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,” eried Robin, “it is brave, brave!”

“Brave?” eried 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!”