"Then have ye naught to do, that ye waste the day in idle folly?" asked
the tanner, sternly.

"I will do my work beforehand, sir," replied Nick, quietly, though his
hand trembled a little as he brushed up the crumbs.

"It is May-day, Simon," interceded Mistress Attwood, "and a bit of
pleasure will na harm the lad."

"Pleasure?" said the tanner, sharply. "If he does na find pleasure
enough in his work, his book, and his home, he shall na seek it of low
rogues and strolling scape-graces."

"But, Simon," said Mistress Attwood, "'tis the Lord Admiral's own
company--surely they are not all graceless! And," she continued with
very quiet dignity, "since mine own cousin Anne Hathaway married Will
Shakspere the play-actor, 'tis scarcely kind to call all players
rogues and low."

"No more o' this, Margaret," cried Attwood, flushing angrily. "Thou art
ever too ready with the boy's part against me. He shall na go--I'll find
a thing or two for him to do among the vats that will take this taste
for idleness out of his mouth. He shall na go: so that be all there is
on it." Rising abruptly, he left the room.

Nick clenched his hands.

"Nicholas," said his mother, softly.