66 MASTER SKYLARK

“From Coventry,” said Robin, knowing that the truth
would out at last, anyway.

“He went to see the players, sir,” spoke up Hal Saddler,
briskly, not heeding Robin’s stealthy kick. “He said
he ’d bide wi Diccon Haggard overnight; an’ he said he
wished he were a master-player himself, sir, too.”

Simon Attwood, frowning blackly, hurried on. It was
Nick, then, whom he had seen crossing the market-square.

Wat Raven, who swept Clopton bridge, had seen two
boys go up the Warwick road. “One were thy Nick, Mus-
ter Attwood,” said he, thumping the dirt from his broom
across the coping-stone, “and the other were Dawson’s
Hodge.”

The angry tanner turned again into the market-place.
His brows were knit, and his eyes were hot, yet his step
was heavy and slow. Above all things, he hated disobe-
dience, yet in his surly way he loved his only son; and
far worse than disobedience, he hated that his son should
disobey.

Astride a beam in front of Master Thompson’s house
sat Roger Dawson. Simon Attwood took him by the col-
lar none too gently.

“Were, leave be!” choked Roger, wriggling hard; but
the tanner’s grip was like iron. “ Wert thou in Coventry
May-day?” he asked sternly.

“Nay, that I was na,” sputtered Hodge. “A plague on
Coventry !”

“Do na lie to me—thou wert there wi’ my son Nicholas.”

“T was na,” snarled Hodge. “Nick Attwood threshed