go home ? " 
 
 The master-player did not reply, but strode on rapidly, 
 gnawing his mustache.
 
 CHAPTER XVIH 
 
 MASTER HEYWOOD PROTESTS 
 
 IT was a cold, raw day. All morning long the snn had 
 shone through the choking fog as the candle-flame 
 through the dingy yellow horn of an old stable-lantern. 
 But at noon a wind sprang up that drove the mist through 
 London streets in streaks and strings mixed with smoke 
 and the reek of steaming roofs. Now and then the blue 
 gleamed through in ragged patches overhead ; so that all 
 the town turned out on pleasure bent, not minding if it 
 rained stewed turnips, so they saw the sky. 
 
 But the fog still sifted through the streets, and all was 
 damp and sticky to the touch, so Cicely was left behind 
 to loneliness and disappointment. 
 
 Nick and the master-player came down Ludgate Hill to 
 Blackfriars landing in a stream of merrymakers, high and 
 low, rich and poor, faring forth to London's greatest 
 thoroughfare, the Thames ; and as the river and the noble 
 mansions along the Strand came into view, Nick's heart 
 beat fast. It was a sight to stir the pulse. 
 
 Far down the stream, the grim old Tower loomed above 
 
 120
 
 MASTER HEYWOOD PROTESTS 121 
 
 the drifting mist; and, higher up, old London Bridge, 
 lined with tall houses, stretched from shore to shore. There 
 were towers on it with domes and gilded vanes, and the 
 river foamed and roared under it, strangled by the piers. 
 From the dock at St. Mary Averies by the Bridge to Barge- 
 house stairs, the landing-stages all along the river-bank 
 were thronged with boats ; and to and fro across the stream, 
 wherries, punts, barges, and water-craft of every kind were 
 plying busily. In middle stream sail-boats tugged along 
 with creaking sweeps, or brown-sailed trading-vessels 
 slipped away to sea, with costly freight for Muscovy, Tur- 
 key, and the Levant. And amid the countless water-craft 
 a multitude of stately swans swept here and there like 
 snow-flakes on the dusky river. 
 
 Nick sniffed at the air, for it was full of strange odors 
 the smell of breweries, of pitchy oakum, Norway tar, 
 spices from hot countries, resinous woods, and chilly 
 whiffs from the water; and as they came out along the 
 wharf, there were brown-faced, hard-eyed sailors there, 
 who had been to the New World wild fellows with silver 
 rings in their ears and a swaggering stagger in their pet- 
 ticoated legs. Some of them held short, crooked brown 
 tubes between their lips, and puffed great clouds of pale 
 brown smoke from their noses in a most amazing way. 
 
 Broad-beamed Dutchmen, too, were there, and swarthy 
 Spanish renegades, with sturdy craftsmen of the City 
 guilds and stalwart yeomen of the guard in the Queen's 
 rich livery. 
 
 But ere Nick had fairly begun to stare, confused by
 
 122 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 snch a rout, Carew had hailed a wherry, and they were 
 half-way over to the Southwark side. 
 
 Landing amid a deafening din of watermen bawling 
 hoarsely for a place along the Paris Garden stairs, the 
 master-player hurried up the lane through the noisy 
 crowd. Some were faring afoot into Surrey, and some to 
 green St. George's Fields to buy fresh fruit and milk from 
 the farm-houses and to picnic on the grass. Some turned 
 aside to the Falcon Inn for a bit of cheese and ale, and 
 others to the play-houses beyond the trees and fishing- 
 ponds. And coming down from the inn they met a crowd 
 of players, with Master Tom Heywood at their head, frol- 
 icking and cantering along like so many overgrown 
 school-boys. 
 
 "So we are to have thee with ns awhile?" said Hey- 
 wood, and put his arm around Nick's shoulders as they 
 trooped along. 
 
 "Awhile, sir, yes," replied Nick, nodding; "but I am 
 going home soon, Master Carew says." 
 
 "Carew," said Heywood, suddenly turning, "how can 
 ye have the heart ? " 
 
 "Come, Heywood," quoth the master-player, curtly, 
 though his whole face colored up, " I have heard enough 
 of this. Will ye please to mind your own affairs ? " 
 
 The writer of comedies lifted his brows, " Very well," 
 he answered quietly ; " but, lad, this much for thee," said 
 he, turning to Nick, " if ever thou dost need a friend, Tom 
 Heywood 's one will never speak thee false." 
 
 " Sir ! " cried Carew, clapping his hand upon his poniard
 
 MASTER HEYWOOD PROTESTS 123 
 
 Heywood looked up steadily. " How ? Wilt thou quar- 
 rel with me, Carew ? What ugly poison hath been filtered 
 through thy wits? Why, thou art even falser than I 
 thought ! Quarrel with me, who took thy new-born child 
 from her dying mother's arms when thou wert fast in 
 Newgate gaol?" 
 
 Carew's angry face turned sickly gray. He made as if 
 to speak, but no sound came. He shut his eyes and pushed 
 out his hand in the air as if to stop the voice of the writer 
 of comedies. 
 
 " Come," said Heywood, with deep feeling ; " thou canst 
 not quarrel with me yet nay, though thou dost try thy 
 very worst. It would be a sorry story for my soul or thine 
 to tell to hers." 
 
 Carew groaned. The rest of the players had passed on, 
 and the three stood there alone. " Don't, Tom, don't!" 
 he cried. 
 
 " Then how can ye have the heart ?" the other asked again. 
 
 The master-player lifted up his head, and his lips were 
 trembling. " 'T is not the heart, Tom," he cried bitterly, 
 "upon my word, and on the remnant of mine honour! 
 T is the head which doeth this. For, Tom, I cannot leave 
 him go. Why, Tom, hast thou not heard him sing? A 
 voice which would call back the very dead that we have 
 loved if they might only hear. Why, Tom, 't is worth a 
 thousand pound ! How can I leave him go ? " 
 
 " Oh, fie for shame upon the man I took thee for ! " cried 
 Heywood. 
 
 "But, Tom," cried Carew, brokenly, "look it straightly
 
 124 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 in the face; I am no such player as I was, this reckless 
 life hath done the trick for me, Tom, and here is ruin 
 staring Henslowe and Alleyn in the eye. They cannot 
 keep me master if their luck doth not change soon ; and 
 Burbage would not have me as a gift. So, Tom, what is 
 there left to do ? How can I shift without the boy ? Nay, 
 Tom, it will not serve. There 7 s Cicely not one penny 
 laid by for her against a rainy day ; and I '11 be gone, Tom, 
 I '11 be gone it is not morning all day long we cannot 
 last forever. Nay, I cannot leave him go ! " 
 
 " But, sir," broke in Nick, wretchedly, holding fast to 
 Heywood's arm, " ye said that I should go ! " 
 
 " Said ! " cried the master-player, with a bitter smile ; 
 " why, Nick, I 'd say ten times more in one little minute 
 just to hear thee sing than I would stand to in a month 
 of Easters afterward. Come, Nick, be fair. I '11 feed thee 
 full and dress thee well and treat thee true all for that 
 song of thine." 
 
 " But, sir, my mother" 
 
 "Why, Carew, hath the boy a mother, too?" cried the 
 writer of comedies. 
 
 " Now, Heywood, on thy soul, no more of this ! " cried 
 the master-player, with quivering lips. "Ye will make 
 me out no man, or else a fiend. I cannot let the fellow 
 go I will not let him go." His hands were twitching, 
 and his face was pale, but his lips were set determinedly. 
 " And, Tom, there 's that within me will not abide even thy 
 pestering. So come, no more of it ! Upon my soul, I sour 
 over soon ! "
 
 MASTER HEYWOOD PROTESTS 125 
 
 So they came on gloomily past the bear-houses and the 
 Queen's kennels. The river-wind was full of the wild smell 
 of the bears; but what were bears to poor Nick, whose 
 last faint hope that the master-player meant to keep hia 
 word and send him home again was gone ? 
 
 They passed the Paris Garden and the tall round play, 
 house that Francis Langley had just built. A blood-red 
 banner flaunted overhead, with a large white swan painted 
 thereon ; but Nick saw neither the play-house nor the 
 swan ; he saw only, deep in his heart, a little gable-roof 
 among old elms, with blue smoke curling softly up among 
 the rippling leaves ; an open door with tall pink hollyhocks 
 beside it ; and in the door, watching for him till he came 
 again, his own mother's face. He began to cry silently. 
 
 " Nay, Nick, my lad, don't cry," said Heywood. gently ; 
 " 't will only make bad matters worse. Never is a weary 
 while; but the longest lane will turn at last: some day 
 thou 'It find thine home again all in the twinkling of an 
 eye. Why, Nick, 't is England still, and thou an English- 
 man. Come, give the world as good as it can send." 
 
 Nick raised his head again, and, throwing the hair back 
 from his eyes, walked stoutly along, though the tears still 
 trickled down his cheeks. 
 
 " Sing thou my songs," said Heywood, heartily, " and I 
 will be thy friend let this be thine earnest." As he 
 spoke he slipped upon the boy's finger a gold ring with a 
 green stone in it cut with a tall tree : this was his seal. 
 
 They had now come through the garden to the Rose 
 Theatre, where the Lord Admiral's company played ; and
 
 126 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Carew was himself again. "Come, Nicholas," said he, 
 half jestingly, "be done with thy doleful dumps care 
 killed a cat, they say, lad. Why, if thy hateful looks could 
 stab, I 'd be a dead man forty times. Come, cheer up, 
 lad, that I may know thou lovest me." 
 
 " But I do na love thee ! " cried Nick, indignantly. 
 
 " Tut ! Do not be so dour. Thou 'It soon be envied by 
 ten thousand men. Come, don't make a face at thy good 
 fortune as though it were a tripe fried in tar. Come, lad, 
 be pleased ; thou 'It be the pet of every high-born dame in 
 London town." 
 
 " I 'd rather be my mother's boy," Nick answered simply.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE ROSE PLAY-HOUSE 
 
 fTlHE play-house was an eight-sided, three-storied, tower- 
 JL like building of oak and plastered lath, upon a low 
 foundation of yellow brick. Two outside stairways ran 
 around the wall, and the roof was of bright-red English 
 tiles with a blue lead gutter at the eaves. There was a 
 little turret, from the top of which a tall ash stave went 
 up ; and on the stave, whenever there was to be a play, 
 there floated a great white flag on which was a crimson 
 rose with a golden heart, just like the one that Nick with 
 such delight had seen come up the Oxford road a few 
 short days before. 
 
 Under the stairway was a narrow door marked " For the 
 Playeres Onelie"; and in the doorway stood a shrewd- 
 faced, common-looking man, writing upon a tablet which 
 he held in his hand. There was a case of quills at his 
 side, with one of which he was scratching busily, now and 
 then prodding the ink-horn at his girdle. He held his 
 tongue in his cheek, and moved his head about as the pen 
 
 127
 
 128 MASTER SKYLAKK 
 
 formed the letters : he was no expert penman, this Phil 
 Henslowe, the stager of plays. 
 
 He looked up as they came to the step. 
 
 " A poor trip, Carew," said he, running his finger down 
 the column of figures he was adding. "The play was 
 hardly worth the candle cleared but five pound ; and then, 
 after I had paid the carman three shilling fip to bring the 
 stuff down from the City, 't was lost in the river from the 
 barge at Paul's wharf ! A good two pound." 
 
 " Hard luck ! " said Carew. 
 
 " Hard ? Adamantine, I say ! Why, 't is very stones 
 for luck, and the whole road rocky ! Here 's Burbage, 
 Condell, and Will Shakspere ha' rebuilt Blackfriars play- 
 house in famous shape ; and, marry, where are we ? " 
 
 Nick started. An idea came creeping into his head. 
 Will Shakspere had married his mother's own cousin, Anne 
 Hathaway of Shottery ; and he had often heard his mother 
 say that Master Shakspere had ever been her own good 
 friend when they were young. 
 
 " He and Jonson be thick as thieves," said Henslowe j 
 " and Chettle says that Will hath near done the book of a 
 new play for the autumn a master fine thing ! ' Romulus 
 and Juliana/ or something of that Italian sort, to follow 
 Ben Jonson's comedy. Ned Alleyn played a sweet fool 
 about Ben's comedy. Called it monstrous bad ; and now 
 it has taken the money out of our mouths to the tune of 
 nine pound six the day and here, while ye were gone, I 
 ha' played my Lord of Pembroke's men in your 'Robin 
 Hood,' Heywood, to scant twelve shilling in the house ! "
 
 THE ROSE PLAY-HOUSE 129 
 
 Heywood flushed. 
 
 " Nay, Tom, don't be nettled ; 't is not the fault of thy 
 play. There 's naught will serve. We 've tried old Mar- 
 lowe and Robin Greene, Peele, Nash, and all the rest ; but, 
 what ! they will not do 't is Shakspere, Shakspere ; our 
 City flat-caps will ha' nothing but Shakspere ! " 
 
 Nick listened eagerly. Master Will Shakspere must 
 indeed be somebody in London town ! He stared across 
 into the drifting cloud of mist and smoke which hid the 
 city like a pall, and wondered how and where, in that ter- 
 rible hive of more than a hundred thousand men, he could 
 find one man. 
 
 " I tell thee, Tom Heywood, there 's some magic in the 
 fellow, or my name 's not Henslowe ! " cried the manager. 
 " His very words bewitch one's wits as nothing else can do. 
 Why, I 've tried them with 'Pierce Penniless/ 'Groat's 
 Worth of Wit/ ' Friar Bacon/ 'Orlando/ and the 'Battle 
 of Alcazar.' Why, tush ! they will not even listen ! And 
 here I Ve put Martin Gosset into purple and gold, and 
 Jemmy Donstall into a peach-colored gown laid down with 
 silver-gilt, for 'Volteger'; and what? Why, we play to 
 empty stools ; and the rascals owe me for those costumes 
 yet sixty shillings full! A murrain on Burbage and 
 Will Shakspere too ! but I wish we had him back again. 
 We 'd make their old Blackfriars sick ! " He shook his 
 fist at a great gray pile of buildings that rose above the 
 rest out of the fog by the landing-place beyond the river. 
 
 Nick stared. That the play-house of Master Shakspere 
 and the Burbages? Will Shakspere playing there, just
 
 130 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 across the river? Oh, if Nick could only find him, he 
 would not let the son of his wife's own cousin be stolen 
 away! 
 
 Nick looked around quickly. 
 
 The play-house stood a bowshot from the river, in the 
 open fields. There was a moated manor-house near by, 
 and beyond it a little stream with some men fishing. Be- 
 tween the play-house and the Thames were gardens and 
 trees, and a thin fringe of buildings along the bank by the 
 landings. It was not far, and there were places where one 
 could get a boat every fifty yards or so at the Bankside. 
 
 But" Come in, come in," said Henslowe. " Growling 
 never fed a dog ; and we must be doing." 
 
 "Go ahead, Nick," said Carew, pushing him by the 
 shoulder, and they all went in. The door opened on a 
 flight of stairs leading to the lowest gallery at the right of 
 the stage, where the orchestra sat. A man was tuning up 
 a viol as they came in. 
 
 "I want you to hear this boy sing," said Carew to 
 Henslowe. " 'T is the best thing ye ever lent ear to." 
 
 "Oh, this is the boy?" said the manager, staring at 
 Nick. " Why, Alleyn told me he was a country gawk ! " 
 
 "He lied, then," said Carew, very shortly. "'T was 
 cheaper than the truth at my price. There, Nick, go look 
 about the place we have business." 
 
 Nick went slowly along the gallery. His hands were 
 beginning to tremble as he put them out touching the 
 stools. Along the rail were ornamental columns which 
 supported the upper galleries and looked like beautiful
 
 THE EOSE PLAY-HOUSE 131 
 
 blue-veined white marble ; but when he took hold of them 
 to steady himself he found they were only painted wood. 
 
 There were two galleries above. They ran all around 
 the inside of the building, like the porches of the inn at 
 Coventry, and he could see them across the house. There 
 were no windows in the gallery where he was, but there 
 were some in the second one. They looked high. He went 
 on around the gallery until he came to some steps going 
 down into the open space in the center of the building. 
 The stage was already set up on the trestles, and the car- 
 penters were putting a shelter-roof over it on copper-gilt 
 pillars ; for it was beginning to drizzle, and the middle of 
 the play-house was open to the sky. 
 
 The spectators were already coming into the pit at a 
 penny apiece, although the play would not begin until 
 early evening. Those for the galleries paid another penny 
 to a man in a red cloak at the foot of the stairs where 
 Nick was standing. There was a great uproar at the en- 
 trance. Some apprentices had caught a cutpurse in the 
 crowd, and were beating him unmercifully. Every one 
 pushed and shoved about, cursing the thief, and those 
 near enough kicked and struck him. 
 
 Nick looked back. Carew and the manager had gone 
 into the tiring-room behind the stage. He took hold of 
 the side-rail and started down the steps. The man in the 
 red cloak looked up. " Go back there," said he, sharply ; 
 " there 's enough down here now." Nick went on around 
 the gallery. 
 
 At the back of the stage were two doors for the players,
 
 132 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 and between them hung a painted cloth or arras behind 
 which the prompter stood. Over these doors were two 
 plastered rooms, twopenny private boxes for gentlefolk. 
 In one of them were three young men and a beautiful 
 girl, wonderfully dressed. The men were speaking to her, 
 but she looked down at Nick instead. " What a pretty 
 boy ! " she said, and tossed him a flower that one of the 
 men had just given her. It fell at Nick's feet. He started 
 back, looking up. The girl smiled, so he took off his cap 
 and bowed ; but the men looked sour. 
 
 At the side of the stage was a screen with long leather 
 fire-buckets and a pole-ax hanging upon it, and behind it 
 was a door through which Nick saw the river and the gray 
 walls of the old Dominican friary. As he came down to 
 it, some one thrust out a staff and barred the way. It 
 was the bandy-legged man with the ribbon in his ear. 
 Nick looked out longingly ; it seemed so near ! 
 
 " Master Carew saith thou art not to stir outside dost 
 hear ? " said the bandy-legged man. 
 
 " Ay," said Nick, and turned back. 
 
 There was a narrow stairway leading to the second 
 gallery. He went up softly. There was no one in the 
 gallery, and there was a window on the side next to the 
 river; he had seen it from below. He went toward it 
 slowly that he might not arouse suspicion. It was above 
 his head. 
 
 There were stools for hire standing near. He brought 
 one and set it under the window. It stood unevenly upon 
 the floor, and made a wabbling noise. He was afraid
 
 'NICK PUT ONE LEG OVBE THE SILL AND LOOKED BACK'
 
 THE ROSE PLAY-HOUSE 133 
 
 some one would hear him ; but the apprentices in the pit 
 were rattling dice, and two or three gentlemen's pages 
 were wrangling for the best places on the platform ; while, 
 to add to the general riot, two young gallants had brought 
 gamecocks and were fighting them in one corner, amid 
 such a whooping and swashing that one could hardly have 
 heard the skies fall. 
 
 A printer's man was bawling, "Will ye buy a new 
 book ? " and the fruit-sellers, too, were raising such a cry 
 of " Apples, cherries, cakes, and ale ! " that the little noise 
 Nick might make would be lost in the wild confusion. 
 
 Master Carew and the manager had not come out of the 
 tiring-room. Nick got up on the stool and looked out. 
 It was not very far to the ground not so far as from the 
 top of the big haycock in Master John Combe's field from 
 which he had often jumped. 
 
 The sill was just breast-high when he stood upon the 
 stool. Putting his hands upon it, he gave a little spring, 
 and balanced on his arms a moment. Then he put one 
 leg over the window-sill and looked back. No one was 
 paying the slightest attention to him. Over all the noise 
 he could hear the man tuning the viol. Swinging himself 
 out slowly and silently, with his toes against the wall to 
 steady him, he hung down as far as he could, gave a little 
 push away from the house with his feet, caught a quick 
 breath, and dropped.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 ICK landed upon a pile of soft earth. It broke away 
 under his feet and threw him forward upon his 
 hands and knees. He got up, a little shaken but unhurt, 
 and stood close to the wall, looking all about quickly. A 
 party of gaily dressed gallants were haggling with the 
 horse-boys at the sheds ; but they did not even look at 
 him. A passing carter stared up at the window, measur- 
 ing the distance with his eye, whistled incredulously, and 
 trudged on, 
 
 Nick listened a moment, but heard only the clamor of 
 voices inside, and the zoon, zoon, zoon of the viol. He 
 was trembling all over, and his heart was beating like a 
 trip-hammer. He wanted to run, but was fearful of ex- 
 citing suspicion. Heading straight for the river, he 
 walked as fast as he could through the gardens and the 
 trees, brushing the dirt from his hose as he went. 
 
 There was a wherry just pushing out from Old Mari- 
 gold stairs with a single passenger, a gardener with ? 
 basket of truck. 
 
 134
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT 135 
 
 " Holloa ! " cried Nick, hurrying down j " will ye take 
 me across ? " 
 
 " For thrippence," said the boatman, hauling the wherry 
 alongside again with his hook, 
 
 Thrippence ? Nick stopped, dismayed. Master Carew 
 had his gold rose-noble, and he had not thought of the 
 fare. They would soon find that he was gone. 
 
 " Oh, I must be across, sir ! " he cried. " Can ye na take 
 me free ? I be little and not heavy ; and I will help the 
 gentleman with his basket." 
 
 The boatman's only reply was to drop his hook and 
 push off with the oar. 
 
 But the gardener, touched by the boy's pitiful expres- 
 sion, to say nothing of being tickled by Nick's calling 
 him gentleman, spoke up : " Here, jack-sculler," said he ; 
 " I '11 toss up wi' thee for it." He pulled a groat from his 
 pocket and began spinning it in the air. "Come, thou 
 lookest a gamesome fellow cross he goes, pile he stays; 
 best two in three flips what sayst?" 
 
 " Done ! " said the waterman. " Pop her up ! * 
 
 Up went the groat. 
 
 Nick held his breath. 
 
 " Pile it is," said the gardener. " One for thee and up 
 she goes again ! " The groat twirled in the air and came 
 down clink upon the thwart. 
 
 " Aha ! " cried the boatman, " 't is mine, or I 'm a horse ! " 
 
 "Nay, jack-sculler," laughed the gardener ; " cross it is ! 
 Ka me, ka thee, my pretty groat I never lose with this 
 groat."
 
 136 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Oh, sir, do be brisk ! " begged Nick, fearing every in- 
 stant to see the master-player and the bandy-legged man 
 come running down the bank. 
 
 "More haste, worse speed," said the gardener; "only 
 evil weeds grow fast ! " and he rubbed the groat on his 
 jerkin. " Now, jack-sculler, hold thy breath ; for up she 
 goes again ! n 
 
 A man came running over the rise. Nick gave a little 
 frightened cry. It was only a huckster's knave with a 
 roll of fresh butter. The groat came down with a splash 
 in the bottom of the wherry. The boatman picked it up 
 out of the water and wiped it with his sleeve. "Here, 
 boy, get aboard," said he, shoving off; "and be lively 
 about it ! " 
 
 The huckster's knave came running down the landing. 
 He pushed Nick aside, and scrambled into the wherry, 
 puffing for breath. The boat fell off into the current. 
 Nick, making a plunge for it into the water, just managed 
 to catch the gunwale and get aboard, wet to the knees. 
 But he did not care for that; for although there were 
 people going up Paris Garden lane, and a crowd about 
 the entrance of the Rose, he could not see Master Carew 
 or the bandy-legged man anj^where. So he breathed a 
 little freer, yet kept his eyes fast upon the play-house 
 until the wherry bumped against Blackfriars stairs. 
 
 Picking up the basket of truck, he sprang ashore, and, 
 dropping it upon the landing, took to his heels up the bank, 
 without stopping to thank either gardener or boatman. 
 
 The gray walls of the old friary were just ahead, scarcely
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT 137 
 
 a stone's throw from the river. With heart beating high, 
 he ran along the close, looking eagerly for the entrance. 
 He came to a wicket-gate that was standing half ajar, and 
 went through it into the old cloisters. 
 
 Everything there was still. He was glad of that, for 
 the noise and the rush of the crowd outside confused him. 
 
 The place had once been a well-kept garden-plot, but 
 now was become a mere stack of odds and ends of boards 
 and beams, shavings, mortar, and broken brick. A long- 
 legged fellow with a green patch over one eye was build- 
 ing a pair of stairs to a door beside which a sign read : 
 " Playeres Here : None Elles." 
 
 Nick doffed his cap. " Good-day," said he ; " is Master 
 Will Shakspere in ? " 
 
 The man put down his saw and sat back upon one of 
 the trestles, staring stupidly. " Didst za-ay zummat ? " 
 
 " I asked if Master Will Shakspere was in ? " 
 
 The fellow scratched his head with a bit of shaving. 
 * Noa ; Muster Wull Zhacksper beant in." 
 
 Nick's heart stopped with a thump. " Where is he do 
 ye know ? " 
 
 " A 's gone awa-ay," drawled the workman, vaguely. 
 
 "Away? Whither?" 
 
 "A 's gone to Ztratvoard to-own, whur 's woife do li-ive 
 went a-yesterday." 
 
 Nick sat blindly down upon the other trestle. He did 
 not put his cap on again : he had quite forgotten it. 
 
 Master Will Shakspere gone to Stratford and only the 
 day before !
 
 138 MASTER SKYLAEK 
 
 Too late just one little day too late ! It seemed like 
 cruel mockery. Why, he might be almost home ! The 
 thought was more than he could bear: who could be 
 brave in the face of such a blow ? The bitter tears ran 
 down his face again. 
 
 " Here, here, odzookens, lad ! " grinned the workman, 
 stolidly, "thou 'It vetch t' river up if weeps zo ha-ard. 
 Ztop un, ztop un ; do now." 
 
 Nick sat staring at the ground. A beetle was trying 
 to crawl over a shaving. It was a curly shaving, and as 
 fast as the beetle crept up to the top the shaving rolled 
 over, and dropped the beetle upon its back in the dust ; 
 but it only got up and tried again. Nick looked up. 
 " Is is Master Richard Burbage here, then ? " 
 
 Perhaps Burbage, who had been a Stratford man, would 
 help him. 
 
 " Noa," drawled the carpenter ; " Muster Bubbage beant 
 here ; doan't want un, nuther nuwer do moind a's owen 
 business always jawin' volks. A beant here, an' doan't 
 want un, nuther." 
 
 Nick's heart went down. " And where is he ? " 
 
 "Who? Muster Bubbage? Whoy, a be-eth out to 
 Zhoreditch, a-playin' at t' theater." 
 
 " And where may Shoreditch be ? " 
 
 " Whur be Zhoreditch ? " gaped the workman, vacantly. 
 "Whoy whoy, zuminers over there a bit yon, zure"; 
 and he waved his hand about in a way that pointed to 
 nowhere at all. 
 
 " When will he be back ? " asked Nick, desperately.
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT 139 
 
 " Be ba-ack ? " drawled the workman, slowly taking up 
 his saw again; "back whur? here? Whoy, a wun't 
 pla-ay here no mo-ore avore next Martlemas." 
 
 Martinmas ? That was almost mid-November. It was 
 now but middle May. 
 
 Nick got up and went out at the wicket-gate. He was 
 beginning to feel sick and a little faint. The rush in the 
 street made him dizzy, and the sullen roar that came 
 down on the wind from the town, mingled with the tramp- 
 ing of feet, the splash of oars, the bumping of boats along 
 the wharves, and the shouts and cries of a thousand voices, 
 stupefied him. 
 
 He was standing there motionless in the narrow way, 
 as if dazed by a heavy fall, when Gaston Carew came run- 
 ning up from the river-front, with the bandy-legged man 
 at his heels.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 "THE CHILDREN OF PAUL'S" 
 
 AN old gray rat came out of its hole, ran swiftly across 
 XJL. the floor, and, sitting up, crouched there, peering at 
 Nick. He thought its bare, scaly tail was not a pleasant 
 thing to see ; yet he looked at it, with his elbows on his 
 knees, and his chin in his hands. 
 
 He had been locked in for two days now. They had 
 put in plenty of food, and he had eaten it all ; for if he 
 starved to death he would certainly never get home. 
 
 It was quite warm, and the boards had been taken from 
 the window, so that there was plenty of light. The win- 
 dow faced the north, and in the night, wakened by some 
 outcry in the street below, Nick had leaned his log-pillow 
 against the wainscot, and, climbing up, looked out into the 
 sky. It was clear, for a wonder, and the stars were very 
 bright. The moon, like a smoky golden platter, rose 
 behind the eastern towers of the town, and in the north 
 hung the Great Wain pointing at the polar star. 
 
 Somewhere underneath those stars was Stratford. The 
 throstles would be singing in the orchard there now, when 
 
 140
 
 "THE CHILDREN OF PAUL'S" 141 
 
 the sun was low and the cool wind came up from the 
 river with a little whispering in the lane. The purple- 
 gray doves, too, would be cooing softly in the elms over 
 the cottage gable. In fancy he heard the whistle of their 
 wings as they flew. But all the sound that came hi over 
 the roofs of London town was a hollow murmur as from 
 a kennel of surly hounds. 
 
 "Nick! oh, Nick!" 
 
 Cicely Carew was calling at the door. The rat scurried 
 off to its hole in the wall. 
 
 "What there, Nick! Art thou within?" Cicely called 
 again ; but Nick made no reply. 
 
 " Nick, dear Nick, art crying ? " 
 
 " No," said he ; "I 'm not." 
 
 There was a short silence. 
 
 " Nick, I say, wilt thou be good if I open the door?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then I will open it anyway ; thou durst n't be bad to 
 me! " 
 
 The bolts thumped, and then the heavy door swung 
 slowly back. 
 
 " Why, where art thou ? " 
 
 He was sitting in the corner behind the door. 
 
 " Here," said he. 
 
 She came in, but he did not look up. 
 
 "Nick," she asked earnestly, "why wilt thou be so bad, 
 and try to run away from my father ? " 
 
 " I hate thy father ! " said he, and brought his fist down 
 upon his knee.
 
 142 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Hate him ? Oh, Nick ! Why ? n 
 
 11 If thou be asking whys," said Nick, bitterly, " why did 
 he steal me away from my mother ? " 
 
 "Oh, surely, Nick, that cannot be true no, no, it can- 
 not be true. Thou hast forgotten, or thou hast slept too 
 hard and had bad dreams. My father would not steal a 
 pin. It was a nightmare. Doth thine head hurt thee ? " 
 She came over and stroked his forehead with her cool 
 hand. She was a graceful child, and gentle in all her 
 ways. " I am sorry thou dost not feel well, Nick. But 
 my father will come presently, and he will heal thee soon. 
 Don't cry any more." 
 
 "I 'm not crying," said Nick, stoutly, though as he 
 spoke a tear ran down his cheek, and fell upon his hand. 
 
 "Then it is the roof leaks," she said, looking up as if 
 she had not seen his tear-blinded eyes. " But cheer up, 
 Nick, and be a good boy wilt thou not? 'T is dinner- 
 time, and thy new clothes have come; and thou art to 
 come down now and try them on." 
 
 When Nick came out of the tiring-room and found the 
 master-player come, he knew not what to say or do. 
 "Oh, brave, brave, brave!" cried Cicely, and danced 
 around him, clapping her hands. "Why, it is a very 
 prince a king! Oh, Nick, thou art most beautiful to 
 see! " 
 
 And Master Carew's own eyes sparkled ; for truly it was 
 a pleasant sight to see a fair young lad like Nick in such 
 attire. 
 
