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Updated: May 22, 2025
His brows were darker than a year before, and his hair was grown more gray; his back, too, stooped. "Art thou a-calling me?" he asked. Nick laughed. "Why, father, do ye na know me?" he cried out. "'Tis I 'tis Nick come home!" Two steps the stern old tanner took two steps to the latchet-gate. Not one word did he speak; but he set his hand to the latchet-gate and closed it in Nick's face.
"Do na ye 'father' me no more," said Simon Attwood, bitterly; "I be na father to stage-playing, vagabond rogues. And be gone, I say. Dost hear? Must I e'en thrust thee forth?" He raised his hand as if to strike. Nick fell away from the latchet-gate, dumb-stricken with amazement, shame, and grief. "Oh, Nick," cried Cicely, "come away the wicked, wicked man!" "It is my father, Cicely."
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