me on. No witch in the world could turn
thee bigger goose than thou art now. Come along wi' thee; there be no
witches there at all."

"Art sure thou 'rt not bedaffing me?" hesitated Hodge. "Good, then; I
be na feared. Art sure there be no witches?"

"Why," said Nick, "would Master Burgess John Shakspere leave his son
Will to do with witches?"

"I dunno," faltered Hodge; "a told Muster Robin Bowles it was na right
to drownd 'em in the river."

Nick hesitated. "Maybe it kills the fish," said he; "and Master Will
Shakspere always liked to fish. But they burn witches in London, Hodge,
and he has na put a stop to it--and he's a great man in London town."

Hodge came on a little way, shaking his head like an old sheep in a
corner. "Wully Shaxper a great man?" said he. "Why, a's name be cut on
the old beech-tree up Snitterfield lane, where's uncle Henry Shaxper
lives, an' 'tis but poorly done. I could do better wi' my own whittle."

"Ay, Hodge," cried Nick; "and that's about all thou canst do. Dost think
that a man's greatness hangs on so little a thing as his sleight of hand
at cutting his name on a tree?"

"Wull, maybe; maybe not; but if a be a great man, Nick Attwood, a might
do a little thing passing well--so there, now!"

Nick pondered for a moment. "I do na know," said he, slowly; "heaps of
men can do the little things, but parlous few the big. So some one must
be bigging it, or folks would all sing very small. And he doeth the big
most beautiful, they say. They call him the Swan of Avon."

"Avon swans be mostly geese," said Hodge, vacantly.

"Now, look 'e here, Hodge Dawson, don't thou be calling Master Will
Shakspere goose. He married my own mother's cousin, and I will na
have it."

"La, now," drawled Hodge, staring, "'tis nowt to me. Thy Muster Wully
Shaxper may be all the long-necked fowls in Warrickshire for all I care.
And, anyway, I'd like to know, Nick Attwood, since when hath a been
'_Muster_ Shaxper'--that ne'er-do-well, play-actoring fellow?"

"Ne'er-do-well? It is na so. When he was here last summer he was bravely
dressed, and had a heap of good gold nobles in his purse. And he gave
Rick Hawkins, that's blind of an eye, a shilling for only holding
his horse."

"Oh, ay," drawled Hodge; "a fool and a's money be soon parted."

"Will Shakspere is no fool," declared Nick, hotly. "He's made a peck o'
money there in London town, and 's going to buy the Great House in
Chapel lane, and come back here