Simon Attwood arose from the chair where he had been sitting. There was a bewildered look upon his face, and he was twisting his horny fingers together until the knuckles were white. His lips parted as if to speak, but he only swallowed very hard once or twice instead, and looked around at them all. “Why, sir,” he said at length, looking at Master Shakspere, “why, sirs, all of ye—I ha’ been a hard man, and summat of a fool, sirs, ay, sirs, a very fool. I ha’ misthought and miscalled ye foully many a time, and many a time. God knows I be sorry for it from the bottom of my heart!” And with that he sat down and buried his face in his arms among the dishes on the buffet.
“Nay, Simon Attwood,” said Master Shakspere, going to his side and putting his hand upon the tanner’s shoulder, “thou hast only been mistaken, that is all. Come, sit thee up. To see thyself mistaken is but to be the wiser. Why, never the wisest man but saw himself a fool a thousand times. Come, I have mistaken thee more than thou hast me; for, on my word, I thought thou hadst no heart at all—and that is far worse than having one which has but gone astray. Come, Neighbor Attwood, sit thee up and eat with us.”
“Nay, I’ll go home,” said the tanner, turning his face away that they might not see his tears. “I be a spoil-sport and a mar-feast here.”
“Why, by Jupiter, man!” cried Master Jonson, bringing his fist down upon the board with a thump that made the spoons all clink, “thou art the very merry-maker of the feast. A full heart’s better than a surfeit any day. Don’t let him go, Will—this sort of thing doth make the whole world kin! Come, Master Attwood, sit thee down, and make thyself at home. ’Tis not my house, but ’tis my friend’s, and so ’tis all the same in the Lowlands. Be free of us and welcome.”
“I thank ye, sirs,” said the tanner, slowly, turning to the table with rough dignity. “Ye ha’ been good to my boy. I’ll ne’er forget ye while I live. Oh, sirs, there be kind hearts in the world that I had na dreamed of. But, masters, I ha’ said my say, and know na more. Your pleasure wunnot be my pleasure, sirs, for I be only a common man. I will go home to my wife. There be things to say before my boy comes home; and I ha’ muckle need to tell her that I love her—I ha’ na done so these many years.”
“Why, Neighbor Tanner,” cried Master Jonson, with flushing cheeks, “thou art a right good fellow! And here was I, no later than this morning, red-hot to spit thee upon my bilbo like a Michaelmas goose!” He laughed a boyish laugh that did one’s heart good to hear.
“Ay,” said Master Shakspere, smiling, as he and Simon Attwood looked into each other’s eyes. “Come, neighbor, I know thou art my man—so do not go until thou drinkest one good toast with us, for we are all good friends and true from this day forth. Come, Ben, a toast to fit the cue.”
“Why, then,” replied Master Jonson, in a good round voice, rising in his place, “here’s to all kind hearts!”
“Wherever they may be!” said Master Shakspere, softly. “It is a good toast, and we will all drink it together.”
And so they did. And Simon Attwood went away with a warmth and a tingling in his heart he had never known before.