aws of the cathedral; and has
been, sir, since the reign of Richard the Third. _Primus Magister
Scholarum, Custos Morum, Quartus Custos Rotulorum_,--so the title
stands, sir; and I know my place."

He pushed Nick into the anteroom, and turned to Carew with an irritated
air.

"I likewise know, sir, what is what. In plain words, Master Gaston
Carew, ye have grossly misrepresented this boy to me, to the waste of
much good time. Why, sir, he does not dance a step, and cannot act
at all."

"Soft, Master Gyles--be not so fast!" said Carew, haughtily, drawing
himself up, with his hand on his poniard; "dost mean to tell me that I
have lied to thee? Marry, sir, thy tongue will run thee into a blind
alley! I told thee that the boy could sing, but not that he could act
or dance."

"Pouf, sir,--words! I know my place: one peg below the dean, sir,
nothing less: '_Magister, et cetera'_--'tis so set down. And I tell
thee, sir, he has no training, not a bit; can't tell a pricksong from a
bottle of hay; doesn't know a canon from a crocodile, or a fugue from a
hole in the ground!"

"Oh, fol-de-riddle de fol-de-rol! What has that to do with it? I tell
thee, sir, the boy can sing."

"And, sir, I say I know my place. Music does not grow like weeds."

"And fa-la-las don't make a voice."

"What! How? Wilt thou teach me?" The master's voice rose angrily. "Teach
me, who learned descant and counterpoint in the Gallo-Belgic schools,
sir; the best in all the world! Thou, who knowest not a staccato from a
stick of liquorice!"

Carew shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Come, Master Gyles, this is
fool play. I told thee that the boy could sing, and thou hast not yet
heard him try. Thou knowest right well I am no such simple gull as to
mistake a jay for a nightingale; and I tell thee, sir, upon my word,
and on the remnant of mine honour, he has the voice that thou dost need
if thou wouldst win the favor of the Queen. He has the voice, and thou
the thingumbobs to make the most of it. Don't be a fool, now; hear him
sing. That's all I ask. Just hear him once. Thou'lt pawn thine ears to
hear him twice."

The music-school stood within the old cathedral grounds. Through the
windows came up distantly the murmur of the throng in Paul's Yard. It
was mid-afternoon, quite warm; blundering flies buzzed up and down the
lozenged panes, and through the dark hall crept the humming sound of
childish voices reciting eagerly, with now and then a sharp, sm