 There was a fine white shirt of Holland linen, and long
 
 u 
 
 "'OH, NICK, THOU AET MOST BEAUTIFUL TO 8KB! ' CRIED CICELY."
 
 "THE CHILDEEN OF PAUL'S" 143 
 
 hose of grayish blue, with puffed and slashed trunks of 
 velvet so blue as to be almost black. The sleeveless jerkin 
 was of the same dark color, trellised with roses embroidered 
 in silk, and loose from breast to broad lace collar so that 
 the waistcoat of dull gold silk beneath it might show. A 
 cloak of damask with a silver clasp, a buff-leather belt 
 with a chubby purse hung to it by a chain, tan-colored 
 slippers, and a jaunty velvet cap with a short white plume, 
 completed the array. Everything, too, had been laid 
 down with perfume, so that from head to foot he smelt as 
 sweet and clean as a drift of rose-mallows. 
 
 " My soul ! " cried Carew, stepping back and snapping 
 his fingers with delight. " Thou art the bravest skylark 
 that ever broke a shell ! Fine feathers fine bird my 
 soul, how ye do set each other off ! " He took Nick by 
 the shoulders, twirled him around, and, standing off again, 
 stared at him like a man who has found two pound ster- 
 ling in a cast-off coat. 
 
 " I can na pay for them, sir," said Nick, slowly. 
 
 " There 's nought to pay it is a gift." 
 
 Nick hung his head, much troubled. What could he 
 say; what could he think? This man had stolen him 
 from home, ay, made him tremble for his very life a 
 dozen times, and with his whole heart he knew he hated 
 him yet here, a gift ! 
 
 " Yes, Nick, it is a gift and all because I love thee, lad." 
 
 " Love me I " 
 
 " Why, surely ! Who could see thee without liking, or 
 hear thy voice and not love thee? Love thee, Nickt
 
 144 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Why, on my word and honour, lad, I love thee with all 
 my heart." 
 
 "Thou hast chosen strange ways to show it, Master 
 Carew," said Nick, and looked straight up into the master 
 player's eyes. 
 
 Carew turned upon his heel and ordered the dinner. 
 
 It was a good dinner: fat roast capon stuffed with 
 spiced carrots; asparagus, biscuit, barley-cakes, and 
 honey ; and to end with, a flaky pie, and Spanish cordial 
 sprinkled with burnt sugar. With such fare and a keen 
 appetite, a marvelous brand-new suit of clothes, and Cicely 
 chattering gaily by his side, Nick could not be sulky or 
 doleful long. He was soon laughing ; and Carew's spirits 
 seemed to rise with the boy's. 
 
 " Here, here ! " he cried, as Nick was served the third 
 time to the pie; "art hollow to thy very toes? Why, 
 thou 'It eat us out of house and home hey, Cicely? 
 Marry come up, I think I 'd best take Ned Alleyn's five 
 shillings for thine hire, after all ! What ! Five shillings ? 
 Set me in earth and bowl me to death with boiled turnips ! 
 do they think to play bob-fool with me ? Five shillings ! 
 A fico for their five shillings and this for them ! " and he 
 squeezed the end of his thumb between his fingers. 
 " Cicely, what dost think ? Phil Henslowe had the face 
 to match Jem Bristow with our Nick ! " 
 
 " Why, daddy, Jem hath a face like a halibut ! " 
 
 "And a voice like a husky crow. Why, Nick's mere 
 shadow on the stage is worth a ton of Jemmy Bristows. 
 T was casting pearls before swine, Nick, to offer thee to
 
 "THE CHILDREN OF PAUL'S'' 145 
 
 Heuslowe and Alleyn j but we Ve found a better trough 
 than theirs hey, Cicely Goldenheart, have n't we T Thou 
 art to be one of Paul's boys." 
 
 "Paul who?" 
 
 Carew lay back in his chair and laughed. " Paul who ? 
 Why, Saint Paul, Nick, 't is Paul's Cathedral boys I 
 mean. Marry, what dost say to that ? n 
 
 " I 'd like another barley-cake." 
 
 "You 'd whatf" cried the master-player, letting the 
 front legs of his chair come down on the floor with a 
 thump. 
 
 " I 'd like another barley-cake," said Nick, quietly, help- 
 ing himself to the honey. 
 
 " Upon my word, and on the remnant of mine honour ! " 
 ejaculated Carew. " Tell a man his fortune 's made, and 
 he calls for barley-cakes ! Why, thou 'dst say ' Pooh ! ' to 
 a cannon-ball ! My faith, boy, dost understand what this 
 doth mean ? " 
 
 " Ay," said Nick ; " that I be hungry." 
 
 "But, Nick, upon my soul, thou art to sing with the 
 Children of Paul's ; to play with the cathedral company ; 
 to be a bright particular star in the sweetest galaxy that 
 ever shone in English sky ! Dost take me yet T " 
 
 " Ay," said Nick, and sopped the honey with his cake. 
 
 Carew played with his glass uneasily, and tapped his 
 heel upon the floor. " And is that all thou hast to say- 
 hast turned oyster? There 's no R in May nobody will 
 eat thee ! Come, don't make a mouth as though the 
 honey of the world were all turned gall upon thy tongue. 
 
 10
 
 146 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 'T is the flood-tide of thy fortune, boy ! Thou art to sing 
 before the school to-morrow, so that Master Nathaniel 
 Gyles may take thy range and worth. Now, truly, thou 
 wilt do thy very best ? " 
 
 The bandy-legged man had brought water in a ewer, 
 and poured some in a basin for Nick to wash his hands. 
 There was a green ribbon in his ear, and the towel hung 
 across his arm. Nick wiped his hands in silence. 
 
 " Come," said Master Carew, with an ugly sharpness in 
 his voice, " thou 'It sing thy very best ? " 
 
 " There ; s nothing else to do," replied Nick, doggedly-
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE SKYLARK'S SONG 
 
 MASTER NATHANIEL GYLES, Precentor of St. 
 Paul's, had pipe-stem legs, and a face like an old 
 parchment put in a box to keep. His sandy hair was thin 
 and straggling, and his fine cloth hose wrinkled around 
 his shrunken shanks ; but his eye was sharp, and he wore 
 about his neck a broad gold chain that marked him as no 
 common man. 
 
 For Master Nathaniel Gyles was head of the Cathedral 
 schools of acting and of music, and he stood upon his 
 dignity. 
 
 "My duty is laid down," said he, "in most specific 
 terms, sir, lex cathedralis^th&t is to say, by the laws of 
 the cathedral ; and has been, sir, since the reign of Richard 
 the Third. Primus Magister Scholarum, Gustos Morum, 
 Quartus Gustos Rotulorum,so the title stands, sir; and I 
 know my place." 
 
 He pushed Nick into the anteroom, and turned to Carew 
 with an irritated air. 
 
 "I likewise know, sir, what is what. In plain words, 
 
 147
 
 148 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Master Gaston Carew, ye have grossly misrepresented this 
 boy to me, to the waste of much good time. Why, sir, he 
 does not dance a step, and cannot act at all." 
 
 " Soft, Master Gyles be not so fast ! " said Carew, 
 haughtily, drawing himself up, with his hand on his pon- 
 iard; "dost mean to tell me that I have lied to theet 
 Marry, sir, thy tongue will run thee into a blind alley ! I 
 told thee that the boy could sing, but not that he could 
 act or dance." 
 
 " Pouf, sir, words ! I know my place : one peg below 
 the dean, sir, nothing less: ' Magister, et cetera' 't is so 
 set down. And I tell thee, sir, he has no training, not a 
 bit ; can't tell a pricksong from a bottle of hay ; does n'tf 
 know a canon from a crocodile, or a fugue from a hole 
 in the ground ! " 
 
 " Oh, fol-de-riddle de fol-de-rol ! What has that to do 
 with it ? I tell thee, sir, the boy can sing." 
 
 "And, sir, I say I know my place. Music does not 
 grow like weeds." 
 
 " And f a-la-las don't make a voice." 
 
 " What ! How ? Wilt thou teach me ? " The master's 
 voice rose angrily. " Teach me, who learned descant and 
 counterpoint in the Gallo-Belgic schools, sir ; the best in 
 all the world ! Thou, who knowest not a staccato from a 
 stick of liquorice ! " 
 
 Carew shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Come, 
 Master Gyles, this is fool play. I told thee that the boy 
 could sing, and thou hast not yet heard him try. Thou 
 knowest right well I am no such simple gull as to mistake
 
 THE SKYLAEK'S SONG 149 
 
 a jay for a nightingale ; and I tell thee, sir, upon my word, 
 and on the remnant of mine honour, he has the voice that 
 thou dost need if thou wouldst win the favor of the 
 Queen. He has the voice, and thou the thingumbobs to 
 make the most of it. Don't be a fool, now ; hear him sing. 
 That 's all I ask. Just hear him once. Thou 'It pawn 
 thine ears to hear him twice." 
 
 The music-school stood within the old cathedral grounds. 
 Through the windows came up distantly the murmur of 
 the throng in Paul's Yard. It was mid-afternoon, quite 
 warm ; blundering flies buzzed up and down the lozenged 
 panes, and through the dark hall crept the humming sound 
 of childish voices reciting eagerly, with now and then a 
 sharp, small cry as some one faltered in his lines and had 
 his fingers rapped. Somewhere else there were boyish 
 voices running scales, now up, now down, without a stop, 
 and other voices singing harmonies, two parts and three 
 together, here and there a little flat from weariness. 
 
 The stairs were very dark, Nick thought, as they went 
 up to another floor ; but the long hall they came into there 
 was quite bright with the sun. 
 
 At one end was a little stage, like the one at the Rose 
 play-house, with a small gallery for musicians above it; 
 but everything here was painted white and gold, and was 
 most scrupulously clean. The rush-strewn floor was filled 
 with oaken benches, and there were paintings hanging 
 upon the wall, portraits of old head-masters and precentors. 
 Some of them were so dark with time that Nick wondered 
 if they had been blackamoors.
 
 150 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Master Gyles closed the great door and pulled a cord 
 that hung by the stage. A bell jangled faintly somewhere 
 in the wall. Nick heard the muffled voices hush, and then 
 a shuffling tramp of slippered feet came up the outer stair. 
 
 " Pouf ! " said the precentor, crustily. " Tempus fugit 
 that is to say, we have no time to waste. So, marry, boy, 
 venite, exuUemusin other words, if thou canst sing, be up 
 and at it. Come, cantate sing, I bid thee, and that in- 
 stanter if thou canst sing at all." 
 
 The under-masters and monitors were pushing the boys 
 into their seats. Carew pointed to the stage. " Thou 'It 
 do thy level best ! " he said in a low, hard tone, and some- 
 thing clashed beneath his cloak like steel on steel. 
 
 Nick went up the steps behind the screen. It seemed 
 cold in the room ; he had not noticed it before. Yet there 
 were sweat-drops upon his forehead. He felt as if he 
 were a jackanapes he had seen once at the Stratford fair, 
 which wore a crimson jerkin and a cap. The man who 
 had the jackanapes played upon a pipe and a tabor ; and 
 when he said, " Dance ! " the jackanapes danced, for it was 
 sorely afraid of the man. Yet when Nick looked around 
 and did not see the master-player anywhere in the hall, 
 he felt exceedingly lonely all at once without him, though 
 he both feared and hated him. 
 
 There still was a shuffling of feet and a low talking ; but 
 soon it became very quiet, and they all seemed to be wait, 
 ing for him to begin. He did not care, but supposed he 
 might as well : what else could he do ? 
 
 There was a clock somewhere ticking quickly with its 
 sharp, metallic ring. As he listened, lonely, his heart cried
 
 THE SKYLAEK'S SONG 151 
 
 Out for home. In his fancy the wind seemed rippling 
 over the Avon, and the elm-leaves rustled like rain upon 
 the roof above his bed. There were red and white wild- 
 roses in the hedge, and in the air a smell of clover and of 
 new-mown hay. The mowers would be working in the 
 clover in the moonlight. He could almost see the sweep 
 of the shining scythes, and hear the chink-a-chank, chink- 
 a-chank of the whetstone on the long, curving blades. 
 Chink-a-chank, chink-a-chank 't was but the clock, and 
 he in London town. 
 
 Carew, sitting there behind the carven prompter's- 
 screen, put down his head between his hands and listened. 
 There were murmurings a little while, then silence. 
 Would the boy never begin! He pressed his knuckles 
 into his temples and waited. Bow Bells rang out the 
 hour ; but the room was as still as a deep sleep. Would 
 the boy never begin ? 
 
 The precentor sniffed. It was a contemptuous, incred- 
 ulous sniff. Carew looked up his lips white, a fierce red 
 spot in each cheek. He was talking to himself. " By the 
 whistle of the Lord High Admiral ! " he said but there 
 he stopped and held his breath. Nick was singing. 
 
 Only the old madrigal, with its half-forgotten words 
 that other generations sang before they fell asleep. How 
 queer it sounded there ! It was a very simple tune, too ; 
 yet, as he sang, the old precentor started from his chair 
 and pressed his wrinkled hands together against his breast. 
 He quite forgot the sneer upon his face, and it went fad- 
 ing out like breath from a frosty pane. 
 
 He had twelve boys who could sing a hundred songs at
 
 152 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 sight from unfamiliar notes; who kept the beat and 
 marked the time as if their throats were pendulums; 
 could syncopate and floriate as readily as breathe. And 
 this was only a common country song. 
 
 But " That voice, that voice! " he panted to himself: 
 for old Nat Gyles was music-mad ; melody to him was like 
 the very breath of life. And the boy's high, young voice, 
 soft as a flute and silver clear, throbbed in the air as if 
 his very heart were singing out of his body in the sound. 
 And then, like the skylark rising, up, up it went, and up, 
 up, up, till the older choristers held their breath and feared 
 that the vibrant tone would break, so slender, film-like 
 was the trembling thread of the boy's wild skylark song. 
 But no ; it trembled there, high, sweet, and clear, a moment 
 in the air ; and then came running, rippling, floating down, 
 as though some one had set a song on fire in the sky, and 
 dropped it quivering and bright into a shadow world. 
 Then suddenly it was gone, and the long hall was still. 
 
 The old precentor stepped beyond the screen. 
 
 Gaston Carew's face was in his hands, and his shoulders 
 shook convulsively. " I '11 leave thee go, lad, ma foi, 
 I '11 leave thee go. But, nay, I dare not leave thee go ! " 
 
 Some one came and tapped him on the shoulder. It was 
 the sub-precentor. " Master Gyles would speak with thee, 
 sir," said he, in a low tone, as if half afraid of the sound 
 of his own voice in the quiet that was in the hall. 
 
 Carew drew his hand hastily over his face, as if to take 
 the old one off and put a new one on, then arose and fol- 
 lowed the man.
 
 "THAT VOICE, THAT VOICE I 'NAT GYLES I'ANTED TO 11IMSELK."
 
 THE SKYLARK'S SONG 1 53 
 
 The old precentor stood with his hands still clasped 
 against his breast. " Mirabik ! " he was saying with bated 
 breath. "It is impossible, and I have dreamed! Yet 
 credo I believe quia impossiUle est because it is impos- 
 sible. Tell me, Carew, do I wake or dream or, stay, was 
 it a soul I heard ? Ay, Carew, ; t was a soul : the lad's own 
 white, young soul My faith, I said he was of no account ! 
 Satis verborumsay no more. Humanum est errareI am 
 a poor old fool ; and there 's a sour bug flown in mine eye 
 that makes it water so ! " He wiped his eyes, for the tears 
 were running down his cheeks. 
 
 "Thou 'It take him, then?" asked Carew. 
 
 "Take him?" cried the old precentor, catching the 
 master-player by the hand. " Marry, that will I ; a voice 
 like that grows not on every bush. Take him ? Pouf ! 
 I know my place he shall be entered on the rolls at 
 once." 
 
 "Good!" said Carew. "I shall have him learn to 
 dance, and teach him how to act myself. He stays with 
 me, ye understand ; thy school fare is miserly. I '11 dress 
 him, too ; for these students' robes are shabby stuff. But 
 for the rest" 
 
 " Trust me," said Master Gyles ; " he shall be the first 
 singer of them all. He shall be taught but who can 
 teach the lark its song, and not do horrid murder on it ? 
 Faith, Carew, I '11 teach the lad myself; ay, all I know. 
 I studied in the best schools in the world." 
 
 " And, hark 'e, Master Gyles," said Carew, sternly all at 
 once j " thou 'It come no royal placard and seizure on me
 
 154 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 ye have sworn. The boy is mine to have and to hold, 
 with all that he earns, in spite of thy prerogatives." 
 
 For the kings of old had given the masters of this school 
 the right to take for St. Paul's choir whatever voices 
 pleased them, wherever they might be found, by force if 
 not by favor, barring only the royal singers at Windsor ; 
 and when men have such privileges it is best to be wary 
 how one puts temptation in their way. 
 
 "Thou hadst mine oath before I even saw the boy," 
 said the precentor, haughtily. tl Dost think me perjured 
 Primus Magister Scholarum, Gustos Morum, Quartus 
 Gustos Rotulorum f Pouf ! I know my place. My oath 's 
 my oath. But, soft ; enough here comes the boy. Who 
 could have told a skylark in such popinjay attire ? "
 
 CHAPTER XXHT 
 
 A NEW LIFE 
 
 ND now a strange, new life began for Nicholas Att- 
 wood, in some things so grand and kind that he 
 almost hated to dislike it. 
 
 It was different in every way from the simple, pinching 
 round in Stratford, and full of all the comforts of richness 
 and plenty that make life happy excepting home and 
 mother. 
 
 Master Gaston Carew would have nothing but the best, 
 and what he wanted, whether he needed it or not ; so with 
 him money came like a summer rain, and went like water 
 out of a sieve : for he was a wild blade. 
 
 They ate their breakfast when they pleased ; dined at 
 eleven, like the nobility ; supped at five, as was the fashion 
 of the court. They had wheat-bread the whole week 
 round, as only rich folk could afford, with fruit and berries 
 in their season, and honey from the Surrey bee-f arms that 
 made one's mouth water with the sight of it dripping 
 from the flaky comb ; and on Fridays spitchcocked eels, 
 pickled herrings, and plums, with simnel-cakes, poached 
 
 155
 
 156 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 eggs and milk, cream cheese and cordial, like very kings ; 
 so that Nick could not help thriving. 
 
 The master-player very seldom left him by himself to 
 mope or to be melancholy ; but, while ever vaguely prom- 
 ising to let him go, did everything in his power to make 
 him rather wish to stay ; so that Nick was constantly sur- 
 prised by the free-handed kindness of this man whom he 
 had every other reason in the world, he thought, for deem- 
 ing his worst enemy. 
 
 When there were any new curiosities in Fleet street, 
 wild men with rings in their noses, wondrous fishes, 
 puppet-shows, or red-capped baboons whirling on a pole, 
 Carew would have Nick see them as well as Cicely ; and 
 often took them both to Bartholomew's Fair, where there 
 was a giant eating raw beef and a man dancing upon a 
 rope high over the heads of the people. He would have 
 had Nick every Thursday to the bear-baiting in the Paris 
 Garden circus beside ; but one sight of that brutal sport 
 made the boy so sick that they never went again, but to 
 the stage-plays at the Rose instead, which Nick enjoyed 
 immensely, for Carew himself acted most excellently, and 
 Master Tom Heywood always came and spoke kindly to 
 the lonely boy. 
 
 For, in spite of all, Nick's heart ached so at times that 
 he thought it would surely break with longing for his 
 mother. And at night, when all the house was still and 
 dark, and he alone in bed, all the little, unconsidered 
 things of home the beehives and the fragrant mint beside 
 the kitchen door, the smell of the baking bread or frying
 
 A NEW LIFE 157 
 
 carrots, the sound of the red-cheeked harvest apples drop- 
 ping in the orchard, and the plump of the old bucket in 
 the well came back to him so vividly that many a time 
 he cried himself to sleep, and could not have forgotten if 
 he would. 
 
 On Midsummer Day there was a Triumph on the river 
 at Westminster, with a sham-fight and a great shooting of 
 guns and hurling of balls of wild-fire. The Queen was 
 there, and the ambassadors of France and Venice, with 
 the Duke of Lennox and the Earls of Arundel and South- 
 ampton. Master Carew took a wherry to Whitehall, and 
 from the green there they watched the show. 
 
 The Thames was fairly hidden by the boats, and there 
 was a grand state bark all trimmed with silk and velvet 
 for the Queen to be in to see the pastime. But as for 
 that, all Nick could make out was the high carved stern 
 of the bark, painted with England's golden lions, and the 
 bark was so far away that he could not even tell which 
 was the Queen. 
 
 Coming home by Somerset House, a large barge passed 
 them with many watermen rowing, and fine carpets about 
 the seats ; and in it the old Lord Chamberlain and his son 
 my Lord Hunsdon, who, it was said, was to be the Lord 
 Chamberlain when his father died; for the old lord was 
 failing, and the Queen liked handsome young men about 
 her. 
 
 In the barge, beside their followers, were a company 
 of richly dressed gentlemen, who were having a very gay 
 time together, and seemed to please the old Lord Cham-
 
 158 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 berlain exceedingly with the things they said. They were 
 somebodies, as Nick could very well see from their carriage 
 and address ; and, so far as the barge allowed, they were 
 all clustered about one fellow in the seat by my Lord 
 Hunsdon. He seemed to be the chiefest spokesman of 
 them all, and every one appeared very glad indeed to 
 be friendly with him. My Lord Hunsdon himself made 
 free with his own nobility, and sat beside him arm in 
 arm. 
 
 What he was saying they were too far away to hear in 
 the shouting and splash ; but those with him in the barge 
 were listening as eagerly as children to a merry tale. 
 Sometimes they laughed until they held their sides ; and 
 then again as suddenly they were very quiet, and played 
 softly with their tankards and did not look at one another 
 as he went gravely on telling his story. Then all at once 
 he would wave his hand gaily, and his smile would sparkle 
 out ; and the whole company, from the old Lord Chamber- 
 lain down, would brighten up again, as if a new dawn had 
 come over the hills into their hearts from the light of his 
 hazel eyes. 
 
 Nick made no doubt that this was some young earl 
 rolling in wealth ; for who else could have such listeners ? 
 Yet there was, nevertheless, something so familiar in his 
 look that he could not help staring at him as the barge 
 came thumping through the jam. 
 
 They passed along an oar's-length or two away ; and as 
 they came abeam, Carew, rising, doffed his hat, and bowed 
 politely to them all.
 
 A NEW LIFE 159 
 
 In spite of his wild life, he was a striking, handsome 
 man. 
 
 The old Lord Chamberlain said something to his son, 
 and pointed with his hand. All the company in the barge 
 turned round to look ; and he who had been talking stood 
 up quickly with his hand upon the young lord's arm, and, 
 smiling, waved his cap. 
 
 Nick gave a sharp cry. 
 
 Then the barge pushed through, and shot away down 
 stream like a wild swan. 
 
 "Why, Nick," exclaimed Cicely, "how dreadful thou 
 dost look ! " and, frightened, she caught him by the hand. 
 " Why, oh ! what is it, Nick thou art not ill?" 
 
 " It was Will Shakspere ! n cried Nick, and sank into the 
 bottom of the wherry with his head upon the master- 
 player's knee. "Oh, Master Carew," he cried, "will ye 
 never leave me go?" 
 
 Carew laid his hand upon the boy's head, and patted it 
 gently. 
 
 " Why, Nick," said he, and cleared his throat, " is not 
 this better than Stratford ? " 
 
 "Oh, Master Carew mother 's there ! " was the reply. 
 
 There was no sound but the thud of oars in the rowlocks 
 and the hollow bubble of the water at the stern, for they 
 had fallen out of the hurry and were coming down alone. 
 
 " Is thy mother a good woman, Nick ? " asked Cicely. 
 
 Carew was staring out into the fading sky. "Ay, 
 sweetheart," he answered in a queer, husky voice, suddenly 
 putting one arm about her and the other around Nick's
 
 160 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 shoulders. " None but a good mother could have so good 
 a son." 
 
 " Then thou wilt send him home, daddy ? " asked Cicely. 
 
 Carew took her hand in his, but answered nothing. 
 
 They had come to the landing.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE MAKING OP A PLAYER 
 
 MASTER WILL SHAKSPERE was in town ! 
 The thought ran through Nick Attwood's head 
 like a half-remembered tune. Once or twice he had all 
 but sung it instead of the words of his part. Master Will 
 Shakspere was in town ! 
 
 Could he but just find Master Shakspere, all his trouble 
 would be over ; for the husband of his mother's own cousin 
 would see justice done him in spite of the master-player 
 and the bandy-legged man with the ribbon in his ear of 
 that he was sure. 
 
 But there seemed small chance of its coming about ; for 
 the doors of Gaston Carew's house were locked and barred 
 by day and by night, as much to keep Nick in as to keep 
 thieves out ; and all day long, when Carew was away, the 
 servants went about the lower halls, and Gregory Goole's 
 uncanny face peered after him from every shadowy corner ; 
 and when he went with Carew anywhere, the master-player 
 watched him like a hawk, while always at his heels he 
 could hear the clump, clump, clump of the bandy-legged 
 man following after him. 
 u 161
 
 162 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Even were he free to go as he pleased, he knew not 
 where to turn; for the Lord Chamberlain's company 
 would not be at the Blackfriars play-house until Martin- 
 mas ; and before that time to look for even Master Will 
 Shakspere at random in London town would be worse 
 than hunting for a needle in a haystack. 
 
 To be sure, he knew that the Lord Chamberlain's men 
 were still playing at the theater in Shorediteh ; for Master 
 Carew had taken Cicely there to see the " Two Gentlemen 
 of Verona." But just where Shorediteh was, Nick had 
 only the faintest idea somewhere away off by Finsbury 
 Fields, beyond the city walls to the north of London town 
 and all the wide world seemed north of London town j 
 and the way thither lay through a bewildering tangle of 
 streets in which the din and the rush of the crowd were 
 never still. 
 
 From a hopeless chase like that Nick shrank back like 
 a snail into its shell. He was not too young to know that 
 there were worse things than to be locked in Gaston 
 Carew's house. It were better to be a safe-kept prisoner 
 there than to be lost in the sinks of London. And so, 
 knowing this, he made the best of it. 
 
 But Master Shakspere was come back to town, and that 
 was something. It seemed somehow less lonely just to 
 think of it. 
 
 Yet in truth he had but little time to think of it ; for 
 the master-player kept him closely at his strange, new 
 work, and taught him daily with the most amazing pa- 
 tience.
 
 THE MAKING OP A PLAYER 163 
 
 He had Nick learn no end of stage parts off by heart, 
 with their cues and " business," entrances and exits ; and 
 worked fully as hard as his pupil, reading over every sen- 
 tence twenty times until Nick had the accent perfectly. 
 He would have him stamp, too, and turn about, and ges- 
 ture in accordance with the speech, until the boy's arms 
 ached, going with him through the motions one by one, 
 over and over again, unsatisfied, but patient to the last, 
 nntil Nick wondered. "Nick, my lad," he would often 
 say, with a tired but determined smile, "one little thing 
 done wrong may spoil the finest play, as one bad apple 
 rots the barrelful. We '11 have it right, or not at all, if it 
 takes a month of Sundays." 
 
 So, often, he kept Nick before a mirror for an hour at a 
 time, making faces while he spoke his lines, smiling, 
 frowning, or grimacing as best seemed to fit the part, 
 until the boy grew fairly weary of his own looks. Then 
 sometimes, more often as the time slipped by, Carew 
 would clap his hands with a boyish laugh, and have a pie 
 brought and a cup of Spanish cordial for them both, de- 
 claring that he loved the lad with all his heart, upon the 
 remnant of his honour : from which Nick knew that he 
 was coming on. 
 
 Cicely Carew's governess was a Mistress Agnes Anstey. 
 By birth she had been a Harcourt of Ankerwyke, and 
 she was therefore everywhere esteemed fit by birth and 
 breeding to teach the young mind when to bow and when 
 to beckon. She came each morning to the house, and 
 Carew paid her double shillings to see to it that Nick
 
 164 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 learned such little tricks of cap and cloak as a lady's page 
 need have, the carriage best fitted for his place, and how 
 to come into a room where great folks were. Moreover, 
 how to back out again, bowing, and not fall over the 
 stools which was no little art, until Nick caught the 
 knack of peeping slyly between his legs when he bowed. 
 
 His hair, too, was allowed to grow long, and was combed 
 carefully every day by the tiring-woman ; and soon, as it 
 was naturally curly, it fell in rolling waves about his neck. 
 
 On the heels of the governess came M'sieu de Fleury, 
 who, it was said, had been dancing-master to Hatton, the 
 late Lord Chancellor of England, and had taught him 
 those tricks with his nimble heels which had capered him 
 into the Queen's good graces, and so got him the chancel- 
 lorship. M'sieu spoke dreadful English, but danced like 
 the essence of agility, and taught both Nick and Cicely 
 the latest Italian coranto, playing the tune upon his queer 
 little pochette. 
 
 Cicely already danced like a pixy, and laughed merrily 
 at her comrade's first awkward antics, until he flushed 
 with embarrassment. At that she instantly became grave, 
 and, when M'sieu had gone, came across the room, and 
 putting her arm about Nick, said repentantly, " Don't thou 
 mind me, Nick. Father saith the French all laugh too 
 soon at nothing ; and I have caught it from my mother's 
 blood. A boy is not good friends with his feet as a girl 
 is ; but thou wilt do beautifully, I know ; and M'sieu shall 
 teach us the galliard together." 
 
 And often, after the lesson was over and M'sieu de-
 
 THE MAKING OF A PLAYER 165 
 
 parted, she would have Nick try his steps over and over 
 again in the great room, while she stood upon the stool 
 to make her tall, and cried, " Sa sa ! " as the master did, 
 scolding and praising him by turns, or jumping down in 
 pretty impatience to tuck up her little silken skirts and 
 show him the step herself ; while the cook's knave and the 
 scullery-maids peeped at the door and cried : " La, now, 
 look 'e, Moll ! " at every coupee. 
 
 It made a picture quaint and pretty to see them dancing 
 there. The smoky light, stealing in through the narrow 
 casements over the woodwork dark with age, dropped in 
 little yellow chequers upon old chests of oak, of walnut, 
 and of strange, purple-black wood from foreign lands, 
 giving a weird life to the griffins and twisted traceries 
 carved upon their sides. High-backed, narrow chairs 
 stood along the wall, with cushioned stools inlaid with 
 shell. Twinklings of light glinted from the brass candle- 
 sticks. On the wall above the wainscot the faded hangings 
 wavered in the draught, crusted thickly with strange em- 
 broidered flowers. And dancing there together in the 
 semi-gloom, the children seemed quaint little figures 
 stepped down from the tapestry at the touch of a magic 
 wand. 
 
 And so the time went slipping by, very pleasantly upon 
 the whole, and Nick's young heart grew stout again within 
 his breast ; for he was strong and well, and in those days 
 the very air was full of hope, and no man knew what might 
 betide with the rising of to-morrow's sun. 
 
 Every day, from two till three o'clock, he was at Master
 
 166 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Gyles's private singing-room at the old cathedral school, 
 learning to read music at first sight, and to sing offhand 
 the second, third, and fourth parts of queer intermingled 
 fugues or wonderfully constructed canons. 
 
