Master Skylark

next to the last day of April, 1596. It was as if some one had thru

like strawberries upon a spear of grass, and along the low causeway from the west across the lowland to the town, brown-faced, barefoot youngsters sat

the south and listening. Some had waited for an hour, some for two; yet still there was no sound but the piping of the birds in white-thorn hedges, the hollow lowing of kine knee-deep in grassy meadows

stood and looke

he throat of Clopton bridge he stopped and scanned the way with dubious eye, then clapped his tail between his legs and bolted for the town. The laughing shout that followed him into the Warwick road seemed not to die away, but to linger in t

young ears. "They're coming, R

tter now, defined and positive, and, as the two friends listened, grew into a drumming roll,

the fork of the Banbury road, his feet making little white puffs in the d

's head to steady himself, and looked away where the rippling Stour ran like a thread of silver beside th

hrilled little Tom, and scrambled up

g up. "Sit down! sit down!" cried others, peering askance at the w

ors vaguely seen, and silvery gleams like the glitter of polished metal in the sun. And as he looked the shifty wind came down out of the west again and whirled the cloud of dust away, and there he saw a long line of men upon horses coming at an easy cant

Robin, "they are coming!" a

foam, and a ripple ran along the edge of Stratford town like the wind through a field of wheat. Windows crea

r out in the street, with his red hands to his mouth for a trumpet, "they ar

was what had set the town to buzzing like a swarm. For there were in England then but three great companies, the High Chamberlain's, the Earl of Pembroke's men, and the stage-players of my

ugh the willows and over the gravel, splashing and thrashing among the rushes and sandy shallows, not to be last when the players came. And old John Carter coming do

eze, and on the changing wind, with the thumping of horses' hoofs, came by snatches the sound of a kettledrum

ead, and shouting as they ran: "There's forty men, and sumpter-mules! and, oh, the bravest banners an

e in the air, and as the brassy fanfare died away across the roofs of the quiet town, the kettledr

is up, the

ly we, the

ld bir

n deer

aisles with

tantara

along, r

and

to grief

rollick

high d

e in the

he hunt is

the bug

tantara

hark

freshening river-wind. The trumpeters and the drummers led, their horses prancing, white plumes waving i

flowing sea, bearing upon its mainsail the arms of my Lord Charles Howard, High Admiral of England. Upon its mate was a giant-bearded man with a fish's tail, holding a trident in his hand and blowi

rs and the Drummers led, their horses pra

e of the Howards, a rampant silver demi-lion; and beneath their tabards at the side could be seen their jerkins of many-colored silk, their silver-buckled belts, and long, thin Spanish rapiers, slapping their horses on the flanks at every stride. Their legs were cased in hig

dened by the life they led; and some, again, were smooth-shaven, so often and so closely that their faces were blue with the beard beneath the skin. But, oh, to Nicholas Attwood and the rest of Stratford boys,

me riding up o

e along,

and

to grief

rollick

high d

e in the

rah! God sav

ers, waving their scarlet caps until the long line tossed like a poppy-garden in a summer rain, g

he eddying crowd, and the arches of the long gray bridge rang hollow with the tread of hoofs. Whiff, came the wind; down dropped the hat upon the very saddle-peak of one tall fell

eet they all trooped af

obin, "it is

Robin, 'tis a shilling, a real silver shilling--oh, what f