294 MASTER SKYLARK

they were to go, and had me swear, upon my faith as a
Christian man, that I would see them safely delivered ac-
cording to his wish. This being done, and the end come,
he kissed me on both cheeks, and standing bravely up,
spoke to them all, saying that for a man such as he had
been it was easier to end even so than to go on. I never
saw him again.”

The great writer of plays paused a moment, and his lips
moved as if he were saying a prayer. Master Burbage
crossed himself.

“The bags were found within the wall, as he had said,
and were sealed by Ben Jonson and myself until we should
find the legatees—for they had disappeared as utterly as
if the earth had gaped and swallowed them. But, by the
Father’s grace, we have found them safe and sound at last;
and all ’s well that ends well!”

Here he turned the buckskin bags around.

On one, in Master Carew’s school-boy scrawl, was
printed, “For myne Onelie Beeloved Doghter, Cicely
Carew”; on the other, “For Nicholas Attewode, alias —
Mastre Skie-lark, whom I, Gaston Carew, Player, Stole
Away from Stratford Toune, Anno Domini 1596.”

Nick stared ; Cicely clapped her hands; and Simon Att-
wood sat down dizzily.

“There,” said Master Shakspere, pointing to the second
bag, “are one hundred and fifty gold rose-nobles. In the
other just three hundred more. Neighbor Attwood, we
shall have no paupers here.”

Everybody laughed then and clapped their hands, and