thee some of these fine days."

"But come, Robin," asked Nick, eagerly, "what became of the quarrel?"

"Well, when the master-player threw his glove into Master Stubbes's
face, the Chief Constable seized him for contempt of Stratford Council,
and held him for trial. At that some cried 'Shame!' and some 'Hurrah!'
but the rest of the players fled out of town in the night, lest their
baggage be taken by the law and they be fined."

"Whither did they go?" asked Nick, both sorry and glad to hear that they
were gone.

"To Coventry, and left the master-player behind in gaol."

"Why, they dare na use him so--the Lord Admiral's own man!"

"Ay, that they don't! Why, hark 'e, Nick! This morning, since Sir
Thomas has gone home, and the burgesses' heads have all cooled down from
the sack and the clary they were in last night, la! but they are in a
pretty stew, my father says, for fear that they have given offense to
the Lord Admiral. So they have spoken the master-player softly, and
given him his freedom out of hand, and a long gold chain to twine about
his cap, to mend the matter with, beside."

"Whee-ew!" whistled Nick. "I wish I were a master-player!"

"Oh, but he will not be pleased, and says he will have his revenge on
Stratford town if he must needs wait until the end of the world or go to
the Indies after it. And he has had his breakfast served in Master
Geoffrey Inchbold's own room at the Swan, and swears that he will walk
the whole way to Coventry sooner than straddle the horse that the
burgesses have sent him to ride."

"What! Is he at the inn? Why, let's go down and see him."

"Master Brunswood says that he will birch whoever cometh late," objected
Hal Saddler.

"Birch?" groaned Nick. "Why, he does nothing but birch! A fellow can na
say his '_sum, es, est_' without catching it. And as for getting through
the 'genitivo' and 'vocativo' without a downright threshing--" He
shrugged his shoulders ruefully as he remembered his unlearned lesson.
Everything had gone wrong with him that morning, and the thought of the
birching that he was sure to get was more than he could bear. "I will
na stand it any longer--I'll run away!"

Kit Sedgewick laughed ironically. "And when the skies fall we'll catch
sparrows, Nick Attwood," said he. "Whither wilt thou run?"

Stung by his tone of ridicule, Nick out with the first thing that came
into his head. "To Coventry, after the stage-players," said he,
defiantly.

The whole crow