 At first his head felt stuffed like a feasted glutton with 
 all the learning that the old precentor poured into it ; but 
 by and by he found it plain enough, and no very difficult 
 thing to follow up the prickings in the paper with his 
 voice, and to sing parts written at fifths and fourths and 
 thirds with other voices as easily as to carry a song alone. 
 But still he sang best his own unpointed songs, the call 
 and challenge of the throstle and the merle, the morning 
 glory of the lark, songs that were impossible to write. 
 And those were the songs that the precentor was at the 
 greatest pains to have him sing in perfect tones, making 
 him open his mouth like a little round O and let the music 
 float out of itself. 
 
 Like the master-player, nothing short of perfection 
 pleased old Nathaniel Gyles, and Nick's voice often wavered 
 with sheer weariness as he ran his endless scales and sang 
 absurd fa-la-la-las while his teacher beat the time in the 
 air with his lean forefinger like a grim automaton. 
 
 The old man, too, was chary of his praise, though Nick 
 tried hard to please him, and it was only by little things 
 he told his satisfaction. He touzed the ears of the other 
 boys, and sometimes smartly thumped their crowns ; but 
 with Nick he only nipped his ruddy cheek between his 
 thumb and finger, or laid his hand upon his shoulder when 
 the hard day's work was done, saying, " Satis cantorumit
 
 THE MAKING OF A PLAYER 167 
 
 is enough. Now be off to thy nest, sir ; and do not forget 
 to wash thy throat with good cold water every day." 
 
 ALL this time the busy sand kept running in the glass. 
 July was gone, and August at its heels. The hot breath 
 of the summer had cooled, and the sun no longer burned 
 the face when it came in through the windows. Nick often 
 shut his eyes and let the warm light fall upon his closed 
 lids. It made a ruddy glow like the wild red poppies that 
 grow in the pale green rye. In fancy he could almost 
 smell the queer, rancid odor of the crimson bloom crushed 
 beneath the feet of the farmers' boys who cut the butter- 
 yellow mustard from among the bearded grain. 
 
 " Heigh-ho and alackaday ! " thought Nick. " It is better 
 in the country than in town ! " For there was no smell in 
 all the town like the clean, sweet smell of the open fields 
 just after a summer rain, no colors like the bright heart's- 
 ease and none-so-pretty, or the honeysuckle over the cot- 
 tage door, and no song ever to be heard among the sooty 
 chimney-pots like the song of the throstle piping to the 
 daisies on the hill. 
 
 But he had little time to dream such dreams, for every 
 day from four to six o'clock the children's company played 
 and sang in public, at their own school-hall, or in the 
 courtyard of the Mitre Inn on Bread street near St. Paul's. 
 
 They were the pets of London town, and their playing- 
 place was thronged day after day. For the bright young 
 faces and sweet, unbroken voices of the richly costumed 
 lads made a spot in sordid London life like a pot of posies
 
 168 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 in a window on a dark street ; so that both the high and 
 the low, the rich and the poor, came in to see them play 
 and dance, to hear them sing, and to laugh again at the 
 witty things which were written for them to say. 
 
 The songs that were set for Nick to sing were always 
 short, sweet, simple things that even the dull-eyed, toil- 
 worn folk upon the rough plank benches in the pit could 
 understand. Many a silver shilling came clinking down 
 at the heels of the other boys from the galleries of the inn, 
 where the people of the better classes, wealthy merchants, 
 ladies and their dashing gallants, watched the children's 
 company ; but when Nick's songs were done the common 
 people down below seemed all gone daft. They tossed red 
 apples after him, ripe yellow pears, fat purple plums by 
 handfuls, called him by name and brought him back, and 
 cried for more and more and more, until the old precentor 
 shook his head behind the prompter's-screen, and waved 
 Nick off with a forbidding frown. Yet all the while he 
 chuckled to himself until it seemed as if his dry old ribs 
 would rattle in his sides ; and every day, before Nick sang, 
 he had him up to his little room for a broken egg and a 
 cup of rosy cordial. 
 
 " To clear thy voice and to cheer the cockles of thine 
 heart," said he ; " and to tune that pretty throat of thine 
 ad gustum Reginae which is to say, 'to the Queen's own 
 taste,' God bless Her Majesty ! " 
 
 The other boys were cast for women's parts, for women 
 never acted then ; and a queer sight it was to Nick to see 
 his fellows in great farthingales of taffeta and starchy
 
 THE MAKING OF A PLAYER 169 
 
 cambric that rustled as they walked, with popinjay blue 
 ribbon in their hair, and flowered stomachers sparkling 
 with paste jewels. 
 
 And, truth, it was no easy thing to tell them from the 
 real affair, or to guess the made from the maiden, so 
 slender and so graceful were they all, with their ruffs and 
 their muffs and their feathered fans, and all the airs and 
 mincing graces of the daintiest young miss. 
 
 But old Nat Gyles would never have Nick Attwood play 
 the girl. " The lad is good enough for me just as he is," 
 said he ; and that was all there was of it.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE WANING OF THE YEAE 
 
 E September the Lord Admiral's company made a totur 
 f the Midlands during the great English fairing-time ; 
 but Carew did not go with them. For, though still by 
 name master-player with Henslowe and Alleyn, his busi- 
 ness with them had come to be but little more than pocket- 
 ing his share of the profits ; and for the rest, nothing but 
 to take Nick daily to and from St. Paul's, and to draw his 
 wages week by week. 
 
 Of those wages Nick saw never a penny : Carew took 
 good care of that. Yet he gave him everything that any 
 boy could need, and bought him whatever he fancied the 
 instant he so much as expressed a wish for it : which, in 
 truth, was not much ; for Nick had lived in only a country 
 town, and knew not many things to want. 
 
 But with money a-plenty thus coming so easily into his 
 hands, money for dicing, for luxuries, for all his wild 
 sports, money for Cicely, money for keeps, money to play 
 chuckie-stones with if he chose, there was no bridle to 
 Gaston Carew's wild career. His boon companions were 
 
 170
 
 THE WANING OF THE YEAR 171 
 
 spendthrifts and gamesters, dissolute fellows, of whom the 
 least said soonest mended ; and with them he was brawling 
 early and late, very often all night long. And though 
 money came in fast, he wasted it faster, so that matters 
 went from bad to worse. Duns came spying about his door, 
 and bailiffs hunted after him around the town with unpaid 
 tradesmen's bills. Yet still he laughed and clapped his 
 hand upon his poniard in the old bold way. 
 
 September faded away in wistful haze along the Hamp- 
 stead hills. The Admiral's men came riding back with 
 keen October ringing at their heels, and all the stalls were 
 full of red-cheeked apples striped with emerald and gold. 
 November followed, with its nipping frost, and all St. 
 George's merry green fields turned brown and purple-gray. 
 The old year was waning fast. 
 
 The Queen's Day was but a poor holiday, in spite of the 
 shut-up shops; for it was grown so cold with sleet and 
 rain that it was hard to get about, the gutters and streets 
 being very foul, and the by-lanes impassable. And now 
 the children of Paul's gave no more plays in the yard of 
 the Mitre Inn, but sang in their own warm hall; for 
 winter was at hand. 
 
 There came black nights when an ugly wind moaned in 
 the shivering chimneys and howled across the peaked 
 roofs, nights when there was no playing at the Rose, but 
 it was hearty to be by the fire. Then sometimes Carew 
 sat at home all evening long, with Cicely upon his knee, 
 and told strange tales of lands across the sea, where he 
 had traveled when he was young, and where none spoke
 
 172 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 English but chance travelers, and even the loudest shouting 
 could not serve to make the people understand. 
 
 While he spun these wondrous yarns Nick would curl 
 up on the hearth and blow the crackling fire, sometimes 
 staring at the master-player's stories, sometimes laughing 
 to himself at the funny faces carved upon the sides of the 
 chubby Dutch bellows, and sometimes neither laughing 
 nor listening, but thinking silently of home. Then Carew, 
 looking at him there, would quickly turn his face away 
 and tell another tale. 
 
 But oftener the master-player stayed all night at the 
 Falcon Inn with Dick Jones, Tom Hearne, Humphrey 
 Jeffs, and other reckless roysterers, dicing and flipping 
 shillings at shovel-board until his finger-nails were sore. 
 Then Nick would read aloud to Cicely out of the " Hun- 
 dred Merry Tales," or pop old riddles at her puzzled head 
 until she, laughing, cried, " Enough ! " But most of all 
 he liked the story of brave Guy of Warwick, and would 
 tell it again and again, with other legends of Arden Wood, 
 till bedtime came. 
 
 In the gray of the morning Carew would come home, 
 unshaven and leaden-eyed, with his bandy-legged varlet 
 trotting like a watch-dog at his heels; and then, if the 
 gaming had gone well, he was a lord, an earl, a duke, at 
 least, so merry and so sprightly would he be withal ; but 
 if the dice had fallen wrong, he would by turns be raving 
 mad or sodden as a sunken pie. 
 
 Yet, be his temper what it might, he was but one thing 
 always to Cicely, and doffed ill humor like a shabby hat
 
 THE WANING OF THE YEAR 173 
 
 when she came running to meet him in the shadows of the 
 hall ; so that when he came into the lighted room, with her 
 upon his shoulder, his face was smiles, his step a frolic, 
 and his bearing that of a happy boy. 
 
 But day by day the weather grew worse, with snow and 
 ice paving the streets with a glassy glare and choking the 
 frozen drains ; and there was trouble and want among the 
 poor in the wretched alleys near Carew's house : for fuel 
 was high and food scarce, and there were many deaths, so 
 that the knell was tolling constantly. 
 
 Cicely cried until her eyes were red for the very sadness 
 of it all, since she might do nothing for them, and hated 
 the sound of the sullen bell. 
 
 " Pshaw, Cicely ! " said Nick ; " why should ye cry ? Ye 
 do na know them ; so ye need na care." 
 
 "But, Nick," said she, "nobody seems to care! And, 
 sure, somebody ought to care; for it may be some one's 
 mother that is dead." 
 
 At that Nick felt a very queer choking in his own throat, 
 and did not rest quite easy in his mind until he had given 
 the silver buckle from his cloak to a boy who stood crying 
 with cold and hunger in the street, and begged a farthing 
 of him for the love of the good God. 
 
 Then came a thaw, with mist and fog so thick that 
 people were lost in their own streets, and knocked at their 
 next-door neighbor's gate to ask the way home. All day 
 long, down by the Thames drums beat upon the wharves 
 and bells ding-donged to guide the watermen ashore ; but 
 most of those who needs must fare abroad went over
 
 174 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 London Bridge, because there, although they might in no 
 wise see, it felt, at least, as if the world were still beneath 
 their feet. 
 
 At noon the air was muddy brown, with a bitter taste 
 like watered smoke ; at night it was a blinding pall ; and 
 though, after mid-December, by order of the Council, every 
 alderman and burgess hung a light before his door, torches, 
 links, and candles only sputtered feebly in the gloom, of 
 no more use than jack-o'-lanterns gone astray, and none 
 but blind men knew the roads. 
 
 The city watch was doubled everywhere ; and all night 
 long their shouts went up and down " 'T is what o'clock, 
 and a foggy night ! "and right and left their hurrying 
 staves came thumping helplessly along the walls to answer 
 cries of "Murder!" and of "Help! Watch! Help!" 
 For under cover of the fog great gangs of thieves came 
 down from Hampstead Heath, and robberies were done in 
 the most frequented thoroughfares, between the very lights 
 set up by the corporation ; so that it was dangerous to go 
 about save armed and wary as a cat in a crowd. 
 
 While such foul days endured there was no singing at 
 St. Paul's, nor stage-plays anywhere, save at Blackfriars 
 play-house, which was roofed against the weather. And 
 even there at last the fog crept in through cracks and 
 crannies until the players seemed but moving shadows 
 talking through a choking cloud; and Master Will Shak- 
 spere's famous new piece of " Romeo and Juliet," which 
 had been playing to crowded houses, taking ten pound 
 twelve the day, was fairly smothered off the boards.
 
 "NICK GAVE THE SILVER BUCKLE FROM HIS CLOAK TO A BOY WHO 
 STOOD CVriSQ WITH COLD AND HUNGER IN THE STREET. "
 
 THE WANING OF THE YEAR 175 
 
 Nick was eager to be out in all this blindman's holiday ; 
 but, " Nay," said Carew ; " not so much as thy nose. A 
 fog like this would steal the croak from a raven's throat, 
 let alone the sweetness from a honey-pot like thine and 
 bottom crust is the end of pie ! " With which, bang went 
 the door, creak went the key, and Carew was off to the 
 Falcon Inn. 
 
 So went the winter weather, and so went Carew; for 
 there was no denying that both had fallen into a very bad 
 way. Yet another change came creeping over Carew all 
 unaware. 
 
 Nick's face had from the first attracted him ; and now, 
 living with the boy day after day, housed up, a prisoner, 
 yet cheerful through it all, the master-player began to feel 
 what in a better man had been the prick of conscience, 
 but in him was only an indefinite uneasiness like a blunted 
 cockle-bur. For the lad's patient perseverance at his work, 
 his delight in singing, and the tone of longing threaded 
 through his voice, crept into the master-player's heart in 
 spite of him ; and Nick's gentle ways with Cicely touched 
 him more than all the rest : for if there was one thing in 
 all the world that Gaston Carew truly loved, it was his 
 daughter Cicely. So for her sake, as well as for Nick's 
 own, the master-player came to love the lad. And this 
 was shown in queer ways. 
 
 In the wainscot of the dining-hall there was a carven 
 panel just above the Spanish chest. At night, when the 
 nouse was still and all the rest asleep, Carew often came
 
 176 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 and stood before this panel, with a queer, hesitating look 
 upon his hard, bold face ; and stretching out his hand, 
 would press upon the head of a cherub cut in the bevel 
 edge. Whereupon the panel slipped away within the 
 wainscot, leaving a little closet in the hollow of the wall, 
 in which a few strange things were stowed: an empty 
 flask, an inlaid rosewood box, a little slipper, and a dusty 
 gittern with its strings all snapped and a faded ribbon tied 
 about its neck. 
 
 The rosewood box he would take down, and with it open 
 in his lap would sit beside the fire like a man within a 
 dream, until the hearth grew white and cold, and the 
 draught had blown the ashes out in streaks across the 
 floor. In the box was a woman's riding-glove and a minia- 
 ture upon ivory, Cicely's mother's face, painted at Paris 
 in other days. 
 
 One night, while they were sitting all together by the 
 fire, Nick and Cicely snug in the chimney-seat, Carew 
 spoke up suddenly out of a little silence which had fallen 
 upon them all. " Nick," said he, quite softly, with a look 
 on his face as if he were thinking of other things, "I 
 wonder if thou couldst play ? " 
 
 "What, sir?" asked Nick; "a game?" and made the 
 bellows whistle in his mouth. 
 
 " Nay, lad ; a gittern." 
 
 Nick and Cicely looked up, for his manner was very 
 odd. 
 
 " Why, sir, I do na know. I could try. I ha' heard one 
 played, and it is passing sweet."
 
 THE WANING OP THE YEAR 177 
 
 " Ay, Nick, 't is passing sweet," said Carew, quickly and 
 no more ; but spoke of France, how the lilies grow in the 
 ditches there, and the tall trees stand like soldiers by the 
 road that runs to the land of sunny hills and wine ; and of 
 the radiant women there, with hair like night and eyes like 
 the summer stars. Then all at once he stopped as if some 
 one had clapped a hand upon his mouth, and sat and stared 
 into the fire. 
 
 But in the morning at breakfast there was a gittern at 
 Nick's place a rare old yellow gittern, with silver scrolls 
 about the tail-piece, ivory pegs, and a head that ended in 
 an angel's face. It was strung with bright new silver 
 strings, but near the bridge of it there was a little rut worn 
 into the wood by the tips of the fingers that had rested 
 there while playing, and the silken shoulder-ribbon was 
 faded and worn. 
 
 Nick stopped, then put out both his hands as if to touch 
 it, yet did not, being half afraid. 
 
 " Tut, take it up ! " said Carew, sharply, though he had 
 not seemed to heed. " Take it up it is for thee." 
 
 " For me ? " cried Nick " not for mine own f " 
 
 Carew turned and struck the table with his hand, as if 
 suddenly wroth. " Why should I say it was for thee, if it 
 were not to be thine own ? " 
 
 " But, Master Carew" Nick began. 
 
 " ' Master Carew ' fiddlesticks ! Hold thy prate. Do I 
 know my own mind, or do I filter my wits through thee ? 
 Did I not say that it is thine ? Good, then 't is thine, al- 
 though it were thrice somebody else's ; and thrice as much 
 
 13
 
 178 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 thy very own through having other owners. Dost hear ? 
 Well, then, enough we '11 have no words about it ! " 
 
 Rising abruptly as he spoke, he clapped his hat upon his 
 head and left the room, Nick standing there beside the 
 table, staring after him, with the gittern in his hands.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 TO SING BEFORE THE QUEEN 
 
 "Sir Fly hangs dead on the window-pane; 
 
 The frost doth wind his shroud ; 
 Through the halls of his little summer house 
 
 The north wind cries aloud. 
 We will bury his bones in the mouldy wall, 
 
 And mourn for the noble slain : 
 A southerly wind and a sunny sky 
 Buzz ! up he comes again '. 
 
 Oh, Master Ply!" 
 
 NICK looked up from the music-rack and shivered. 
 He had forgotten the fire in studying his song, and 
 the blackened ends of the burnt-out logs lay smouldering 
 on the hearth. The draught, too, whistled shrilly under 
 the door, in spite of the rushes that he had piled along the 
 crack. 
 
 The fog had been gone for a week. It was snapping 
 cold ; and through the peep-holes he had thawed upon the 
 window-pane with his breath, he could see the hoar-frost 
 lying in the shadow of the wall in the court below. 
 
 How forlorn the green old dial looked out there alone 
 
 179
 
 180 MASTER SKYLAEK 
 
 in the cold, with the winter dust whirling around it in 
 little eddies upon the wind ! The dial was fringed with 
 icicles, like an old man's beard; and even the creeping 
 shadow on its face, which told mid-afternoon, seemed 
 frozen where it fell. 
 
 Mid-afternoon already, and he so much to do! Nick 
 pulled his cloak about him, and turned to his song again : 
 
 " Sir Fly hangs dead on the window-pane ; 
 The frost doth wind his shroud" 
 
 But there he stopped ; for the boys were singing in the 
 great hall below, and the whole house rang with the sound 
 of the roaring chorus : 
 
 " Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down, 
 Hey deny derry down-a-down ! " 
 
 Nick put his fingers in his ears, and began all over 
 again: 
 
 " Sir Fly hangs dead on the window-pane ; 
 
 The frost doth wind his shroud ; 
 Through the halls of his little summer house 
 The north wind cries aloud." 
 
 But it was no use ; all he could hear was : 
 
 "Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down, 
 Hey derry derry down-a-down ! " 
 
 How could a fellow study in a noise like that ? He gave 
 it up in despair, and kicking the chunks together, stood
 
 TO SING BEFORE THE QUEEN 181 
 
 upon the hearth, warming his hands by the gathering 
 blaze while he listened to the song: 
 
 "Cold 's the wind, and wet 's the rain ; 
 
 Saint Hugh, be our good speed ! 
 HI is the weather that bringeth no gain, 
 Nor helps good hearts in need. 
 
 " Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down, 
 Hey deny deny down-a-down ! " 
 
 He could hear Colley Warren above them all. What a 
 voice the boy had ! Like a golden horn blowing in the 
 fresh of a morning breeze. It made Nick tingle, he could 
 not tell why. He and Colley often sang together, and their 
 voices made a quivering in the air like the ringing of a 
 bell. And often, while they sang, the viols standing in 
 the corner of the room would sound aloud a deep, soft 
 note in harmony with them, although nobody had touched 
 the strings ; so that the others cried out that the instru- 
 ments were bewitched, and would not let the boys sing 
 any more. Colley Warren was Nick's best friend a dark- 
 eyed, quiet lad, as gentle as a girl, and with a mouth like 
 a girl's mouth, for which the others sometimes mocked him, 
 though they loved him none the less. 
 
 It was not because his voice was loud that it could be 
 so distinctly heard ; but it was nothing like the rest, and 
 came through all the others like sunshine through a mist 
 Nick pulled the stool up closer, and sat down in the chim- 
 ney-corner, humming a second to the tune, and blowing 
 little glory-holes in the embers with the bellows. He liked
 
 182 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 the smell of a wood fire, and liked to toast his toes. He 
 was a trifle drowsy, too, now that he was warm again to 
 the marrow of his bones ; perhaps he dozed a little. 
 
 But suddenly he came to himself again with a sense of 
 a great stillness fallen over everything no singing in the 
 room below, and silence everywhere but in the court, where 
 there was a trampling as of horses standing at the gate. 
 And while he was still lazily wondering, a great cheer broke 
 out in the room below, and there was a stamping of feet 
 like cattle galloping over a bridge ; and then, all at once, 
 the door opened into the hallway at the foot of the stair, 
 and the sound burst out as fire bursts from the cock-loft 
 window of a burning barn, and through the noise and over 
 it Colley Warren's voice calling him by name : " Skylark ! 
 Nick Skylark ! Ho there, Nick ! where art thou ? " 
 
 He sprang to the door and kicked the rushes away. All 
 the hall was full of voices, laughing, shouting, singing, 
 and cheering. There were footsteps coming up the stair. 
 ' ' What there, Skylark ! Ho, boy ! Nick, where art thou ? " 
 he could hear Colley calling above them all. Out he popped 
 his nose : " Here I am, Colley what 's to do ? Whatever 
 in the world ! " and he ducked his head like a mandarin ; 
 for whizz flap ! two books came whirling up the stair and 
 thumped against the panel by his ears. 
 
 " The news the news, Nick ! Have ye heard the news ? " 
 the lads were shouting as if possessed. " We 're going to 
 court ! Hurrah, hurrah ! " And some, with their arms 
 about one another, went whirling out at the door and 
 around the windy close like very madcaps, cutting such
 
 TO SING BEFORE THE QUEEN i 83 
 
 capers that the horses standing at the gate kicked up their 
 heels, and jerked the horse-boys right and left like bundles 
 of hay. 
 
 Nick leaned over the railing and stared. 
 
 " Come down and help us sing ! " they cried. " Come 
 down and shout with us in the street ! " 
 
 " I can na come down there 's work to do ! " 
 
 "Thy 'can na' be hanged, and thy work likewise! 
 Come down and sing, or we '11 fetch thee down. The 
 Queen hath sent for us ! " 
 
 " The Queen hath sent for us ? " 
 
 " Ay, sent for us to come to court and play on Christmas 
 day ! Hurrah for Queen Bess ! " 
 
 At that shrill cheer the startled horses fairly plunged 
 into the street, and the carts that were passing along the 
 way were jammed against the opposite wall. The carriers 
 bellowed, the horse-boys bawled, the people came running 
 to see the row, and the apprentices flew out of the shops 
 bareheaded, waving their dirty aprons and cheering lustily, 
 just for the fun of the chance to cheer. 
 
 " It 's true ! " called Colley, his dark eyes dancing like 
 stars on the sea. "Come down, Nick, and sing in the 
 street with us all ! We are going to Greenwich Palace on 
 Christmas day to play before the Queen and the court for 
 the first time, Nick, in a good six years ; and we 're not to 
 work till the new masque comes from the Master of the 
 Revels ! Come down, Nick, and sing with us out in the 
 street ; for we 're going to court, we 're going to court to 
 sing before the Queen ! Hurrah, hurrah ! "
 
 184 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Hurrah for good Queen Bess ! " cried Nick ; and up 
 went his cap and down went he on the baluster-rail like a 
 runaway sled, head first into the crowd, who caught him 
 laughing as he came. Then all together they cantered 
 out like a parcel of colts in a fresh, green field, and sang 
 in the street before the school till the people cheered them- 
 selves hoarse to hear such music on such a wintry day ; 
 sang until there was no other business on all the thorough- 
 fare but just to listen to their songs ; sang until the under- 
 masters came out with their staves and drove them into 
 the school again, to keep them from straining their throats 
 by singing so loudly and so long in the frosty open air. 
 
 But a fig for staves and for under-masters ! The boys 
 clapped fast the gates behind them, and barred the under- 
 masters out in the street, singing twice as loudly as before, 
 and mocking at them with wry faces through the bars ; 
 and then trooped off up the old precentor's private stair 
 and sang at his door until the old man could not hear his 
 own ears, and came out storming and grim as grief. 
 
 But when he saw the boys all there, and heard them 
 cheering him three times three, he could not storm to save 
 his life, but only stood there, black and thin, against the 
 yellow square of light, smiling a quaint smile that half 
 was wrinkles and half was pride, shaking his lean fore- 
 finger at them as if he were beating time, and nodding 
 until his head seemed almost nodding off. 
 
 " Hurrah for Master Nathaniel Gyles ! " they shouted. 
 
 "Primus Magister Scholarum, Gustos Morum, Quartus 
 Custos Rotulorum," said the old man softly to himself, the
 
 TO SING BEFORE THE QUEEN 185 
 
 firelight from behind him falling in a glory on his thin 
 white hair. " Be off, ye rogues ! Ye are not fit to waste 
 good language on ; or, faith, I 'd Latin ye all as dumb as 
 fishes in the depths of the briny sea ! " 
 
 " Hurrah for the fishes in the sea ! " 
 
 "Soft, ye knaves! Save thy throats for good Queer 
 Bess ! " 
 
 " Hurrah for good Queen Bess ! n 
 
 "Be still, I say, ye good-for-nothing varlets; or ye 
 sha'n't have pie and ale to-night. But marry, now, ye 
 shall have pie ay, pie and ale without a stint ; for ye are 
 good lads, and ye have pleased the Queen at last ; and I am 
 as proud of ye as a peacock is of his own tail ! " 
 
 "Hurrah for the Queen and the pie and the ale! 
 Hurrah for the peacock and his tail ! " shouted the boys ; 
 and straightway, seeing that they had made a rhyme, they 
 gave a cheer shriller and longer than all the others put 
 together, and went clattering down the stairway, singing 
 at the top of their lungs : 
 
 "Hurrah for the Queen, and the pie and the ale I 
 Hurrah for the peacock, hurrah for his tail ! 
 Hurrah for hurrah, and hurrah again 
 We 're going to court on Christmas day 
 To sing before the Queen ! " 
 
 " Good lads, good lads ! " said the old precentor to him- 
 self, as he turned back into his little room. His eyes were 
 shining proudly in the candle-light, yet the tears were 
 running down his cheeks. A queer old man, Nat Gyles,
 
 186 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 and dead this many a long, long year j yet that night no 
 man was happier than he. 
 
 But Master Gaston Carew, who had come for Nick, stood 
 in the gathering dusk by the gate below, and stared up at 
 the yellow square of light with a troubled look upon his 
 reckless face.
 
 CHAPTER XXVH 
 
 THE QUEEN'S PLAISANCE 
 
 IT was a frosty morning when they all marched down 
 to the boats that bumped along Paul's wharf. 
 
 The roofs of London were white with frost and rosy 
 with the dawn. In the shadow of the walls the air lay in 
 still pools of smoky blue; and in the east the horizon 
 stretched like a swamp of fire. The winking lights on 
 London Bridge were pale. The bridge itself stood cold 
 and gray, mysterious and dim as the stream below, but 
 here and there along its crest red-hot with a touch of flame 
 from the burning eastern sky. Out of the river, running 
 inland with the tide, came steamy shreds that drifted here 
 and there. Then over the roofs of London town the sun 
 sprang up like a thing of life, and the veil of twilight van- 
 ished in bright day with a million sparkles rippling on the 
 stream. 
 
 Warm with piping roast and cordial, keen with excite- 
 ment, and blithe with the sharp, fresh air, the red-cheeked 
 lads skipped and chattered along the landing like a flock 
 of sparrows alighted by chance in a land of crumbs. 
 
 187
 
 188 MASTER SKYLAKK 
 
 " Into the wherries, every one ! " cried the old precentor. 
 " Ad unum omnes, great and small ! " 
 
 " Into the wherries ! " echoed the under-masters. 
 
 " Into the wherries, my bullies ! " roared old Brueton the 
 boatman, fending off with a rusty hook as red as his bris- 
 tling beard. " Into the wherries, yarely all, and we 's catch 
 the turn o' the tide ! 'T is gone high water now ! " 
 
 Then away they went, three wherries full, and Master 
 Gyles behind them in a brisk sixpenny tilt-boat, resplen- 
 dent in new ash-colored hose, a cloak of black velvet 
 fringed with gold, and a brand-new periwig curled and 
 frizzed like a brush-heap in a gale of wind. 
 
 How they had worked for the last few days ! New songs, 
 new dances, new lines to learn ; gallant compliments for 
 the Queen, who was as fond of flattery as a girl ; new 
 clothes, new slippers and caps to try, and a thousand 
 what-nots more. The school had hummed like a busy 
 mill from morning until night. And now that the grind- 
 ing was done and they had come at last to their reward, 
 the hoped-for summons to the court, which had been 
 sought so long in vain, the boys of St. Paul's bubbled 
 with glee until the under-masters were in a cold sweat for 
 fear their precious charges would pop from ihe wherries 
 into the Thames, like so many exuberant corks. 
 
 They cheered with delight as London Bridge was shot 
 and the boats went flying down the Pool, past Billingsgate 
 and the oystermen, the White Tower and the Traitors' 
 Gate, past the shipping, where brown, foreign-looking 
 faces stared at them above sea-battered bulwarks.
 
 THE QUEEN'S PLAISANCE 189 
 
 The sun was bright and the wind was keen; the air 
 sparkled, and all the world was full of life. Hammers 
 beat in the builders' yards ; wild bargees sang hoarsely as 
 they drifted down to the Isle of Dogs ; and in slow ships 
 that crept away to catch the wind in the open stream 
 below, with tawny sails drooping and rimmed with frost, 
 they heard the hail of salty mariners. 
 
 The tide ran strong, and the steady oars carried them 
 swiftly down. London passed ; then solitary hamlets here 
 and there ; then dun fields running to the river's edge like 
 thirsty deer. 
 
 In Deptford Reach some lords who were coming down 
 by water passed them, racing with a little Dutch boat from 
 Deptford to the turn. Their boats had holly-bushes at 
 their prows and holiday garlands along their sides. They 
 were all shouting gaily, and the stream was bright with 
 their scarlet cloaks, Lincoln-green jerkins, and gold em- 
 broidery. But they were very badly beaten, at which 
 they laughed, and threw the Dutchmen a handful of silver 
 pennies. Thereupon the Dutchmen stood up in their boat 
 and bowed like jointed ninepins ; and the lords, not to be 
 outdone, stood up likewise in their boats and bowed very 
 low in return, with their hands upon their breasts. Then 
 everybody on the river laughed, and the boys gave three 
 cheers for the merry lords and three more for the sturdy 
 Dutchmen. The Dutchmen shouted back, " Goot Yule ! ' 
 and bowed and bowed until their boat turned round and 
 went stern foremost down the stream, so that they were 
 bowing to the opposite bank, where no one was at alL At
 
 190 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 this the rest all laughed again till their sides ached, and 
 cheered them twice as much as they had before. 
 
 And while they were cheering and waving their caps, 
 the boatmen rested upon their oars and let the boats swing 
 with the tide, which thereabout set strong against the 
 shore, and a trumpeter in the Earl of Arundel's barge 
 stood up and blew upon a long horn bound with a banner 
 of blue and gold. 
 
