CHAPTER XI
DISOWNED
Night came down on Stratford town that last sweet April day, and thepastured kine came lowing home. Supper-time passed, and the cool starscame twinkling out; but still Nick Attwood did not come.
"He hath stayed to sleep with Robin, Master Burgess Getley's son," saidMistress Attwood, standing in the door, and staring out into the dusk;"he is often lonely here."
"He should ha' telled thee on it, then," said Simon Attwood. "This be noway to do. I've a mind to put him to a trade."
"Nay, Simon," protested his wife; "he may be careless,--he is youngyet,--but Nicholas is a good lad. Let him have his schooling out--he'llbe the better for it."
"Then let him show it as he goes along," said Attwood, grimly, as heblew the candle out.
But May-day dawned; mid-morning came, mid-afternoon, then supper-timeagain; and supper-time crept into dusk--and still no Nicholas Attwood.
His mother grew uneasy; but his father only growled: "We'll reckon upwhen he cometh home. Master Brunswood tells me he was na at the schoolthe whole day yesterday--and he be feared to show his face. I'll _fear_him with a bit of birch!"
"Do na be too hard with the lad, Simon," pleaded Mistress Attwood. "Whoknows what hath happened to him? He must be hurt, or he'd 'a' come hometo his mother"--and she began to wring her hands. "He may ha' fallenfrom a tree, and lieth all alone out on the hill--or, Simon, the Avon!Thou dost na think our lad be drowned?"
"Fudge!" said Simon Attwood. "Born to hang'll never drown!"
When, however, the next day crept around and still his son did not comehome, a doubt stole into the tanner's own heart. Yet when his wife wasfor starting out to seek some tidings of the boy, he stopped herwrathfully.
"Nay, Margaret," said he; "thou shalt na go traipsing around the townlike a hen wi' but one chick. I wull na ha' thee made a laughing-stockby all the fools in Stratford."
But as the third day rolled around, about the middle of the afternoonthe tanner himself sneaked out at the back door of his tannery inSoutham's lane, and went up into the town.
"Robin Getley," he asked at the guildschool door, "was my son wi' theeovernight?"
"Nay, Master Attwood. Has he not come back?"
"Come back? From where?"
Robin hung his head.
"From, where?" demanded the tanner. "Come, boy!"
"From Coventry," said Robin, knowing that the truth would out at last,anyway.
"He went to see the players, sir," spoke up Hal Saddler, briskly, notheeding Robin's stealthy kick. "He said he'd bide wi' Diccon Haggardovernight; an' he said he wished he were a master-player himself,sir, too."
Simon Attwood, frowning blackly, hurried on. It _was_ Nick, then, whomhe had seen crossing the market-square.
Wat Raven, who swept Clopton bridge, had seen two boys go up the Warwickroad. "One were thy Nick, Muster Attwood," said he, thumping the dirtfrom his broom across the coping-stone, "and the other wereDawson's Hodge."
The angry tanner turned again into the market-place. His brows wereknit, and his eyes were hot, yet his step was heavy and slow. Above allthings, he hated disobedience, yet in his surly way he loved his onlyson; and far worse than disobedience, he hated that _his_ sonshould disobey.
Astride a beam in front of Master Thompson's house sat Roger Dawson.Simon Attwood took him by the collar none too gently.
"Here, leave be!" choked Roger, wriggling hard; but the tanner's gripwas like iron. "Wert thou in Coventry May-day?" he asked sternly.
"Nay, that I was na," sputtered Hodge. "A plague on Coventry!"
"Do na lie to me--thou wert there wi' my son Nicholas."
"I was na," snarled Hodge. "Nick Attwood threshed me in the Warrickroad; an' I be no dawg to follow at the heels o' folks as threshes me."
"Where be he, then?" demanded Attwood, with a sudden sinking at heart inspite of his wrath.
"How should I know? A went away wi' a play-actoring fellow in aplum-colored cloak; and play-actoring fellow said a loved him like a'sown, and patted a's back, and flung me hard names, like stones at a lostdawg. Now le' me go, Muster Attwood--cross my heart, 'tis all I know!"
"Is't Nicholas ye seek, Master Attwood?" asked Tom Carpenter, turningfrom his fleurs-de-lis. "Why, sir, he's gone got famous, sir. I was inCoventry mysel' May-day; and--why, sir, Nick was all the talk! He sangthere at the Blue Boar inn-yard with the Lord High Admiral's players,and took a part in the play; and, sir, ye'd scarce believe me, but thepeople went just daft to hear him sing, sir."
Simon Attwood heard no more. He walked down High street in a daze. Withhard men bitter blows strike doubly deep. He stopped before theguildhall school. The clock struck five; each iron clang seemed beatingupon his heart. He raised his hand as if to shut the clangor out, andthen his face grew stern and hard. "He hath gone his own wilful way,"said he, bitterly. "Let him follow it to the end."
Mistress Attwood came to meet him, running in the garden-path."Nicholas?" was all that she could say.
"Never speak to me of him, again," he said, and passed her by into thehouse. "He hath gone away with a pack of stage-playing rascals andvagabonds, whither no man knoweth."
Taking the heavy Bible down from the shelf, he lit a rushlight at thefire, although it was still broad daylight, and sat there with the greatbook open in his lap until the sun went down and the chill night windcrept in along the floor; yet he could not read a single word and neverturned a page.