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Updated: June 21, 2025
Out of the garden-gate walked he, and down the dirty lane, setting his cane down stoutly as he went, past gravel-pits and pens to Southam's lane, and in at the door of Simon Attwood's tannery. It was noon when he went in; yet the hour struck, and no one came or went from the tannery. Mistress Attwood's dinner grew cold upon the board, and Dame Combe looked vainly across the fields toward the town.
Diccon Field, perhaps, whose father had been Simon Attwood's partner till he died, last Michaelmas. Diccon was in London now, printing books, he had heard. Or maybe it was John, Hal Saddler's older brother. No, it could not be John, for John was with a carrier; and Nick had doubts if carriers were much acquainted at court. Wondering, he stared, and bowed again.
Wat Raven was sweeping old Clopton bridge. "Hullo, there, Wat! I be come home again!" Nick cried. Wat stared at him, but knew him not at all. Around the corner, and down High street. Fynes Morrison burst in at the guildschool door. "Nick Attwood's home!" he shouted; and his eyes were like two plates. Then the last lane and the smoke from his father's house!
One of them is an under-housemaid in the service of Admiral Bartram, at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. I found that out from Mrs. Attwood's master; and as soon as I arrived at the discovery, I privately determined to make Mrs. Attwood's acquaintance. Stranger still, is it not?" Louisa began to look a little uneasy.
Master Shakspere looked at Master Jonson. Nick stood hesitating between Cicely and his father, faithful to his promise, though his heart was sick for home. An odd light had been struggling dimly in Simon Attwood's troubled eyes. Then all at once it shone out bright and clear, and he clapped his bony hand upon the stout oak chair. "Bring her along," he said.
If the reader is curious to know the house in which the catastrophe of this history took place, he has but to march some twenty doors down from the Boulevard des Italiens, when he will see a fine door, with a naked Cupid shooting at him from the hall, and a Venus beckoning him up the stairs. "Here's a pretty row!" said Gortz, quoting from his letter; "Attwood's off have a bit of beefsteak?"
Her mother is proud of the letters and proud of the girl, and is ready enough to talk about her daughter and her daughter's place. That is Mrs. Attwood's attraction to me. You understand, so far?" Yes Louisa understood. Magdalen went on. "Thanks to Mrs. Attwood and Mrs. Attwood's daughter," she said, "I know some curious particulars already of the household at St. Crux.
Then up to his feet sprang Robin Getley, upon the saddle-backed coping-stones, his hand upon Nick Attwood's head to steady himself, and looked away where the rippling Stour ran like a thread of silver beside the dust-buff London road, and the little church of Atherstone stood blue against the rolling Cotswold Hills.
Like a keen, cold wind that blows through a window in the night, life's courage had breathed on Nick Attwood's heart; the man that slept in the heart of the boy awoke and was aware. The old song roared in Nick's ears: Sir Francis Drake sailed round the world, Round the world, round the world; John Hawkins fought the "Victory," And we ha' beaten Spain! Whither they were going he did not know.
Q. Have not many plans been already contrived which consume the smoke of furnaces very effectually? A. Yes, many plans; and besides those already mentioned there are Hall's, Coupland's, Godson's, Robinson's, Stevens's, Hazeldine's, Indie's, Bristow and Attwood's, and a great number of others.
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