 Instantly he had blown, another trumpet answered from 
 the south, and when Nick turned, the shore was gay with 
 men in brilliant livery. Beyond was a wood of chestnut- 
 trees as blue and leafless as a grove of spears ; and in the 
 plain between the river and the wood stood a great palace 
 of gray stone, with turrets, pinnacles, and battlemented 
 walls, over the topmost tower of which a broad flag, blazoned 
 with golden lions and silver lilies square for square, whipped 
 the winter wind. Amid a group of towers large and 
 small a lofty stack poured out a plume of sea-coal smoke 
 against the milky sky, and on the countless windows in 
 the wall the sunlight flashed with dazzling radiance. 
 
 There were people on the battlements, and at the port 
 between two towers where the Queen went in and out the 
 press was so thick that men's heads looked like the cobbles 
 in the street. 
 
 The shore was stayed with piling and with timbers like 
 a wharf, so that a hundred boats might lie there cheek by 
 jowl and scarcely rub their paint. The lords made way, 
 and the children players came ashore through an aisle of 
 uplifted oars. They were met by the yeomen of the guard,
 
 THE QUEEN'S PLAISANCE 191 
 
 tall, brawny fellows clad in red, with golden roses on their 
 breasts and backs, and with them marched up to the pos- 
 tern two and two, Master Gyles the last of all, as haughty 
 as a Spanish don come courting fair Queen Bess. 
 
 A smoking dinner was waiting them, of whitebait with 
 red pepper, and a yellow juice so sour that Nick's mouth 
 drew up in a knot ; but it was very good. There were be- 
 sides, silver dishes full of sugared red currants, and heaps 
 of comfits and sweetmeats, which Master Gyles would not 
 allow them even to touch, and saffron cakes with raisins 
 in them, and spiced hot cordial out of tiny silver cups. 
 Bareheaded pages clad in silk and silver lace waited upon 
 them as if they were fledgling kings ; but the boys were 
 too hungry to care for that or to try to put on airs, and 
 waded into the meat and drink as if they had been starved 
 for a fortnight. 
 
 But when they were done Nick saw that the table off 
 which they had eaten was inlaid with pearl and silver fili- 
 gree, and that the table-cloth was of silk with woven metal- 
 work and gems set in it worth more than a thousand 
 crowns. He was very glad he had eaten first, for such 
 wonderful service would have taken away his appetite. 
 
 And truly a wonderful palace was the Queen's Plaisance, 
 as Greenwich House was called. Elizabeth was born in it, 
 and so loved it most of all. There she pleased oftenest to 
 receive and grant audiences to envoys from foreign courts. 
 And there, on that account, as was always her proud, 
 jealous way, she made a blinding show of glory and of 
 wealth, of science, art, and power, that England, to the
 
 192 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 eyes which saw her there, might stand in second place to 
 no dominion in the world, however rich or great. 
 
 It was a very house of gold. 
 
 Over the door where the lads marched in was the Queen's 
 device, a golden rose, with a motto set below in letters of 
 gold, "Dieu et mon droit" ; and upon the walls were 
 blazoned coats of noble arms on branching golden trees, 
 of purest metal and finest silk, costly beyond compare. The 
 royal presence-chamber shone with tapestries of gold, of 
 silver, and of oriental silks, of as many shifting colors as 
 the birds of paradise, and wrought in exquisite design. 
 The throne was set with diamonds, with rubies, garnets, 
 and sapphires, glittering like a pastry-crust of stars, and 
 garnished with gold-lace work, pearls, and ornament ; and 
 under the velvet canopy which hung above the throne was 
 embroidered in seed-pearls, " Vivat Regina Elizabetha ! " 
 There was no door without a gorgeous usher, no room 
 without a page, no corridor without a guard, no post with- 
 out a man of noble birth to fill it. 
 
 On the walls of the great gallery were masterly paint- 
 ings of great folk, globes showing all the stars fast in the 
 sky, and drawings of the world and all its parts, so real 
 that one could see the savages in the New World hanging 
 to the under side by their feet, like flies upon the ceiling. 
 How they stuck was more than Nick could make out ; and 
 where they landed if they chanced to slip and fall troubled 
 him a deal, until in the sheer multiplication of wonders 
 he could not wonder any more. 
 
 When they came to rehearse in the afternoon the stage
 
 THE QUEEN'S PLAISANCE 193 
 
 was hung with stiff, rich silks that had come in costly 
 cedar chests from the looms of old Cathay ; and the curtain 
 behind which the players came and went was broidered 
 with gold thread in flowers and birds like meteors for 
 splendor. The gallery, too, where the musicians sat, was 
 draped with silk and damask. 
 
 Some of the lads would have made out by their great 
 airs as if this were all a common thing to them ; but Nick 
 stared honestly with round eyes, and went about with cau- 
 tious feet, chary of touching things, and f eeling very much 
 out of place and shy. 
 
 It was all too grand, too wonderful, amazing to look 
 upon, no doubt, and good to outface foreign envy with, 
 but not to be endured every day nor lived with comfor- 
 tably. And as the day went by, each passing moment with 
 new marvels, Nick grew more and more uneasy for some 
 simple little nook where he might just sit down and be 
 quiet for a while, as one could do at home, without fine 
 pages peering at him from the screens, or splendid guards 
 patrolling at his heels wherever he went, or obsequious 
 ushers bowing to the floor at every turn, and asking him 
 what he might be pleased to wish. And by the time night 
 fell and the attendant came to light them to their beds, he 
 felt like a fly on the rim of a wheel that went so fast he 
 could scarcely get his breath or see what passed him by, 
 yet of which he durst not let go. 
 
 The palace was much too much for him.
 
 CHAPTER XXVHI 
 
 CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 
 
 /CHRISTMAS morning came and went as if on swal- 
 \J low-wings, in a gale of royal merriment. Four hun- 
 dred sat to dinner that day in Greenwich halls, and all the 
 palace streamed with banners and green garlands. 
 
 Within the courtyard two hundred horses neighed and 
 stamped around a water-fountain playing in a bowl of ice 
 and evergreen. Grooms and pages, hostlers and dames, 
 went hurry-scurrying to and fro ; cooks, bakers, and scul- 
 lions steamed about, leaving hot, mouth-watering streaks 
 of fragrance in the air ; bluff men-at-arms went whistling 
 here and there ; and serving-maids with rosy cheeks ran 
 breathlessly up and down the winding stairways. 
 
 The palace stirred like a mighty pot that boils to its ut- 
 most verge, for the hour of the revelries was come. 
 
 Over the beech-wood and far across the black heath 
 where Jack Cade marshaled the men of Kent, the wind 
 trembled with the boom of the castle bell. Within the 
 walls of the palace its clang was muffled by a sound of 
 voices that rose and fell like the wind upon the sea. 
 
 194
 
 CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 195 
 
 The ambassadors of Venice and France were there, with 
 their courtly trains. The Lord High Constable of England 
 was come to sit below the Queen. The earls, too, of South- 
 ampton, Montgomery, Pembroke, and Huntington were 
 there ; and William Cecil, Lord Burleigh, the Queen's High 
 Treasurer, to smooth his care-lined forehead with a Yule- 
 tide jest. 
 
 Up from the entry ports came shouts of " Room ! room ! 
 room for my Lord Strange ! Room for the Duke of Devon- 
 shire ! " and about the outer gates there was a tumult like 
 the cheering of a great crowd. 
 
 The palace corridors were lined with guards. Gentle- 
 men pensioners under arms went flashing to and fro. 
 Now and then through the inner throng some handsome 
 page with wind-blown hair and rainbow-colored cloak 
 pushed to the great door, calling : " Way, sirs, way for my 
 Lord way for my Lady of Alderstone ! " and one by one, 
 or in blithe groups, the courtiers, clad in silks and satins, 
 velvets, jewels, and lace of gold, came up through the 
 lofty folding-doors to their places in the halL 
 
 There, where the Usher of the Black Rod stood, and the 
 gentlemen of the chamber came and went with golden 
 chains about their necks, was bowing and scraping with- 
 out stint, and reverent civility ; for men that were wise 
 and noble were passing by, men that were handsome and 
 brave; and ladies sweet as a summer day, and as fair to 
 see as spring, laughed by their sides and chatted behind 
 their fans, or daintily nibbled comfits, lacking anything 
 to say.
 
 196 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 The windows were all curtained in, making a night-time 
 in midday ; and from the walls and galleries flaring links 
 and great bouquets of candles threw an eddying flood of 
 yellow light across the stirring scene. From clump to 
 clump of banner-staves and burnished arms, spiked above 
 the wainscot, garlands of red-berried holly, spruce, and 
 mistletoe were twined across the tapestry, till all the room 
 was bound about with a chain of living green. 
 
 There were sweet odors floating through the air, and 
 hazy threads of fragrant smoke from perfumes burning 
 in rich braziers ; and under foot was the crisp, clean rustle 
 of new rushes. 
 
 From time to time, above the hum of voices, came the 
 sound of music from a room beyond cornets and flutes, 
 fifes, lutes, and harps, with an organ exquisitely played, 
 and voices singing to it; and from behind the players' 
 curtain, swaying slowly on its rings at the back of the 
 stage, came a murmur of whispering childish voices, now 
 high in eager questioning, now low, rehearsing some 
 doubtful fragment of a song. 
 
 Behind the curtain it was dark not total darkness, but 
 twilight; for a dull glow came down overhead from the 
 lights in the hall without, and faint yellow bars went up 
 and down the dusk from crevices in the screen. The boys 
 stood here and there in nervous groups. Now and then 
 a sharp complaint was heard from the tire- woman when 
 an impatient lad would not stand still to be dressed. 
 
 Master Gyles went to and fro, twisting the manuscript 
 of the Bevel in his hands, or pausing kindly to pat some
 
 CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 197 
 
 faltering lad upon the back. Nick and Colley were peep- 
 ing by turns through a hole in the screen at the throng 
 in the audience-chamber. 
 
 They could see a confusion of fans, jewels, and faces, 
 and now and again could hear a burst of subdued laughter 
 over the steadily increasing buzz of voices. Then from 
 the gallery above, all at once there came a murmur of 
 instruments tuning together j a voice in the corridor was 
 heard calling, " Way here, way here ! " in masterful tones ; 
 the tall folding-doors at the side of the hall swung wide, 
 and eight dapper pages in white and gold came in with 
 the Master of Revels. After them came fifty ladies and 
 noblemen clad in white and gold, and a guard of gentle- 
 men pensioners with glittering halberds. 
 
 There was a sharp rustle. Every head in the audience- 
 chamber louted low. Nick's heart gave a jump for the 
 Queen was there ! 
 
 She came with an air that was at once serious and royal, 
 bearing herself haughtily, yet with a certain grace and 
 sprightliness that became her very well. She was quite 
 tall and well made, and her quickly changing face was 
 long and fair, though wrinkled and no longer young. 
 Her complexion was clear and of an olive hue ; her nose 
 was a little hooked ; her firm lips were thin ; and her small 
 black eyes, though keen and bright, were pleasant and 
 merry withal. Her hair was a coppery, tawny red, and 
 false, moreover. In her ears hung two great pearls ; and 
 there was a fine small crown studded with diamonds upon 
 her head, beside a necklace of exceeding fine gold and
 
 198 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 jewels about her neck. She was attired in a white silk 
 gown bordered with pearls the size of beans, and over it 
 wore a mantle of black silk, cunningly shot with silver 
 threads. Her ruff was vast, her farthingale vaster ; and 
 her train, which was very long, was borne by a marchioness 
 who made more ado about it than Elizabeth did of ruling 
 her realm. 
 
 " The Queen ! " gasped Colley. 
 
 "Dost think I did na know it?" answered Nick, his 
 heart beginning to beat tattoo as he stared through the 
 peep-hole in the screen. 
 
 He saw the great folk bowing like a gardenf ul of flowers 
 in a storm, and in its midst Elizabeth erect, speaking to 
 those about her in a lively and good-humored way, and 
 addressing all the foreigners according to their tongue 
 in French, Italian, Spanish, Dutch ; but hers was funny 
 Dutch, and while she spoke she smiled and made a joke 
 upon it in Latin, at which they all laughed heartily, 
 whether they understood what it meant or not. Then, 
 with her ladies in waiting, she passed to a dais near the 
 stage, and stood a moment, stately, fair, and proud, while 
 all her nobles made obeisance, then sat and gave a signal 
 for the players to begin. 
 
 " Raf e Fullerton ! " the prompter whispered shrilly ; and 
 out from behind the screen slipped Rafe, the smallest of 
 them all, and down the stage to speak the foreword of the 
 piece. He was frightened, and his voice shook as he 
 spoke, but every one was smiling, so he took new heart. 
 
 " It is a masque of Summer-time and Spring," said he,
 
 CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 199 
 
 " wherein both claim to be best-loved, and have their say 
 of wit and humor, and each her part of songs and dances 
 suited to her time, the sprightly galliard and the nimble 
 jig for Spring, the slow pavone, the stately peacock dance, 
 for Summer-time. And win who may, fair Summer-time 
 or merry Spring, the winner is but that beside our Queen ! " 
 with which he snapped his fingers in the faces of them 
 all" God save Queen Bess ! " 
 
 At that the Queen's eyes twinkled, and she nodded, 
 highly pleased, so that every one clapped mightily. 
 
 The play soon ran its course amid great laughter and 
 applause. Spring won. The English ever loved her best, 
 and the quick-paced galliard took their fancy, too. " Up 
 and be doing ! " was its tune, and it gave one a chance to 
 cut fine capers with his heels. 
 
 Then the stage stood empty and the music stopped. 
 
 At this strange end a whisper of surprise ran through 
 the hall. The Queen tapped with the inner side of her 
 rings upon the broad arm of her chair. From the look on 
 her face she was whetting her tongue. But before she 
 could speak, Nick and Colley, dressed as a farmer boy 
 and girl, with a garland of house-grown flowers about 
 them, came down the stage from the arras, hand in hand, 
 bowing. 
 
 The audience-chamber grew very still this was some- 
 thing new. Nick felt a swallowing in his throat, and 
 Coney's hand winced in his grip. There was no sound 
 but a silky rustling in the room. 
 
 Then suddenly the boys behind the players' curtain
 
 200 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 laughed together, not loud, but such a jolly little laugh 
 that all the people smiled to hear it. After the laughter 
 came a hush. 
 
 Then the pipes overhead made a merry sound as of 
 shepherds piping on oaten straws in new grass where 
 there are daisies ; and there was a little elfish laughter of 
 clarionets, and a fluttering among the cool flutes like spring 
 wind blowing through crisp young leaves in April. The 
 harps began to pulse and throb with a soft cadence like 
 raindrops falling into a clear pool where brown leaves lie 
 upon the bottom and bubbles float above green stones and 
 smooth white pebbles. Nick lifted up his head and sang. 
 
 It was a happy little song of the coming and the triumph 
 of the spring. The words were all forgotten long ago. 
 They were not much : enough to serve the turn, no more ; 
 but the notes to which they went were like barn swallows 
 twittering under the eaves, goldfinches clinking in purple 
 weeds beside old roads, and robins singing in common 
 gardens at dawn. And wherever Nick's voice ran Colley's 
 followed, the pipes laughing after them a note or two 
 below ; while the flutes kept gurgling softly to themselves 
 as a hill brook gurgles through the woods, and the harps 
 ran gently up and down like rain among the daffodils. 
 One voice called, the other answered ; there were echo-like 
 refrains; and as they sang Nick's heart grew full. He 
 cared not a stiver for the crowd, the golden palace, or the 
 great folk there the Queen no more he only listened 
 for Colley's voice coming up lovingly after his own and 
 running away when he followed it down, like a lad and a
 
 CHEISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 201 
 
 lass through the bloom of the May. And Colley was sing- 
 ing as if his heart would leap out of his round mouth for 
 joy to follow after the song they sung, till they came to 
 the end and the skylark's song. 
 
 There Colley ceased, and Nick went singing on alone, 
 forgetting, caring for, heeding nought but the song that 
 was in his throat. 
 
 The Queen's fan dropped from her hand upon the floor. 
 No one saw it or picked it up. The Venetian ambassador 
 scarcely breathed. 
 
 Nick came down the stage, his hands before him, lifted 
 as if he saw the very lark he followed with his song, up, 
 up, up into the sun. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes 
 were wet, though his voice was a song and a laugh in one. 
 
 Then they were gone behind the curtain, into the shadow 
 and the twilight there, Colley with his arms about Nick's 
 neck, not quite laughing, not quite sobbing. The manu- 
 script of the Revel lay torn in two upon the floor, and 
 Master Gyles had a foot upon each piece. 
 
 In the hall beyond the curtain was a silence that was 
 deeper than a hush, a stillness rising from the hearts of 
 men. 
 
 Then Elizabeth turned in the chair where she sat. Her 
 eyes were as bright as a blaze. And out of the sides of 
 her eyes she looked at the Venetian ambassador. He was 
 sitting far out on the edge of his chair, and his lips had 
 fallen apart. She laughed to herself. " It is a good song, 
 signor," said she, and those about her started at the sound 
 of her voice. " Chi face confessait is so ! There are
 
 202 MASTEE SKYLAEK 
 
 no songs like English songs there is no spring like an 
 English spring there is no land like England, my Eng- 
 land ! " She clapped her hands. " I will speak with those 
 lads," said she. 
 
 Straightway certain pages ran through the press and 
 came behind the curtain where Nick and Colley stood to- 
 gether, still trembling with the music not yet gone out of 
 them, and brought them through the hall to where the 
 Queen sat, every one whispering, " Look ! " as they passed. 
 
 On the dais they knelt together, bowing, side by side. 
 Elizabeth, with a kindly smile, leaning a little forward, 
 raised them with her slender hand. " Stand, dear lads," 
 said she, heartily. " Be lifted up by thine own singing, 
 as our hearts have been uplifted by thy song. And name 
 me the price of that same song 't was sweeter than the 
 sweetest song we ever heard before." 
 
 "Or ever shall hear again," said the Venetian ambas- 
 sador, under his breath, rubbing his forehead as if just 
 wakening out of a dream. 
 
 " Come," said Elizabeth, tapping Colley's cheek with her 
 fan, " what wilt thou have of me, fair maid?" 
 
 Colley turned red, then very pale. " That I may stay in 
 the palace forever and sing for your Majesty," said he. 
 His fingers shivered in Nick's. 
 
 " Now that is right prettily asked," she cried, and was 
 well pleased. " Thou shalt indeed stay for a singing page 
 in our household a voice and a face like thine are merry 
 things upon a rainy Monday. And thou, Master Lark," 
 said she, fanning the hair back from Nick's forehead with
 
 CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 203 
 
 her perfumed fan "thou that comest up out of the field 
 with a song like the angels sing what wilt thou have : 
 that thou mayst sing in our choir and play on the lute 
 for us ? " 
 
 Nick looked up at the torches on the wall, drawing a 
 deep, long breath. When he looked down again his eyes 
 were dazzled and he could not see the Queen. 
 
 " What wilt thou have ? * he heard her ask. 
 
 " Let me go home," said he. 
 
 There were red and green spots in the air. He tried to 
 count them, since he could see nothing else, and every- 
 thing was very still ; but they all ran into one purple spot 
 which came and went like a firefly's glow, and in the middle 
 of the purple spot he saw the Queen's face coming and 
 going. 
 
 " Surely, boy, that is an ill-considered speech," said she, 
 "or thou dost deem us very poor, or most exceeding 
 stingy ! " Nick hung his head, for the walls seemed tap- 
 estried with staring eyes. "Or else this home of thine 
 must be a very famous place." 
 
 The maids of honour tittered. Further off somebody 
 laughed. Nick looked up, and squared his shoulders. 
 
 They had rubbed the cat the wrong way. 
 
 It is hard to be a stranger in a palace, young, country- 
 bred, and laughed at all at once ; but down in Nick Att- 
 wood's heart was a stubborn streak that all the flattery 
 on earth could not cajole nor ridicule efface. He might 
 be simple, shy, and slow, but what he loved he loved : that 
 much he knew ; and when they laughed at him for loving
 
 204 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 home they seemed to mock not him, but home and thai 
 touched the fighting-spot. 
 
 " I would rather be there than here," said he. 
 
 The Queen's face flushed. " Thou art more curt than 
 courteous," said she. "Is it not good enough for thee 
 here?" 
 
 " I could na live in such a place." 
 
 The Queen's eyes snapped. " In such a place ? Marry, 
 art thou so choice ? These others find no fault with the 
 life." 
 
 " Then they be born to it," said Nick, " or they could 
 abide no more than I they would na fit." 
 
 " Haw, haw ! " said the Lord High Constable. 
 
 The Queen shot one quick glance at him. "Old pegs 
 have been made to fit new holes before to-day," said she ; 
 " and the trick can be done again." The Constable smo- 
 thered the rest of that laugh in his hand. " But come, boy, 
 speak up ; what hath put thee so out of conceit with our 
 best-beloved palace ? " 
 
 " There is na one thing likes me here. I can na bide in 
 a place so fine, for there 's not so much as a corner in it 
 feels like home. I could na sleep in the bed last night." 
 
 " What, how ? We commanded good beds ! " exclaimed 
 Elizabeth, angrily, for the Venetian ambassador was smil- 
 ing in his beard. " This shall be seen to." 
 
 " Oh, it was a good bed a very good bed indeed, your 
 Majesty ! " cried Nick. " But the mattress puffed up like 
 a cloud in a bag, and almost smothered me ; and it was so 
 soft and so hot that it gave me a fever."
 
 CHEISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 205 
 
 Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and laughed. The 
 Lord High Constable hastily finished the laugh that he 
 had hidden in his hand. Everybody laughed. "Upon 
 my word," said the Queen, "it is an odd skylark cannot 
 sleep in feathers ! What didst thou do, forsooth ? " 
 
 " I slept in the coverlid on the floor," said Nick. " It 
 was na hurt, I dusted the place well, and I slept like a 
 top." 
 
 " Now verily," laughed Elizabeth, " if it be floors that 
 thou dost desire, we have acres to spare thou shalt have 
 thy pick of the lot. Come, we are ill used to begging 
 people to be favored thou 'It stay ? " 
 
 Nick shook his head. 
 
 " Ma foi ! " exclaimed the Queen, " it is a queer fancy 
 makes a face at such a pleasant dwelling ! What is it 
 sticks in thy throat ? " 
 
 Nick stood silent. What was there to say ? If he came 
 here he never would see Stratford town again ; and this 
 was no abiding-place for him. They would not even let 
 him go to the fountain himself to draw water with which 
 to wash, but fetched it, three at a time, in a silver ewer 
 and a copper basin with towels and a flask of perfume. 
 
 Elizabeth was tapping with her fan. "Thou art be- 
 dazzled like," she said. "Think twice preferment does 
 not gooseberry on the hedge-row every day ; and this is a 
 rare chance which hangs ripening on thy tongue. Con- 
 sider well. Come, thou wilt accept ? " 
 
 Nick slowly shook his head. 
 
 " Go then, if thou wilt go ! " said she ; and as she spoke
 
 206 MASTEK SKYLAEK 
 
 she shrugged her shoulders, illy pleased, and turning to- 
 ward Colley, took him by the hand and drew him closer 
 to her, smiling at his guise. "Thy comrade hath more 
 wit." 
 
 " He hath no mother," Nick said quietly, loosing his hold 
 at last on Colley's hand. " I would rather have my mother 
 than his wit." 
 
 Elizabeth turned sharply back. Her keen eyes were 
 sparkling, yet soft. 
 
 " Thou art no fool," said she. 
 
 A little murmur ran through the room. 
 
 She sat a moment, silent, studying his face. "Or if 
 thou art, upon my word I like the breed. It is a stub- 
 born, froward dog ; but Hold-fast is his name. Ay, sirs," 
 she said, and sat up very straight, looking into the faces 
 of her court, " Brag is a good dog, but Hold-fast is better 
 A lad who loves his mother thus makes a man who loveth 
 his native land and it 's no bad streak in the blood. 
 Master Skylark, thou shalt have thy wish ; to London thou 
 shalt go this very night." 
 
 " I do na live in London," Nick began. 
 
 "What matters the place?" said she. "Live whereso- 
 ever thine heart doth please. It is enough so. Thou 
 mayst kiss our hand." She held her hand out, bright 
 with jewels. He knelt and kissed it as if it were all a 
 doing in a dream, or in some unlikely story he had read. 
 But a long while after he could smell the perfume from 
 her slender fingers on his lips. 
 
 Then a page standing by him touched his arm as he
 
 CHRISTMAS WITH QUEEN BESS 207 
 
 arose, and bowing backward from the throne, came with 
 him to the curtain and the rest. Old Master Gyles was 
 standing there apart. It was too dark to see his face, but 
 he laid his hand upon Nick's head. 
 
 " Thy cake is burned to a coal," said he.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 BACK TO GASTON CAREW 
 
 SO they marched back out of the palace gates, down to 
 the landing-place, the last red sunlight gleaming on 
 the basinets of the tall halberdiers who marched on either 
 side. 
 
 Nick looked out toward London, where the river lay 
 like a serpent, bristling with masts ; and beyond the river 
 and the town to the forests of Epping and Hainault ; and 
 beyond the forests to the hills, where the waning day still 
 lingered in a mist of frosty blue. At their back, midway 
 of the Queen's park, stood up the old square tower Mire- 
 fleur, and on its top one yellow light like the flame of a 
 gigantic candle. The day seemed builded of memories 
 strange and untrue. 
 
 A belated gull flapped by them heavily, and the red sun 
 went down. England was growing lonely. A great barge 
 laden with straw came out of the dusk, and was gone 
 without a sound, its ghostly sail drawing in a wind that 
 the wherry sat too low to feel. Nick held his breath as 
 the barge went by : it was unreal, fantastical 
 
 208
 
 BACK TO GASTON CAEEW 
 
 209 
 
 Then the river dropped between its banks, and the woods 
 and the hills were gone. The tide ran heavily against the 
 shore, and the wake of the wherry broke the floating stars 
 into cold white streaks and zigzag ripplings of raveled 
 light that ran unsteadily after them. The craft at anchor 
 in the Pool had swung about upon the flow, and pointed 
 down to Greenwich. A hush had fallen upon the never- 
 ending bustle of the town ; and the air was full of a gray, 
 uncanny afterglow which seemed to come up out of the 
 water, for the sky was grown quite dark. 
 
 They were all wrapped in their boat-cloaks, tired and 
 silent. Now and then Nick dipped his fingers into the 
 cold water over the gunwale. 
 
 This was the end of the glory. 
 
 He wished the boat would go a little faster. Yet when 
 they came to the landing he was sorry. 
 
 The man-at-arms who went with him to Master Carew's 
 house was one of the Earl of ArundePs men, in a stiff- 
 wadded jacket of heron-blue, with the earl's colors richly 
 worked upon its back and his badge upon the sleeves. 
 Prowlers gave way before him in the streets, for he was 
 broad and tall and mighty, and the fear of any man was 
 not in the look of his eye. 
 
 As they came up the slow hill, Nick sighed, for the 
 long-legged man-at-arms walked fast. " What, there ! " 
 said he, and clapped Nick on the shoulder with his bony 
 hand ; " art far spent, lad ? Why, marry, get thee upon 
 my back. I '11 jog thee home in the shake of a black 
 sheep's taiL" 
 
 u
 
 210 MASTEE SKYLAEK 
 
 So Nick rode home upon the back of the Earl of Arun- 
 del's man-at-arms ; and that, too, seemed a dream like all 
 the rest. 
 
 When they came to Master Carew's house the street 
 was dark, and Nick's foot was asleep. He stamped it, 
 tingling, upon the step, and the empty passage echoed 
 with the sound. Then the earl's man beat the door 
 with the pommel of his dagger-hilt, and stood with 
 his hands upon his hips, carelessly whistling a little 
 tune. 
 
 Nick heard a sound of some one coming through the 
 hall, and felt that at last the day was done. A tired 
 wonder wakened in his heart at how so much had come 
 to pass in such a little while ; yet more he wondered why 
 it had ever come to pass at all. And what was the worth 
 of it, anyway, now it was over and gone ? 
 
 Then the door opened, and he went in. 
 
 Master Gaston Carew himself had come to the door, 
 walking quickly through the hallway, with a queer, nervous 
 twitching in his face. But when he made out through the 
 dusk that it was Nick, he seemed in no wise moved, and 
 said quite simply, as he gave the man-at-arms a penny : 
 " Oh, is it thou ? Why, we have heard somewhat of thee ; 
 and upon my word I thought, since thou wert grown so 
 great, thou wouldst come home in a coach-and-four, all 
 blowing horns ! " 
 
 Nevertheless he drew Nick quickly in, and kissed him 
 thrice ; and after he had kissed him kept fast hold of his 
 hand until they came together through the hall into the
 
 "BO NICK BODE HOME UPON THE BACK OF THE EASL OF ABUNDKL* 
 MAK-AT-ABMa"
 
 BACK TO GASTON CAREW 211 
 
 great room where Cicely was sitting quite dismally in the 
 chimney-seat alone. 
 
 " There, Nick," said he ; " tell her thyself that thou hast 
 eome back. She thought she had lost thee for good and 
 all, and hath sung, ' Hey ho, my heart is full of woe ! ' the 
 whole twilight, and would not be comforted. Come, Cicely, 
 loff thy doleful willow the proverb lies. ' Out of sight, 
 3ut of mind 'fudge ! the boy 's come back again ! A 
 plague take proverbs, anyway ! " 
 
 But when the children were both long since abed, and 
 ill the house was still save for the scamper of rats in the 
 seall, the heavy door of Nick's room opened stealthily, with 
 i little grating upon the uneven sill, and Master Carew 
 stood there, peeping in, his hand upon the bolt outside. 
 
 He held a rush-light in the other. Its glimmer fell 
 icross the bed upon Nick's tousled hair; and when the 
 master-player saw the boy's head upon the pillow he 
 started eagerly, with brightening eyes. " My soul ! " he 
 whispered to himself, a little quaver in his tone, " I would 
 tiave sworn my own desire lied to me, and that he had 
 aot come at all ! It cannot be yet, verily, I am not blind, 
 Ma foi ! it passe th understanding a freed skylark come 
 back to its cage ! I thought we had lost him forever." 
 
 Nick stirred in his sleep. Carew set the light on the 
 floor. " Thou fool ! " said he, and he fumbled at his pouch ; 
 "thou dear-beloved little fool! To catch the skirts of 
 aflory in thine hand, and tread the heels of happy chance, 
 md yet come back again to ill-starred twilight and to 
 me ! Ai, lad, I would thou wert my son mine own,
 
 212 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 son ; yet Heaven spare thee father such as I ! For, Nick, 
 I love thee. Yet thou dost hate me like a poison thing. 
 And still I love thee, on my word, and on the remnant of 
 mine honour ! " His voice was husky. " Let thee go ? 
 send thee back? eat my sweet and have it too? how? 
 Nay, nay; thy happy cake would be my dough it will 
 not serve." He shook his head, and looked about to see 
 that all was fast. " Yet, Nick, I say I love thee, on my 
 soul ! " 
 
 Slipping to the bedside with stealthy step, he laid a fat 
 little Banbury cheese and some brown sweet cakes beside 
 Nick's pillow; then came out hurriedly and barred the 
 door. 
 
 The fire in the great hall had gone out, and the room 
 was growing cold. The table stood by the chimney-side, 
 where supper had been laid. Carew brought a napkin 
 from the linen-chest, and spread it upon the board. Then 
 he went to the server's screen and looked behind it, and 
 tried the latches of the doors ; and having thus made sure 
 that all was safe, came back to the table again, and set- 
 ting the rush-light there, turned the contents of his purse 
 into the napkin. 
 
