254 MASTER SKYLARK

“Nay—is that so?” asked Webster, sobering instantly.
“Here, lads, give way—their mother be a-dying.”

The crowd fell back. “Ah, sirs,” whined Goole, scarce
hiding the joy in his face, “she ‘ll thank ye with her
dying breath. Get oa, thou knave!” he muttered fiercely
in Nick’s ear.

But Nick stood fast, and caught Tom Webster by the
arm. “The fellow lieth in his throat,” said he. “My
mother is in Stratford town; and Cicely’s mother is
dead.”

“Thou whelp!” cried the bandy-legged man, and aimed
a sudden blow at Nick, “I ‘Il teach thee to hold thy
tongue.”

“Qh, no, ye won't,” quoth Thomas Webster, interposing
his long oak staff, and thrusting the fellow away so hard
that he thumped against the wall; “there is no school on
holidays! Thou ’lt teach nobody here to hold his tongue
but thine own self—and start at that straightway. Dost
take me?—say? Now, Jacky Sprat, what ‘s all the coil
about? Hath this sweet fellow kidnapped thee?”

“Nay, sir, not me, but Cicely; and do na leave him take
her, sir, for he treats her very ill!”

“The little rascal lies,” sneered Goole, though his lips
were the color of lead; “I am her legal guardian!”

“What! How? Thou wast her father but a moment
since!”

“Nay, nay,” Goole stammered, turning a sickly hue;
“her father’s nearest friend, I said,—he gave her in my
charge.”