A STRANGE DAY 283

forestalled us! Why, here we have been weeping for thee
as lost, strayed, or stolen; and all the while thou wert
nestling in the bosom of thine own sweet home. How is
the beloved little mother?”

“T ha’ na seen my mother,” faltered Nick. “Father
will na let me in.”

“What? How?”

“My father will na have me any more, sir—saith I
shall never be his son again. Oh, Master Shakspere, why
did they steal me from home?”

They were all crowding about now, and Master Shak-
spere had hold of the boy. ‘“ Why, what does this mean?”
he asked. ‘“ What on earth has happened?”

Between the two children, in broken words, the story
came out.

“Why, this is a sorry tale!” said Master Shakspere.
“Does the man not know that thou wert stolen, that thou
wert kept against thy will, that thou hast trudged half-
way from London for thy mother’s sake?”

“He will na leave me tell him, sir. He would na even
listen to me!”

“The muckle shrew!” quoth Master Jonson. “Why,
I'll have this out with him! By Jupiter, Ill read him
reason with a vengeance!” With a clink of his rapier he
made as if to be off at once.

“Nay, Ben,” said Master Shakspere; “cool thy blood—
a quarrel will not serve. This tanner is a bitter-minded,
heavy-handed man—he ’d only throw thee in a pickling-
vat.”