CHAPTER XXXVIIi
A STRANGE DAY

HERE in the Great House garden under the mul-
berry-trees stood Master Will Shakspere, with
Masters Jonson, Burbage, Hemynge, Condell, and a
goodly number more, who had just come up from London
town, as well as Alderman Henry Walker of Stratford,
good old John Combe of the college, and Michael Dray-
ton, the poet of Warwick. For Master Shakspere had
that morning bought the Great House, with its gardens
and barns, of Master William Underhill, for sixty pounds
sterling, and was making a great feast for all his friends
to celebrate the day.

The London players all clapped their hands as Nick and
Cicely came up the garden-path, and, “Upon my word,
Will,” declared Master Jonson, “the lad is a credit to this
old town of thine. A plucky fellow, I say, a right plucky
fellow. Found the lass and brought her home ail safe
and sound—why, ’t is done like a true knight-errant!”

Master Shakspere met them with outstretched hands.

“Thou young rogue,” said he, smiling, “how thou hast
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