he had but little time to think of it; for the
master-player kept him closely at his strange, new work, and taught him
daily with the most amazing patience.

[Illustration: "NOBODY BREAKS NOBODY'S HEARTS IN OLD JO-OHN SMITHSES
SHO-OP,' DRAWLED THE SMITH, IN HIS DEEP VOICE; NOR STEALS
NOBODY, NOTHER"]

He had Nick learn no end of stage parts off by heart, with their cues
and "business," entrances and exits; and worked fully as hard as his
pupil, reading over every sentence twenty times until Nick had the
accent perfectly. He would have him stamp, too, and turn about, and
gesture in accordance with the speech, until the boy's arms ached, going
with him through the motions one by one, over and over again,
unsatisfied, but patient to the last, until Nick wondered. "Nick, my
lad," he would often say, with a tired but determined smile, "one little
thing done wrong may spoil the finest play, as one bad apple rots the
barrelful. We'll have it right, or not at all, if it takes a month
of Sundays."

So, often, he kept Nick before a mirror for an hour at a time, making
faces while he spoke his lines, smiling, frowning, or grimacing as best
seemed to fit the part, until the boy grew fairly weary of his own
looks. Then sometimes, more often as the time slipped by, Carew would
clap his hands with a boyish laugh, and have a pie brought and a cup of
Spanish cordial for them both, declaring that he loved the lad with all
his heart, upon the remnant of his honour: from which Nick knew that he
was coming on.

Cicely Carew's governess was a Mistress Agnes Anstey. By birth she had
been a Harcourt of Ankerwyke, and she was therefore everywhere esteemed
fit by birth and breeding to teach the young mind when to bow and when
to beckon. She came each morning to the house, and Carew paid her double
shillings to see to it that Nick learned such little tricks of cap and
cloak as a lady's page need have, the carriage best fitted for his
place, and how to come into a room where great folks were. Moreover, how
to back out again, bowing, and not fall over the stools--which was no
little art, until Nick caught the knack of peeping slyly between his
legs when he bowed.

His hair, too, was allowed to grow long, and was combed carefully every
day by the tiring-woman; and soon, as it was naturally curly, it fell in
rolling waves about his neck.

On the heels of the governess came M'sieu de Fleury, who, it was said,
had been dancing-master to Hatton,