 There were both gold and silver. The silver he put back 
 into the purse again ; the gold he counted carefully ; and 
 as he counted, laying the pieces one by one in little heaps 
 upon the cloth, he muttered under his breath, like a small 
 boy adding up his sums in school, saying over and over 
 again, " One for me, and one for thee, and two for Cicely 
 Carew. One for me, and one for thee, and two for Cicely
 
 BACK TO GASTON CAREW 213 
 
 Carew n ; and told the coins off in keeping with the count, 
 so that the last pile was as large as both the others put 
 together. Then slowly ending, "None for me, and one 
 for thee, and two for Cicely Carew," he laid the last three 
 nobles with the rest. 
 
 Then he arose and stood a moment listening to the si- 
 lence in the house. An old he rat that was gnawing a rind 
 on the hearth looked up, and ran a little nearer to his hole. 
 " Tsst ! come back," said Carew, " I 'm no cat ! " and from 
 the sliding panel in the wall took out a buckskin bag tied 
 like a meal-sack with a string. 
 
 As he slipped the knot the throat of the bag sagged 
 down, and a gold piece jangled on the floor. Carew started 
 as if all his nerves had leaped within him at the unex- 
 pected sound, and closed the panel like a flash. Then, set- 
 ting his foot upon the fallen coin, he stopped its spinning, 
 and with one hand on his poniard, peering right and left, 
 blew the candle out. 
 
 A little while he stood and listened in the dark ; a little 
 while his feet went to and fro in the darkness. The wind 
 cried in the chimney. Now and then the casements 
 shivered. The timbers in the wall creaked with the cold, 
 and the boards in the stairway cracked. Then the old he 
 rat came back to his rind, and his mate came out of the 
 crack in the wall, working her whiskers hungrily and 
 snuffing the smell of the candle-drip - f for there was no 
 sound, and the coast of rat-land was clear.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 AT THE FALCON ESTN 
 
 And then there came both mist and sno\t, 
 
 And it grew wondrous cold ; 
 And ice mast-high came floating by, 
 
 As green as emerald. 
 
 SO says that wonder-ballad of the sea. 
 But over London came a gale that made the chim 
 neys rock ; and after it came ice and snow, sharp, stinging 
 sleet, and thumping hail, with sickening winds from the 
 gray west, sour yellow fogs, and plunging rain, till all the 
 world was weary of the winter and the cold. 
 
 But winter could not last forever. March crept onward, 
 and the streets of London came up out of the slush again 
 with a glad surprise of cobblestones. The sickly mist no 
 longer hung along the river ; and sometimes upon a breezy 
 afternoon it was pleasant and fair, the sun shone warmly 
 on one's back, and the rusty sky grew bluer overhead. 
 The trees in Paris Garden put out buds; the lilac-tips 
 began to swell ; there was a stirring in the roadside grass, 
 and now and then a questing bird went by upon the wind, 
 
 214
 
 AT THE FALCON INN 215 
 
 piping a little silver thread of song. Nick's heart grew 
 hungry for the woods of Arden and the gathering rush 
 of the waking water-brooks among the old dead leaves. 
 The rain beat in at his window, but he did not care for 
 that, and kept it open day and night ; for when he wak- 
 ened in the dark he loved to feel the fingers of the wind 
 across his face. 
 
 Sometimes the moonlight through the ragged clouds 
 came in upon the floor, and in the hurry of the wind he 
 almost fancied he could hear the Avon, bank-full, rushing 
 under the old mill-bridge. 
 
 Then one day there came a shower with a warm south 
 wind, sweet and healthful and serene; and through the 
 shower, out of the breaking clouds, a sun-gleam like a path 
 of gold straight down to the heart of London town; 
 and on the south wind, down that path of gold, came 
 April. 
 
 That night the wind in the chimney fluted a glad, new 
 tune ; and when Nick looked out at his casement the free 
 stars danced before him in the sky. And when he felt that 
 fluting wind blow warm and cool together on his cheek, 
 the chimneys mocked him, and the town was hideous. 
 
 IT fell upon an April night, when the moon was at its 
 full, that Master Carew had come to the Falcon Inn, on 
 the Southwark side of the river, and had brought Nick 
 with him for the air. Master Heywood was along, and it 
 was very pleasant there. 
 
 The night breeze smelled of green fields, and the inn
 
 216 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 was thronged with company. The windows were bright, 
 and the air was full of voices. Tables had been brought 
 out into the garden and set beneath the arbor toward the 
 riverside. The vines of the arbor were shooting forth 
 their first pink-velvet leaves, and in the moonlight their 
 shadows fell like lacework across the linen cloths, blurred 
 by the glow of the lanterns hung upon the posts. 
 
 The folds in the linen marked the table-tops with 
 squares like a checker-board, and Nick stood watching from 
 the tap-room door, as if it were a game. Not that he cared 
 for any game ; but that watching dulled the teeth of the 
 hunger in his heart to be out of the town and back among 
 the hills of Warwickshire, now that the spring was there. 
 
 "What, there ! a pot of sack! " cried one gay fellow 
 with a silver-bordered cloak. " A pot of sack ? " cried out 
 another with a feather like a rose-bush in his cap ; " two 
 pots ye mean, my buck ! " " Ods-fish my skin ! " bawled 
 out a third " ods-fish my skin! Two pots of beggarly 
 sack on a Saturday night and a moon like this ? Three 
 pots, say I and make it malmsey, at my cost ! What, 
 there, knave ! the table full of pots I '11 pay the score." 
 
 At that they all began to laugh and to slap one another 
 on the back, and to pound with their fists upon the board 
 until the pewter tankards hopped ; and when the tapster's 
 knave came back they were singing at the top of their 
 lungs, for the spring had gotten into their wits, and they 
 were beside themselves with merriment. 
 
 Master Tom Heywood had a little table to himself off in 
 a corner, and was writing busily upon a new play. "A
 
 AT THE FALCON INN 217 
 
 sheet a day," said he, "doth do a wonder in a year"; so 
 he was always at it. 
 
 Gaston Carew sat beyond, dicing with a silky rogue who 
 had the coldest, hardest face that Nick had ever seen. His 
 eyes were black and beady as a rat's, and were circled 
 about by a myriad of little crowfoot lines ; and his hooked 
 nose lay across his thin blue lips like a finger across a slit 
 in a dried pie. His long, slim hands were white as any 
 woman's ; and his fingers slipped among the laces at his 
 cuffs like a weasel in a tangle-patch. 
 
 They had been playing for an hour, and the game had 
 gone beyond all reason. The other players had put aside 
 the dice to watch the two, and the nook in which their 
 table stood was ringed with curious faces. A lantern had 
 been hung above, but Carew had had it taken down, as its 
 bottom made a shadow on the board. Carew's face was 
 red and white by turns ; but the face of the other had no 
 more color than candle-wax. 
 
 At the end of the arbor some one was strumming upon 
 a gittern. It was strung in a different key from that in 
 which the men were singing, and the jangle made Nick 
 feel all puckered up inside. By and by the playing ceased, 
 and the singers came to the end of their song. In the 
 brief hush the sharp rattle of the dice sounded like the 
 patter of cold hail against the shutter in the lull of a 
 winter storm. 
 
 Then there came a great shouting outsiae, and, looking 
 through the arbor, Nick saw two couriers on gallowav 
 nags come galloping over the bowling-green to the arbor-
 
 218 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 side, calling for ale. They drank it in their saddles, while 
 their panting horses sniffed at the fresh young grass. 
 Then they galloped on. Through the vines, as he looked 
 after them, Nick could see the towers of London glitter- 
 ing strangely in the moonlight. It was nearly high tide, 
 and up from the river came the sound of women's voices 
 and laughter, with the pulse-like throb of oars and the 
 hoarse calling of the watermen. 
 
 In the great room of the inn behind him the gallants 
 were taking their snuff in little silver ladles, and talking 
 of princesses they had met, and of whose coach they had 
 ridden home in last from tennis at my lord's. Some were 
 eating, some were drinking, and some were puffing at 
 long clay pipes, while others, by twos, locked arm in ami, 
 went swaggering up and down the room, with a huge talk- 
 ing of foreign lands which they had never so much as 
 seen. 
 
 " A murrain on the luck ! " cried Carew, suddenly. 
 " Can I throw nothing but threes and fours 1 " 
 
 A muffled stir ran round. Nick turned from the glare 
 of the open door, and looked out into the moonlight. It 
 seemed quite dark at first. The master-player's face was 
 bitter white, and his fingers were tapping a queer staccato 
 upon the table-top. 
 
 "A plague on the bedlam dice!" said he. "I think 
 they are bewitched." 
 
 " Huff, ruff, and snuff ! " the other replied. " Don't get 
 the mubble-fubbles, Carew j there 's nought the matter with 
 the dice."
 
 AT THE FALCON INN 219 
 
 A man came down from the tap-room door. Nick stepped 
 aside to let him pass. He was a player, by his air. 
 
 He wore a riding-cloak of Holland cloth, neither so 
 good nor so bad as a riding-cloak might be, but under it 
 a handsome jerkin overlaid with lace, and belted with a 
 buff girdle in which was a light Spanish rapier. His 
 boots were russet cordovan, mid-thigh tall, and the rowels 
 of his clinking spurs were silver stars. He was large of 
 frame, and his curly hair was short and brown ; so was 
 his pointed beard. His eyes were singularly bright and 
 fearless, and bluff self-satisfaction marked his stride ; but 
 his under lip was petulant, and he flicked his boot with 
 his riding- whip as he shouldered his way along. 
 
 " Ye cannot miss the place, sir," called the tapster after 
 him. " 'T is just beyond Ned AUeyn's, by the ditch. Ye '11 
 never mistake the ditch, sir Billingsgate is roses to it." 
 
 " Oh, I '11 find it fast enough," the stranger answered ; 
 " but he should have sent to meet me, knowing I might 
 come at any hour. 'T is a felon place for thieves ; and 
 I 've not heart to skewer even a goose on such a night as 
 this." 
 
 At the sudden breaking of voices upon the silence, 
 Carew looked up, with a quarrel ripe for picking in his 
 eye. But seeing who spoke, such a smile came rippling 
 from the corners of his mouth across his dark, unhappy 
 face that it was as if a lamp of welcome had been lighted 
 there. " What, Ben ! " he cried ; " thou here T Why, bless 
 thine heart, old gossip, 't is good to see an honest face 
 amid this pack of rogues."
 
 220 MASTER SKYLAKK 
 
 There was a surly muttering in the crowd. Carew 
 threw his head back haughtily and set his knuckles to his 
 hip. " A pack of rogues, I say," he repeated sharply ; 
 " and a fig for the whole pack ! " There was a certain 
 wildness in his eyes. No one stirred or made reply. 
 
 " Good ! Gaston," laughed the stranger, with a shrug ; 
 "picking thy company still, I see, for quantity, and not 
 for quality. No, thank 'e ; none of the tap for me. My 
 Lord Hunsdon was made chamberlain in his father's stead 
 to-day, and I 'm off hot-foot with the news to Will's." 
 
 He gathered his cloak about him, and was gone. 
 
 " Ye 've lost," said the man who was dicing with Carew. 
 
 Nick stepped down from the tap-room door. His ears 
 were tingling with the sound : " I 'm off hot-foot with the 
 news to Will's." 
 
 " Hot-foot with the news to Will's " ? 
 
 To " Will's " ? " Will " who ? 
 
 The man was a player, by his air. 
 
 Nick hurriedly looked around. Carew's wild eyes were 
 frozen upon the dice. The bandy-legged man was drink- 
 ing at a table near the door. The crimson ribbon in his 
 ear looked like a patch of blood. 
 
 He saw Nick looking at him, and made a horrible face. 
 He would have sworn likewise, but there was half a 
 quart of ale in his can ; so he turned it up and drank in- 
 stead. It was a long, long drink, and half his face was 
 buried in the pot. 
 
 When he put it down the boy was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 IN THE TWINKLING OP AN EYE 
 
 IN a garden near the old bear-yard, among tall rose- 
 trees which would soon be in bloom, a merry com- 
 pany of men were sitting around a table which stood in 
 the angle of a quick-set hedge beside a path graveled 
 with white stones and bordered with mussel-shells. 
 
 There was a house hard by with creamy-white walls, 
 green-shuttered windows, and a red-tiled roof. The door 
 of the house was open, showing a little ruddy fire upon a 
 great hearth, kindled to drive away the damp ; and in the 
 windows facing the garden there were lights shining 
 warmly out among the rose-trees. 
 
 The table was spread with a red damask cloth, on which 
 were a tray of raisins and nuts and a small rally of silver 
 cups. Above the table an apple-tree nodded its new 
 leaves, and from an overhanging bough a lantern hung 
 glowing like a great yellow bee. 
 
 There was a young fellow with a white apron and a 
 jolly little whisper of a whistle on his puckered lips going 
 around with a plate of cakes and a tray of honey-bowls j 
 
 221
 
 222 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 and the men were eating and drinking and chatting to- 
 gether so gaily, and seemed to be all such good friends, 
 that it was a pleasant thing just to see them sitting there 
 in their comfortable leather-bottomed chairs, taking life 
 easily because the spring had come again. 
 
 One tall fellow was smoking a pipe. He held the bowl 
 in one hand, and kept tamping down the loose tobacco 
 with his forefinger. Now and again he would be so 
 eagerly talking he would forget that his finger was in the 
 bowl, and it would be burned. He would take it out with 
 a look of quaint surprise, whereat the rest all roared. 
 Another was a fat, round man who chuckled constantly 
 to himself, as if this life were all a joke ; and there was a 
 quite severe, important-seeming, oldish man who said, 
 "Hem hem!" from time to time, as if about to speak 
 forthwith, yet never spoke a word. There was also among 
 the rest a raw-boned, lanky fellow who had bitten the 
 heart out of an oat-cake and held the rim of it in his fingers 
 like a new moon, waving it around while he talked, until the 
 little man beside him popped it deftly out of his grasp and 
 ate it before the other saw where it was gone. But when 
 he made out what was become of that oat-cake he rose up 
 solemnly, took the little man by the collar as a huntsman 
 takes a pup, and laid him softly in the grass without a word. 
 
 What a laughing and going-on was then ! It was as if 
 they all were growing young again. And in the middle 
 of the row a head popped over the quick-set hedge, and a 
 most stentorian voice called out, " Here, here ! Go slow I 
 want a piece of that ! "
 
 IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE 223 
 
 They all looked up, and the moment they spied that 
 laughing face and cloak of Holland cloth, raised a shout 
 of "What, there!" "Well met!" "Come in, Ben." 
 "Where hast thou tarried so long?" and the like; while 
 the waiter ran to open the gate and let the stranger in. 
 
 A quiet man with a little chestnut-colored beard and 
 hazel eyes, which lit up quickly at sight of the stranger 
 over the hedge, arose from his place by the table and went 
 down the path with hands outstretched to greet him. 
 
 " Welcome, welcome, hurly-burly Ben," said he. " We Ve 
 missed thee from the feast. Art well T And what 's the 
 good word ? " 
 
 " Ah, Will, thou gentle rogue ! " the other cried, catching 
 the hands of the quiet man and holding him off while he 
 looked at him there. " How thou stealest one's heart with 
 the glance of thine eye ! I was going to give thee a piece 
 of my mind ; but a plague, old heart ! who could chide thee 
 to thy face ? Am I well T Ay, exceedingly well. And 
 the news ? Jove ! the best that was baked at the Queen's 
 to-day, and straight from the oven-door ! The thing is 
 done huff, puff, and away we go ! But come on this 
 needs telling to the rest." 
 
 They came up the path together, the big man crunching 
 the mussel-shells beneath his sturdy tread, and so into the 
 circle of yellow light that came down from the lantern 
 among the apple-leaves, the big man with his arm around 
 the quiet man's shoulders, holding his hand ; for the quiet 
 man was not so large as the other, although withal no little 
 man himself, and very well built and straight
 
 224 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 His tabard was black, without sleeves, and his doublet 
 was scarlet silk. His collar and wrist-bands were white 
 Holland linen turned loosely back, and his face was frank 
 and fair and free. He was not old, but his hair was thin 
 upon his brow. His nose and his full, high forehead were 
 as cleanly cut as a finely chiseled stone ; and his sensitive 
 mouth had a curve that was tender and sad, though he 
 smiled all the while, a glimpse of his white teeth showing 
 through, and his little mustache twitching with the ripple 
 of his long upper lip. His flowing hair was chestnut- 
 colored, like his beard, and curly at the ends; and his 
 melancholy eyelids told of study and of thought; but 
 under them the kindly eyes were bright with pleasant 
 fancy. 
 
 " What, there, all of you ! " said he ; "a good investment 
 for your ears ! " 
 
 " Out with it, Will ! " they cried, and whirled around. 
 
 "The Queen hath made Lord Hunsdon chamberlain," 
 the big man said. 
 
 An instant's hush fell on the garden. No one spoke ; 
 but they caught each other by the hand, and, suddenly, 
 the silence there seemed somehow louder than a shout. 
 
 " We '11 build the new Globe play-house, lads, and sweep 
 the Bankside clean from end to end ! " a sturdy voice broke 
 sharply on the hush. And then they cheered a cheer so 
 loud that people on the river stopped their boats, and came 
 ashore asking where the fire was. And over all the cheer- 
 ing rose the big man's voice ; for the quiet man was silent, 
 and the big man cheered for two.
 
 IN THE TWINKLING OP AN EYE 22S 
 
 "Pull up thy rose-bushes, Will," cried one, "and set 
 out laurels in their stead thou 'It need them all for 
 crowns." 
 
 "Ay, Will, our savor is not gone Queen Bess knows 
 salt ! " 
 
 " With Will and Ben for meat and crust, and the rest 
 of us for seasoning, the court shall say it never ate such 
 master pie ! " 
 
 "We '11 make the walls of Whitehall ring come New 
 Year next, or Twelfth Night and Shrove Tuesday." 
 
 " Ay, that we will, old gossip ! Here 's to thee ! n 
 
 " Here 's to the company, all of us ! " 
 
 " And a health to the new Lord Chamberlain ! " 
 
 " God save the Queen ! " 
 
 With that, they shook each other's hands, as merry as 
 men could be, and laughed, because their hearts ran short 
 of words ; for these were young Lord Hunsdoii's men, late 
 players to the Queen in the old Lord Chamberlain's troupe ; 
 who, for a while deprived of favor by his death, were now, 
 by this succession of his son, restored to prestige at the 
 court, and such preferment as none beside them ever won, 
 not even the Earl of Pembroke's company. 
 
 There was Kemp, the stout tragedian ; gray John Lowin, 
 the walking-man; Diccon Burbage, and Cuthbert his 
 brother, master-players and managers ; Robin Armin, the 
 humorsome jester ; droll Dick Tarlton, the king of fools. 
 There was Blount, and Pope, and Hemynge, and Thomas 
 Greene, and Joey Taylor, the acting-boy, deep in the heart 
 of a honey-bowl, yet who one day was to play "Hamlet" 
 if
 
 226 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 as no man ever has played it since. And there were 
 others, whose names and doings have vanished with them ; 
 and beside these "What, merry hearts!" the big man 
 cried, and clapped his neighbor on the back ; " we '11 have 
 a supper at the Mermaid Inn. We '11 feast on reason, 
 reason on the feast, toast the company with wit, and com- 
 pany the wit with toast why, pshaw, we are good fellows 
 all!" He laughed, and they laughed with him. That 
 was " rare Ben Jonson's " way. 
 
 " There 's some one knocking, master," said the boy. 
 
 A quick tap-tapping rattled on the wicket-gate. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked the quiet man. 
 
 " 'T is Edmund with the news," cried one. 
 
 " I 've dished him," said Ben Jonson. 
 
 "'T is Condell come to raise our wages," said Robin 
 Armin, with a grin. 
 
 " Thou 'It raise more hopes than wages, Bob," said Tarl- 
 ton, mockingly. 
 
 " It is a boy," the waiter said, " who saith that he must 
 see thee, master, on his life." 
 
 The quiet man arose. 
 
 " Sit down, Will," said Greene ; " he '11 pick thy pocket 
 with a doleful lie." 
 
 " There 's nothing in it, Tom, to pick." 
 
 " Then give him no more than half, "said Armin, soberly, 
 " lest he squander it ! " 
 
 "He saith he comes from Stratford town," the boy 
 went on. 
 
 " Then tell him to go back again," said Master Ben Jon-
 
 IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE 227 
 
 son ; " we 've sucked the sweet from Stratford town be 
 off with his seedy dregs ! " 
 
 11 Gro bring him in," said the quiet man. 
 
 "Nay, Will, don't have him in. This makes the third 
 within the month wilt father all the strays from Strat- 
 ford town? Here, Ned, give him this shilling, and tell 
 him to be off to his cony-burrow as fast as his legs can 
 trot." 
 
 " We '11 see him first," said the quiet man, stopping the 
 other's shilling with his hand. 
 
 " Oh, Willy-nilly ! " the big man cried ; " wilt be a kite 
 to float all the draggle-tails that flutter down from War- 
 wickshire f " 
 
 " Why, Ben," replied the quiet man, " 't is not the kite 
 that floats the tail, but the wind which floats both kite 
 and tail. Thank God, we 've caught the rising wind ; so, 
 hey for draggle-tails ! we '11 take up all we can." 
 
 The waiter was coming up the path, and by his side, a 
 little back, bareheaded and flushed with running, came 
 Nicholas Attwood. He had followed the big man through 
 the fields from the gates of the Falcon Inn. 
 
 He stopped at the edge of the lantern's glow and looked 
 around uncertain, for the light was in his eyes. 
 
 " Come, boy, what is it ? " asked Ben Jonson. 
 
 Nick peered through the brightness. " Master Will- 
 Master Will Shakspere ! " he gasped. 
 
 " Well, my lad," said the quiet man ; " what unit thou have 
 of me 9 n 
 
 Nick Attwood had come to his fellow-townsman at last
 
 228 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 OVER the hedge where the lantern shone through the 
 green of the apple-leaves came a sound of voices talking 
 fast, a listening hush, then a clapping of hands, with 
 mingled cries of " Good boy ! " " Right, lad ; do not leave 
 her till thou must ! " and at the last, " What ! take thee 
 home to thy mother, lad ? Ay, marry, that will I ! " And 
 the last was the voice of the quiet man. 
 
 Then f ollowed laughter and scraps of song, merry talk- 
 ing, and good cheer, for they all made glad together. 
 
 ACROSS the fields beyond the hedge the pathway ran 
 through Paris Garden, stark and clear in the white moon- 
 shine, save here and there where the fog from the marsh 
 crept down to meet the river-mist, and blotted out the 
 landscape as it went. In the north lay London, stirring 
 like a troubled sea. In the south was drowsy silence, save 
 for the crowing of the cocks, and now and then the bay. 
 ing of a hound far off. The smell of bears was on the 
 air; the river- wind breathed kennels. The Swan play- 
 house stood up, a great, blue blank against the sky. The 
 sound of voices was remote. The river made a constant 
 murmur in the murk beyond the landing-place ; the trees 
 moved softly. 
 
 Low in the west, the lights of the Falcon Inn were 
 shrunk to pin-pricks in the dark. They seemed to wink 
 and to shut their eyes. It was too far to see the people 
 passing by. 
 
 On a sudden one light winked and did not open any 
 more ; and through the night a faint, far cry came drifting
 
 IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE 229 
 
 down the river-wind a long, thin cry, like the wavering 
 screech of an owl a shrill, high, ugly sound ; the lights 
 began to wink, wink, wink, to dance, to shift, to gather 
 into one red star. Out of the darkness came a wisp of 
 something moving in the path. 
 
 Where the moonlight lay it scudded like the shadow of 
 a windy cloud, now lost to sight, now seen again. Out 
 of the shadow came a man, with hands outstretched and 
 cap awry, running as if he were mad. As he ran he looked 
 from side to side, and turned his head for the keener ear. 
 He was panting hard. 
 
 When he reached the ditch he paused in fault, ran on 
 a step or two, went back, stood hesitating there, clenching 
 his hands in the empty wind, listening ; for the mist was 
 grown so thick that he could scarcely see. 
 
 But as he stood there doubtfully, uncertain of the way, 
 catching the wind in his nervous hands, and turning 
 about in a little space like an animal in a cage, over the 
 hedge through the apple-boughs a boy's clear voice rose 
 suddenly, singing a rollicking tune, with a snapping of 
 fingers and tapping of feet in time to its merry Hit. 
 
 Then the man in the mist, when he heard that clear, 
 high voice, turned swiftly to it, crying out, " The Skylark ! 
 Zooks ! It is the place ! " and ran through the fog to 
 where the lantern glimmered through the hedge. The 
 light fell in a yellow stream across his face. He was pale 
 as a ghost. " What, there, within ! What, there ! " he 
 panted. " Shakspere ! Jonson ! Any one ! " 
 
 The song stopped short
 
 230 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Who 7 s there ? " called the voice of the quiet man. 
 
 " 'T is I, Tom Heywood. There 's to-do for players at 
 the Falcon Inn. Gaston Carew hath stabbed Fulk San- 
 dells, for cheating at the dice, as dead as a door-nail, and 
 hath been taken by the watch 1 *
 
 CHAPTER XXXn 
 
 THE LAST OP GASTON CAREW 
 
 IT was Monday morning, and a beautiful day. 
 Master Will Shakspere was reading a new play to 
 Masters Ben Jonson and Diccon Burbage at the Mermaid 
 Inn. 
 
 Thomas Pope, the player, and Peter Hemynge, the 
 manager, were there with them at the table under the 
 little window. The play was a comedy of a wicked money- 
 lender named Shylock; but it was a comedy that made 
 Nick shudder as he sat on the bench by the door and lis- 
 tened to it through happy thoughts of going home. 
 
 Sunday had passed like a wondrous dream. He was 
 free. Master Carew was done for. On Saturday morning 
 Master Will Shakspere would set out on the journey to 
 Stratford town, for his regular summer visit there ; and 
 Nick was going with him going to Stratford going 
 home! 
 
 The comedy-reading went on. Master Burbage, his 
 moving face alive, leaned forward on his elbows, nodding 
 now and then, and saying, " Fine, fine ! " under his breath. 
 
 231
 
 232 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Master Pope was making faces suited to the words, not 
 knowing that he did so. Nick watched him, fascinated. 
 
 A man came hurrying down Cheapside, and peered in 
 at the open door. It was Master Dick Jones of the Ad- 
 miral's company. He looked worried and as if he had 
 not slept. His hair was uncombed, and the skin under 
 his eyes hung in little bags. He squinted so that he might 
 see from the broad daylight outside into the darker room. 
 
 "Gaston Garew wants to see thee, Skylark," said he, 
 quickly, seeing Nick beside the door. 
 
 Nick drew back. It seemed as if the master-player must 
 be lying in wait outside to catch him if he stirred abroad. 
 
 " He says that he must see thee without fail, and that 
 straightway. He is in Newgate prison. Wilt come ? " 
 
 Nick shook his head. 
 
 " But he says indeed he must see thee. Come, Skylark, 
 I will bring thee back. I am no kidnapper. Why, it is 
 the last thing he will ever ask of thee. 'T is hard to re- 
 fuse so small a favor to a doomed man." 
 
 " Thou 'It surely fetch me back ? " 
 
 "Here, Master Will Shakspere," called the Admiral's 
 player ; "I am to fetch the boy to Carew in Newgate on 
 an urgent matter. My name is Jones Dick Jones, of 
 Henslowe's company. Burbage knows me. I '11 bring 
 him back." 
 
 Master Shakspere nodded, reading on; and Burbage 
 waved his hand, impatient of interruption. Nick arose 
 and went with Jones. 
 
 As they came up Newgate street to the crossing of Gilt-
 
 THE LAST OF GASTON CAREW 233 
 
 spur and the Old Bailey, the black arch of the ancient gate 
 loomed grimly against the sky, its squinting window-slits 
 peering down like the eyes of an old ogre. The bell of St. 
 Sepulchre's was tolling, and there was a crowd about the 
 door, which opened, letting out a black cart in which was 
 a priest praying and a man in irons going to be hanged 
 on Tyburn Hill. His sweating face was ashen gray ; and 
 when the cart came to the church door they gave him 
 mockingly a great bunch of fresh, Bright flowers. Nick 
 could not bear to watch. 
 
 The turnkey at the prison gate was a crop-headed fellow 
 with jowls like a bulldog, and no more mercy in his face 
 than a chopping-block. " Graston Carew, the player?" he 
 growled. " Ye can't come in without a permit from the 
 warden." 
 
 " We must," said Jones. 
 
 "Must?" said the turnkey. "I am the only one who 
 says ' must ' in Newgate ! " and slammed the door in their 
 faces. 
 
 The player clinked a shilling on the bar. 
 
 " It was a boy he said would come," growled the turnkey 
 through the wicket, pocketing the shilling ; " so just the 
 boy goes up. A shilling's worth, ye mind, and not another 
 wink." He drew Nick in, and dropped the bars. 
 
 It was a foul, dark place, and full of evil smells. Drops 
 of water stood on the cold stone walls, aod a green mould 
 crept along the floor. The air was heavy and dank, and 
 it began to be hard for Nick to breathe. The men in the 
 dungeons were singing a horrible song, and in the corner
 
 234 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 was a half -naked fellow shackled to the floor. " Give me 
 a penny," he said, " or I will curse thee." Nick shuddered. 
 
 " Up with thee," said the turnkey, gruffly, unlocking the 
 door to the stairs. 
 
 The common room above was packed with miserable 
 wretches, fighting, dancing, gibbering like apes. Some 
 were bawling ribald songs, others moaning with fever. 
 The strongest kept the window-ledges near light and air 
 by sheer main force, and were dicing on the dirty sill. 
 The turnkey pushed and banged his way through them, 
 Nick clinging desperately to his jerkin. 
 
 In a cell at the end of the corridor there was a Spanish 
 renegade who cursed the light when the door was opened, 
 and cursed the darkness when it closed. " Cesare el Moro, 
 Cesare el Moro," he was saying over and over again to 
 himself, as if he feared that he might forget his own 
 name. 
 
 Carew was in the middle cell, ironed hand and foot. 
 He had torn his sleeves and tucked the lace under the 
 rough edges of the metal to keep it from chafing the skin. 
 He sat on a pile of dirty straw, with his face in his folded 
 arms upon his knees. By his side was a broken biscuit 
 and an empty stone jug. He had his fingers in his ears 
 to shut out the tolling of the knell for the man who had 
 gone to be hanged. 
 
 The turnkey shook the bars. " Here, wake up ! " he said. 
 
 Carew looked up. His eyes were swollen, and his face 
 was covered with a two days' beard. He had slept in his 
 clothes, and they were full of broken straw and creases.
 
 THE LAST OF GASTON CAREW 235 
 
 But his haggard face lit up when he saw the boy, and he 
 came to the grating with an eager exclamation: "And 
 thou hast truly cornel To the man thou dost hate so 
 bitterly, but wilt not hate any more. Come, Nick, thou 
 wilt not hate me any more. 'T will not be worth thy 
 while, Nick; the night is coming fast." 
 
