ster Carew.

Nick bent his head and said a grace, at which some of them laughed,
until Carew shook his head with a stern frown; and before he ate he
bowed politely to them all, as his mother had taught him to do. They all
bowed mockingly, and hilariously offered him wine, which, when he
refused, they pressed upon him, until Carew stopped them, saying that he
would have no more of that. As he spoke he clapped his hand upon his
poniard and scowled blackly. They all laughed, but offered Nick no more
wine; instead, they picked him choice morsels, and made a great deal of
him, until his silly young head was quite turned, and he sat up and gave
himself a few airs--not many, for Stratford was no great place in which
to pick up airs.

When they had eaten they wanted Nick to sing; but again Carew
interposed. "Nay," said he; "he hath just eaten his fill, so he cannot
sing. Moreover, he is no jackdaw to screech in such a cage as this. He
shall not sing until to-morrow in the play."

At this some of the leading players who held shares in the venture
demurred, doubting if Nick could sing at all; but--"Hark 'e," said
Master Carew, shortly, clapping his hand upon his poniard, "I say that
he can. Do ye take me?"

So they said no more; and shortly after he took Nick away, and left them
over their tankards, singing uproariously.

The Blue Boar Inn had not a bed to spare, nor had the players kept a
place for Carew; at which he smiled grimly, said he'd not forget it, and
took lodgings for himself and Nick at the Three Tuns in the next street.

Nick spoke indeed of his mother's cousin, with whom he had meant to
stay, but the master-player protested warmly; so, little loath, and much
flattered by the attentions of so great a man, Nick gave over the idea
and said no more about it.

When the chamberlain had shown them to their room and they were both
undressed, Nick knelt beside the bed and said a prayer, as he always did
at home. Carew watched him curiously. It was quiet there, and the light
dim; Nick was young, and his yellow hair was very curly. Carew could
hear the faint breath murmuring through the boy's lips as he prayed, and
while he stared at the little white figure his mouth twitched in a queer
way. But he tossed his head, and muttered to himself, "What, Gaston
Carew, turning soft? Nay, nay. I'll do it--on my soul, I will!" rolled
into bed, and was soon fast asleep.

* * * * *

As for Nick, wh