Master Skylark: A Story of Shakspere's Time Read online

  CHAPTER II

  NICHOLAS ATTWOOD'S HOME

  Nick Attwood's father came home that night bitterly wroth.

  The burgesses of the town council had ordered him to build a chimneyupon his house, or pay ten shillings fine; and shillings were none tooplenty 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 myfire in a pipe, or pay ten shillings fine? Things ha' come to a prettypass--a pretty pass, indeed!" He kicked the rushes that were strewn uponthe floor, and ground the clay with his heel. "This litter will ha' tobe all took out. Atkins will be here at six i' the morning to do thejob, and a lovely mess he will make o' the house!"

  "Do na fret thee, Simon," said Mistress Attwood, gently. "The rushesneed a changing, and I ha' pined this long while to lay the floor wi'new clay from Shottery common. 'Tis the sweetest earth! Nick shall takethe hangings down, and right things up when the chimley 's done."

  So at cockcrow next morning Nick slipped out of his straw bed, into hisclothes, and down the winding stair, while his parents were still asleepin the loft, and, sousing his head in the bucket at the well, began hiswork before the old town clock in the chapel tower had yet struck four.

  The rushes had not been changed since Easter, and were full of dust andgrease from the cooking and the table. Even the fresher sprigs of mintamong them smelled stale and old. When they were all in the barrow, Nicksighed 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 ofthe smell of the apple-bloom and pear from the little orchard behind thehouse. The bees were already humming about the straw-bound hives alongthe garden wall, and a misguided green woodpecker clung upside down tothe eaves, and thumped at the beams of the house.

  It was very still there in the gray of the dawn. He could hear the rushof 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 coolwhisper of the wind in the willows.

  When he went back into the house again the painted cloths upon the wallseemed 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 an inkymountain; and the homely maxims on the next breadth--"Do no Wrong,""Beware of Sloth," "Overcome Pride," and "Keep an Eye on thePence"--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 outwith an unexpected jerk. Losing his balance, Nick caught at thetable-board which leaned against the wall; but the stool capsized, andhe came down on the floor with such a flap of tapestry that the ashesflew out all over the room.

  He sat up dazed, and rubbed his elbows, then looked around and began tolaugh.

  He could hear heavy footsteps overhead. A door opened, and his father'svoice called sternly from the head of the stair: "What madcap folly artthou up to now?"

  "I be up to no folly at all," said Nick, "but down, sir. I fell from thestool. There is no harm done."

  "Then be about thy business," said Attwood, coming slowly down thestairs.

  He was a gaunt man, smelling of leather and untanned hides. His shortiron-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 forbiddingand severe. His doublet of serge and his fustian hose were stained withliquor from the vats, and his eyes were heavy with sleep.

  The smile faded from Nick's face. "Shall I throw the rushes into thestreet, sir?" "Nay; take them to the muck-hill. The burgesses ha' madea great to-do about folk throwing trash into the highways. Soul and bodyo' man!" he growled, "a man must ask if he may breathe. And good hidesgoing 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 thestraw-thatched barns in Chapel lane, and long files of gabbling duckswaddled hurriedly down to the river through the primroses under thehedge. He could hear the milkmaids calling in the meadows; and when hetrundled slowly home the smoke was creeping up in pale-blue threads fromthe draught-holes in the wall.

  The tanner's house stood a little back from the thoroughfare, in thatpart of Stratford-on-Avon where the south end of Church street turnsfrom Bull lane toward the river. It was roughly built of timber andplaster, the black beams showing through the yellow lime in curioussquares and triangles. The roof was of red tiles, and where thespreading elms leaned over it the peaked gable was green with moss.

  At the side of the house was a garden of lettuce; beyond the garden arough wall on which the grass was growing. Sometimes wild primroses grewon top of this wall, and once a yellow daffodil. Beyond the wall wereother gardens owned by thrifty neighbors, and open lands in common tothem all, where foot-paths wandered here and there in a free,haphazard way.

  Behind the house was a well and a wood-pile, and along the lane ran awhitewashed paling fence with a little gate, from which the path went upto the door through rows of bright, old-fashioned flowers.