 " Why, sir," said Nick, "it is not so dark outside t is 
 scarcely noon ; and thou wilt soon be out" 
 
 "Out? Ay, on Tyburn Hill," said the master-player, 
 quietly. " I 've spent my whole life for a bit of hempen 
 cord. I ; ve taken my last cue. Last night, at twelve 
 o'clock, I heard the bellman under the prison walls call 
 my name with the names of those already condemned. 
 The play is nearly out, Nick, and the people will be going 
 home. It has been a wild play, Nick, and ill played." 
 
 " Here, if ye Ve anything to say, be saying it," said the 
 turnkey. " 'T is a shilling's worth, ye mind." 
 
 Carew lifted up his head in the old haughty way, and 
 clapped his shackled hand to his hip they had taken his 
 poniard when he came into the gaol. A queer look came 
 over his face; taking his hand away, he wiped it hur- 
 riedly upon his jerkin. There were dark stains upon the 
 silk. 
 
 " Ye sent for me, sir," said Nick. 
 
 Carew passed his hand across his brow. "Yes, yes, I 
 sent for thee. I have something to tell thee, Nick." He 
 hesitated, and looked through the bars at the boy, as if to 
 read his thoughts. " Thou 'It be good and true to Cicely 
 thou 'It deal fairly with my girl! Why, surely, yea."
 
 236 MASTEE SKYLAEK 
 
 He paused again, as if irresolute. " I '11 trust thee, Nick. 
 We Ve taken money, thou and I ; good gold and silver 
 tsst ! what 's that ? " He stopped suddenly. 
 
 Nick heard no sound but the Spaniard's cursing. 
 
 " 'T is my fancy," Carew said. " Well, then, we 've taken 
 much good money, Nick; and I have not squandered all 
 of it. Hark 'e thou knowest the old oak wainscot in the 
 dining-hall, and the carven panel by the Spanish chest? 
 Good, then ! Upon the panel is a cherubin, and tsst ! 
 what 's that, I say ? " 
 
 There was a stealthy rustling in the right-hand cell. 
 The fellow in it had his ear pressed close against the bars. 
 " He is listening," said Nick. 
 
 The fellow cursed and shook his fist, and then, when 
 Master Carew dropped his voice and would have gone on 
 whispering, set up so loud a howling and clanking of his 
 chains that the lad could not make out one word the 
 master-player said. 
 
 " Peace, thou dog ! " cried Carew, and kicked the grat- 
 ing. But the fellow only yelled the louder. 
 
 Carew looked sorely troubled. "I dare not let him 
 hear," said he. " The very walls of Newgate leak." 
 
 " Yah, yah, yah, thou gallows-bird ! " 
 
 "Yet I must teU thee, Nick." 
 
 " Yah, yah, dangle-rope ! " 
 
 " Stay ! would Will Shakspere come ? Why, here, I '11 
 send him word. He '11 come Will Shakspere never bore 
 a grudge ; and I shall so soon go where are no grudges, 
 envy, storms, or noise, but silence and the soft lap of ever-
 
 THE LAST OF GASTON CAEEW 237 
 
 lasting sleep. He '11 come Nick, bid hin> come, upon his 
 life, to the Old Bailey when I am taken up." 
 
 Nick nodded. It was strange to have his master beg. 
 
 Carew was looking up at a thin streak of light that came 
 in through the narrow window at the stair. " Nick," said 
 he, huskily, " last night I dreamed I heard thee singing ; 
 but 't was where there was a sweet, green field and a stream 
 flowing through a little wood. Methought 't was on the 
 road past Warwick toward Coventry. Thou 'It go there 
 some day and remember Gaston Carew, wilt not, lad? 
 And, Nick, for thine own mother's sake, do not altogether 
 hate him ; he was not so bad a man as he might easily 
 have been." 
 
 " Come," growled the turnkey, who was pacing up and 
 down like a surly bear ; " have done. 'T is a fat shilling's 
 worth." 
 
 " 'T was there I heard thee sing first, Nick," said Carew, 
 holding to the boy's hands through the bars. " I '11 never 
 hear thee sing again." 
 
 " Why, sir, I '11 sing for thee now," said Nick, choking. 
 
 The turnkey was coming back when Nick began sud- 
 denly to sing. He looked up, staring. Such a thing dura- 
 founded him. He had never heard a song like that in 
 Newgate. There were rules in prison. " Here, here," he 
 cried, " be still ! " But Nick sang on. 
 
 The groaning, quarreling, and cursing were silent all at 
 once. The guard outside, who had been sharpening his 
 pike upon the window-ledge, stopped the shrieking sound. 
 Silence like a restful sleep fell upon the weary place.
 
 238 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Through dark corridors and down the mildewed stairs the 
 quaint old song went floating as a childhood memory into 
 an old man's dream ; and to Gaston Carew's ear it seemed 
 as if the melody of earth had all been gathered in that 
 little song all but the sound of the voice of his daughter 
 Cicely. 
 
 It ceased, and yet a gentle murmur seemed to steal 
 through the mouldy walls, of birds and flowers, sunlight 
 and the open air, of once-loved mothers, and of long-for- 
 gotten homes. The renegade had ceased his cursing, and 
 was whispering a fragment of a Spanish prayer he had 
 not heard for many a day. 
 
 Carew muttered to himself. "And now old cares are 
 locked in charmed sleep, and new griefs lose their bitter- 
 ness, to hear thee sing to hear thee sing. God bless thee, 
 Nick ! " 
 
 " 'T is three good shillings' worth o' time," the turnkey 
 growled, and fumbled with the keys. "All for one shil- 
 ling, too," said he, and kicked the door-post sulkily. " But 
 a plague, I say, a plague ! 'T is no one's business but mine. 
 I 've a good two shillings' worth in my ears. 'T is thirty 
 year since I ha' heard the like o' that. But what 's a gaol 
 for ? man's delight ? Nay, nay. Here, boy, time 's up ! 
 Come out o' that." But he spoke so low that he scarcely 
 heard himself; and going to the end of the corridor, he 
 marked at random upon the wall. 
 
 " Oh, Nick, I love thee," said the master-player, holding 
 the boy's hands with a bitter grip. " Dost thou not love 
 me just a little ? Come, lad, say that thou lovest me."
 
 " 'WHY. SIR, I tL SING FOR THEE NOW.' SAID NICK. CHOKINO.*
 
 THE LAST OF GASTON CAKEW 239 
 
 "Nay, Master Carew," Nick answered soberly, "I do na 
 love thee, and I will na say I do, sir ; but I pity thee with 
 all my heart. And, sir, if thy being out would keep me 
 stolen, still I think I 'd wish thee out for Cicely. But, 
 Master Carew, do na break my hands." 
 
 The master-player loosed his grasp. " I will not seek 
 to be excused to thee," he said huskily. " I 've prisoned thee 
 as that clod prisons me ; but, Nick, the play is almost out, 
 down comes the curtain on my heels, and thy just blame 
 will find no mark. Yet, Nick, now that I am fast and 
 thou art free, it makes my heart ache to feel that 't was 
 not I who set thee free. Thou canst go when pleaseth 
 thee, and thank me nothing for it. And, Nick, as my sins 
 be forgiven me, I truly meant to set thee free and send 
 thee home. I did, upon my word, and on the remnant of 
 mine honour ! " 
 
 " Time 's good and up, sirs," said the turnkey, coming 
 back. 
 
 Carew thrust his hand into his breast. 
 
 " I must be going, sir," said Nick. 
 
 "Ay, so thou must all things must go. Oh, Nick, be 
 friendly with me now, if thou wert never friendly before. 
 Kiss me, lad. There now thy hand." The master-player 
 clasped it closely in his own, and pressing something into 
 the palm, shut down the fingers over it. " Quick ! Keep 
 it hid," he whispered. " 'T is the chain I had from Strat- 
 ford's burgesses, to some good usage come at last." 
 
 " Must I come and fetch thee out ? " growled the turnkey. 
 
 " I be coming, sir."
 
 240 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " Thou 'It send Will Shakspere ? And, oh, Nick," cried 
 Carew, holding him yet a little longer, "thou 'It keep my 
 Cicely from harm ? " 
 
 " I '11 do my best," said Nick, his own eyes full. 
 
 The turnkey raised his heavy bunch of keys. " I '11 ding 
 thee out o' this," said he. 
 
 And the last Nick Attwood saw of Gaston Carew was 
 his wistful eyes hunting down the stairway after him, and 
 his hand, with its torn fine laces, waving at him through 
 the bars. 
 
 And when he came to the Mermaid Inn Master Shak- 
 spere's comedy was done, and Master Ben Jonson was 
 telling a merry tale that made the tapster sick with 
 laughing.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIH 
 
 CICELY DISAPPEARS 
 
 Master Will Shakspere should be so great 
 JL seemed passing strange to Nick, lie felt so soon at home 
 with him. It seemed as if the master-maker of plays had 
 a magic way of going out to and about the people he met, 
 and of fitting his humor to them as though he were a 
 glover with their measure in his hand. 
 
 With Nick he was nothing all day long but a jolly, wise, 
 and gentle-hearted boy, wearing his greatness like an old 
 cloth coat, as if it were a long-accustomed thing, and quite 
 beyond all pride, and went about his business in a very 
 simple way. But in the evening when the wits were met 
 together at his house, and Nick sat on the hindmost bench 
 and watched the noble gentlemen who came to listen to the 
 sport, Master Will Shakspere seemed to have the knack of 
 being ever best among them all, yet of never too much 
 seeming to be better than the rest. 
 
 And though, for the most part, he said but little, save 
 when some pet fancy moved him, when he did speak his 
 conversation sparkled like a little meadow brook that 
 u 241
 
 242 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 drew men's best thoughts out of them like water from a 
 spring. 
 
 And when they fell to bantering, he could turn the fag- 
 end of another man's nothing to good account in a way so 
 shrewd that not even Master Ben Jonson could better him 
 and Master Ben Jonson set up for a wit. But Master 
 Shakspere came about as quickly as an English man-of- 
 war, dodged here and there on a breath of wind, and 
 seemed quite everywhere at once; while Master Jonson 
 tacked and veered, and loomed across the elements like a 
 great galleon, pouring forth learned broadsides with a 
 most prodigious boom, riddling whatever was in the way, 
 to be sure, but often quite missing the point because 
 Master Shakspere had come about, hey, presto, change ! 
 and was off with the argument, point and all, upon a to- 
 tally different tack. 
 
 Then " Tush ! " and " Fie upon thee, Will ! " Master Jon- 
 son would cry with his great bluff-hearted laugh, " thou art 
 a regular flibbertigibbet ! I '11 catch thee napping yet, old 
 heart, and fill thee so full of pepper-holes that thou wilt leak 
 epigrams. But quits I must be home, or I shall catch it 
 from my wife. Faith, Will, thou shouldst see my little Ben ! " 
 
 " I '11 come some day," Master Shakspere would say ; 
 " give him my love " ; and his mouth would smile, though 
 his eyes were sad, for his own son Hamnet was dead. 
 
 Then, when the house was still again, and all had said 
 good-by, Nick doffed his clothes and laid him down to 
 sleep in peace. Yet he often wakened in the night, be- 
 cause his heart was dancing so.
 
 CICELY DISAPPEARS 243 
 
 In the morning, when the world began to stir outside, 
 and the early light came in at the window, he slipped out 
 of bed across the floor, and threw the casement wide. 
 Over the river, and over the town, and over the hills that 
 lay blue in the north, was Stratford ! 
 
 The damp, cool air from the garden below seemed a 
 primrose whiff from the lane behind his father's house. 
 He could hear the cocks crowing in Surrey, and the lowing 
 of the kine. There was a robin singing in a bush under 
 the window, and there was some one in the garden with a 
 pair of priming-shears. Snip-snip ! snip-snip ! he heard 
 them going. The light in the east was pink as a peach- 
 bloom and too intense to bear. 
 
 "Good-morrow, Master Early-bird!" a merry voice 
 called up to him, and a nosegay dropped on the window- 
 ledge at his side. He looked down. There in the path 
 among the rose-trees was Master Will Shakspere, laughing. 
 He had on an ancient leathern jacket and a hat with a hole 
 in its crown ; and the skirts of the jacket were dripping 
 with dew from the bushes. 
 
 "Good-morrow, sir," said Nick, and bowed. "It is a 
 lovely day." 
 
 " Most beautiful indeed ! How comes the sun T " 
 
 " Just up, sir ; the river is afire with it now. O-oh ! " 
 Nick held his breath, and watched the light creep down 
 the wall, darting long bars of rosy gold through the snowy 
 bloom of the apple-trees, until it rested upon Master Shuk- 
 spere's face, and made a fleeting glory there. 
 
 Then Master Shakspere stretched himself a little to U>o
 
 244 MASTER SKYLAEK 
 
 sun, laughing softly, and said, " It is the sweetest music in 
 the world morning, spring, and God's dear sunshine ; it 
 starteth kindness brewing in the heart, like sap in a 
 withered bud. What sayest, lad ? We '11 fetch the little 
 maid to-day ; and then away for Stratford town ! " 
 
 Bur when Master Shakspere and Nicholas Attwood 
 came to Gaston Carew's house, the constables had taken 
 charge, the servants were scattering hither and thither, 
 and Cicely Carew was gone. 
 
 The bandy-legged man, the butler said, had come on 
 Sunday in great haste, and packing up his goods, without 
 a word of what had befallen his master, had gone away, 
 no one knew whither, and had taken Cicely with him. Nor 
 had they questioned what he did, for they all feared the 
 rogue, and judged him to have authority. 
 
 Nick caught a moment at the lintel of the door. The 
 house was full of voices, and the sound of trampling feet 
 went up and down from room to room ; but all he heard 
 was Gaston Carew's worn voice saying, " Thou 'It keep my 
 Cicely from harm ? "
 
 CHAPTER XXXTV 
 
 THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN 
 
 TTTNTTL night fell they sought the town over for a 
 \^J trace of Cicely ; but all to no avail The second day 
 likewise. 
 
 The third day passed, and still there were no tidings. 
 Master Shakspere's face grew very grave, and Nick's 
 heart sickened till he quite forgot that he was going 
 home. 
 
 But on the morning of the fourth day, which chanced 
 to be the 1st of May, as he was standing in the door of a 
 printer's stall in St. Paul's Churchyard, watching the gaily 
 dressed holiday crowds go up and down, while Robin 
 Dexter*s apprentices bound white-thorn boughs about the 
 brazen serpent overhead, he spied the bandy-legged man 
 among the rout that passed the north gate by St. Martin's 
 le Grand. 
 
 He had a yellow ribbon in his ear, and wore a bright 
 plum-colored cloak, at sight of which Nick cried aloud, 
 for it was the very cloak which Master Gaston Carew wore 
 when he first met him in the Warwick road. The rogue 
 
 245
 
 246 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 was making for the way which ran from Cheapside to the 
 river, and was walking very fast. 
 
 " Master Shakspere ! Master Shakspere ! " Nick called 
 out. But Master Shakspere was deep in the proofs of a 
 newly published play, and did not hear. 
 
 The yellow ribbon fluttered in the sun was gone be- 
 hind the churchyard wall. 
 
 " Quick, Master Shakspere ! quick ! " Nick cried ; but the 
 master- writer frowned at the inky page ; for the light in 
 the printer's shop was dim, and the proof was very bad. 
 
 The ribbon was gone down the river- way and with it 
 the hope of finding Cicely. Nick shot one look into the 
 stall. Master Shakspere, deep in his proofs, was deaf to 
 the world outside. Nick ran to the gate at the top of his 
 speed. In the crowd afar off a yellow spot went fluttering 
 like a butterfly along a country road. Without a single 
 second thought, he followed it as fast as his legs could go. 
 
 Twice he lost it in the throng. But the yellow patch 
 bobbed up again in the sunlight far beyond, and led him 
 on, and on, and on, a breathless chase, down empty lanes 
 and alley-ways, through unfrequented courts, among the 
 warehouses and wharf -sheds along the river-front, into the 
 kennels of Billingsgate, where the only sky was a ragged 
 slit between the leaning roofs. His heart sank low and 
 lower as they went, for only thieves and runagates who 
 dared not face the day in honest streets were gathered 
 in wards like these. 
 
 In a filthy purlieu under Fish-street Hill, where mack- 
 erel-heads and herrings strewed the drains, and sour kits
 
 THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN 247 
 
 of whitebait stood fermenting in the sun, the bandy-legged 
 man turned suddenly into a dingy court, and when Nick 
 reached the corner of the entry-way was gone as though 
 the earth had swallowed him. 
 
 Nick stopped dismayed, and looked about. His fore- 
 head was wet and his breath was gone. He had no idea 
 where they were, but it was a dismal hole. Six forbidding 
 doorways led off from the unkempt court, and a rotting 
 stairway sagged along the wall. A crop-eared dog, that 
 lay in the sun beside a broken cart, sprang up with its 
 hair all pointing to its head, and snarled at him with a 
 vicious grin. " Begone, thou cur ! " he cried, and let drive 
 with a stone. The dog ran under the cart, and crouched 
 there barking at him. 
 
 Through an open door beyond there came a sound of 
 voices as of people in some further thoroughfare. Per- 
 chance the bandy-legged man had passed that wayf 
 He ran across the court, and up the steps ; but came back 
 faster than he went, for the passageway there was blind 
 and black, a place unspeakable for dirt, and filled with 
 people past description. A woman peered out after him 
 with red eyes blinking in the sun. "Ods bobs!" she 
 croaked, " a pretty thing ! Come hither, knave ; I want 
 the buckle off thy cloak." 
 
 Nick, shuddering, started for the street. But just as he 
 reached the entry-port a door in the courtyard opened, and 
 the bandy-legged man came out with a bag upon his back, 
 leading Cicely by the hand. 
 
 Seeing Nick, he gave a cry, believing himself pursued,
 
 248 MASTER SKYLAEK 
 
 and made for the open door again ; but almost instantly 
 perceiving the boy to be alone, slammed shut the door 
 and followed him instead, dragging Cicely over the stones, 
 and shouting hoarsely, " Stop there ! stop ! " 
 
 Nick's heart came up in his very throat. His legs went 
 water-weak. He ran for the open thoroughfare without 
 once looking back. Yet while he ran he heard Cicely crv 
 out suddenly in pain, "Oh, Gregory, Gregory, thou art 
 hurting me so ! " and at the sound the voice of Gaston 
 Carew rang like a bugle in his ears : " Thou 'It keep my 
 Cicely from harm?" He stopped as short as if he had 
 butted his head against a wall, whirled on his heel, stood 
 fast, though he was much afraid ; and standing there, his 
 head thrown back and his fists tight clenched, as if some 
 one had struck him in the face, he waited until they came 
 to where he was. " Thou hulking, cowardly rogue ! " said 
 he to the bandy-legged man. 
 
 But the bandy-legged man caught him fast by the arm, 
 and hurried on into the street, scanning it swiftly up and 
 down. " Two birds with one stone, by hen ! " he chuckled, 
 when he saw that the coast was clear. " They '11 fetch a 
 pretty penny by and by." 
 
 Poor Cicely smiled through her tears at Nick. " I knew 
 thou wouldst come for me soon," said she. " But where 
 is my father f " 
 
 " He 's dead as a herring," snarled Gregory. 
 
 " That 's a lie," said Nick ; " he is na dead." 
 
 "Don't call me liar, knave by hen, I '11 put a stopper 
 on thy voice ! "
 
 THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN 249 
 
 " Thou wilt na put a stopper on a jug ! " cried Nick, his 
 heart so hot for Cicely that he quite forgot himself. " I 'd 
 sing so well without a voice it would butter thy bread 
 for thee ! Loose my arm, thou rogue." 
 
 " Not for a thousand golden crowns ! I 'm no tom- 
 noddy, to be gulled. And, hark 'e, be less glib with that 
 'rogue' of thine, or I '11 baste thy back for thee." 
 
 u Oh, don't beat Nick ! " gasped Cicely. 
 
 " Do na fret for me," said Nick ; " I be na feared of the 
 cowardly rogue ! " 
 
 Crack ! the man struck him across the face. Nick's eyes 
 flashed hot as a fire-coal. He set his teeth, but he did not 
 flinch. " Do na thou strike me again, thou rogue ! " said 
 he. 
 
 As he spoke, on a sudden his heart leaped up and his 
 fear was utterly gone. In its place was a something fierce 
 and strange a bitter gladness, a joy that stung and 
 thrilled him like great music in the night. A tingling ran 
 from head to foot ; the little hairs of his flesh stood up ; 
 he trampled the stones as he hurried on. In his breast 
 his heart was beating like a bell ; his breath came hotly, 
 deep and slow ; the whole world widened on his gaze. Oh, 
 what a thing is the heart of a boy ! how quickly great 
 things are done therein ! One instant, put him to the touch 
 the thing is done, and he is nevermore the same. Like 
 a keen, cold wind that blows through a window in the 
 night, life's courage had breathed on Nick Attwood's 
 heart ; the man that slept in the heart of the boy awoke 
 and was aware. The old song roared in Nick's ears :
 
 250 MASTEE SKYLAEK 
 
 Sir Francis Drake sailed round the world, 
 Round the world, round the world ; 
 
 John Hawkins fought the " Victory," 
 And we ha' beaten Spain ! 
 
 Whither they were going he did not know. Whither 
 they were going he did not care. He was English : this 
 was England still ! He set his teeth and threw back his 
 shoulders. " I be na feared of him ! " said he. 
 
 " But my father will come for us soon, won't he, Nick ? " 
 faltered Cicely. 
 
 " Eigh ! just don't he wish that he might ! " laughed 
 Goole. 
 
 " Oh, ay," said she, and nodded bravely to herself ; " he 
 may be very busy now, and so he cannot come. But 
 presently he will come for me and fetch me home again." 
 She gave a joyous little skip. " To fetch me home again 
 ay, surely, my father will come for me anon." 
 
 A lump came up in Nick Attwood's throat. " But what 
 hath he done to thee, Cicely, and where is thy pretty 
 gown ? " he asked, as they hurried on through the crooked 
 way ; for the gown she wore was in rags. 
 
 Cicely choked down a sob. " He hath kept me locked 
 up in a horrible place, where an old witch came in the 
 night and stole my clothes away. And he says that if 
 money doth not come for me soon he will turn me out to 
 starve." 
 
 " To starve ? Nay, Cicely ; I will na leave thee starve. 
 I '11 go with thee wherever he taketh thee ; I '11 fend for 
 thee with all my might and main, and none shall harm
 
 "'DO NA THOU STRIKE ME AUA1.V THOU SOOVX- bAID NICK
 
 THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN 251 
 
 thee if I can help. So cheer up we will get away ! Thou 
 needst na gripe me so, thou rogue ; I am going wherever 
 she goes." 
 
 " I '11 see that ye do," growled the bandy-legged man. 
 " But take the other hand of her, thou jackanapes, and 
 fetch a better pace than this I '11 not be followed again." 
 
 His tone was bold, but his eyes were not ; for they were 
 faring through the slums toward Whitechapel way, and 
 the hungry crowd eyed Nick's silk cloak greedily. One 
 burly rascal with a scar across his face turned back and 
 snatched at it. For his own safety's sake, the bandy- 
 legged man struck up into a better thoroughfare, where 
 he skulked along like a fox overtaken by dawn, fearing 
 to meet some dog he knew. 
 
 " Oh, Gregory, go slow ! " pleaded Cicely, panting for 
 breath, and stumbling over the cobblestones. Goole's only 
 answer was a scowl. Nick trotted on sturdily, holding 
 her hand, and butting his shoulder against the crowd so 
 that she might not be jostled ; for the press grew thick 
 and thicker as they went. All London was a-Maying, and 
 the foreigners from Soho, too. Up in the belfries, as they 
 passed, the bells were clanging until the whole town rang 
 like a smithy on the eve of war, for madcap apprentices 
 had the ropes, and were ringing for exercise. 
 
 Thicker and thicker grew the throng, as though the sea 
 were sweeping through the town. Then, at the corner of 
 Mincing Lane, where the cloth- workers' shops were thick, 
 all at once there came an uproarious din of men's voices 
 singing together :
 
 252 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 * Three merry boys, and three merry boys, 
 
 And three merry boys are we, 
 As ever did sing in a hempen string 
 Beneath the gallows-tree ! " 
 
 And before the bandy-legged man could chance upon a 
 doorway in which to stand out of the rush, they were 
 pressed against the wall flat as cakes by a crowd of bold 
 apprentices in holiday attire going out to a wager of arch- 
 ery to be shot in Finsbury Fields. 
 
 At first all Nick could see was legs : red legs, yellow legs, 
 blue legs, green legs, long legs, strong legs in truth, a 
 very many of all sorts of legs, all stepping out together 
 like a hundred-bladed shears ; for these were the Saddlers 
 of Cheapside and the Cutters of Mincing Lane, tall, ruddy- 
 faced fellows, all armed with clubs, which they twirled 
 and tossed and thwacked one another with in sport. Some 
 wore straw hats with steeple-crowns, and some flat caps 
 of green and white, or red and orange-tawny. Some had 
 long yew bows and sheaves of arrows decked with gar- 
 lands ; and they were all exceedingly daubed in the face 
 with dripping cherry-juice and with cheese, which they 
 munched as they strode along. 
 
 " What, there, Tom Webster, I say," cried one, catching 
 sight of Cicely's face, " here is a Queen o' the May for 
 thee ! " 
 
 His broad-shouldered comrade stopped in the way, and 
 with him all the rest. " My faith, Jem Armstrong, 't is 
 the truth, for once in thy life ! " quoth he, and stared at 
 Cicely. Her cheeks were flushed, and her panting red lips
 
 THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN 258 
 
 were fallen apart so that her little white teeth showed 
 through. Her long, dark lashes cast shadow circles under 
 her eyes. Her curly hair in elfin locks tossed all about 
 her face, and through it was tied a crimson ribbon, mock- 
 ing the quick color of the blood which came and went 
 beneath her delicate skin. " My faith ! " cried Tommy 
 Webster, "her face be as fair as a K in a copy-book ! Hey, 
 bullies, what ? let 's make her queen ! " 
 
 " A queen ? " " What queen ? " " Where is a queen ? " 
 " I granny ! Tom Webster hath catched a queen !" " Where 
 is she, Tom?" "Up with her, mate, and let a fellow 
 see." 
 
 "Hands off, there!" snarled the bandy-legged man. 
 
 "Up with her, Tom ! " cried out the strapping fellow at 
 his back. " A queen it is ; and a right good smacking toll 
 all round I have not bussed a maid this day ! Up with 
 her, Tom ! " 
 
 " Stand back, ye rogues, and let us pass ! " 
 
 But alas and alack for the bandy-legged man ! He could 
 not ruffle and swagger it off as Gaston Carew had done 
 of old; a London apprentice was harder nuts than his 
 cowardly heart could crack. 
 
 " Stand back, ye rogues ! " he cried again. 
 
 " Rogues ? Rogues ? Who calls us rogues t Hi, Mar- 
 tin Allston, crack me his crown ! " 
 
 " Good masters," faltered Gregory, seeing that bluster 
 would not serve, " I meant ye no offense. I pr'ythee, do 
 not keep a father and his children from their dying 
 mother's bed 1 "
 
 254 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 "Nay is that so?" asked Webster, sobering instantly. 
 "Here, lads, give way their mother be a-dying." 
 
 The crowd fell back. " Ah, sirs," whined Goole, scarce 
 hiding the joy in his face, "she '11 thank ye with her 
 dying breath. Get on, thou knave ! " he muttered fiercely 
 in Nick's ear. 
 
 But Nick stood fast, and caught Tom Webster by the 
 arm. "The fellow lieth in his throat," said he. "My 
 mother is in Stratford town; and Cicely's mother is 
 dead." 
 
 " Thou whelp ! " cried the bandy-legged man, and aimed 
 a sudden blow at Nick, "I '11 teach thee to hold thy 
 tongue." 
 
 " Oh, no, ye won't," quoth Thomas Webster, interposing 
 his long oak staff, and thrusting the fellow away so hard 
 that he thumped against the wall ; " there is no school on 
 holidays ! Thou 'It teach nobody here to hold his tongue 
 but thine own self and start at that straightway. Dost 
 take me? say? Now, Jacky Sprat, what 's all the coil 
 about ? Hath this sweet fellow kidnapped thee ? " 
 
 " Nay, sir, not me, but Cicely ; and do na leave him take 
 her, sir, for he treats her very ill ! " 
 
 "The little rascal lies," sneered Goole, though his lips 
 were the color of lead ; " I am her legal guardian ! " 
 
 " What ! How ? Thou wast her father but a moment 
 since ! " 
 
 "Nay, nay," Goole stammered, turning a sickly hue; 
 " her father's nearest friend, I said, he gave her in my 
 charge."
 
 THE BANDY-LEGOED MAN 255 
 
 " My father's friend !" cried Cicely. "Thou? Thou! 
 His common groom ! Why, he would not give my finger 
 in thy charge." 
 
 " He is the wiser daddy, then ! " laughed Jemmy Arm- 
 strong, "for the fellow hath a T for Tyburn writ upon 
 his face." 
 
 The eyes of the bandy-legged man began to shift from 
 side to side ; but still he put a bold front on. " Stand off ," 
 said he, and tried to thrust Tom Webster back. " Thou 'It 
 pay the piper dear for this ! The knave is a lying vaga- 
 bond. He hath stolen this pack of goods." 
 
 " Why, fie for shame ! " cried Cicely, and stamped her 
 little foot. " Nick doth not steal, and thou knowest it, 
 Gregory Goole! It is thou who hast stolen my pretty 
 clothes, and the wine from my father's house ! " 
 
 " Good, sweetheart ! " quoth Tom Webster, eying the 
 bandy-legged man with a curious snap in his honest eyes. 
 "So the rascal hath stolen other things than theef I 
 thought that yellow bow of his was tied tremendous high f 
 Why, mates, the dog is a branded rogue that ribbon is 
 tied through the hole in his ear ! " 
 
 Gregory Goole made a dash through the throng where 
 the press was least. 
 
 Thump ! went Tommy Webster's club, and a little puff 
 of dust went up from Gregory's purple cloak. But he 
 was off so sharply, and dodged with such amazing skill, 
 that most of the blows aimed at his head hummed through 
 the empty air, or thwacked some stout apprentice in the 
 ribs as they all went whooping after him. He was ont
 
 256 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 of the press and away like a deer down a covert lane be- 
 tween two shops ere one could say, "Jack, Robin's son," 
 and left the stout apprentices at every flying leap. So 
 presently they all gave over the chase, and came back with 
 the bag he had dropped as he ran ; and were so well pleased 
 with themselves for what they had done that they gave 
 three cheers for all the Cloth-workers and Saddlers in 
 London, and then three more for Cicely and Nick. They 
 would no doubt have gone right on and given three for 
 the bag likewise, being strongly in the humor of it ; but 
 " Hi, Tom Webster ! " shouted one who could hardly speak 
 for cherries and cheese and puffing, " what 's gone with 
 the queen we 're to have so fast, and the toll that we 're 
 to take?" 
 
 Tom "Webster pulled at his yellow beard, for he saw 
 that Cicely was no common child, and of gentler birth 
 than they. " I do not think she '11 bide the toll," said he, 
 in half apology. 
 
 " What ! is there anything to pay ? " she asked with a 
 rueful quaver in her voice. " Oh, Nick, there is to pay ! " 
 
 " We have no money, sirs," said Nick ; " I be very 
 sorry." 
 
 " If my father were here," said Cicely, " he would give 
 thee a handful of silver; but I have not a penny to my 
 name." She looked up into Tom Webster's face. " But, 
 sir," said she, and laid her hand upon his arm, " if ye care, 
 I will kiss thee upon the cheek." 
 
