30 MASTER SKYLARK

“Good, then; I be na feared. Art sure there be no
witches?”

“Why,” said Nick, “would Master Burgess John Shak-
spere leave his son Will to do with witches?”

“T dunno,” faltered Hodge; “a told Muster Robin
Bowles it was na right to drownd ’em in the river.”

Nick hesitated. “Maybe it kills the fish,” said he; “and
Master Will Shakspere 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 a corner. “Wully Shaxper a great man?”
said he. “Why, a’s name be cut on the old beech-tree up
Snitterfield lane, where ’s uncle Henry Shaxper lives, an’
% is but poorly done. I could do better wi? my own
whittle.”

“ Ay, Hodge,” cried Nick; “and that’s about all thou
canst do. Dost think that a man’s greatness hangs on so
little a thing as his sleight of hand at cutting his name on
a tree?”

“Wull, maybe; maybe not; but if a be a great man,
Nick Attwood, a might do a little thing passing well—so
there, now!”

Nick pondered for a moment. “Ido na know,” said he,
slowly ; “heaps of men can do the little things, but parlous
few the big. So some one must be bigging it, or folks
would all sing very small. And he doeth the big most
beautiful, they say. They call him the Swan of Avon.”

“ Avon swans be mostly geese,” said Hodge, vacantly.