athaway, lay dying of a sudden
croup. And all since morning, since Will stole away.

He knows this thing called Life, this deep inbreathing, this joy of
shout, of run, of leap, of vault. He knows--strong healthy young
animal--he knows this thing. But the other--this strange thing called
Death: the darkened room; Father with his head fallen on his breast
standing at the lattice gazing out at nothing; Mother kneeling, one arm
outstretched across the bed, her head fallen thereon, and Mistress
Sadler trying to raise and lead her away; and this--this waxen whiteness
framed in flaxen baby rings on the pillow--this little stiffening hand
outside the linen cover?

Will Shakespeare cries out. He has touched little sister Annie's hand
and it is cold.

[Illustration: "This strange thing called Death...."]

XII

And after that, things went worse in the Shakespeare household. All of
John Shakespeare's ventures were proving failures. Debt pressed on every
side. There began talk again of a mortgage on the Asbies estate, and
this time none could say nay.

Dad went about with his head sunk on his breast, and at home sat staring
in moody silence.

[Illustration: "Dad ... sat staring in moody silence"]

"Don't, Mary, don't," he would say to Mother, putting her hand on his
shoulder. "Take the children away. Instead of the name their father
would have left them, 'John Shakespeare, Gentleman,' they are to read
it--what?"

"John, John," said Mother, "is there no more then in it all--our love,
our lives--than pride?"

Pride! Will Shakespeare by now knew what it meant, and his heart went
out to his father. He had felt the sting of this thing himself. It had
been the year before. Dad had taken him behind him on his horse to
Kenilworth, to see the masks and fireworks given by the Earl of
Leicester in the Queen's honor. The gay London people come down with the
court had sat in stands and galleries to witness the spectacle of the
water pageant, breathing their perfumed breath down upon the country
people crowding the ground below. And Will Shakespeare among these, at
sight of the great Queen, had cheered with a lusty young throat and
thrown his cap up with the rest. Will Shakespeare was the once chief
bailiff's son. He was the son of Mary Arden of the Asbies. Though he
never had thought about it one way or another, he had always known
himself as good as the best.

And so at Kenilworth, standing with the crowd and looking up a