 " Why, marry come up ! My faith ! " quoth he, and 
 suddenly blushed to his own surprise the most of all
 
 THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN 257 
 
 "why, what? Who M want a sweeter penny for his 
 pains?" But "Here nay, nay!" the others cried; 
 "ye Ve left us out. Fair play, fair play!" 
 
 All Cicely could see was a forest of legs that filled the 
 lane from wall to wall, and six great fellows towering over 
 her. " Why, sirs," cried she, confusedly, while her face 
 grew rosy red, " ye all shall kiss my hand if if " 
 
 " If what ? " they roared. 
 
 " If ye will but wipe your faces clean." 
 
 At the shout of laughter they sent up the constable of 
 the cloth-men's ward awoke from a sudden dream of war 
 and bloody insurrection, and came down Cheapside bawl- 
 ing, " Peace, in the name of the Queen ! " But when he 
 found it was only the apprentices of Mincing Lane out 
 Maying, he stole away around a shop, and made as if it 
 were some other fellow. 
 
 They took the humor of it like a jolly lot of bears, and 
 all came crowding round about, wiping their mouths on 
 what came first, with a lick and a promise, kerchief, doub- 
 let, as it chanced, laughing, and shouldering each to be 
 first. " Up with the little maid there, Tom ! " they roared 
 lustily. 
 
 Cicely gave him both her hands, and "Upsydaisy!" 
 she was on the top of the corner post, where she stood 
 with one hand on his brawny shoulder to steady herself, 
 like a flower growing by a wall, bowing gravely all about, 
 and holding out her hand to be kissed with as graceful an 
 air as a princess born, and withal a sweet, quaint dignity 
 that abashed the wildest there.
 
 258 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 Some one or two came blustering as if her hand were 
 not enough; but Jemmy Armstrong rapped them so 
 sharply over the pate, with " Soft, ye loons, her hand ! " 
 that they dabbed at her little finger-tips, and were out of 
 his reach in a jiffy, rubbing their polls with a sheepish 
 grin; for Jemmy Armstrong's love-pats would have 
 cracked a hazelnut. 
 
 Some came again a second time. One came even a third. 
 But Cicely knew him by his steeple-hat, and tucked her 
 hand behind her, saying, " Fie, sir, thou art greedy ! n 
 Whereupon the others laughed and punched him in the 
 ribs with their clubs, until he bellowed, " Quits ! We '11 
 all be late to the archery if we be not trotting on." 
 
 Nick's face fell at the merry shout of " Finsbury, Fins- 
 bury, ho ! " "I dare na try to take her home alone," said 
 he ; " that rogue may lie in wait for us." 
 
 " Oh, Nick, he is not coming back ? " cried Cicely ; and 
 with that she threw her arms around Tom Webster's neck. 
 " Oh, take us with thee, sir don't leave us all alone ! " 
 
 Webster pulled his yellow beard. "Nay, lass, it would 
 not do," said he ; "we '11 be mad larks by evening. But 
 there, sweetheart, don't weep no more ! That rogue shall 
 not catch thee again, I promise that." 
 
 "Why, Tom," quoth Armstrong, "what 's the coil? 
 We '11 leave them at the Boar's Head Inn with sixpence 
 each until their friends can come for them. Hey, mates, 
 up Great East Cheap ! " And off they marched to the 
 Boar's Head Inn.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 \ 
 
 A SUDDEN RESOLVE 
 
 NICK and Cicely were sitting on a bench in the sun 
 beside the tap-room door, munching a savory mutton- 
 pie which Tommy Webster had bought for them Beside 
 them over the window-sill the tapster twirled his spigot 
 cheerfully, and in the door the carrier was bidding the 
 serving-maids good-by. 
 
 Around fee iim-yard stood a row of heavy, canvas- 
 covered wains and lumbering two-wheeled carts, each sur- 
 mounted by a well-armed guard, and drawn by six strong 
 horses with harness stout as cannon-leathers. Th e hostlers 
 stood at the horses' heads, chewing at wisps of barley-straw 
 as though their other fare was scant, which, from their 
 sleek rotundity, was difficult to believe. The stable-boy, 
 with a pot of slush, and a head of hair like a last year's 
 haycock, was hastily greasing a forgotten wheel ; while, 
 out of the room where the servants ate, the drivers came 
 stumbling down the steps with a mighty smell of onions 
 and brawn. The weekly train from London into the north 
 was ready to be off. 
 
 259
 
 260 MASTER SKYLAEK 
 
 A portly, well-clad countryman, with a shrewd but good- 
 humored countenance, and a wife beside him round and 
 rosy of face as he, came bustling out of the private door. 
 " How far yet, Master John ? " he asked as he buckled on 
 his cloak. " Forty-two miles to Oxford, sir," replied the 
 carrier. "We must be off if we 're to lie at Uxbridge 
 overnight ; for there hath been rain beyond, sir, and the 
 roads be werry deep." 
 
 Nick stared at the man for Oxford. Forty-two miles 
 to Oxford ! And Oxford lay to the south of Stratford 
 fifty miles and two. Ninety-four miles from Stratford 
 town ! Ninety-four miles from home ! 
 
 " When will my father come for us, Nick ? " asked Cicely, 
 turning her hand in the sun to see the red along the edges 
 of her fingers. 
 
 " Indeed, I can na tell," said Nick ; " Master Will Shak- 
 spere is coming anon, and I shall go with him." 
 
 " And leave me by myself ? " 
 
 " Nay ; thou shalt go, too. Thou 'It love to see his gar- 
 den and the rose-treesit is like a very country place. 
 He is a merry gentleman, and, oh, so kind ! He is going 
 to take me home." 
 
 " But my father will take us home when he comes." 
 
 " To Stratford town, I mean.". 
 
 " Away from daddy and me ? Why, Nick ! " 
 
 " But my mother is in Stratford town." 
 
 Cicely was silent. " Then I think I would go, too," she 
 said quite softly, looking down as if there were a picture 
 on the ground. " When one's mother is gone there is a
 
 A SUDDEN EESOLVE 261 
 
 hurting-place that nought doth ever come into any more 
 excepting daddy, and and thee. We shall miss thee, 
 Nick, at supper-times. Thou 'It come back soon ? " 
 
 " I am na coming back." 
 
 " Not coming back ? " She laid the mutton-pie down on 
 the bench. 
 
 "No I am na coming back." 
 
 "Never?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 She looked at him as if she had not altogether under- 
 stood. 
 
 Nick turned away. A strange uneasiness had come 
 upon him, as if some one were staring at him fixedly. 
 But no one was. There was a Dutchman in the gate who 
 had not been there just before. "He must have sprung 
 up out of the ground," thought Nick, " or else he is a very 
 sudden Dutchman ! " He had on breeches like two great 
 meal-sacks, and a Flemish sea-cloth jacket full of wrinkles, 
 as if it had been lying in a chest. His back was turned, 
 and Nick could not help smiling, for the fellow's shanks 
 came out of his breeches' bottoms like the legs of a letter A. 
 He looked like a pudding on two skewers. 
 
 Cicely slowly took up the mutton-pie once more, but 
 did not eat. " Is na the pasty good ? " asked Nick. 
 
 " Not now," said she. 
 
 Nick turned away again. 
 
 The Dutchman was not in the gate. He had crossed 
 the inn-yard suddenly, and was sitting close within the 
 shadow of the wall, though the sunny side was pleasauter
 
 262 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 by far. His wig was hanging down about his face, and 
 he was talking with the tapster's knave, a hungry-looking 
 fellow clad in rusty black as if some one were dead, al- 
 though it was a holiday and he had neither kith nor kin. 
 The knave was biting his under lip and staring straight 
 at Nick. 
 
 " And will I never see thee more ? " asked Cicely. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Nick ; " oh, yes." 
 
 But he did not know whether she ever would or no. 
 
 "Gee-wup, Dobbin! Yoicks, Ned! Tschk tschk ! 
 The leading cart rolled slowly through the gate. A sec- 
 ond followed it. The drivers made a cracking with their 
 whips, and all the guests came out to see them off. But 
 the Dutchman, as the rest came out, arose, and with the 
 tapster's knave went in at a narrow entrance beyond the 
 tap-room steps. 
 
 "And when will Master Shakspere come for thee?" 
 asked Cicely once more, the cold pie lying in her lap. 
 
 "I do na know. How can I tell? Do na bother me 
 so ! " cried Nick, and dug his heels into the cracks between 
 the paving-stones; for after all that had come to pass 
 the starting of the baggage-train had made him sick for 
 home. 
 
 Cicely looked up at him ; she thought she had not heard 
 aright. He was staring after the last cart as it rolled 
 through the inn-yard gate ; his throat was working, and 
 his eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " Why, Nick ! " said she, " art crying ? " 
 
 " Nay," said he, " but very near," and dashed his hand
 
 A SUDDEN RESOLVE 263 
 
 across his face. "Everything doth happen so all-at-once 
 and I am na big enough, Cicely. Oh, Cicely, I would I 
 were a mighty king I 'd make it all up different some- 
 how ! " 
 
 " Perhaps thou wilt be some day, Nick," she answered 
 quietly. " Thou 'Idst make a very lovely king. I could 
 be queen ; and daddy should be Lord Admiral, and own 
 the finest play-house in the town." 
 
 But Nick was staring at the tap-room door. A voice 
 somewhere had startled him. The guests were gone, and 
 none was left but the tapster's knave leaning against the 
 inner wall. 
 
 "Thy mother should come to live with us, and thy 
 father, and all thy kin," said Cicely, dreamily smiling ; "and 
 the people would love us, there would be no more war, and 
 we should be happy forevermore." 
 
 But Nick was listening, not to her, and his face was 
 a little pale. He felt a strange, uneasy sense of some one 
 staring at his back. He whirled about looked in at the 
 tap-room window. For an instant a peering face was 
 there ; then it was gone there was only the Dutchman's 
 frowzy wig and striped woolen cap. But the voice he had 
 heard and the face he had seen were the voice and the 
 face of Gregory Goole. 
 
 " I should love to see thy mother, Nick," said Cicely. 
 
 He got up steadily, though his heart was jolting his 
 very ribs. " Thou shalt right speedily ! " said he. 
 
 The carts were standing in a line. The carrier came 
 down the steps with his stirrup-cup in hand. Nick's heart
 
 264 MASTER SKYLAEK 
 
 gave a sudden, wild, resolute leap, and he touched the 
 carrier on the arm. " What will ye charge to carry two 
 as far as Stratford town ? " he asked. His mouth was dry 
 as a dusty road, for the Dutchman had risen from his seat 
 and was coming toward the door. 
 
 " I do na haul past Oxford," said the man. 
 
 " To Oxford, then how much ? Be quick ! " Nick 
 thrust his hand into his breast where he carried the bur- 
 gesses' chain. 
 
 "Eightpence the day, for three days out two shilling 
 't is, and find yourself ; it is an honest fare." 
 
 The tapster's knave came down the steps ; the Dutchman 
 stood within the shadow of the door. 
 
 "Wilt carry us for this?" Nick cried, and thrust the 
 chain into the fellow's hands. 
 
 He gasped and almost let it fall. " Beshrew my heart ! 
 Gadzooks ! " said he, " art thou a prince in hiding, boy ? 
 'T would buy me, horses, wains, and all. Why, man alive, 
 't is but a nip o' this ! " 
 
 " Good, then," said Nick, " 't is done we '11 go. Come, 
 Cicely, we 're going home ! " 
 
 Staring, the carrier followed him, weighing the chain in 
 his hairy hand. "Who art thou, boy?" he cried again. 
 " This matter hath a queer look." 
 
 "'T was honestly come by, sir," cried Nick, no longer 
 able to conceal a quiver in his voice, "and my name is 
 Nicholas Attwood ; I come from Stratford town." 
 
 " Stratford-on-Avon ? Why, art kin to Tanner Simon 
 Attwood there, Attwood of Old Town ? "
 
 A SUDDEN RESOLVE 265 
 
 " He is my father, sir. Oh, leave us go with thee take 
 the whole chain ! " 
 
 Slap went the carrier's cap in the dirt! "Leave thee 
 go wi' me ? Gadzooks ! " he cried, " my name be John 
 Saddler why, what? my daddy liveth in Chapel lane, 
 behind Will Underbill's. I stole thy father's apples fifteen 
 years. What ! go wi' me ? Get on the wain, thou little 
 fool get on all the wains I own, and a plague upon thine 
 eightpence, lad ! Why, here ; Hal telled me thou wert 
 dead, or lost, or some such fairy tale ! Up on the sheep- 
 skin, both o' ye ! " 
 
 The Dutchman came from the tap-room door and spoke 
 to the tapster's knave ; but the words which he spoke to 
 that tapster's knave were anything but Dutch.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 WAYFARING HOME 
 
 AT Kensington watering-place, five miles from Lon- 
 Jl\. don town, Nick held the pail for the horses of the 
 Oxford man. " Hello, my buck ! " quoth he, and stared 
 at Nick; "where under the sun didst pop from all at 
 once ? " and, looking up, spied Cicely upon the carrier's 
 wain. "What, John!" he shouted, "thou saidst there 
 were no more ! a 
 
 " No more there were n't, sir," said John, " but there be 
 now " ; and out with the whole story. 
 
 " Well, I ha' farmed for fifty year," cried honest Roger 
 Clout, "yet never have I seen the mate to yonder little 
 maid, nor heard the like o' such a tale ! Wife, wife ! " he 
 cried, in a voice as round and full of hearty cheer as one 
 who calls his own cattle home across his own fat fields. 
 " Come hither, Moll here 's company for thee. For sure, 
 John, they '11 ride wi' Moll and I; 't is godsend angels 
 on a baggage-cart ! Moll ha' lost her only one, and the 
 little maid will warm the cockles o' her heart, say nought 
 about mine own. La, now, she is na feared o' me ; God 
 
 266
 
 WAYFARING HOME 267 
 
 bless thee, child ! Look at her, Moll as sweet as honey 
 and the cream o' the brindle cow." 
 
 So they rode with kindly Roger Clout and his good wife 
 by Hanwell, Hillingdon Hill, and Uxbridge, where they 
 rested at the inn near old St. Margaret's, Cicely with Mis- 
 tress Clout, and Nick with her good man. And in the 
 morning there was nothing to pay, for Roger Clout had 
 footed all the score. 
 
 Then on again, through Beaconsfleld and High Wy- 
 combe, into and over the Chiltern Hills in Buckingham- 
 shire. In parts the land was passing fair, with sheep in 
 flocks upon the hills, and cattle knee-deep in the grass; 
 but otherwhere the way was wild, with bogs and moss in 
 all the deeps, and dense beech forests on the heights ; and 
 more than once the guards made ready their match-locks 
 warily. But stout John Saddler's train was no soft cakes 
 for thieves, and they came up through Bucks scot-free. 
 
 At times it drizzled fitfully, and the road was rough and 
 bad ; but the third day was a fair, sweet day, and most 
 exceeding bright and fresh. The shepherds whistled on 
 the hills, and the milkmaids sang in the winding lanes 
 among the white-thorn hedges, the smell of which was 
 everywhere. The singing, the merry voices calling, the 
 comfortable lowing of the kine, the bleating of the sheep, 
 the clinking of the bridle-chains, and the heavy ruttle of 
 the carts filled the air with life and cheer. The wind was 
 blowing both warm and cool ; and, oh, the blithe breeze of 
 the English springtime ! Nick went up the green hill* 
 and down the white dells like a leaf in the wind, now
 
 268 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 ahead and now behind the winding train, or off into the 
 woods and over the fields for a posy-bunch for Cicely, 
 calling and laughing back at her, and filling her lap with 
 flowers and ferns until the cart was all one great, sweet- 
 smelling bower. 
 
 As for Cicely, Nick was there, so she was very well con- 
 tent. She had never gone a- visiting in all her life before ; 
 and she would see Nick's mother, and the flowers in the 
 yard, the well, and that wondrous stream, the Avon, of 
 which Nick talked so much. " Stratford is a fair, fair 
 town, though very full of fools," her father often said. 
 But she had nothing to do with the fools, and daddy would 
 come for her again ; so her laughter bubbled like a little 
 spring throughout the livelong day. 
 
 As the sun went down in the yellow west they came into 
 Oxford from the south on the easterly side. The Cher- 
 well burned with the orange light reflected from the sky, 
 and the towers of the famous town of olden schools and 
 scholars stood up black-purple against the western glow, 
 with rims of gold on every roof and spire. 
 
 Up the High street into the corn-market rolled the tired 
 train, and turned into the rambling square of the old 
 Crown Inn near Carfax church, a large, substantial hos- 
 telry, one of merry England's best, clean-chambered, 
 homelike, full of honest cheer. 
 
 There was a shout of greeting everywhere. The hostlers 
 ran to walk the horses till they cooled, and to rub them 
 down before they fed, for they were all afoam. Master 
 Davenant himself saw to the storing of the wains; and
 
 WAYFARING HOME 269 
 
 Mistress Davenant, a comely dame, with smooth brown 
 hair and ruddy cheeks, and no less wit than sprightly 
 grace, was in the porch to meet the company. "Well, 
 good Dame Clout," said she, "art home again T What 
 tales we '11 have ! Didst see Tom Lane ? No ? Pshaw ! 
 But buss me, Moll j we 've missed thy butter parlously." 
 And then quite free she kissed both Nick and Cicely. 
 
 " What, there, Dame Davenant ! " cried Roger Clout, 
 "art passing them around?" and laughed, "Do na forget 
 me." 
 
 " Nay, nay," she answered, " but I 'm out. Here, Nan," 
 she called to the smutty-faced scullery-maid, " a buss for 
 Master Clout; his own Moll's busses be na fine enough 
 since he hath been to town." 
 
 So, joking, laughing, they went in ; while plain John 
 Saddler backed out of the porch as sooty Nan came run- 
 ning up, for fear the jilt might offer somewhat of the sort 
 to him, and was off in haste to see to his teams. " There 's 
 no leaving it to the boys," said he, " for they 'd rub 'em 
 down wi' a water-pail, and give 'em straw to drink." 
 
 When the guests all came to the fourpenny table to sup, 
 Nick spoke to Master Roger Clout. " Ye 've done enough 
 for us, sir ; thank ye with all my heart ; but I Ve a turn 
 will serve us here, and, sir, I 'd rather stand on mine own 
 legs. Ye will na mind ? " And when they all were seated 
 at the board, he rose up stoutly at the end, and called out 
 brave and clear: "Sirs, and good dames all, will ye be 
 pleased to have some music while ye eat ? For, if ye will, 
 the little maid and I will sing you the latest song from
 
 270 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 London town, a merry thing, with a fine trolly-lolly, sire, 
 to glad your hearts with hearing " 
 
 "Would they have music? To be sure! Who would 
 not music while he ate must be a Flemish dunderkopf, 
 said they. So Nick and Cicely stood at one side of the 
 room upon a bench by the server's board, and sang to- 
 gether, while he played upon Mistress Davenant's gittern : 
 
 " Hey, laddie, hark to the merry, merry lark f 
 
 How high he singeth clear : 
 'Oh, a morn in spring is the sweetest thing 
 
 That eometh in all the year ! 
 Oh, a morn in spring is the sweetest thing 
 
 That eometh in all the year ! ' 
 
 "Ring, ting ! it is the merry springtime ; 
 
 How full of heart a body feels ! 
 Sing hey, trolly-lolly ! oh, to live is to be jolly, 
 When springtime eometh with the summer at her heels ! 
 
 " God save us all, my jolly gentlemen, 
 
 We '11 merry be to-day ; 
 For the cuckoo sings till the greenwood rings, 
 
 And it is the month of May ! 
 For the cuckoo sings till the greenwood rings, 
 
 And it is the month of May ! " 
 
 Then the men at the table all waved their pewter pots, 
 and thumped upon the board, roaring, '' Hey, trolly-lolly ! 
 oh, to live is to be jolly ! " until the rafters rang. 
 
 " What, lad ! " cried good Dame Davenant, " come, stay 
 with me all year and sing, thou and this little maid o' 
 thine. T will cost thee neither cash nor care. Why, thou
 
 L Hnl Ud-die, hrk, to tU 
 . Cod tm u til, nf 
 
 ^ng^ |EJ IJ Ij J|J tj jj flrtl|^i |J 1 I 
 
 Urk, How high he ling^th ctetr. O non la Spring ii the iweeottr* 
 
 .men! We'll merry b* la- day | Fot th cmc.koo sin j till the [rem wood 
 
 3E. 
 
 
 -tir- ! |^ B | j | 
 
 * ^ 3 ^ 
 
 i^ ^g=ji. ,r ir r T r f ' * '* " ' 
 
 thine Thu cooieth in 11 the yeaV^. O mom la Spring it the mtt-eu thing That 
 rings. And it U the month of Myi For the e - kvo uag< till the greenwood nnji.Ani 
 
 TjLbfc J IB 'JIJ J \* y 1 j I* j=fr 
 
 3^" '3 
 
 JU 
 
 Sprinj- time. How 
 
 Ml oT^kewt . bod . y fcebl Sl.( key trol . ly 
 
 II /"jl /" i
 
 272 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 'Idst fill the house with such a throng as it hath never 
 seen ! " And in the morning she would not take a penny 
 for their lodging nor their keep. " Nay, nay," said she ; 
 " they ha' brought good custom to the house, and left me 
 a brave little tale to tell for many a good long year. We 
 inns-folk be not common penny-grabbers ; marry, no ! " 
 and, furthermore, she made interest with a carrier to give 
 them a lift to Woodstock on their way. 
 
 When they came to Woodstock the carrier set them 
 down by the gates of a park built round by a high stone 
 wall over which they could not see, and with his wain 
 went in at the gate, leaving them to journey on together 
 through a little rain-shower. 
 
 The land grew flatter than before. There were few 
 crees upon the hills, and scarcely any springs at which to 
 drink, but much tender grass, with countless sheep nib- 
 bling everywhere. The shower was soon blown away; 
 the sun came out ; and a pleasant wind sprang up out of 
 the south. Here and there beside some cottage wall the 
 lilacs bloomed, and the later orchard-trees were apple-pink 
 and cherry-white with May. 
 
 They came to a puddle in the road where there was a 
 dance of butterflies. Cicely clapped her hands with glee. 
 A goldfinch dipped across the path like a little yellow 
 streak of laughter in the sun. "Oh, Nick, what is it?" 
 she cried. 
 
 " A bird," said he. 
 
 " A truly bird ? " and she clasped her hands. " WJl it 
 ever come again?"
 
 "'OH, NICK, WHIT IB IT?' HUE CKIKD."
 
 vVAYFARING HOME 273 
 
 " Again ? Oh, yes, or, la ! another one there 's plenty 
 in the weeds." 
 
 And so they fared all afternoon, until at dusk they 
 came to Chipping Norton across the fields, a short cut to 
 where the thin blue supper-smoke curled up. The mists 
 were rising from the meadows ; earth and sky were blend- 
 ing on the hills ; a little silver sickle moon hung in the 
 fading violet, low in the western sky. Under an old oak 
 in a green place a fiddler and a piper were playing, and 
 youths and maidens were dancing in the brown light. 
 Some little chaps were playing blindman's-buff near by, 
 and the older folk were gathered by the tree. 
 
 Nick came straight to where they stood, and bowing, 
 he and Cicely together, doffed his cap, and said in his most 
 London tone, " We bid ye all good-e'en, good folk." 
 
 His courtly speech and manner, as well as his clothes 
 and Cicely's jaunty gown, no little daunted the simple 
 country folk. Nobody spoke, but, standing silent, all 
 stared at the two quaint little vagabonds as mild kine stare 
 at passing sheep in a quiet lane. 
 
 " We need somewhat to eat this night, and we want a 
 place to sleep," said Nick. " The beds must be right clean 
 we have good appetites. If ye can do for us, we will 
 dance for you anything that ye may desire the ' Queen's 
 Own Measure,' 'La Donzella,' the new 'Allemand' of my 
 Lord Pembroke, a pavone or a tinternell, or the 'Gall- 
 iard of Savoy.' Which doth it please you, mistresses t " 
 and he bowed to the huddling young women, who scarcely 
 knew what to make of it 
 
 18
 
 274 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 " La ! Joan," whispered one, " he calleth thee ' mistress 'I 
 Speak up, wench." But Joan stoutly held her peace. 
 
 "Or if ye will, the little maid will dance the coranto 
 for you, straight from my Lord Chancellor's dancing- 
 master ; and while she dances I will sing." 
 
 "Why, hark 'e, Rob," spoke out one motherly dame, 
 "they two do look clean-like. Children, too who 'd gi' 
 them stones when they beg for bread ? I '11 do for them 
 this night myself ; and thou, the good man, and Kit can 
 sleep in the hutch. So there, dears ; now let 's see the 
 Lord Chancellor's tantrums." 
 
 " 'T is not a tantrums, goody," said Nick, politely, " but 
 a coranto." 
 
 " La ! young master, what 's the odds, just so we sees it 
 done? Some folks calls whittles 'knives,' and thinks 't 
 wunnot cut theys fingers ! " 
 
 Nick took his place at the side of the ring. "Now, 
 Cicely ! " said he. 
 
 "Thou 'It call <Sa sa!' and give me the time of the 
 coup d'archet?" she whispered, timidly hesitant, as she 
 stepped to the midst of the ring. 
 
 " Ay, then," said he, " 't is off, 't is off ! " and struck up 
 a lively tune, snapping his fingers for the time. 
 
 Cicely, bowing all about her, slowly began to dance. 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see: her big eyes wide and 
 earnest, her cheeks a little flushed, her short hair curling, 
 and her crimson gown fluttering about her as she danced 
 the quaint running step forward and back across the grass, 
 balancing archly, with her hands upon her hips and a little
 
 WAYFARING HOME 275 
 
 smile upon her lips, in the swaying motion of the coupee, 
 eourtesying gracefully as one tiny slippered foot peeped 
 out from her rustling skirt, tapping on the turf, now in 
 front and now behind. Nick sang like a blackbird in the 
 hedge. And how those country lads and lasses stared to 
 see such winsome, dainty grace ! " La me ! " gaped one, 
 "'t is fairy folk she doth na even touch the ground! " 
 " The pretty dear ! " the mothers said. " Doll, why canst 
 thou na do the like, thou lummox ? " " Tut," sighed the 
 buxom Doll, " I have na wingses on my feet ! " 
 
 Then Cicely, breathless, bowed, and ran to Nick's side 
 asking, "Was it all right, Nick?" 
 
 "Eight!" said he, and stroked her hair; "'t was better 
 than thou didst ever dance it for M'sieu." 
 
 " For why ? " said she, and flushed, with a quick light 
 in her eyes ; " for why because this time I danced for 
 thee." 
 
 The country folk, enchanted, called for more and more. 
 
 Nick sang another song, and he and Cicely danced the 
 galliard together, while the piper piped and the fiddler 
 fiddled away like mad ; and the moon went down, and the 
 cottage doors grew ruddy with the light inside. Then 
 Dame Pettiford gave them milk and oat-cakes in a bowl, 
 a bit of honey in the comb, and a cup of strawberries ; and 
 Cicely fell fast asleep with the last of the strawberries in 
 her hand. 
 
 So they came up out of the south through Shipston-on- 
 Stour, in the main-traveled way, and with every mile Nick 
 felt home growing nearer. Streams sprang up in the
 
 276 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 meadow-lands, with sedgy islands, and lines of silvery 
 willows bordering their banks. Flocks and herds cropped 
 beneath tofts of ash and elm and beech. Snug homes 
 peeped out of hazel copses by the road. The passing carts 
 had a familiar look, and at Alderminster Nick saw a man 
 he thought he recognized. 
 
 Before he knew that he was there they topped Edge 
 Hill. 
 
 There lay Stratford ! as he had left it lying ; not one 
 stick or stack or stone but he could put his finger on and 
 say, " This place I know ! " Green pastures, grassy levels, 
 streams, groves, mills, the old grange and the manor-house, 
 the road that forked in three, and the hills of Arden beyond 
 it all. There was the tower of the guildhall chapel above 
 the clustering, dun-thatched roofs among the green and 
 blossom- white ; to left the spire of Holy Trinity sprang up 
 beside the shining Avon. Bull Lane he made out dimly, 
 and a red-tiled roof among the trees. " There, Cicely," he 
 said, " there there !" and laughed a queer little shaky 
 laugh next door to crying for joy. 
 
 Wat Raven was sweeping old Clopton bridge. " Hullo, 
 there, Wat ! I be come home again ! " Nick cried. Wat 
 stared at him, but knew him not at all. 
 
 Around the corner, and down High street. Fynes Mor- 
 rison burst in at the guildschool door. " Nick Attwood ? s 
 home ! " he shouted ; and his eyes were like two plates. 
 
 Then the last lane and the smoke from his father's 
 house ! 
 
 The garden gate stood open, and there was some one
 
 WAYFARING HOME 277 
 
 working in the yard. " It is my father, Cicely, " he laughed. 
 " Father ! " he cried, and hurried in the lane. 
 
 Simon Attwood straightened up and looked across the 
 fence. His arms were held a little out, and his hands 
 hung down with bits of moist earth clinging to them. 
 His brows were darker than a year before, and his hair 
 was grown more gray ; his back, too, stooped. " Art thou 
 a-calling me ? " he asked. 
 
 Nick laughed. " Why, father, do ye na know me ? " he 
 cried out. " 'T is I 't is Nick come home ! " 
 
 Two steps the stern old tanner took two steps to the 
 latchet-gate. Not one word did he speak ; but he set hi 
 hand to the latchet-gate and closed it in Nick's face.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH 
 
 TURNED ADRIFT 
 
 DOWN the path and under the gate the rains had 
 washed a shallow rut in the earth. Two pebbles, 
 loosened by the closing of the gate, rolled down the rut 
 and out upon the little spreading fan of sand that whitened 
 in the grass. 
 
 There was the house with the black beams checkering 
 its yellow walls. There was the old bench by the door, 
 and the lettuce in the garden-bed. There were the bee- 
 hives, and the bees humming among the orchard boughs. 
 
 " Why, father, what ! " cried Nick, " dost na know me 
 yet ? See, 't is I, Nick, thy son." 
 
 A strange look came into the tanner's face. " I do na 
 know thee, boy," he answered heavily; "thou canst na 
 enter here." 
 
 " But, father, indeed t is I ! " 
 
 Simon Attwood looked across the town ; yet he did not 
 see the town : across the town into the sky ; yet he did 
 not see the sky, nor the drifting banks of cloud, nor the 
 sunlight shining on the clouds. " I say I do na know 
 
 278
 
 TURNED ADRIFT 279 
 
 thee," he replied; "be off to the place whence ye ha' 
 come." 
 
 Nick's hand was almost on the latch. He stopped. He 
 looked up into his father's face. " Why, father, I Ve come 
 home ! " he gasped. 
 
 The gate shook in the tanner's grip. " Have I na telled 
 thee twice I do na know thee, boy? No house o' mine 
 shall e'er be home for thee. Thou hast no part nor parcel 
 here. Get thee out o' my sight." 
 
 "Oh, father, father, what do ye meant" cried Nick, his 
 lips scarcely able to shape the words. 
 
 " Do na ye ' father ' me no more," said Simon Attwood, 
 bitterly; "I be na father to stage-playing, vagabond 
 rogues. And be gone, I say. Dost hear? Must I e'en 
 thrust thee forth?" He raised his hand as if to strike. 
 
