14 MASTER SKYLARK

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 avery good
company, they say.”

Mistress Attwood looked quickly at her husband.
“What will they play?” she asked.

“T ean 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.

“J will do my work beforehand, sir,” replied Nick,
quietly, though his hand trembled a little as he brushed
up the crumbs.

“Tt 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 Shakspere the