58 MASTER SKYLARK

slipped something into his hand—Nick, all bewildered,
knew not what; and there he stood, quite stupefied, not
knowing what to do. Then Carew came out hastily and
led him down the stage, bowing, and pressing his hand to
his heart, and smiling like a summer sunrise ; so that Nick,
seeing this, did the same, and bowed as neatly as he could ;
though, to be sure, his was only a simple, country-bred
bow, and no such ceremonious to-do as Master Carew’s
courtly London obeisance.

Every one was standing up and shouting so that not a
soul could hear his ears, until the ironmonger’s apprentice
bellowed above the rest; “Whoy, bullies!” he shouted,
amid a chorus of cheers and laughter, “did n’t I say ’t was
catched out in the fields—it be a skylark, sure enough!
Come, Muster Skylark, sing that song again, an’ thou shalt
ha’ my brand-new cap!”

Then many voices cried out together, “Sing it again!
The Skylark—the Skylark!”

Nick looked up, startled. “Why, Master Carew,” said
he, with a tremble in his voice, “do they mean me?”

Carew put one hand beneath Nick’s chin and turned his
face up, smiling. The master-player’s cheeks were flushed
with triumph, and his dark eyes danced with pride. “Ay,
Nicholas Skylark; ’t is thou they mean.”

The viol and the music came again from overhead, and
when they ceased Nick sang the little song once more.
And when the master-player had taken him outside, and
the play was over, some fine ladies came and kissed him,
to his great confusion; for no one but his mother or his