 Nick fell away from the latchet-gate, dumb-stricken with 
 amazement, shame, and grief. 
 
 "Oh, Nick," cried Cicely, "come away the wicked, 
 wicked man ! " 
 
 " It is my father, Cicely." 
 
 She stared at him. " And thou dost hate my father so ? 
 Oh, Nick! oh, Nick!" 
 
 "Will ye be gone?" called Simon Attwood, half-way 
 opening the gate ; " must I set constables on thee ? " 
 
 Nick did not move. A numbness had crept over him 
 like palsy. Cicely caught him by the hand. " Come, let 
 us go back to my father," she said. " He will not turn TO 
 out." 
 
 Scarcely knowing what he did, he followed her. stum-
 
 280 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 bling in the level path as though he were half blind or had 
 been beaten upon the head. He did not cry. This was 
 past all crying. He let himself be led along it made no 
 matter where. 
 
 In Chapel lane there was a crowd along the Great House 
 wall ; and on the wall Ned Cooke and Martin Addenbroke 
 were sitting. There were heads of people moving on the 
 porch and in the court, and the yard was all a-bustle and 
 to-do. But there was nobody in the street, and no one 
 looked at Nick and Cicely. 
 
 The Great House did look very fair in the sun of that 
 May day, with its homely gables of warm red brick and 
 sunburnt timber, its cheery roof of Holland tile, and with 
 the sunlight flashing from the diamond panes that were 
 leaded into the sashes of the great bay-window on the 
 eastern garden side. 
 
 In the garden all was stir-about and merry voices. 
 There was a little green court before the house, and a 
 pleasant lawn coming down to the lane from the doorway 
 porch. The house stood to the left of the entry-drive, and 
 the barn-yard to the right was loud with the blithe crowing 
 of the cocks. But the high brick wall shut out the street 
 where Nick and Cicely trudged dolefully along, and to Nick 
 the lane seemed very full of broken crockery and dirt, and 
 the sunlight all a mockery. The whole of the year had not 
 yet been so dark as this, for there had ever been the dream 
 of coming home. But now he suffered himself to be led 
 along ; that was enough. 
 
 They had come past the Great House up from Chapel
 
 TUENED ADRIFT 281 
 
 street, when a girl came out of the western gate, and with 
 her hand above her eyes looked after them. She seemed 
 in doubt, but looked again, quite searchingly. Then, as 
 one who is not sure, but does not wish to miss a chance, 
 called out, " Nick Attwood ! Nick Attwood ! 
 
 Cicely looked back to see who called. She did not know 
 the girl, but saw her beckon. " There is some one calling, 
 Nick," said she. 
 
 Nick stopped in a hopeless sort of way, and looked back 
 down the street. 
 
 When he had turned so that the girl at the gate could 
 see his face, she left the gate wide open behind her, and 
 came running quickly up the street after them. As she 
 drew nearer he saw that it was Susanna Shakspere, though 
 she was very much grown since he had seen her last. He 
 watched her running after them as if it were none of his 
 affair. But when she had caught up with them, she took 
 him by the shoulder smartly and drew him back toward 
 the gate. " Why, Nicholas Attwood," she cried, all out of 
 breath, " come straightway into the house with me. My 
 father hath been hunting after thee the whole way up from 
 London town ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 A STRANGE DAY 
 
 THERE in the Great House garden under the mul- 
 berry-trees stood Master Will Shakspere, with 
 Masters Jonson, Burbage, Hemynge, Condell, and a 
 goodly number more, who had just come up from London 
 town, as well as Alderman Henry Walker of Stratford, 
 good old John Combe of the college, and Michael Dray- 
 ton, the poet of Warwick. For Master Shakspere had 
 that morning bought the Great House, with its gardens 
 and barns, of Master William Underbill, for sixty pounds 
 sterling, and was making a great feast for all his friends 
 to celebrate the day. 
 
 The London players all clapped their hands as Nick and 
 Cicely came up the garden-path, and, "Upon my word, 
 Will," declared Master Jonson, "the lad is a credit to this 
 old town of thine. A plucky fellow, I say, a right plucky 
 fellow. Found the lass and brought her home all safe 
 and sound why, 't is done like a true knight-errant ! " 
 
 Master Shakspere met them with outstretched hands. 
 "Thou young rogue," said he, smiling, "how thou hast 
 
 282
 
 "ilASTEU SllAKSl'EUK MKT TIIKM WITH OOTBTUtlOBBO

 
 A STRANGE DAT 283 
 
 forestalled us ! Why, here we have been weeping for thee 
 as lost, strayed, or stolen ; and all the while thou wert 
 nestling in the bosom of thine own sweet home. How is 
 the beloved little mother ? " 
 
 "I ha' na seen my mother," faltered Nick. "Father 
 will na let me in." 
 
 "What? How?" 
 
 "My father will na have me any more, sir saith I 
 shall never be his son again. Oh, Master Shakspere, why 
 did they steal me from home ? " 
 
 They were all crowding about now, and Master Shak- 
 spere had hold of the boy. " Why, what does this mean ? " 
 he asked. " What on earth has happened ? " 
 
 Between the two children, in broken words, the story 
 came out. 
 
 " Why, this is a sorry tale ! " said Master Shakspere. 
 " Does the man not know that thou wert stolen, that thou 
 wert kept against thy will, that thou hast trudged half- 
 way from London for thy mother's sake ? " 
 
 " He will na leave me tell him, sir. He would na even 
 listen to me ! " 
 
 " The muckle shrew ! " quoth Master Jonson. " Why, 
 1 11 have this out with him ! By Jupiter, I '11 read him 
 reason with a vengeance ! " With a clink of his rapier he 
 made as if to be off at once. 
 
 " Nay, Ben," said Master Shakspere ; " cool thy blood 
 a quarrel will not serve. This tanner is a bitter-minded, 
 heavy-handed man he 'd only throw thee in a pickling- 
 vat"
 
 284 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 " What ? Then he 'd never tan another hide ! " 
 
 "And would that serve the purpose, Ben? The cure 
 should better the disease the children must be thought 
 about." 
 
 " The children ? Why, as for them," said Master Jon- 
 son, in his blunt, outspoken way, "I '11 think thee a 
 thought offhand to serve the turn. What? Why, this 
 tanner calls us vagabonds. Vagabonds, forsooth ! Yet 
 vagabonds are gallows-birds, and gallows-birds are ravens. 
 And ravens, men say, do foster forlorn children. Take 
 my point ? Good, then ; let us ravenous vagabonds take 
 these two children for our own, Will, thou one, 1 t' other, 
 and by praiseworthy fostering singe this fellow's very 
 brain with shame." 
 
 " Why, here, here, Ben Jonson," spoke up Master Bur- 
 bage, " this is all very well for Will and thee ; but, pray, 
 where do Hemynge, Condell, and I come in upon the bill ? 
 Come, man, 't is a pity if we cannot all stand together in 
 this real play as well as in all the make-believe." 
 
 " That 's my sort ! " cried Master Hemynge. " Why, 
 what? Here is a player's daughter who has no father, 
 and a player whose father will not have him, orphaned 
 by fate, and disinherited by folly, common stock with us 
 all ! Marry, 't is a sort of stock I want some of. Kind 
 hearts are trumps, my honest Ben make it a stock com- 
 pany, and let us all be in." 
 
 " That 's no bad fancy," added Condell, slowly, for Henry 
 Condell was a cold, shrewd man. " There 7 s merit in the 
 lad beside his voice that cannot keep its freshness
 
 A STRANGE DAY 285 
 
 but his figure 's good, his wit is quick, and he has a very- 
 taking style. It would be worth while, Dick. And, Will," 
 said he, turning to Master Shakspere, who listened with 
 half a smile to all that the others said, " he 11 make a 
 better Rosalind than Roger Prynne for thy new play." 
 
 "So he would," said Master Shakspere; "but before 
 we put him into ' As You Like It,' suppose we ask him 
 how he does like itf Nick, thou hast heard what all 
 these gentlemen have said what hast thou to say, my 
 lad?" 
 
 " Why, sirs, ye are all kind," said Nick, his voice begin- 
 ning to tremble, "very, very kind indeed, sirs; but I I 
 want my mother oh, masters, I do want my mother ! * 
 
 At that John Combe turned on his heel and walked out 
 of the gate. Out of the garden-gate walked he, and down 
 the dirty lane, setting his cane down stoutly as he went, past 
 gravel-pits and pens to Southam's lane, and in at the door 
 of Simon Attwood's tannery. 
 
 IT was noon when he went in ; yet the hour struck, 
 and no one came or went from the tannery. Mistress 
 Attwood's dinner grew cold upon the board, and Dame 
 Combe looked vainly across the fields toward the town. 
 
 But about the middle of the afternoon John Combe came 
 out of the tannery door, and Simon Attwood came behind 
 him. And as John Combe came down the cobbled way, a 
 trail of brown vat-liquor followed him, dripping from his 
 clothes, for he was soaked to the skin. His long gray hair 
 had partly dried in strings about his ears, and his fine laoe
 
 286 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 collar was a drabbled shame; but there was a singular 
 untroubled smile upon his plain old face. 
 
 Simon Attwood stayed to lock the door, fumbling his 
 keys as if his sight had failed ; but when the heavy bolt 
 was shut, he turned and called after John Combe, so that 
 the old man stopped in the way and dripped a puddle until 
 the tanner came up to where he stood. And as he came 
 up Attwood asked, in such a tone as none had ever heard 
 from his mouth before, "Combe, John Combe, what 'a 
 done 's done, and oh, John, the pity of it, yet will ye 
 still shake hands wi' me, John, afore ye go ? " 
 
 John Combe took Simon Attwood's bony hand and 
 wrung it hard in his stout old grip, and looked the tanner 
 squarely in the eyes ; then, still smiling serenely to him- 
 self, and setting his cane down stoutly as he walked, 
 dripped home, and got himself into dry clothes without a 
 word. 
 
 But Simon Attwood went down to the river, and sat 
 upon a flat stone under some pollard willows, and looked 
 into the water. 
 
 What his thoughts were no one knew, nor ever shall 
 know; but he was fighting with himself, and more than 
 once groaned bitterly. At first he only shut his teeth and 
 held his temples in his hands ; but after a while he began 
 to cry to himself, over and over again, " O Absalom, my 
 son, my son ! O my son Absalom ! " and then only " My 
 son, my son ! " And when the day began to wane above 
 the woods of Arden, he arose, and came up from the river, 
 walking swiftly ; and, looking neither to the right nor to
 
 A STRANGE DAY 287 
 
 the left, came up to the Great House garden, and went in 
 at the gate. 
 
 At the door the servant met him, but saw his face, and 
 let him pass without a word ; for he looked like a desperate 
 man whom there was no stopping. 
 
 So, with a grim light burning in his eyes, his hat in his 
 hand, and his clothes all drabbled with the liquor from 
 his vats, the tanner strode into the dining-halL
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 
 
 table had been cleared of trenchers and napkins, 
 _t_ the crumbs brushed away, and a clean platter set 
 before each guest with pared cheese, fresh cherries, biscuit, 
 caraways, and wine. 
 
 There were about the long table, beside Master Shak- 
 spere himself, who sat at the head of the board, Masters 
 Richard and Cuthbert Burbage, Henry Condell, and Peter 
 Hemynge, Master Shakspere's partners ; Master Ben Jon- 
 son, his dearest friend; Thomas Pope, who played his 
 finest parts ; John Lowin, Samuel Gilburne, Robert Nash, 
 and William Kemp, players of the Lord Chamberlain's 
 company ; Edmund Shakspere, the actor, who was Master 
 William Shakspere's younger brother, and Master John 
 Shakspere, his father ; Michael Drayton, the Midland bard ; 
 Burgess Robert Getley, Alderman Henry Walker, and 
 William Hart, the Stratford hatter, brother-in-law to Mas- 
 ter Shakspere. 
 
 On one side of the table, between Master Jonson and 
 Master Richard Burbage, Cicely was seated upon a high 
 
 288
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 289 
 
 chair, with a wreath of early crimson roses in her hair, 
 attired in the gown in which Nick saw her first a year 
 before. On the other side of the table Nick had a place 
 between Master Drayton and Robert Getley, father of his 
 friend Robin. Half-way down there was an empty chair. 
 Master John Combe was absent. 
 
 It was no common party. In all England better com- 
 pany could not have been found. Some few of them 
 the whole round world could not have matched then, and 
 could not match now. 
 
 It would be worth a fortune to know the things they 
 said, the quips, the jests, the merry tales that went around 
 that board, but time has left too little of what such men 
 said and did, and it can be imagined only by the brightest 
 wits. 
 
 'T was Master Shakspere on his feet, welcoming his 
 friends to his "New Place" with quiet words that made 
 them glad to live and to be there, when suddenly he 
 stopped, his hands upon the table by his chair, and stared. 
 
 The tanner stood there, silent, in the door. 
 
 Nick's face turned pale. Cicely clung to Master Jonson's 
 arm. 
 
 Simon Attwood stepped into the room, and Master Shak- 
 spere went quickly to meet him in the middle of the floor. 
 
 " Master Will Shakspere," said the tanner, hoarsely, " I 
 ha' come about a matter." There he stopped, not knowing 
 what to say, for he was overwrought. 
 
 "Out with it, sir," said Master Shakspere, sternly. 
 "There is much here to be said.* 
 
 10
 
 290 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 The tanner wrung his hat within his hands, and looked 
 about the ring of cold, averted faces. Soft words with 
 him were few ; he had forgotten tender things ; and, 
 indeed, what he meant to do was no easy thing for 
 any man. 
 
 " Come, say what thou hast to say," said Master Shak- 
 spere, resolutely ; " and say it quickly, that we may have 
 done." 
 
 " There 's nought that I can say," said Simon Attwood, 
 " but that I be sorry, and I want my son ! Nick ! Nick ! " 
 he faltered brokenly, " I be wrung for thee ; will ye na 
 come home just for thy mother's sake, Nick, if ye will na 
 come for mine ? " 
 
 Nick started from his seat with a glad cry then stopped. 
 "But Cicely? "he said. 
 
 The tanner wrung his hat within his hands, and his face 
 was dark with trouble. Master Shakspere looked at Mas- 
 ter Jonson. 
 
 Nick stood hesitating between Cicely and his father, 
 faithful to his promise, though his heart was sick for 
 home. 
 
 An odd light had been struggling dimly in Simon Att- 
 wood's troubled eyes. Then all at once it shone out bright 
 and clear, and he clapped his bony hand upon the stout 
 oak chair. "Bring her along," he said. "I ha' little 
 enough, but I will do the best I can. Maybe 't will some- 
 how right the wrong I ha' done," he added huskily. " And, 
 neighbors, I '11 go surety to the Council that she shall na 
 fall a pauper or a burden to the town. My trade is ill
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 291 
 
 enough, but, sirs, it will stand for forty pound the year at 
 a fair cast-up. Bring the lass wi' thee, Nick we '11 make 
 out, lad, we '11 make out. God will na let it all go wrong." 
 
 Master Jonson and Master Shakspere had been nodding 
 and talking together in a low tone, smiling like men very 
 well pleased about something, and directly Master Shak- 
 spere left the room. 
 
 " Wilt thou come, lad ? " asked the tanner, holding out 
 his hands. 
 
 " Oh, father ! " cried Nick ; then he choked so that he 
 could say no more, and his eyes were so full of mist that 
 he could scarcely find his father where he stood. 
 
 But there was no need of more ; Simon Attwood was 
 answered. 
 
 Voices buzzed about the room. The servants whispered 
 in the halL Nick held his father's gnarled hand in his 
 own, and looked curiously up into his face, as if for the 
 first time knowing what it was to have a father. 
 
 " Well, lad, what be it ? " asked the tanner, huskily, lay- 
 ing his hand on his son's curly head, which was nearly up 
 to his shoulder now. 
 
 " Nothing," said Nick, with a happy smile, " only mother 
 will be glad to have Cicely won't she ? " 
 
 Master Shakspere came into the room with something 
 in his hand, and walking to the table, laid it down. 
 
 It was a heavy buckskin bag, tied tightly with a silken 
 cord, and sealed with red wax stamped with the seals of 
 Master Shakspere and Master Jonson. 
 
 Every one was watching him intently, and one or two
 
 292 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 of the gentlemen from London were smiling in a very 
 knowing way. 
 
 He broke the seals, and loosening the thong which closed 
 the bag, took ont two other bags, one of which was just 
 double its companion's size. They also were tied with 
 silken cord and sealed with the two seals on red wax. 
 There was something printed roughly with a quill pen 
 upon each bag, but Master Shakspere kept that side turned 
 toward himself so that the others could not see. 
 
 " Come, come, Will," broke in Master Jonson, " don't 
 be all day about it ! " 
 
 "The more haste the worse speed, Ben," said Master 
 Shakspere, quietly. " I have a little story to tell ye all." 
 
 So they all listened. 
 
 " When Gaston Carew, lately master-player of the Lord 
 High Admiral's company, was arraigned before my Lord 
 Justice for the killing of that rascal, Fulk Sandells, there 
 was not a man of his own company had the grace to lend 
 him even so much as sympathy. But there were still some 
 in London who would not leave him totally friendless in 
 such straits." 
 
 "Some?" interrupted Master Jonson, bluntly; "then 
 o-n-e spells 'some.' The names of them all were Will 
 Shakspere." 
 
 " Tut, tut, Ben ! " said Master Shakspere, and went on : 
 "But when the charge was read, and those against him 
 showed their hand, it was easy to see that the game was 
 up. No one saw this any sooner than Carew himself ; yet 
 he carried himself like a man, and confessed the indictment
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 93 
 
 without a quiver. They brought him the book, to read a 
 verse and save his neck, perhaps, by pleading benefit of 
 clergy. But he knew the temper of those against him, 
 and that nothing might avail; so he refused the plea 
 quietly, saying, < I am no clerk, sirs. All I wish to read 
 in this case is what my own hand wrote upon that scoun- 
 drel Sandells.' It was soon over. When the judge pro- 
 nounced his doom, all Carew asked was for a friend to 
 speak with a little while aside. This the court allowed ; 
 so he sent for me we played together with Henslowe, he 
 and I, ye know. He had not much to say for once in 
 his life," here Master Shakspere smiled pityingly," but 
 he sent his love forever to his only daughter Cicely." 
 
 Cicely was sitting up, listening with wide eyes, and 
 eagerly nodded her head as if to say, " Of course." 
 
 "He also begged of Nicholas Attwood that he would 
 forgive him whatever wrong he had done him." 
 
 " Why, that I will, sir," choked Nick, brokenly ; " he was 
 wondrous kind to me, except that he would na leave 
 me go." 
 
 "After that," continued Master Shakspere, "he made 
 known to me a sliding panel in the wainscot of his house, 
 wherein was hidden all he had on earth to leave to those 
 he loved the best, and who, he hoped, loved him." 
 
 " Everybody loves my father," said Cicely, smiling and 
 nodding again. Master Jonson put his arm around the 
 back of her chair, and she leaned her head upon it. 
 
 " Carew said that he had marked upon the bags which 
 were within the panel the names of the persons to whom
 
 294 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 they were to go, and had me swear, upon my faith as a 
 Christian man, that I would see them safely delivered ac- 
 cording to his wish. This being done, and the end come, 
 he kissed me on both cheeks, and standing bravely up, 
 spoke to them all, saying that for a man such as he had 
 been it was easier to end even so than to go on. I never 
 saw him again." 
 
 The great writer of plays paused a moment, and his lips 
 moved as if he were saying a prayer. Master Burbage 
 crossed himself. 
 
 " The bags were found within the wall, as he had said, 
 and were sealed by Ben Jonson and myself until we should 
 find the legatees for they had disappeared as utterly as 
 if the earth had gaped and swallowed them. But, by the 
 Father's grace, we have found them safe and sound at last ; 
 and all 's well that ends well ! " 
 
 Here he turned the buckskin bags around. 
 
 On one, in Master Carew's school-boy scrawl, was 
 printed, "For myne Onelie Beeloved Doghter, Cicely 
 Carew"; on the other, "For Nicholas Attewode, alias 
 Mastre Skie-lark, whom I, Gaston Carew, Player, Stole 
 Away from Stratford Toune, Anno Domini 1596." 
 
 Nick stared ; Cicely clapped her hands ; and Simon Att- 
 wood sat down dizzily. 
 
 " There," said Master Shakspere, pointing to the second 
 bag, " are one hundred and fifty gold rose-nobles. In the 
 other just three hundred more. Neighbor Attwood, we 
 shall have no paupers here." 
 
 Everybody laughed then and clapped their hands, and
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 295 
 
 the London players gave a rousing cheer. Master Ben 
 Jonson's shout might have been heard in Market Square. 
 
 At this tremendous uproar the servants peeped at the 
 doors and windows; and Tom Boteler, peering in from 
 the buttery hall, and seeing the two round money-bags 
 plumping on the table, crept away with such a look of 
 amazement upon his face that Mollikins, the scullery-maid, 
 thought he had seen a ghost, and fled precipitately into 
 the pantry. 
 
 "And what 's more, Neighbor Tanner," said Master 
 Richard Burbage, " had Carew's daughter not sixpence to 
 her name, we vagabond players, as ye have had the scanty 
 grace to dub us, would have cared for her for the honour 
 of the craft, and reared her gently in some quiet place 
 where there never falls even the shadow of such evil 
 things as have been the end of many a right good fellow 
 beside old Kit Marlowe and Gaston Carew." 
 
 "And to that end, Neighbor Attwood," Master Shakspere 
 added, " we have, through my young Lord Hunsdon, who 
 has just been made State Chamberlain, Her Majesty's 
 gracious permission to hold this money in trust for the 
 little maid as guardians under the law." 
 
 Cicely stared around perplexed. "Won't Nick be 
 there ? " she asked. " Why, then I will not go they shall 
 not take thee from me, Nick ! " and she threw her anna 
 around him. "I 'm going to stay with thee till daddy 
 comes, and be thine own sister forever." 
 
 Master Jonson laughed gently, not his usual roaring 
 laugh, but one that was as tender as his own bluff heart
 
 296 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 "Why, good enough, good enough! The woman who 
 mothered a lad like Master Skylark here is surely fit to 
 rear the little maid." 
 
 The London players thumped the table. "Why, 't is 
 the very trick," said Hemynge. "Marry, this is better 
 than a play." 
 
 "It is indeed," quoth Condell. "See the plot come 
 out!" 
 
 " Thou 'It do it, Attwood why, of course thou 'It do it," 
 said Master Shakspere. "'T is an excellent good plan. 
 These funds we hold in trust will keep thee easy-minded, 
 and warrant thee in doing well by both our little folks. 
 And what 's more," he cried, for the thought had just 
 come in his head, " I have ever heard thee called an honest 
 man ; hard, indeed, perhaps too hard, but honest as the 
 day is long. Now I need a tenant for this New Place of 
 mine some married man with a good housewife, and 
 children to be delving in the posy-beds outside. What 
 sayst thou, Simon Attwood ? They tell me thy 'prentice, 
 Job Hortop, is to marry in July he '11 take thine old 
 house at a fair rental. Why, here, Neighbor Attwood, 
 thou toil-worn, time-damaged tanner, bless thy hard old 
 heart, man, come, be at ease thou hast ground thy soul 
 out long enough ! Come, take me at mine offer be my 
 fellow. The rent shall trickle off thy finger-tips as easily 
 as water off a duck's back ! " 
 
 Simon Attwood arose from the chair where he had been 
 sitting. There was a bewildered look upon his face, and 
 he was twisting his horny fingers together until the
 
 ALL ; S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 297 
 
 knuckles were white. His lips parted as if to speak, but 
 he only swallowed very hard once or twice instead, and 
 looked around at them all. " Why, sir," he said at length, 
 looking at Master Shakspere, " why, sirs, all of ye I ha' 
 been a hard man, and summat of a fool, sirs, ay, sirs, a 
 very fool. I ha' misthought and miscalled ye foully many 
 a time, and many a time. God knows I be sorry for it 
 from the bottom o' my heart ! " And with that he sat 
 down and buried his face in his arms among the dishes on 
 the buffet. 
 
 "Nay, Simon Attwood," said Master Shakspere, going 
 to his side and putting his hand upon the tanner's shoulder, 
 " thou hast only been mistaken, that is all. Come, sit thee 
 up. To see thyself mistaken is but to be the wiser. Why, 
 never the wisest man but saw himself a fool a thousand 
 times. Come, I have mistaken thee more than thou hast 
 me ; for, on my word, I thought thou hadst no heart at 
 all and that 's far worse than having one which has but 
 gone astray. Come, Neighbor Attwood, sit thee up and 
 eat with us." 
 
 " Nay, I '11 go home," said the tanner, turning his face 
 away that they might not see his tears. " I be a spoil-sport 
 and a mar-feast here." 
 
 " Why, by Jupiter, man ! " cried Master Jonson, bringing 
 his fist down upon the board with a thump that made the 
 spoons all clink, " thou art the very merry-maker of the 
 feast. A full heart 's better than a surfeit any day. Don't 
 let him go, Will this sort of thing doth make the whole 
 world kin ! Come, Master Attwood, sit thee down, and
 
 298 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 make thyself at home. 'T is not my house, but 't is my 
 friend's, and so 't is all the same in the Lowlands. Be 
 free of us and welcome." 
 
 " I thank ye, sirs," said the tanner, slowly, turning to 
 the table with rough dignity. " Ye ha' been good to my 
 boy. I '11 ne'er forget ye while I live. Oh, sirs, there be 
 kind hearts in the world that I had na dreamed of. But, 
 masters, I ha' said my say, and know na more. Your 
 pleasure wunnot be my pleasure, sirs, for I be only a com- 
 mon man. I will go home to my wife. There be things 
 to say before my boy comes home ; and I ha' muckle need 
 to tell her that I love her I ha' na done so these many 
 years." 
 
 "Why, Neighbor Tanner," cried Master Jonson, with 
 flushing cheeks, "thou art a right good fellow! And 
 here was I, no later than this morning, red-hot to spit thee 
 upon my bilbo like a Michaelmas goose ! " He laughed a 
 boyish laugh that did one's heart good to hear. 
 
 " Ay," said Master Shakspere, smiling, as he and Simon 
 Attwood looked into each other's eyes. " Come, neighbor, 
 I know thou art my man so do not go until thou drinkest 
 one good toast with us, for we are all good friends and 
 true from this day forth. Come, Ben, a toast to fit the cue." 
 
 "Why, then," replied Master Jonson, in a good round 
 voice, rising in his place, " here 's to all kind hearts!" 
 
 " Wherever they may be ! " said Master Shakspere, 
 softly. "It is a good toast, and we will all drink it 
 together." 
 
 And so they did. And Simon Attwood went away with
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 299 
 
 a warmth and a tingling in his heart he had never known 
 before. 
 
 " Margaret," said he, coming quickly in at the door, as 
 she went silently abont the house with a heavy heart 
 preparing the supper, "Margaret." 
 
 She dropped the platter upon the board, and came to 
 him hurriedly, fearing evil tidings. 
 
 He took her by the hands. This, even more than his 
 unusual manner, alarmed her. " Why, Simon," she cried, 
 " what is it ? What has come over thee ? " 
 
 "Nought," he replied, looking down at her, his hard 
 face quivering; "but I love thee, Margaret." 
 
 " Simon, what dost thou mean ? " faltered Mistress Att- 
 wood, her heart going down like lead. 
 
 "Nought, sweetheart but that I love thee, Margaret, 
 and that our lad is coming home ! " 
 
 Her heart seemed to stop beating. 
 
 " Margaret," said he, huskily, " I do love thee, lass. Is 
 it too late to tell thee so ? " 
 
 " Nay, Simon," answered his wife, simply, " 't is never 
 too late to mend." And with that she laughed but in the 
 middle of her laughing a tear ran down her cheek. 
 
 FROM the windows of the New Place there came a great 
 sound of men singing together, and this was the quaint 
 old song they sang : 
 
 " Then here 's a health to all kind hearts 
 
 Wherever they may be ; 
 For kindly hearts make but one kin 
 Of all humanity.
 
 300 MASTER SKYLARK 
 
 And here 's a rouse to all kind hearts 
 
 Wherever they be found ; 
 For it is the throb of kindred hearts 
 
 Doth make the world go round ! " 
 
 " Why, Will," said Master Burbage, slowly setting down 
 his glass, "'t is altogether a midsummer night's dream." 
 "So it is, Dick," answered Master Shakspere, with a 
 smile, and a far-away look in his eyes. " Come, Nicholas, 
 wilt thou not sing for us just the last few little lines of 
 'When Thou Wakest,' out of the play!" 
 
 Then Nick stood up quietly, for they all were his good 
 friends there, and Master Drayton held his hand while he 
 sang: 
 
 "Every man shall take his own, 
 In your waking shall be shown : 
 Jack shall have Jill, 
 Nought shall go ill, 
 The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well ! " 
 
 They were very still for a little while after he had done, 
 and the setting sun shone in at the windows across the 
 table. Then Master Shakspere said gently, " It is a good 
 place to end." 
 
 " Ay," said Master Jonson, " it is." 
 
 So they all got up softly and went out into the garden, 
 where there were seats under the trees among the rose- 
 bushes, and talked quietly among themselves, saying not 
 much, yet meaning a great deal. 
 
 But Nick and Cicely said " Good-night, sirs," to them 
 all, and bowed; and Master Shakspere himself let them
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 301 
 
 out at the gate, the others shaking Nick by the hand with 
 many kind wishes, and throwing kisses to Cicely until 
 they went out of sight around the chapel corner. 
 
 When the children came to the garden-gate in front of 
 Nick's father's house, the red roses still twined in Cicely's 
 hair, Simon Attwood and his wife Margaret were sitting 
 together upon the old oaken settle by the door, looking 
 out into the sunset. And when they saw the children 
 coming, they arose and came through the garden to 
 meet them, Nick's mother with outstretched hands, and her 
 face bright with the glory of the setting sun. And when 
 she came to where he was, the whole of that long, bitter 
 year was nothing any more to Nick. 
 
 For then ah, then a lad and his mother; a son come 
 home, the wandering ended, and the sorrow done ! 
 
 She took him to her breast as though he were a baby 
 still ; her tears ran down upon his face, yet she was smil- 
 inga smile like which there is no other in all the world : 
 a mother's smile upon her only son, who was astray, but 
 has come home again. 
 
 Oh, the love of a lad for his mother, the love of a 
 mother for her son unchanged, unchanging, for right, 
 for wrong, through grief and shame, in joy, in peace, in 
 absence, in sickness, and in the shadow of death ! Oh, 
 mother-love, beyond all understanding, so holy that words 
 but make it common ! 
 
 " My boy ! " was all she said ; and then, " My boy my 
 little boy ! " 
 
 And after a while, " Mother," said he, and took her face
 
 302 MASTEE SKYLARK 
 
 between his strong young hands, and looked into her 
 happy eyes, " mother dear, I ha' been to London town ; I 
 ha' been to the palace, and I ha' seen the Queen; but, 
 mother," he said, with a little tremble in his voice, for all 
 he smiled so bravely, " I ha' never seen the place where I 
 would rather be than just where thou art, mother dear ! " 
 The soft gray twilight gathered in the little garden; 
 far-off voices drifted faintly from the town. The day 
 was done. Cool and still, and filled with gentle peace, 
 the starlit night came down from the dewy hills; and 
 Cicely lay fast asleep in Simon Attwood's arms.
 
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