80 MASTER SKYLARK

The master-player frowned.

“Please, Master Carew, let me go.”

“Come, come,” said Carew, impatiently, “enough of
this!” and stamped his foot.

“But, oh, Master Carew,” pleaded Nick, with a sob in
his throat, “my mother’s heart will surely break if I do
na come home!”

Carew started, and his mouth twitched queerly
“Rnough, I say—enough!” he cried. “I will not hear;
I ’Ilhave no more. I tell thee hold thy tongue—be dumb!
[’ll-not have ears—thou shalt not speak! Dost hear?”
He dashed the towel to the ground. “I bid thee hold
thy tongue.”

Nick hid his face between his hands, and leaned against
the rough stone wall, a naked, shivering, wretched little
chap indeed. “Oh, mother, mother, mother!” he sobbed
pitifully.

A singular expression came over the master-player’s face.
“T will not hear—I tell thee I will not hear!” he choked,
and, turning suddenly away, he fell upon the sleepy hos-
tler, who was drawing water at the well, and rated him
outrageously, to that astounded worthy’s great amazement

Nick crept into his clothes, and stole away to the kitchen
door. There was a red-faced woman there who bade him
not to cry—’t would soon be breakfast-time. Nick thought
he could not eat at all; but when the savory smell crept
out and filled the chilly air, his poor little empty stomach
would not be denied, and he ate heartily. Master Hey-
wood sat beside him and gave him the choicest bits from