136 MASTER SKYLARK

“Oh, sir, do be brisk!” begged Nick, fearing every in-
stant to see the master-player and the bandy-legged man
come running down the bank.

“More haste, worse speed,” said the gardener; “only
evil weeds grow fast!” and he rubbed the groat on his
jerkin. “Now, jack-sculler, hold thy breath; for up she
goes again!”

A man came running over the rise. Nick gave a little
frightened cry. It was only a huckster’s knave with a
roll of fresh butter. The groat came down with a splash
in the bottom of the wherry. The boatman picked it up
out of the water and wiped it with his sleeve. “Here,
boy, get aboard,” said he, shoving off; “and be lively
about it!”

The huckster’s knave came running down the landing.
He pushed Nick aside, and scrambled into the wherry,
puffing for breath. The boat fell off into the current.
Nick, making a plunge for it into the water, just managed
to catch the gunwale and get aboard, wet to the knees.
But he did not care for that; for although there were
people going up Paris Garden lane, and a crowd about
the entrance of the Rose, he could not see Master Carew
or the bandy-legged man anywhere. So he breathed a
little freer, yet kept his eyes fast upon the play-house
until the wherry bumped against Blackfriars stairs.

Picking up the basket of truck, he sprang ashore, and,
dropping it upon the landing, took to his heels up the bank,
without stopping to thank either gardener or boatman.

The gray walls of the old friary were just ahead, scarcely