las," said the master-player, in the middle of a stream of amazing stories of life in

de Beauchamp had Piers Gaveston's head upon th

r I would have yon Master Bailiff Stubbes's head off short behind the ears--and Sir Thomas Lucy's too!" he added, with a

g at al

avour. "'Tis enough for both of us," said he, as they came to a shady little wood with a clear, mossy-bottomed spring running

k 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 i

s long since gone out of style and hardly to be understood, and between the staves a warbling, wordless refrai

ght about it; and he sang easily, with a clear young voice which had a full, fl

ng the last of the cheese, when Nick began to sing. He started, straightening up as if som

. "My soul! my soul!" he exclaimed in an excited undertone. "It is not--nay, it cannot be--why, 'tis--it is the boy! Upon my heart, he hath a skylark prisoned in his throat! Well sung, well sung, Master Skylark

a know, sir," said he; "mother learned me p

and eager, now stared at Nicholas Attw

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

, breathlessly, "thou hast a

aid no more, though such a strange light came creeping into his eyes that Nick, after me

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 roa

e winding lane that leads away to Kenilworth--"

I know Master Will Shakspere's 'Then nightly sings the staring owl, tu-who, tu-whit, tu-who!' and 'The ouse

tily, 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!

tep with him like a bosom friend, so that Nick's heart beat high

ed, and said under his breath, "Tut, tut, that will not do!" but oftener he laughed without a sound, nodding his head

say, but for half a mile gnawed his mustache in nervous si

bes 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. Nich

o me, sir?" ask

; I was talkin

t come yet," said Nick, st

with a queer laugh. "Well, the sil

urpose of his long walk, "what will

before I come. They will have had the free play this afternoon

as the disappointment. "Why," he cried, with a tremble in his tired voice, "I thou

to Coventry, and never see the play? Nay, on my soul! Why, Nick, I love thee, lad; and I'll do for thee in the tw

d some half a dozen disconnected

Nick, bewildered

medy by young Tom Heywood, that would make a graven image split its sides with laughing; and

ed Nick. "I--truly? With t

y 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, tho

them before all Coventry! It passed the wildest dream that he had ever dreamed. What woul

ave me, sir?" he

. I am master here. And I tell thee, Nick, that thou shalt see the pla

swallowed a water-mill, while Nick turned ecstatic cart-wheels alo