So the next morning John Shakespeare swung Will up on the horse before
him, and the two rode away through the chill mistiness of the dawn, Will
kissing his hand back to Mother in the doorway. Bound for Grandfather's
at Snitterfield they were. So out through the town, past the scattering
homesteads with their gardens and orchards, traveled Robin, the stout
gray cob, small Will's chattering voice as high-piped as the bird-calls
through the dawn; on into the open country of meadows and cultivated
fields, the mists lifting rosy before the coming sun, through lanes
with mossy banks, cobwebs spun between the blooming hedgerows heavy with
dew, over the hills, past the straggling ash and hawthorn of the
dingles. And everywhere the cold, moist scent of dawn, and peep and call
of nest-birds.
[Illustration: "Bound for Grandfather's at Snitterfield they were"]
And so early has been their start and so good stout Robin's pace, that
reaching the Snitterfield farm, they find everything in the hurly-burly
of preparation for sheep-shearing. So, after a hearty kissing by the
womenfolk, aunts and cousins, Will, with a cake hot from the baking
thrust into his hand, goes out to the steading to look around. At
Snitterfield there are poultry, and calves, too, in the byre, and
little pigs in the pen back of the barn. Then comes breakfast in the
kitchen with the farm-hands with their clattering hobnailed shoes and
tarry hands, after which follows the business of sheep-washing, which
Will views from the shady bank of the pool, and in his small heart he is
quite torn because of the plaintive bleatings of the frightened sheep.
But he swallows it as a man should. There is a pedler haunting the
sheep-shearing festivals of the neighborhood. The women have sent for
him to bring his pack to Snitterfield, and Dad bids Will choose a pair
of scented gloves for Mother--and be quick; they must be off for
Stratford before the noon.
Dad seems short and curt. Grandfather, his broad, florid face upturned
to Dad astride Robin, shakes his hoary head. "Doan' you do it, son
John," says Grandfather; "'tis a-building on sand is any man who thinks
to prosper on a mortgage. Henry and I'll advance you a bit. After which,
cut down your living in Henley Street, son John, an' draw in the
purse-strings."