The Queen shot one quick glance at him. “Old pegs have been made to fit new holes before to-day,” said she; “and the trick can be done again.” The Constable smothered the rest of that laugh in his hand, “But come, boy, speak up; what hath put thee so out of conceit with our best-beloved palace?” “There is na one thing likes me here. I can na bide in a place so fine, for there’s not so much as a corner in it feels like home. I could na sleep in the bed last night.” “What, how? We commanded good beds!” exclaimed Elizabeth, angrily, for the Venetian ambassador was smiling in his beard. “This shall be seen to.” “Oh, it _was_ a good bed—a very good bed indeed, your Majesty!” cried Nick. “But the mattress puffed up like a cloud in a bag, and almost smothered me; and it was so soft and so hot that it gave me a fever.” Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and laughed. The Lord High Constable hastily finished the laugh that he had hidden in his hand. Everybody laughed. “Upon my word,” said the Queen, “it is an odd skylark cannot sleep in feathers! What didst thou do, forsooth?” “I slept in the coverlid on the floor,” said Nick. “It was na hurt,—I dusted the place well,—and I slept like a top.” “Now verily,” laughed Elizabeth, “if it be floors that thou dost desire, we have acres to spare—thou shalt have thy pick of the lot. Come, we are ill used to begging people to be favored—thou’lt stay?” Nick shook his head. “_Ma foi!”_ exclaimed the Queen, “it is a queer fancy makes a face at such a pleasant dwelling! What is it sticks in thy throat?” Nick stood silent. What was there to say? If he came here he never would see Stratford town again; and _this_ was no abiding-place for him. They would not even let him go to the fountain himself to draw water with which to wash, but fetched it, three at a time, in a silver ewer and a copper basin with towels and a flask of perfume. Elizabeth was tapping with her fan. “Thou art be-dazzled like,” she said. “Think twice—preferment does not gooseberry on the hedge-row every day; and this is a rare chance which hangs ripening on thy tongue. Consider well. Come, thou wilt accept?” Nick slowly shook his head. “Go then, if thou wilt go!” said she; and as she spoke she shrugged her shoulders, illy pleased, and turning toward Colley, took him by the hand and drew him closer to her, smiling at his guise. “Thy comrade hath more wit.” “He hath no mother,” Nick said quietly, loosing his hold at last on Colley’s hand. “I would rather have my mother than his wit.” Elizabeth turned sharply back. Her keen eyes were sparkling, yet soft. “Thou art no fool,” said she. A little murmur ran through the room.