And by chance also Armadas learned how narrow
had been their own escape from a Spanish prison.
He had been the guest of a friend at the acting of Master Lyly's new
masque by the Children of the Chapel at Gray's Inn. Little Tom Poope
sang Apelles's song and ruffled it afterward among the ladies of the
court, as lightly as Essex himself. Armadas came out into the dank
Thames air humming over the dainty verses,--
"'At last he staked her all his arrows.
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows--'"
A small hand slid into his own and pulled him toward a byway.
"Why, how is it with thee, Master Poope? Didst play thy part bravely,
lad."
"Come," said the boy in a low breathless voice. "I have somewhat to tell
thee. In here," and he drew Armadas toward a doorway. "'T is my mother's
lodging--there is nothing to fear."
A woman let them in as if she had been watching for them, opened the
door into a small plainly furnished private room and vanished.
"Art not going on any more voyages to the Virginias?" asked the boy, his
eager eyes on the Captain's face.
"Not for the present, my boy. Why? Wouldst like to sail with us, and
learn more of the ways of Indian Princes?"
"Nay, I have no time for fooling--they'll miss me," said the youngster
impatiently.
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