298 MASTER SKYLARK

make thyself at home. ’T is not my house, but ’t is my
friend’s, and so ’t is all the same in the Lowlands. Be
free of us and welcome.”

“T thank ye, sirs,” said the tanner, slowly, turning to
the table with rough dignity. “Ye ha’ been good to my
boy. Ill ne’er forget ye while I live. Oh, sirs, there be
kind hearts in the world that I had na dreamed of. But,
masters, I ha’ said my say, and know na more. Your
pleasure wunnot be my pleasure, sirs, for I be only a com-
mon man. I will go home to my wife. There be things
to say before my boy comes home; and I ha’ muckle need
to tell her that I love her—I ha’ na done so these many
years.”

“Why, Neighbor Tanner,” cried Master Jonson, with
flushing cheeks, “thou art a right good fellow! And
here was I, no later than this morning, red-hot to spit thee
upon my bilbo like a Michaelmas goose!” He laughed a
boyish laugh that did one’s heart good to hear.

“ Ay,” said Master Shakspere, smiling, as he and Simon
Attwood looked into each other’s eyes. “Come, neighbor,
I know thou art my man—so do not go until thou drinkest
one good toast with us, for we are all good friends and
true from this day forth. Come, Ben, a toast to fit the cue.”

“Why, then,” replied Master Jonson, in a good round
voice, rising in his place, “here ’s to all kind hearts!”

“Wherever they may be!” said Master Shakspere,
softly. “It is a good toast, and we will all drink it
together.”

And so they did. And Simon Attwood went away with