Read Master Skylark: A Story of Shakspere's Time Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  OFF FOR COVENTRY

  At the Bridge street crossing Nick paused irresolute. Around the publicpump a chattering throng of housewives were washing out their towels andhanging them upon the market-cross to dry. Along the stalls in MiddleRow the grumbling shopmen were casting up their sales from tallieschalked upon their window-ledges, or cuffing their tardy apprenticeswith no light hand.

  John Gibson's cart was hauling gravel from the pits in Henley street tomend the causeway at the bridge, which had been badly washed by the latespring floods, and the fine sand dribbled from the cart-tail like thesand in an hour-glass.

  Here and there loutish farm-hands waited for work; and at the corner twoor three stout cudgel-men leaned upon their long staves, although themarket was two days closed, and there was not a Coventry merchant insight to be driven away from Stratford trade.

  Goody Baker with her shovel and broom of twigs was sweeping up themarket litter in the square. Nick wondered if his own mother's backwould be so bent when she grew old.

  "Whur be-est going, Nick?"

  Roger Dawson sat astride a stick of timber in front of Master GeoffreyThompson's new house, watching Tom Carpenter the carver cut fleur-de-lisand curling traceries upon the front wall beams. He was atenant-farmer's son, this Roger, and a likely good-for-naught.

  "To Coventry," said Nick, curtly.

  "Wilt take a fellow wi' thee?"

  Poor company might be better than none.

  "Come on."

  Roger lumbered to his feet and trotted after.

  "No school to-day?" he asked.

  "Not for me," answered Nick, shortly, for he did not care to talk aboutit.

  "Faither wull na have I go to school, since us ha' comed to town, an'plough-land sold for grazings," drawled Roger; "Muster Pine o' Welfordsaith that I ha' learned as much as faither ever knowed, an' 'tis enowfor I. Faither saith it maketh saucy rogues o' sons to know more thanthey's own dads."

  Nick wondered if it did. His own father could neither read nor write,while he could do both and had some Latin, too. At the thought of theLatin he made a wry face.

  "Joe Carter be-eth in the stocks," said Roger, peering through thejeering crowd about the pillory and post; "a broke Tom Samson's pate wi''s ale-can yestreen."

  "'WHUR BE-EST GOING, NICK?' ASKED ROGER DAWSON."]

  But Nick pushed on. A few ruddy-faced farmers and drovers from theBed Horse Vale still lingered at the Boar Inn door and by the tap-roomof the Crown; and in the middle of the street a crowd of salters,butchers, and dealers in hides, with tallow-smeared doublets anddoubtful hose, were squabbling loudly about the prices set upontheir wares.

  In the midst of them Nick saw his father, and scurried away into BackBridge street as fast as he could, feeling very near a sneak, but farfrom altering his purpose.

  "Job Hortop," said Simon Attwood to his apprentice at his side, lookingout suddenly over the crowd, "was that my Nick yonder?"

  "Nay, master, could na been," said Job, stolidly; "Nick be-eth in schoolby now--the clock ha' struck. 'Twas Dawson's Hodge and some likene'er-do-well."