CHAPTER XXXVIII
A STRANGE DAY
There in the Great House garden under the mulberry-trees stood MasterWill Shakspere, with Masters Jonson, Burbage, Hemynge, Condell, and agoodly number more, who had just come up from London town, as well asAlderman Henry Walker of Stratford, good old John Combe of the college,and Michael Drayton, the poet of Warwick. For Master Shakspere had thatmorning bought the Great House, with its gardens and barns, of MasterWilliam Underhill, for sixty pounds sterling, and was making a greatfeast for all his friends to celebrate the day.
The London players all clapped their hands as Nick and Cicely came upthe garden-path, and, "Upon my word, Will," declared Master Jonson, "thelad is a credit to this old town of thine. A plucky fellow, I say, aright plucky fellow. Found the lass and brought her home all safe andsound--why, 'tis done like a true knight-errant!"
"MASTER SHAKSPERE MET THEM WITH OUTSTRETCHED HANDS."]
Master Shakspere met them with outstretched hands. "Thou young rogue,"said he, smiling, "how thou hast forestalled us! Why, here we havebeen weeping for thee as lost, strayed, or stolen; and all the whilethou wert nestling in the bosom of thine own sweet home. How is thebeloved little mother?"
"I 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 sonagain. Oh, Master Shakspere, why did they steal me from home?"
They were all crowding about now, and Master Shakspere had hold of theboy. "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 notknow that thou wert stolen, that thou wert kept against thy will, thatthou 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 withhim! By Jupiter, I'll read him reason with a vengeance!" With a clink ofhis rapier he made as if to be off at once.
"Nay, Ben," said Master Shakspere; "cool thy blood--a quarrel will notserve. This tanner is a bitter-minded, heavy-handed man--he'd only throwthee in a pickling-vat"
"What? Then he'd never tan another hide!"
"And would that serve the purpose, Ben? The cure should better thedisease--the children must be thought about."
"The children? Why, as for them," said Master Jonson, in his blunt,outspoken way, "I'll think thee a thought offhand to serve the turn.What? Why, this tanner calls us vagabonds. Vagabonds, forsooth! Yetvagabonds are gallows-birds, and gallows-birds are ravens. And ravens,men say, do foster forlorn children. Take my point? Good, then; let usravenous vagabonds take these two children for our own, Will,--thou one,I t' other,--and by praiseworthy fostering singe this fellow's verybrain with shame."
"Why, here, here, Ben Jonson," spoke up Master Burbage, "this is allvery well for Will and thee; but, pray, where do Hemynge, Condell, and Icome in upon the bill? Come, man, 'tis a pity if we cannot all standtogether in this real play as well as in all the make-believe."
"That's my sort!" cried Master Hemynge. "Why, what? Here is a player'sdaughter who has no father, and a player whose father will not havehim,--orphaned by fate, and disinherited by folly,--common stock with usall! Marry, 'tis a sort of stock I want some of. Kind hearts aretrumps, my honest Ben--make it a stock company, and let us all be in."
"That's no bad fancy," added Condell, slowly, for Henry Condell was acold, shrewd man. "There's merit in the lad beside his voice--_that_cannot keep its freshness long; but his figure's good, his wit isquick, and he has a very taking style. It would be worth while, Dick.And, Will," said he, turning to Master Shakspere, who listened with halfa smile to all that the others said, "he'll make a better _Rosalind_than Roger Prynne for thy new play."
"So he would," said Master Shakspere; "but before we put him into 'AsYou Like It,' suppose we ask him how he does like it? Nick, thou hastheard what all these gentlemen have said--what hast thou to say,my lad?"
"Why, sirs, ye are all kind," said Nick, his voice beginning to tremble,"very, very kind indeed, sirs; but--I--I want my mother--oh, masters, Ido want my mother!"
At that John Combe turned on his heel and walked out of the gate. Out ofthe garden-gate walked he, and down the dirty lane, setting his canedown stoutly as he went, past gravel-pits and pens to Southam's lane,and in at the door of Simon Attwood's tannery.
* * * * *
It was noon when he went in; yet the hour struck, and no one came orwent from the tannery. Mistress Attwood's dinner grew cold upon theboard, and Dame Combe looked vainly across the fields toward the town.
But about the middle of the afternoon John Combe came out of the tannerydoor, and Simon Attwood came behind him. And as John Combe came down thecobbled way, a trail of brown vat-liquor followed him, dripping from hisclothes, for he was soaked to the skin. His long gray hair had partlydried in strings about his ears, and his fine lace collar was adrabbled shame; but there was a singular untroubled smile upon hisplain old face.
Simon Attwood stayed to lock the door, fumbling his keys as if his sighthad failed; but when the heavy bolt was shut, he turned and called afterJohn Combe, so that the old man stopped in the way and dripped a puddleuntil the tanner came up to where he stood. And as he came up Attwoodasked, in such a tone as none had ever heard from his mouth before,"Combe, John Combe, what's done 's done,--and oh, John, the pity ofit,--yet will ye still shake hands wi' me, John, afore ye go?"
John Combe took Simon Attwood's bony hand and wrung it hard in his stoutold grip, and looked the tanner squarely in the eyes; then, stillsmiling serenely to himself, and setting his cane down stoutly as hewalked, dripped home, and got himself into dry clothes without a word.
But Simon Attwood went down to the river, and sat upon a flat stoneunder some pollard willows, and looked into the water.
What his thoughts were no one knew, nor ever shall know; but he wasfighting with himself, and more than once groaned bitterly. At first heonly shut his teeth and held his temples in his hands; but after a whilehe began to cry to himself, over and over again, "O Absalom, my son, myson! O my son Absalom!" and then only "My son, my son!" And when the daybegan to wane above the woods of Arden, he arose, and came up from theriver, walking swiftly; and, looking neither to the right nor to theleft, came up to the Great House garden, and went in at the gate.
At the door the servant met him, but saw his face, and let him passwithout a word; for he looked like a desperate man whom there wasno stopping.
So, with a grim light burning in his eyes, his hat in his hand, and hisclothes all drabbled with the liquor from his vats, the tanner strodeinto the dining-hall.