"Yes, mother," said he; "I know. But he should na flout thee so! And,
mother, the Queen goes to the play--father himself saw her at Coventry
ten years ago. Is what the Queen does idle folly?"

His mother took him by the hand and drew him to her side, with a smile
that was half a sigh. "Art thou the Queen?"

"Nay," said he; "and it's all the better for England, like enough. But
surely, mother, it can na be wrong--"

"To honour thy father?" said she, quickly, laying her finger across his
lips. "Nay, lad; it is thy bounden duty."

Nick turned and looked up at her wonderingly. "Mother," said he, "art
thou an angel come down out of heaven?"

"Nay," she answered, patting his flushed cheek; "I be only the every-day
mother of a fierce little son who hath many a hard, hard lesson to
learn. Now eat thy breakfast--thou hast been up a long while."

Nick kissed her impetuously and sat down, but his heart still rankled
within him.

All Stratford would go to the play. He could hear the murmur of voices
and music, the bursts of laughter and applause, the tramp of happy feet
going up the guildhall stairs to the Mayor's show. Everybody went in
free at the Mayor's show. The other boys could stand on stools and see
it all. They could hold horses at the gate of the inn at the September
fair, and so see all the farces. They could see the famous Norwich
puppet-play. But he--what pleasure did he ever have? A tawdry pageant by