od fellow beside old Kit Marlowe and
Gaston Carew."

"And to that end, Neighbor Attwood," Master Shakspere added, "we have,
through my young Lord Hunsdon, who has just been made State Chamberlain,
Her Majesty's gracious permission to hold this money in trust for the
little maid as guardians under the law."

Cicely stared around perplexed. "Won't Nick be there?" she asked. "Why,
then I will not go--they shall not take thee from me, Nick!" and she
threw her arms around him. "I'm going to stay with thee till daddy
comes, and be thine own sister forever."

Master Jonson laughed gently, not his usual roaring laugh, but one that
was as tender as his own bluff heart. "Why, good enough, good enough!
The woman who mothered a lad like Master Skylark here is surely fit to
rear the little maid."

The London players thumped the table. "Why, 'tis the very trick," said
Hemynge. "Marry, this is better than a play."

"It is indeed," quoth Condell. "See the plot come out!"

"Thou'lt do it, Attwood--why, of course thou'lt do it," said Master
Shakspere. "'Tis an excellent good plan. These funds we hold in trust
will keep thee easy-minded, and warrant thee in doing well by both our
little folks. And what's more," he cried, for the thought had just come
in his head, "I have ever heard thee called an honest man; hard, indeed,
perhaps too hard, but honest as the day is long. Now I need a tenant for
this New Place of mine--some married man with a good housewife, and
children to be delving in the posy-beds outside. What sayst thou, Simon
Attwood? They tell me thy 'prentice, Job Hortop, is to marry in
July--he'll take thine old house at a fair rental. Why, here, Neighbor
Attwood, thou toil-worn, time-damaged tanner, bless thy hard old heart,
man, come, be at ease--thou hast ground thy soul out long enough! Come,
take me at mine offer--be my fellow. The rent shall trickle off thy
finger-tips as easily as water off a duck's back!"

Simon Attwood arose from the chair where he had been sitting. There was
a bewildered look upon his face, and he was twisting his horny fingers
together until the knuckles were white. His lips parted as if to speak,
but he only swallowed very hard once or twice instead, and looked around
at them all. "Why, sir," he said at length, looking at Master Shakspere,
"why, sirs, all of ye--I ha' been a hard man, and summat of a fool,
sirs, ay, sirs, a very fool. I ha' misthought and miscalled ye foully
many a time, and ma