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

  CHAPTER V

  IN THE WARWICK ROAD

  The land was full of morning sounds as the lads trudged along theWarwick road together. An ax rang somewhere deep in the woods of Arden;cart-wheels ruttled on the stony road; a blackbird whistled shrilly inthe hedge, and they heard the deep-tongued belling of hounds far off inFulbroke park.

  Now and then a heron, rising from the river, trailed its long legsacross the sky, or a kingfisher sparkled in his own splash. Once alonely fisherman down by the Avon started a wild duck from the sedge,and away it went pattering up-stream with frightened wings and red feetrunning along the water. And then a river-rat plumped into the streambeneath 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 fromlush meadows, and sweet from hedges pink and white with hawthorn bloom.The thought of being pent up on such a day grew more and moreunbearable, and a blithe sense of freedom from all restraint blunted theprick of conscience.

  "Why art going to Coventry, Nick?" inquired Roger suddenly, startled bya 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."

  "Wull I see, too?"

  "If thou hast eyes--the Mayor's show is free."

  "Oh, feckins, 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' wull theyset the world afire wi' a torch, an' make the earth quake fearful wi' abarrel full o' stones? Or wull it be Sin in a motley gown a-thumping theBlack 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 nineyards high, clad in the beards o' murdered kings, like granny saith sheused to see?"

  "Pshaw! no," said Nick; "none of those old-fashioned things. These beplayers from London town, and I hope they'll play a right good Englishhistory-play, like 'The Famous Victories of Henry Fift,' to turn afellow's legs all goose-flesh!"

  Hodge stopped short in the road. "La!" said he, "I'll go no furder ifthey turn me to a goose. I wunnot be turned goose, Nick Attwood--an' aplague on all witches, says I!"

  "Oh, pshaw!" laughed Nick; "come on. No witch in the world could turnthee bigger goose than thou art now. Come along wi' thee; there be nowitches there at all."

  "Art sure thou 'rt not bedaffing me?" hesitated Hodge. "Good, then; Ibe na feared. Art sure there be no witches?"

  "Why," said Nick, "would Master Burgess John Shakspere leave his sonWill to do with witches?"

  "I dunno," faltered Hodge; "a told Muster Robin Bowles it was na rightto drownd 'em in the river."

  Nick hesitated. "Maybe it kills the fish," said he; "and Master WillShakspere 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 acorner. "Wully Shaxper a great man?" said he. "Why, a's name be cut onthe old beech-tree up Snitterfield lane, where's uncle Henry Shaxperlives, an' 'tis but poorly done. I could do better wi' my own whittle."

  "Ay, Hodge," cried Nick; "and that's about all thou canst do. Dost thinkthat a man's greatness hangs on so little a thing as his sleight of handat cutting his name on a tree?"

  "Wull, maybe; maybe not; but if a be a great man, Nick Attwood, a mightdo a little thing passing well--so there, now!"

  Nick pondered for a moment. "I do na know," said he, slowly; "heaps ofmen can do the little things, but parlous few the big. So some one mustbe bigging it, or folks would all sing very small. And he doeth the bigmost beautiful, they say. They call him the Swan of Avon."

  "Avon swans be mostly geese," said Hodge, vacantly.

  "Now, look 'e here, Hodge Dawson, don't thou be calling Master WillShakspere goose. He married my own mother's cousin, and I will nahave it."

  "La, now," drawled Hodge, staring, "'tis nowt to me. Thy Muster WullyShaxper 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'_Muster_ Shaxper'--that ne'er-do-well, play-actoring fellow?"

  "Ne'er-do-well? It is na so. When he was here last summer he was bravelydressed, and had a heap of good gold nobles in his purse. And he gaveRick Hawkins, that's blind of an eye, a shilling for only holdinghis 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 inChapel lane, and come back here to live."

  "Then a 's a witless azzy!" blurted Hodge. "If a 's so great a manamongst the lords and earlses, a 'd na come back to Stratford. An' I saya 's a witless loon--so there!"

  Nick whirled around in the road. "And I say, Hodge Dawson," he exclaimedwith flashing eyes, "that 'tis a shame for a lout like thee to somiscall thy thousand-time betters. And what's more, thou shalt unsaythat, or I will make thee swallow thy words right here and now!"

  "I'd loike to see thee try," Hodge began; but the words were scarcelyout of his mouth when he found himself stretched on the grass, NickAttwood bending over him.

  "There! thou hast seen it tried. Now come, take that back, or I willsurely box thine ears for thee."

  Hodge blinked and gaped, collecting his wits, which had scattered to thefour winds. "Whoy," said he, vaguely, "if 'tis all o' that to thee, Itake it back."

  Nick rose, and Hodge scrambled clumsily to his feet. "I'll 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 Shaxperbe-eth an old gray goose, an' boo to he, says I!"

  As he spoke he turned, dived through the thin hedge, and galloped acrossthe 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'll teach thee who thy betters be--Will Shaksperefirst of all!"

  "Well crowed, well crowed, my jolly cockerel!" on a sudden called akeen, high voice beyond the hedge behind him.

  Nick, startled, whirled about just in time to see a stranger leap thehedge and come striding up the road.