48 MASTER SKYLARK

shirts, Italian doublets slashed and laced, Venetian hose,
gay velvet caps with jeweled bands, and every man a pon-
iard or a rapier at his hip. Nick felt very much like a little
brown sparrow in a flock of gaudy Indian birds.

The board was loaded down with meat and drink, and
some of the players were eating with forks, a new trick
from the London court, which Nick had never seen
before. But all the diners looked up when Carew’s face
was recognized, and welcomed him with a deafening
shout.

He waved his hand for silence.

“Thanks for these kind plaudits, gentle friends,” said
he, with a mocking air; “I have returned.”

“Yes; we see that ye have, Gaston,” they all shouted,
and laughed again.

“Ay,” said he, thrusting his hand into his pouch, “ye
fled, and left me to be spoiled by the spoiler, but ye see I
have left the spoiler spoiled.”

Lifting his hand triumphantly, he shook in their faces
the golden chain that the burgesses of Stratford had given
him, and then, laying his hand upon Nick’s shoulder,
bowed to them all, and to him with courtly grace, and said:
“Be known, be known, all! Gentlemen, my Lord Admi-
ral’s Players, Master Nicholas Skylark, the sweetest singer
in all the kingdom of England!”

Nick’s cheeks fiushed hotly, and his eyes fell; for they
all stared curiously, first at him, and then at Carew stand-
ing up behind him, and several grinned mockingly and
winked in a knowing way. He stole a look at Carew; but