  Nick's mother was getting the breakfast. She was a gentle woman with asweet, kind face, and a little air of quiet dignity that made her doublydear to Nick by contrast with his father's unkempt ways. He used tothink that, in her worsted gown, with its falling collar of Antwerplinen, and a soft, silken coif upon her fading hair, she was the mostbeautiful woman in all the world.

  She put one arm about his shoulders, brushed back his curly hair, andkissed him on the forehead.

  "Thou art mine own good little son," said she, tenderly, "and I willbake thee a cake in the new chimley on the morrow for thyMay-day-feast."

  Then she helped him fetch the trestles from the buttery, set the board,spread the cloth, and lay the wooden platters, pewter cups, and old hornspoons in place. Breakfast being ready, she then called his father fromthe yard. Nick waited deftly upon them both, so that they were soon donewith the simple meal of rye-bread, lettuce, cheese, and milk.

  As he carried away the empty platters and brought water and a towel forthem to wash their hands, he said quietly, although his eyes were brightand eager, "The Lord High Admiral's company is to act a stage-play atthe guildhall to-morrow before Master Davenant the Mayor and the townburgesses."

  Simon Attwood said nothing, but his brows drew down.

  "They came yestreen from London town by Oxford way to play in Stratfordand at Coventry, and are at the Swan Inn with Master GeoffreyInchbold--oh, ever so many of them, in scarlet jerkins, and cloth ofgold, and doublets of silk laced up like any lord! It is a very goodcompany, 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 TroublesomeReign 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?" askedthe tanner, sternly.

  "I will do my work beforehand, sir," replied Nick, quietly, though hishand trembled a little as he brushed up the crumbs.

  "It is May-day, Simon," interceded Mistress Attwood, "and a bit ofpleasure will na harm the lad."

  "Pleasure?" said the tanner, sharply. "If he does na find pleasureenough in his work, his book, and his home, he shall na seek it of lowrogues and strolling scape-graces."

  "But, Simon," said Mistress Attwood, "'tis the Lord Admiral's owncompany--surely they are not all graceless! And," she continued withvery quiet dignity, "since mine own cousin Anne Hathaway married WillShakspere the play-actor, 'tis scarcely kind to call all playersrogues and low."

  "No more o' this, Margaret," cried Attwood, flushing angrily. "Thou artever too ready with the boy's part against me. He shall na go--I'll finda thing or
two for him to do among the vats that will take this tastefor idleness out of his mouth. He shall na go: so that be all there ison 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 Coventryten years ago. Is what the Queen does idle folly?"

  His mother took him by the hand and drew him to her side, with a smilethat was half a sigh. "Art thou the Queen?"

  "Nay," said he; "and it's all the better for England, like enough. Butsurely, mother, it can na be wrong--"

  "To honour thy father?" said she, quickly, laying her finger across hislips. "Nay, lad; it is thy bounden duty."

  Nick turned and looked up at her wonderingly. "Mother," said he, "artthou an angel come down out of heaven?"

  "Nay," she answered, patting his flushed cheek; "I be only the every-daymother of a fierce little son who hath many a hard, hard lesson tolearn. Now eat thy breakfast--thou hast been up a long while."

  Nick kissed her impetuously and sat down, but his heart still rankledwithin him.

  All Stratford would go to the play. He could hear the murmur of voicesand music, the bursts of laughter and applause, the tramp of happy feetgoing up the guildhall stairs to the Mayor's show. Everybody went infree at the Mayor's show. The other boys could stand on stools and seeit all. They could hold horses at the gate of the inn at the Septemberfair, and so see all the farces. They could see the famous Norwichpuppet-play. But he--what pleasure did he ever have? A tawdry pageant bya lot of clumsy country bumpkins at Whitsuntide or Pentecost, or a sillyschool-boy masque at Christmas, with the master scolding like a heathenTurk. 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, andwear 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 arainbow! Geoffrey Hall was to lead the dance, too, and the other boysand girls would all be there. And where would he be? Sousing hides inthe tannery vats. Truly his father was a hard man!

  He pushed the cheese away.