As for Cicely, Nick was there, so she was very well content.  She had never gone a-visiting in all her life before; and she would see Nick’s mother, and the flowers in the yard, the well, and that wondrous stream, the Avon, of which Nick talked so much.  “Stratford is a fair, fair town, though very full of fools,” her father often said.  But she had nothing to do with the fools, and daddy would come for her again; so her laughter bubbled like a little spring throughout the livelong day.

As the sun went down in the yellow west they came into Oxford from the south on the easterly side.  The Cherwell burned with the orange light reflected from the sky, and the towers of the famous town of olden schools and scholars stood up black-purple against the western glow, with rims of gold on every roof and spire.

Up the High street into the corn-market rolled the tired train, and turned into the rambling square of the old Crown Inn near Carfax church, a large, substantial hostelry, one of merry England’s best, clean-chambered, homelike, full of honest cheer.

There was a shout of greeting everywhere.  The hostlers ran to walk the horses till they cooled, and to rub them down before they fed, for they were all afoam.  Master Davenant himself saw to the storing of the wains; and Mistress Davenant, a comely dame, with smooth brown hair and ruddy cheeks, and no less wit than sprightly grace, was in the porch to meet the company.  “Well, good Dame Clout,” said she, “art home again?  What tales we’ll have!  Didst see Tom Lane?  No?  Pshaw!  But buss me, Moll; we’ve missed thy butter parlously.”  And then quite free she kissed both Nick and Cicely.

“What, there, Dame Davenant!” cried Roger Clout, “art passing them around?” and laughed, “Do na forget me.”

“Nay, nay,” she answered, “but I’m out.  Here, Nan,” she called to the smutty-faced scullery-maid, “a buss for Master Clout; his own Moll’s busses be na fine enough since he hath been to town.”

So, joking, laughing, they went in; while plain John Saddler backed out of the porch as sooty Nan came running up, for fear the jilt might offer somewhat of the sort to him, and was off in haste to see to his teams,” There’s no leaving it to the boys,” said he, “for they’d rub ’em down wi’ a water-pail, and give ’em straw to drink.”

When the guests all came to the fourpenny table to sup, Nick spoke to Master Roger Clout.  “Ye’ve done enough for us, sir; thank ye with all my heart; but I’ve a turn will serve us here, and, sir, I’d rather stand on mine own legs.  Ye will na mind?” And when they all were seated at the board, he rose up stoutly at the end, and called out brave and clear:  “Sirs, and good dames all, will ye be pleased to have some music while ye eat?  For, if ye will, the little maid and I will sing you the latest song from London town, a merry thing, with a fine trolly-lolly, sirs, to glad your hearts with hearing.”

Would they have music?  To be sure!  Who would not music while he ate must be a Flemish dunderkopf, said they.  So Nick and Cicely stood at one side of the room upon a bench by the server’s board, and sang together, while he played upon Mistress Davenant’s gittern: