Initial commitHEADmain

15 files changed, 15872 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7b82bc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+*.txt text eol=lf
+*.htm text eol=lf
+*.html text eol=lf
+*.md text eol=lf
diff --git a/75142-0.txt b/75142-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6e4d72c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,7817 @@
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75142 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                               MERRYLIPS
+
+                          By BEULAH MARIE DIX
+
+                         WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+                           FRANK T. MERRILL
+
+                                  AND
+                  NEW FRONTISPIECE AND DECORATIONS BY
+                              ANNE COOPER
+
+                               New York
+                         THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
+                                 1927
+
+                         _All rights reserved_
+
+                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1906,
+                       BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
+
+  Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1906. Reprinted 1907,
+1909, 1910, 1911, 1912, 1913, 1914, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920,
+                     1921, 1922, 1923, 1924, 1925.
+
+               New edition September, 1925; June, 1926.
+
+                        Reissued October, 1927.
+
+                             Norwood Press
+                J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
+                        Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
+
+
+                                  TO
+                           EVERY LITTLE GIRL
+                      WHO HAS WISHED FOR AN HOUR
+                          TO BE A LITTLE BOY
+                        THIS STORY IS DEDICATED
+                             BY HER FRIEND
+                              THE AUTHOR
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: MERRYLIPS]
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+
+                        I. A MAID OF OLD
+
+                       II. HER BIRTHDAY
+
+                      III. OUT IN THE WORLD
+
+                       IV. AT LARKLAND
+
+                        V. AMONG THE GOLDEN GORSE
+
+                       VI. THE TART THAT WAS NEVER BAKED
+
+                      VII. IN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS
+
+                     VIII. THE SILVER RING
+
+                       IX. ALL IN THE NIGHT
+
+                        X. PRISONER OF WAR
+
+                       XI. THE COMING OF HERBERT LOWRY
+
+                      XII. A VENNER TO THE RESCUE!
+
+                     XIII. IN BORROWED PLUMES
+
+                      XIV. OFF TO THE WARS
+
+                       XV. TIDINGS AT MONKSFIELD
+
+                      XVI. BROTHER OFFICERS
+
+                     XVII. "WHO CAN SING AND WON'T SING--"
+
+                    XVIII. TO ARMS!
+
+                      XIX. THE END OF THE DAY
+
+                       XX. LADY SYBIL'S GODDAUGHTER
+
+                      XXI. WHEN THE CAPTAIN CALLED
+
+                     XXII. A PARTING OF THE WAYS
+
+                    XXIII. OUTSIDE KING'S SLYNTON
+
+                     XXIV. THE DARKEST DAY
+
+                      XXV. AFTER THE STORM
+
+                     XXVI. HE THAT WAS LOST
+
+                    XXVII. HOW RUPERT WAS TOO CLEVER
+
+                   XXVIII. IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP
+
+                     XXIX. A FRIEND IN NEED
+
+                      XXX. TO PUT IT TO THE TOUCH
+
+                     XXXI. AT LORD CAVERSHAM'S TABLE
+
+                    XXXII. NEWS FROM LONDON
+
+                   XXXIII. WESTWARD HO!
+
+                    XXXIV. JOURNEY'S END
+
+                     XXXV. THE PASSING OF TIBBOTT VENNER
+
+
+
+
+                             ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+Merrylips
+
+More than once they had to pause and sit by the path, while the lad
+rested
+
+"I am come, on behalf of the Parliament, to search your house for arms"
+
+"Faith, here's a schooling in which I'll bear a hand, my pretty
+gentleman!"
+
+He laid a hand on Merrylips' shoulder and drew her to him
+
+"He's hurt. Thou must not waken him," she said
+
+Rupert and Merrylips knew it was useless to think of escape
+
+She stopped and across the rim stared at the man
+
+On his bared chest was a red mark like a fresh cut
+
+
+
+
+                               MERRYLIPS
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+
+                             A MAID OF OLD
+
+
+The little girl's name was Sybil Venner, but she was known as
+Merrylips. For Sir Thomas Venner, her jolly, bluff father, never by any
+chance called a child of his by its baptismal name. His tall eldest
+son, Thomas, answered, whether he liked it or not, to the nickname of
+Longkin, and Edmund and Philip, the two younger lads, became Munn and
+Flip, and Katharine, the oldest girl, was Puss, and prim Lucy was Pug.
+
+So when Sir Thomas came riding home from London town and first saw his
+little daughter Sybil, a baby of three months old, crowing and laughing
+in her cradle, he cried:--
+
+"'Truth, here's a merry lass! Come to thy dad, little Merrylips."
+
+Thus it was that little Sybil was christened anew, and Merrylips she
+remained, to all who loved her, to the end of her story.
+
+The home of little Merrylips was a great old house called Walsover,
+which stood below a hill hard by a sleepy village of a half-score
+thatched cottages. The village, too, was called Walsover, and it lay in
+that pleasant part of merry England known as the county of Wilts.
+
+A remote countryside it was in the days, now more than two long
+centuries ago, when our Merrylips was romping and laughing in Walsover
+hall. From Walsover to Salisbury, the market-town, was a journey of
+many hours on horseback, by roads that were narrow and hard to follow,
+and full of ruts and stones, and oftentimes heavy with mire.
+
+From Salisbury to London was a journey of days, in a carrier's clumsy
+wain or on horseback, over downs where shepherds kept their flocks,
+through country lanes where the may bloomed white in the hedgerows,
+past little villages that nestled in the shadow of stumpy church
+towers, through muddy towns where half-timbered gables and latticed
+casements overhung the crooked streets, across wide commons--this
+far oftener than was pleasant!--where, in the fear of highwaymen or
+"padders," the traveller kept a hand upon his pistols, and so at last
+into the narrow streets amid the jostling crowd, under the jangling of
+the bells that swung in the many steeples of great London town.
+
+Of this long, perilous journey Merrylips, from a little child, never
+tired of hearing her father tell. Four times a year he rode to London,
+at the head of a little cavalcade of serving-men in blue coats, that
+made a brave show as they gathered for the start in the courtyard at
+Walsover. And four times a year, when he came back from London, he
+brought in his pockets treasures of sugar candy, and green ginger, and
+raisins of the sun. No wonder that Merrylips longed to take that great
+journey to London town, to have adventures by the way, and, at the end,
+come to the place where such sweets were to be found!
+
+But meantime, while she was too young for journeys and adventures,
+Merrylips lived at Walsover as happily, it would seem, as a little maid
+might live. Walsover was a rare place in which to play. The house was
+old and rambling, with odd little chambers hidden beneath the eaves,
+and odd little windows tucked away among the vines, and odd little
+steps, when you went from room to room, that you fell up or down--and
+Merrylips found it hard to remember which!
+
+In the upper story was a long gallery in which to run and romp on the
+days--and there were many such in the green county of Wilts!--when
+the rain fell softly. Downstairs were a great hall, with a balcony
+for musicians, and dim parlors, all wainscotted in dark wood, where
+Merrylips grew almost afraid of the pattering sound of her own
+footsteps.
+
+Better to her liking was the kitchen, with its paved floor and vast
+fireplace, and the group of buildings that lay beyond the kitchen.
+There was a brew-house, and a bakehouse, and a dairy, each with its own
+flagged court, where delightful tasks were always being done. Hard by
+the dairy was the cow-house, and barns full of sweet-scented hay, and
+great stables, where Merrylips knew by name and loved all the horses,
+from her father's bright bay courser to the honest draught beasts. Over
+against the stables were kennels full of dogs, both for hunting and for
+fowling. There were rough-coated staghounds, and fleet greyhounds, and
+setters, and spaniels.
+
+Round this block of buildings and little courts lay gardens and
+orchards, where wallflowers flamed and roses blew, and apricots and
+cherries ripened in the sun. And beyond the gardens were on one side
+rich fields, and on the other a park where rabbits burrowed and deer
+fed in the dappled shade.
+
+So Merrylips had charming places in which to play, and she had, too,
+playfellows in plenty. She was the youngest child at Walsover, so she
+was the pet of every one, from the least scullery wench in the kitchen
+and the least horseboy in the stable, to her big, bluff father, Sir
+Thomas.
+
+Above all, she was dearly loved by her three big brothers. As soon as
+she was able to toddle, she had begun to follow them about, at their
+work or play, and when they found her merry always and afraid of
+nothing, the lads began, half in sport, to give her a share in whatever
+they took in hand.
+
+From those kind big brothers Merrylips learned to climb and to
+vault, to pitch a quoit and toss a ball, to sit a horse, and whip a
+trout-brook, to play fair always, and to keep back the tears when she
+was hurt. These were good lessons for a little girl, but Merrylips
+learned others that were not so good. She learned to speak hard words
+when she was angry, to strike with her little fists, to be rough and
+noisy. And because it seemed to them droll to see such a mite of a girl
+copy these faults of theirs, her brothers and sometimes even her father
+laughed and did not chide her.
+
+In all the house of Walsover there was no one to say Merrylips nay
+except her mother, Lady Venner. Of her mother Merrylips stood in great
+fear. Lady Venner was a silent woman, who was very busy with the cares
+of her large household and of the whole estate, which was left to her
+management when her husband was away. She had little time to spend on
+her youngest daughter, and that little she used, as seemed to her wise,
+in trying to correct the faults that her husband and sons had fostered
+in the child. So Merrylips soon came to think of her mother as always
+chiding her, or forbidding her some pleasure, or setting her some task.
+
+These tasks Merrylips hated. She did not mind so much when she was
+taught to read and write by the chaplain, for Munn and Flip, before
+they went away to Winchester School, had also had lessons to say to
+him. But when she was set down with a needle, to be taught all manner
+of stitches by her mother's waiting-woman, or bidden to strum a lute,
+under sister Puss's instruction, she fairly cried with rage and
+rebellion.
+
+For down in her little heart, so secret that none had suspected,
+Merrylips kept the hope that she might grow up a boy. To be a boy meant
+to run and play, with no hindering petticoats to catch the heels and
+trip the toes. It meant to go away to school or to camp. It meant to be
+a soldier and have adventures, such as her father had had when he was a
+captain in the Low Countries.
+
+To be a girl, on the other hand, meant to sew long seams and sit
+prettily in a quiet room, until the time, years and years away, when
+one was very old. Then one married, and went to another house, and
+there sat in another quiet room and sewed more seams till the end of
+one's life. No wonder Merrylips prayed with all her heart to grow up a
+boy!
+
+To her mind the granting of this prayer did not seem impossible. To be
+sure, she wore petticoats, but so had Longkin and Munn and Flip when
+they were little. If she did all the things that boys did, she had no
+doubt that in time she should, like them, pass beyond the stage of
+petticoats.
+
+But in this plan she was balked by her mother's orders to sew and play
+the lute and help in the still-room and do all the foolish things that
+girls were set to do. That was why Merrylips cried and raged over her
+needlework, and she raged still harder on the day about which you now
+shall hear.
+
+Sir Thomas, who had been to Salisbury market, came riding home, one
+sweet summer evening, and cried lustily in the hall:--
+
+"Merrylips! Halloo! Where beest thou, little jade?"
+
+When Merrylips came running down the staircase, with her flyaway hair
+all blown about her face, he caught her and tossed her in his arms and
+said, laughing:--
+
+"Hast got thee a sweetheart without thine old dad's knowing? Here's a
+packet for thine own small self, come by carrier to Salisbury town."
+
+Now when Merrylips looked at the packet of which her father spoke, a
+little box that lay upon the table beside his whip and gloves, her
+eyes sparkled, for she guessed what it held. Only the month before her
+brother Munn, in a letter that he wrote from Winchester, had promised
+to send her a fish-line of hair that she much wanted and a four-penny
+whittle that should be her very own.
+
+"'Tis from Munn!" she cried, and struggled from her father's arms,
+though he made believe to hold her hard, and ran to the table.
+
+"There you are out, little truepenny!" said Sir Thomas.
+
+He cast himself into a chair that his man might draw off his great
+riding boots. Lady Venner and tall Puss and rosy Pug, who loved her
+needle, had come into the hall at the sound of his voice, and to Lady
+Venner he now spoke:--
+
+"'Tis a packet come out of Sussex, from thine old gossip, Lady Sybil
+Fernefould."
+
+"Ay, our Sybil's godmother," said Lady Venner. "What hath she sent
+thee, little one?"
+
+All flushed with joy and pride, for never in her life had she received
+a packet all her own--nor, for that matter, had Puss or Pug--Merrylips
+tore open the box. Instantly she gave a sharp cry of anger. Within the
+box, wrapped in a piece of fair linen, lay a doll, made of cloth, and
+daintily dressed in a bodice and petticoat of thin figured silk, with
+little sleeves of lawn and a neat cloak and hood.
+
+"'Tis a mammet--a vild mammet!" screamed Merrylips, and dashed it to
+the floor and struck it with her foot.
+
+"Oh, Merrylips!" cried Pug, in her soft voice, and caught up the doll
+and cuddled it to her breast. "'Tis so sweet a baby! Look, Puss! It
+hath a whisket of lawn, and the under-petticoat, 'tis of fair brocade."
+
+"A mammet--a girl's toy!" repeated Merrylips, and stamped her foot. "My
+godmother shall not send me such. I will not be a girl. I'll be a lad."
+
+"Well said! And so thou shalt, if wishing will do't, my bawcock!"
+laughed Sir Thomas.
+
+But Lady Venner looked on in silence, and her face was grave.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                             HER BIRTHDAY
+
+
+Gentle Pug took the doll, and, in the moments when she was not setting
+neat stitches or baking custards, played with it prettily. Meantime
+Merrylips went romping her own way, and soon had forgotten both the
+doll and the godmother that had sent it.
+
+This godmother Merrylips knew only by name, as the Lady Sybil
+Fernefould, her mother's old friend, a dread and distant being to whom,
+in her mother's letters, she was trained to send her duty. She had
+never seen Lady Sybil, nor, after the gift of the doll, did she wish to
+see her.
+
+Through the summer days that followed Merrylips was busy with matters
+of deeper interest than dolls and godmothers. She rode on the great
+wains, loaded with corn, that lumbered behind the straining horses to
+the barns of Walsover. She helped to gather fruit--plums and pears and
+rosy apples. She watched her father's men, while they thrashed the rye
+and wheat or made cider and perry. She shaped a little mill-wheel with
+the four-penny whittle that Munn, true to his promise, at last had sent
+her, and set it turning in the brook below the paddock.
+
+Almost in a day, it seemed to her, the time slipped by, till it was two
+months and more since she had been so angry at her godmother's gift.
+Michaelmas tide was near, and by a happy chance all three of her tall
+brothers were home from Winchester School and from college at Oxford.
+
+It was a clear, windy day of autumn in the first week of their
+home-coming,--the very day, so it chanced, on which Merrylips was
+eight years old. She was sitting on the flagstones of the west terrace
+of Walsover, eating a crisp apple and warding off the caresses of
+three favorite hounds, Fox and Shag and Silver, while she watched her
+brothers playing at bowls.
+
+They had thrown off their doublets in the heat of the game, and their
+voices rang high and boyish.
+
+"Fairly cast!"
+
+"A hit! A hit!"
+
+Indeed, they were no more than boys, those three big brothers. Tall
+Longkin himself, for all his swagger and the rapier that he sometimes
+wore, was scarcely eighteen. Munn, a good lad in the saddle but a
+dullard at his book, was three years younger, and Flip, with the curly
+pate, was not yet turned thirteen.
+
+But to Merrylips they were almost men and heroes who had gone out into
+the world, though it was but the world of Winchester School and of
+Oxford. With all her heart she loved and believed in them, those tall
+brothers. How happy she felt to be seated near them, pillowed among the
+dogs and munching her apple, where at any moment she could catch Munn's
+eyes or answer Flip's smile! She thought that she should be happy to
+sit thus forever.
+
+While she watched, the game came to an end with a notable strong cast
+from Longkin that made her clap her hands and cry, "Oh, brave!"
+
+Then the three, laughing and wiping their hot foreheads on their
+shirt-sleeves, came sauntering to the spot where Merrylips sat and
+flung themselves down beside her among the dogs.
+
+"Give me a bite of thine apple, little greedy-chaps!" said Munn, and
+cast his arm about Merrylips' neck and drew her to him.
+
+"To-morrow, lads," said Longkin, who was stretched at his ease with his
+head upon the hound Silver, "say, shall we go angling in Walsover mead?"
+
+"Take me!" cried Merrylips, with her mouth full. "Oh, take me too, good
+Longkin!"
+
+"Thou art too small, pigwidgeon," said Flip.
+
+"I ben't," clamored Merrylips. "I can trudge stoutly and never cry, I
+promise ye. I be as apt to go as thou, Flip Venner. Thou hast but four
+years the better of me."
+
+"Ay, but I am a lad, and thou art but a wench," said Flip.
+
+He had had the worst of the game with his elder brothers, poor Flip! So
+he was not in the sweetest of humors.
+
+"I care not!" Merrylips said stoutly. "Where thou canst go, Flip, _I_
+can go!"
+
+At this they all laughed, even that tall youth Longkin, who was growing
+to stand upon his dignity.
+
+"Come, Merrylips!" Longkin teased. "What wilt thou do an Flip get him a
+long sword and go to war? 'Tis likely he may do so."
+
+"And that's no jest," cried Flip, most earnestly. "Father saith an
+the base Puritan fellows lower not their tone, all we that be loyal
+subjects to the king must e'en march forth and trounce 'em."
+
+"Then Heaven send they lower not their tone!" added Munn. "I be wearied
+of Ovid and Tully. Send us a war, and speedily, that I may toss my
+dreary book to the rafters and go trail a pike like a lad of spirit!"
+
+"So you'll go unto the wars, you two?" Longkin kept on teasing. "Then
+hang me if Merrylips shall not make a third! 'Hath as good right as
+either of ye babies to esteem herself a soldier."
+
+Then Flip and Munn cast themselves upon the scoffing eldest brother and
+mauled him gloriously in a welter of yelping dogs. Like a loyal heart
+Merrylips tossed by her apple and ran in to aid the weaker side, where
+she cuffed Flip and tugged at Munn's arm with no mean skill.
+
+But in the thick of the fray she got a knock on the nose from Flip's
+elbow, and promptly she lost her hot little temper. She did not cry,
+for she had been too well trained by those big brothers, but she
+screamed, "Hang thee, varlet!" and hurled herself upon Flip.
+
+She heard Longkin cry, "Our right old Merrylips!"
+
+Through the haze that swam before her eyes, which were all dazzled with
+the knock that she had got, she saw Flip's laughing face, as he warded
+her off, and she raged at him for laughing. Then, all at once, she
+heard her shrill little voice raging in a dead stillness, and in the
+stillness she heard a grave voice speak.
+
+"Sybil! Little daughter!"
+
+Merrylips let fall her clenched hands. Shamefacedly she turned, and in
+the doorway that opened on the terrace she saw Lady Venner stand.
+
+"Honored mother!" faltered Merrylips, and stumbled through a courtesy.
+
+All in a moment she longed to cry with pain and shame and fright, but
+she would not, while her brothers looked on. Instead she blinked back
+the tears, and at a sign from her mother started to follow her into the
+house.
+
+"If it like you, good mother, the fault was mine to vex the child,"
+said Longkin.
+
+But the mother answered sternly, "Peace!" and so led Merrylips away.
+
+In the cool parlor, where the long shadows of late afternoon made
+the corners as dim as if it were twilight, Lady Venner sat down on
+the broad window-seat. Merrylips stood meekly before her, and while
+she waited thus in the quiet, where the terrace and the dogs and the
+lads seemed to have drawn far away, she grew aware that her hair was
+tousled, and her hands were soiled and scratched. She was so ashamed
+that she cast down her eyes, and then she blushed to see how the toes
+of her shoes were stubbed. Stealthily she bent her knees and tried to
+cover her unmaidenly shoes with the hem of her petticoat.
+
+"Little daughter," said Lady Venner, "or haply should I say--little
+son?"
+
+Then, in spite of herself, Merrylips smiled, as she was always ready to
+do, for she liked that title.
+
+Straightway Lady Venner changed her tone.
+
+"Son I must call you," she said gravely, "for I cannot recognize a
+daughter of mine in this unmannered hoiden. For more than two months,
+Sybil, I have made my plans to send you where under other tutors than
+unthinking lads you may be schooled to gentler ways. What I have seen
+this hour confirmeth my resolve. This day week you will quit Walsover."
+
+"Quit Walsover--and Munn and Flip and Longkin?" Merrylips repeated; but
+thanks to the schooling of the unthinking lads, her brothers, breathed
+hard and did not cry.
+
+"You will go," said Lady Venner, "to your dear godmother, Lady Sybil,
+at her house of Larkland in the Weald of Sussex. She hath long been
+fain of your company, and in her household I know that you will receive
+such nurture as becometh a maid. Now go unto my woman and be made tidy."
+
+In silence Merrylips courtesied and stumbled from the room. Just
+outside, in the hall, she ran against Munn, who caught her by the
+sleeve.
+
+"What's amiss wi' thee?" he asked. "Did our mother chide thee roundly,
+little sweetheart?"
+
+"I be going hence," said Merrylips, and blinked fast. "I be going to
+mine old godmother--she that sent me a vild mammet--and I know I'll
+hate her fairly! Oh, tell me, dear Munn, where might her house of
+Larkland be? Is't far from Walsover?"
+
+"A long distance," said Munn; and his face was troubled for the little
+girl he loved.
+
+"Is't farther than Winchester?" Merrylips urged in a voice that to his
+ears seemed near to breaking.
+
+He was an honest lad, this Munn; and though he did not like to say it,
+spoke the truth.
+
+"Ay, dear heart," he said, "'tis farther even than Winchester thou wilt
+go, but yet--"
+
+Merrylips tossed back her flyaway hair.
+
+"Tell that unto Flip!" she cried. "He hath been but unto Winchester,
+and now I'll go farther than Winchester! I'll journey farther than
+Master Flip, though he be a lad and I but a wench!"
+
+She lifted a stanch little face to her brother, and smiled upon him,
+undismayed.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+
+                           OUT IN THE WORLD
+
+
+At first Merrylips found it easy to be brave. She was given a pretty
+new cloak and gown. She was pitied by the serving-maids, and envied by
+her sisters, and petted by her brothers, because she was going on a
+long journey.
+
+Better still, she found it easy to be, not only brave, but merry, like
+herself, on the autumn morning when she was mounted on a pillion behind
+one of the serving-men in her father's little cavalcade. For, girl
+though Flip had called her, she was leaving Walsover at last on that
+wondrous journey to great London town.
+
+For five long days they rode among the scenes that Merrylips knew from
+her father's tales. They passed through fields that were brown with
+autumn, and villages where homely smoke curled from the chimneys.
+They clattered through towns where beggar children ran at the horses'
+stirrups and whined for ha'pennies. They crossed great wastes of
+common, where Merrylips half hoped that they might meet with padders,
+so sure was she that her father and his stout serving-men could guard
+her from all harm.
+
+For four wonderful nights they halted at snug inns, where civil
+landladies courtesied to Merrylips. They supped together, Merrylips and
+her father, and he plied her with cakes and cream and oyster pies that
+she felt her mother would have forbidden. After supper she sat on his
+knee, while he sipped his claret by the blazing fire, till for very
+weariness she drooped her head against his shoulder and slept. Then, if
+she woke in the night, she would find herself laid in a big, strange
+bed, and she would wonder how she had ever come there.
+
+A happy journey it was, through the clear autumn weather! But the
+happiest day of all was the one when, toward sunset, Merrylips was
+shown a pile of roofs, where spires and towers rose sharp against the
+pale glow of the eastern sky. Yonder was London, so her father said.
+
+A little later, in the twilight, they were clattering through paved
+streets. Above them frowned dim houses, and on all sides were hurrying
+folk that jostled one another. This was London, Merrylips said over and
+over to herself, and in the London of her dreams she planned to have
+many gay hours, like those of the days that were just passed.
+
+But in this Merrylips was sadly disappointed. Next morning Sir Thomas,
+who had been her playmate since they left Walsover, was closeted with
+some of his friends,--men who wore long swords and talked loudly of
+church and king. He had no time to spend with his little daughter, so
+Merrylips had to go walk with Mawkin, the stout Walsover lass who was
+to wait upon her, and a serving-man who should guard them through the
+streets.
+
+On this walk Merrylips found that though there were raisins of the
+sun, and oranges, and sugar candy in the London shops, just as she
+had dreamed, these sweets--unlike her dreams!--were to be had only by
+paying for them. She found too that the streets of London were rough
+and dirty and full of rude folk. They paid no heed to her pretty new
+cloak and gown, but jostled her uncivilly.
+
+Once Merrylips and her companions were forced to halt by a crowd of
+staring folk that blocked the way. In the midst of the crowd they saw
+that a prentice lad and a brisk young page were hard at fisticuffs.
+
+"Rogue of a Cavalier!" taunted the prentice.
+
+In answer the other lad jeered: "Knave of a Roundhead!"
+
+Then the spectators took sides and urged them on to fight.
+
+"What be they, Cavaliers and Roundheads that they prate of, good
+Mawkin?" asked Merrylips.
+
+Mawkin, who was gaping at the fight, said tartly that she knew not.
+
+But the serving-man, Stephen Plasket, said: "'Tis thus, little
+mistress: all gentlefolk who are for our gracious king are called by
+the name of Cavaliers, while the vile knaves who would resist him are
+Roundheads."
+
+"Then I am a Cavalier," said Merrylips.
+
+At that moment Mawkin cried: "Lawk! he hath it fairly!"
+
+There was the young page tumbled into the mud, with his nose a-bleeding!
+
+"O me!" lamented Merrylips. "If Munn were but here, _he_ would 'a'
+learned that prentice boy a lesson, not to mock at us Cavaliers. I
+would that my brother Munn stood here!"
+
+Not till she had spoken the words did Merrylips realize how from her
+heart she wished that Munn were there. She wanted him, not only to beat
+the rude prentice boy, but to cheer her with the sight of his face. For
+the first time she realized that she longed to see Munn, or even prim
+Pug, or any of the dear folk that she had left at Walsover.
+
+When once she had realized this, she found that London was a dreary
+place, and she was tired of her journey in the world. From that moment
+she found it quite useless to try to be merry, and hard even to seem
+brave, and every hour she found it harder.
+
+There was the bad hour of twilight, when she sat alone by the fire in
+her father's chamber. She listened to the rumble of coaches in the
+street below and the cry of a street-seller: "Hot fine oat-cakes, hot!"
+She found something in the sound so doleful that she wanted to cry.
+
+There was the lonely hour when she woke in the night and did not know
+where she was. When she remembered at last that she was in London,
+bound for Larkland in Sussex, she lay wide-eyed and wondered what would
+happen to her at her godmother's house, till through the chamber window
+the dawn came, bleak and gray.
+
+Last, and worst, there was the bitter hour when she sat, perched on
+high at Mawkin's side, in a carrier's wagon. She looked down at her
+father, and he stood looking up at her. She knew that in a moment the
+wagon would start on its long journey into Sussex, and he would be left
+behind in London town.
+
+Merrylips managed to smile, as she waved her hand to her father in
+farewell, but it was an unsteady little smile. And when once the clumsy
+wagon had lumbered out of the inn-yard, and she could no longer catch
+a glimpse of her father's sturdy figure, she hid her face against
+Mawkin's shoulder.
+
+"Cheerly, mistress my pretty!" comforted Mawkin. "Do but look upon the
+jolly fairings your good father hath given you. If here be not quince
+cakes--yes, and gingerbread, and comfits! Mercy cover us! Comfits
+enough to content ye the whole journey, even an ye had ten mouths
+'stead o' one. And as I be christom woman, here are fair ribbons, and
+such sweet gloves,--yes, and a silver shilling in a little purse of
+silk. Do but look thereon!"
+
+"Oh, I care not for none of 'em," said Merrylips. "Leave me be, good
+Mawkin!"
+
+But all that day Mawkin chattered. She pointed out sheep and kine and
+crooked-gabled houses, and men that were scouring ditches or mending
+hedges. Indeed, she tried her best to amuse her young mistress.
+
+Merrylips found her talk wearisome, but next day, when Mawkin, who was
+vexed at her dumpishness, kept sulkily silent, she found the silence
+harder still to bear. She did not wish to think too much about her
+godmother, for the nearer she came to her, the more afraid of her she
+grew. So, to take up her mind, she ate the comfits and the cakes with
+which her father had heaped her lap. It was no wonder, then, that on
+the third day of her journey she had an ache in the head that was
+almost as hard to bear as the ache in her heart.
+
+About mid-afternoon a chill, fine rain began to fall. Mawkin, all
+huddled in her cloak, slept by snatches, and woke at the lurching of
+the wagon, and grumbled because she was wakened. But Merrylips dared
+not sleep lest she tumble from her place. So she sat clinging fast to
+Mawkin's cloak with her cold little hands, while through the drizzling
+rain she stared at the plashy fields and the sheep that cowered in the
+shelter of the dripping hedges.
+
+At last, in the deepening twilight, she saw the dim fronts of houses
+where candles, set in lanterns, were flaring gustily. She knew that the
+wagon had halted in the ill-smelling court of an inn. She saw the steam
+curl upward from the horses' flanks, and heard the snap of buckles and
+clatter of shafts, as the stable-lads unhitched the wagon.
+
+"Come, little mistress!" spoke the big carrier, who had clambered on
+the wheel near Merrylips. "Here we be, come to the inn at Horsham and
+the end of our journey. Ye must light down."
+
+"I will not!" cried Merrylips, and clung to the seat with stiffened
+hands. "I'll sit here forever till ye go back unto London. I'll not
+bide here in your loathly Sussex. I do hate your Sussex. I'll not light
+down. I'll not, I tell ye!"
+
+Mawkin, half awake, spoke sharply: "Hold your peace, I pray you,
+mistress!"
+
+One of the stable boys laughed, and with that laughter in her ears,
+Merrylips felt herself lifted bodily into the big carrier's arms and
+set down on her feet in the courtyard. The world was all against her,
+she thought, and it was a world of rain and darkness in which she felt
+small and weak and lonely. In sudden terror she caught at the carrier's
+sleeve.
+
+"Oh, master, take me back to London!" she cried. "I'll give ye my new
+silver shilling. I cannot bide here--indeed, you know not! I like not
+your Sussex--and I be feared of mine old godmother. Oh, master, take me
+back wi' you to my daddy in London town!"
+
+Then, while she pleaded, Merrylips felt two hands, eager hands but
+gentle, laid on her shoulders.
+
+"Little lass!" said a woman's voice. "Thou art cold and shivering. Do
+thou come in out of the storm."
+
+"I'm fain to go back!" cried Merrylips.
+
+She turned toward this stranger who was friendly, but saw her all
+blurred through a mist of rain and of tears.
+
+"All in good time!" the kind voice went on. "If thou art fain to be
+gone, thou shalt go, but for now--come in from the storm."
+
+Merrylips went obediently, with her hand in the hand that was held
+out to her. Too tired to question or to wonder, she found herself in a
+snug, warm chamber where candles burned on the table and a fire snapped
+on the hearth. She found herself seated in a great cushioned chair,
+with the shoes slipped from her numbed feet and the wet cloak drawn
+from her shoulders. She found herself drinking new milk and eating
+wheaten bread, that tasted good after the sweets on which she had
+feasted, and always she found her new friend with the kind voice moving
+to and fro and ministering to her.
+
+Shyly Merrylips looked upon the stranger. She saw that she was a very
+old woman, no doubt, for her soft brown hair was touched with gray,
+but she had fresh cheeks and bright eyes and the kindest smile in the
+world. Then she saw the kind face mistily, and knew that she had nodded
+with sleepiness.
+
+A little later she found herself laid in a soft bed, between fair
+sheets of linen, and she was glad to see that the stranger, her friend,
+was seated by the bedside.
+
+"Oh, mistress!" said Merrylips, and stretched forth her hand. "Did you
+mean it in sober truth--that you will aid me to go back to London--away
+from mine old godmother?"
+
+Then the gentlewoman laughed, with eyes and lips.
+
+"Oh, my little lass!" she said, and knelt and put her arms about
+Merrylips where she lay. "Hast thou not guessed that I am that poor old
+godmother thou wouldst run from? I pray thee, dear child, stay with me
+but a little, for I am sadly lonely."
+
+All in a moment, as she looked into the face that bent above her,
+Merrylips grew sorry that she had thrown the poor doll on the floor and
+kicked it too. She felt almost as if she had struck a blow at this kind
+soul who had come to befriend her when she had felt so tired and lost.
+
+She spoke no word, because of the lump that rose in her throat, but she
+put both arms about her godmother's neck.
+
+And when her godmother said: "We shall be friends, then, little
+Merrylips?" Merrylips nodded, with her head nestled against her
+godmother's breast.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                              AT LARKLAND
+
+
+Next day, when the storm was over and the sky was a windy blue,
+Merrylips rode in her godmother's coach to her godmother's house of
+Larkland. And there at Larkland, with the godmother that she had so
+feared to meet, Merrylips lived for almost a year and was very happy.
+
+Larkland, to be sure, was a tiny house beside great Walsover. There
+were no lads to play with, and there were no dogs, except one fat old
+spaniel. There was no great company of serving-men and maids to watch
+at their tasks and be friends with. Neither was there a going and
+coming of guests and kinsfolk to keep the house in a stir.
+
+Yet Merrylips found much to please her. Though the house was little, it
+was very old. It was said to have a hidden chamber in the wall, such as
+great Walsover could not boast. And with her own eyes Merrylips could
+see that there was a moat, half choked with water-weeds, and a pond
+full of carp that came sluggishly to the surface when crumbs were flung
+to them.
+
+Though there were not many servants, there was among them an old
+butler, who all his life had served Lady Sybil's father, the Duke of
+Barrisden. He taught Merrylips to shoot at the butts with a crossbow,
+and while he taught her, told her tales of how, as a young man, he had
+gone with his Grace, the duke, to fight the Spaniards at Cadiz and to
+serve against the Irish kerns in Connaught.
+
+There was too an old, old woman who had been nurse to Lady Sybil's
+mother. She sat knitting all day in a warm corner by the kitchen hearth
+or on a sunny bench against the garden wall. This old woman, in her
+old, cracked voice, would sing to Merrylips long ballads--_The Lord of
+Lorn and the False Steward_, and _Chevy Chace_, and _The Fair Flower of
+Northumberland_. At such times Merrylips listened with round eyes and
+forgot to miss her brothers.
+
+But dearer to Merrylips even than Roger, the butler, or Goody Trot,
+the old nurse, or even Mawkin, her own kind maid from Walsover, was
+her godmother, Lady Sybil. For Lady Sybil, dwelling in that forgotten
+corner of Sussex, with only her few servants, was, as she had said,
+a lonely woman. She had a heartful of love to give to Merrylips, and
+it was a love that had wisdom to find the way to lead the little maid
+to what was for her good. So Merrylips, to her own surprise, found
+herself presently sewing seams and making tarts and toiling over
+lessons. In short, she did all the tasks that she had hated to do at
+Walsover, yet now she did them happily.
+
+This was partly because she felt that she should do the bidding of
+her godmother, who so plainly loved her, and partly because the tasks
+were put before her in so pleasant a way. When she sewed seams, she
+was learning to make shirts and handkerchiefs for Longkin and Munn
+and Flip. When she baked a burnt and heavy little pasty, she was
+learning to cook--a knowledge that in camp might prove most useful to a
+gentleman. When she struggled with inky pothooks, she was learning to
+write long letters to her dear, big brothers.
+
+There were other lessons, too, that Merrylips had not had at Walsover.
+Lady Sybil taught her Latin, in which she was herself an apt scholar,
+and Merrylips set herself eagerly to learn this tongue, because it was
+what her brothers studied.
+
+Lady Sybil gave her easy lessons in surgery and the use of simples.
+Sometimes she even let her be present when she herself dressed the
+hurts or prescribed for the ills of the poor folk of Cuckstead,
+the little hamlet that lay hard by the walls of Larkland. This art
+Merrylips was glad to be taught, and she spoke often of the use it
+would be to her when she was a grown lad and went to the wars.
+
+Somehow, when once she had put this secret hope into words and her
+godmother had not laughed, Merrylips began herself to feel that such
+a thought was babyish. In those quiet days at Larkland she began to
+grow up and to realize, with bitter disappointment, that she was likely
+to grow up a girl. She talked of this sometimes at twilight with her
+godmother, and was much comforted.
+
+"For thou mayst have all the true virtues of a lad, dear little heart,"
+Lady Sybil would say. "Thou canst be brave and truthful as any of thy
+brothers, not fearing to bear hard knocks, but fearing to bestow them
+on any that be weaker than thyself. I do not chide thee that thou
+wouldst be a man, my Merrylips, but I would have thee more than that--a
+gentleman."
+
+So Merrylips tried to be a gentleman. She tried not to show a naughty
+temper, nor speak rudely to the serving-folk, but to be courteous and
+considerate always of those about her. And at times she found this a
+far harder task than sewing seams or reading Latin.
+
+But life at Larkland was far from being all tasks. There were hours
+when Lady Sybil played to Merrylips upon the lute or the virginals and
+sang sweet old songs. There were other hours, while they sat together
+at their sewing, when Lady Sybil told wondrous tales of what she had
+done when she lived with her father in Paris and at the Hague and in
+great London town.
+
+"I had no brothers as thou hast, Merrylips," said Lady Sybil, "but I
+had one dear sister, Venetia, and a sad madcap she was! By times thou
+dost mind me of her, honey."
+
+One wintry afternoon, when she had talked for a long time of the Lady
+Venetia's pranks and plays in their girlhood together, Lady Sybil
+fetched a miniature from a cabinet in her chamber and showed it to
+Merrylips. It was the portrait of a girl of much the same age as sister
+Puss, Merrylips thought--a beautiful girl, with soft brown hair parted
+from a white forehead, and eyes that laughed, and a finger laid upon
+her rosy lips. On the upraised finger, Merrylips noticed, was an odd
+ring of two hearts entwined, wrought in what seemed dull silver.
+
+"This is my sister Venetia," said Lady Sybil. "So she looked at
+eighteen, save that she was fairer than any picture."
+
+"She is not so fair as you, godmother mine!" Merrylips declared.
+
+Lady Sybil smiled in answer, but faintly. Indeed, as she looked upon
+the picture, she sighed.
+
+"And is she dead, this sister you did love?" Merrylips hushed her voice
+to ask.
+
+"Ay, long years dead," Lady Sybil answered. "'Tis a piteous tale that
+some day thou shalt hear, but not till thou art older."
+
+She put away the miniature and spoke no more of the Lady Venetia. But
+all the rest of the day she seemed burdened with heavy thoughts.
+
+But at most times Lady Sybil, although she seemed to Merrylips so very
+old, was a gay companion. At evening, when the fire danced on the
+hearth and the reflected glow danced on the oak panels of the parlor
+wainscot, she would dance too, and she taught Merrylips to dance.
+Sometimes even she would play at games of hunt and hide, all up and
+down the dim corridors and shadowy chambers of the old house. When they
+were tired, Lady Sybil and Merrylips would sit by the hearth and roast
+crabs or crack nuts, and Merrylips, like a little gentleman, would pick
+out the nut-meats for Lady Sybil.
+
+By day, in the pale sunlight, they would walk in the garden and scatter
+crumbs for the birds that found it hard to live in the rimy days of
+winter. Or they would stroll through tiny Cuckstead village, where Lady
+Sybil would talk with the cottage women, and Merrylips would talk with
+the rosy village lads of lark-traps and badger hunts and the best way
+in which to cover a hand-ball.
+
+So the days trod on one another's heels. Merrylips heard the waits
+sing beneath her chamber window on a Christmas eve of frosty stars.
+Almost the next week, it seemed, Candlemas had come, and she had found
+a pale snowdrop in a sheltered corner of the garden and run to lay it
+in Lady Sybil's hand. Then each week, almost each day, she found a new
+flower by the moist brookside, or heard a new bird-note in the budding
+hedgerows, till spring had come in earnest, and it was Whitsunday, and
+in good Sussex fashion Lady Sybil and Merrylips dined on roast veal and
+gooseberry pudding.
+
+From time to time, through these happy months, Merrylips had had
+letters, all her own, from her kindred. Her mother had written to bid
+her remember her duty to her godmother, and Pug to say that she was
+reading _A Garland of Virtuous Dames_. Munn had written twice, and
+each time had said he hoped that there would soon be war in England,
+for 'twas time that the king's men schooled the rebel Roundheads to
+their duty. Then Merrylips remembered the two lads that she had seen
+at fisticuffs in the London street, and wondered if it were true that
+outside of peaceful Larkland grown men were making ready to fly at one
+another's throats, and found it hard to believe.
+
+But soon after Whitsuntide Merrylips had a letter from Flip, which Lady
+Sybil read aloud to her. Flip wrote boastfully that he too was soon to
+see London, as well as Merrylips, only he, being a lad, was to ride
+thither as a soldier. Father was raising a troop to fight for the king,
+and he and Longkin and Munn were going to the wars. Maybe, he added
+loftily, he would send Merrylips a pretty fairing from London, when he
+had entered the town as a conqueror.
+
+"Oh," cried Merrylips, most dismally. "I would I were a lad! Here'll be
+brave fighting, and Flip will have a hand therein while I must sit at
+home. I do so envy him!"
+
+There Lady Sybil hushed her, laying an arm about her neck.
+
+"Little one," she said, "thou knowest not what thou dost say. War in
+the land meaneth burned houses and wasted fields and slain men--men
+dear unto their daughters and their sisters, even as thy father and
+thy brothers are dear unto thee. Oh, little heart, instead of wishing
+to look on the sorry work of war, pray rather that peace, even at this
+late hour, be granted to our poor England."
+
+Now Merrylips understood little of this, except that she grieved her
+godmother when she wished for war. So she did not speak again in that
+strain, but in her heart she hoped, if war must come, that she might
+somehow have a share in the fighting, as well as Flip. She even at
+night, when she had prayed for peace as Lady Sybil bade, added a prayer
+of her own:--
+
+"But if there be any tall soldiers must needs come into these parts,
+grant that I may be brought to have a sight of 'em!"
+
+Once, in a roundabout way, she asked Mawkin if this prayer were likely
+to be granted.
+
+"Lawk, no!" cried Mawkin. "There's be no soldiery come into this
+nook-shotten corner. Put aside that whimsey, mistress."
+
+But Merrylips still said her little prayer, and, in spite of Mawkin, it
+was answered, for before the month was out two of the king's soldiers
+had indeed come to Larkland.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+
+                        AMONG THE GOLDEN GORSE
+
+
+Yet for all her hoping and wishing Merrylips did not recognize her
+soldiers of the king, when first she set eyes on them. She had been out
+with Mawkin, one shimmery hot afternoon, to gather broom-flowers on
+Cuckstead common. She had also found a lively little green snake, which
+she was carrying home in her handkerchief to show to her godmother.
+
+"And indeed my lady will not thank you for the sight of such vermin!"
+protested Mawkin. "It giveth me creeps but to look thereon. Put it
+down, do 'ee now, there's my lovey mistress."
+
+Merrylips shook her head, and held fast to her handkerchief. So intent
+was she upon the snake that she did not look up till she heard a sudden
+little cry from Mawkin. At that moment they had come to the top of
+a little swell of land, too gentle to be called a hill, whence they
+could look down on the roofs of Larkland and the thatched cottages of
+the village that nestled against its wall. They had reached indeed the
+highest point of Cuckstead common, and there, couched among the golden
+gorse, a boy was lying and a man was sitting by his side.
+
+So well were the strangers screened that Mawkin had not spied them till
+she was almost upon them. She gave a start of natural terror and laid
+her hand on Merrylips' shoulder.
+
+"Trudge briskly, mistress!" she bade, in a low voice. "I like not the
+look of yonder fellow."
+
+As she spoke, Mawkin glanced anxiously at the roofs of the village,
+which were a good half mile away across the lonely common.
+
+But Merrylips, who knew nothing of fear, halted short. To be sure, the
+man seemed a rough fellow. He was low-browed, with a shock of fair hair
+and a sunburnt face. His leathern breeches and frieze doublet were
+soiled and travel-stained, and he had laid on the ground beside him a
+bundle wrapped in a handkerchief and a great knotted cudgel. He looked
+as Merrylips fancied a padder might look, but there was a helpless
+distress in his pale eyes that made her, in spite of Mawkin's whisper,
+turn to him.
+
+"Were you fain to speak unto me?" asked Merrylips.
+
+The man peered upon her stupidly beneath his thatch of light hair, and
+seemed to grope for words.
+
+"Ja, ja, gracious fräulein," he said, in a thick, foreign speech.
+"Rupert, mein kindlein--he beeth outworn--sick."
+
+At that the boy, who had lain face down among the flowering gorse,
+turned languidly and lifted his head. He was a young boy, not so old as
+Flip. He did not look like the man, for his hair was dark and soft, and
+his eyes were gray. Indeed he would have been a handsome boy, for all
+his mean garments, if his eyes had not been dulled and his face flushed
+with weariness or with fever.
+
+"Let be, Claus!" he said, in a weak voice. "I'll be better straightway,
+and then we'll trudge."
+
+But as he spoke, he let his dark head sink on his arms once more.
+
+"He cannot lie in the fields," the man said thickly. "Gracious
+fräulein--bring us to shelter!"
+
+"Haply you may find charitable folk in the next village," struck in
+Mawkin, who still was tugging at Merrylips' arm. "Come, mistress!"
+
+But Merrylips cried, "Fie upon you, Mawkin! There's shelter at Larkland
+for all who ask it. An you can bear your son thither, good fellow, my
+godmother will make you welcome."
+
+The man stared, as if he were slow to understand, but the boy dragged
+himself to his knees.
+
+"She saith--there's shelter," he panted. "Take me thither, good Claus."
+
+Slowly they set out for Larkland, all four together, for Merrylips
+would not leave her chance guests, and Mawkin, though she grumbled
+beneath her breath, would not leave Merrylips. Claus, as the man was
+called, half carried the boy Rupert, holding him up with one arm about
+him, and Merrylips walked at the boy's side, and cheered him as well as
+she could by repeating that it was not far to Larkland.
+
+So they passed down the gentle slope of the common, with their shadows
+long upon the right hand, through the heavy scent of the gorse, amid
+the droning of bees. Always thereafter the warm, fruity fragrance of
+gorse brought to Merrylips the picture of the common, all golden with
+bloom, the feel of the sun upon her neck, and the sight of Rupert's
+strained and suffering face, that was so sadly at variance with the gay
+weather.
+
+More than once they had to pause and sit by the path, while the lad
+rested, leaning his heavy head upon Claus's shoulder. The first time
+Merrylips tried to comfort him by showing him the little green snake,
+but he would scarcely look upon it, so in disappointment she let it go
+free.
+
+[Illustration: MORE THAN ONCE THEY HAD TO PAUSE AND SIT BY THE
+PATH, WHILE THE LAD RESTED.]
+
+After that she talked with Claus. Had they come from far, she asked him?
+
+"From beyond seas," he answered with a clumsy gesture to the south.
+"Yonder--they call it Brighthelmstone--we came a-land. We are bound
+to the king's army."
+
+"Ay, the king," said Rupert, suddenly, and opened his eyes. "I am going
+to fight for the king of England, even as my father fought. For," said
+he, and his eyes sought Merrylips' face, yet seemed not to see her, "I
+am English born."
+
+Claus hushed him there, speaking in a tongue that Merrylips did not
+know, but she had scarcely heeded Rupert's last words in her joy at
+finding out that these strangers were recruits for the king's army.
+
+"Oh!" said she. "You are going to the wars, even as my brothers will
+go."
+
+Jealously she looked at Rupert, who indeed seemed very childish as he
+rested in the circle of Claus's arm.
+
+"He is but little older than I," said Merrylips. "Can he fight?"
+
+"One winter in the camps he hath been with me, in Bohemia," Claus
+answered, when he had taken time to understand her question. "When he
+is taller, ja, he will be a trooper, and a gallant one."
+
+"I'll be no trooper," said the boy, scarcely raising his eyelids. "I'll
+be captain of a troop, as was my father."
+
+"Fine prattle for a beggar brat!" Mawkin grumbled.
+
+But Merrylips gazed with adoring eyes on the big, rough man, who no
+longer seemed to her like a padder, and the slender boy, who talked so
+lightly of fighting for the king and winning captaincies.
+
+"'Tis happy chance," said she, "that you came unto Larkland, for we are
+here all Cavaliers, even as yourselves, and were I a lad, I'd go unto
+the wars with you."
+
+Then she met Rupert's eyes, fixed full upon her, and for the first
+time, in all his pain, Rupert smiled, seeing her earnestness, and his
+smile was winning.
+
+"I would you were a lad and my brother, mistress!" he said.
+
+Mawkin gave a little snort.
+
+"A landleaper such as thou a brother to Sir Thomas Venner's daughter!"
+she cried.
+
+But Merrylips leaned nearer and laid her hand on the boy's limp fingers.
+
+"You are coming unto Larkland to be made well," she said, "and oh,
+Rupert! in very truth we'll be as good friends as if we were indeed
+born brothers."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                     THE TART THAT WAS NEVER BAKED
+
+
+Welladay, as Merrylips would herself have said, 'twas passing strange,
+the way of wise, grown folk, even of such kind folk as her own dear
+godmother!
+
+Merrylips had thought that the bed in the great chamber would be made
+ready at once for Rupert. She had thought that she herself should
+be allowed to sit by him and tend him, as if he had been indeed her
+brother. But instead Lady Sybil, with her usual kindness for the sick
+and needy, neither more nor less, bade make a bed for the boy in the
+chamber above the ox-house, where some of the farm-servants used to
+lodge. And though she went herself to see that he was made comfortable,
+she would not let Merrylips go near him.
+
+"But I thought 'twould pleasure you," Merrylips faltered, "to aid one
+that was a soldier to the king."
+
+"And so it doth, sweetheart," said Lady Sybil, and bent to kiss her.
+"Thou didst well, no doubt, to bring the poor lad hither. But ere I let
+thee speak with him further, I must know whether his illness be such
+that thou mightst take it, and moreover I must know what manner of lad
+is he."
+
+Lady Sybil spoke with her own kind smile, but as she turned away
+Merrylips saw that a shadow of trouble was on her face.
+
+A little dashed in spirits, though she could scarcely say why, she ran
+to Goody Trot for comfort. Up and down the many stairs of Larkland she
+sought in vain for the old woman, till at last, as a most unlikely
+place, she looked into her chamber. And there she found Goody Trot, all
+in a flutter, busied in sewing a tawdry necklace and three broad pieces
+into the covering of her bolster.
+
+"Never do I look to see the light of morn!" cried the poor old soul, as
+soon as she saw Merrylips. "We's all be robbed of goods and gear and
+slain as well, with two murderous Spanish spies lying beneath our roof."
+
+It was useless for Merrylips to say that Claus and Rupert were neither
+spies nor Spaniards.
+
+They were foreign folk, were they not, Goody Trot asked. Go to, then!
+All foreigners were Spaniards, and had not the Spaniards, in her
+girlhood, sent a great fleet to conquer England? Now that there were
+rumors of war in the air, Goody Trot was sure that the Spaniards were
+coming again, and that Claus and Rupert were spies, sent before the
+general army.
+
+It was almost as sad when Merrylips left the old woman and sought out
+Roger, the butler. She found him loading an old snaphance, over which
+he cocked his head wisely. These were troublous times, he hinted, and
+there were those not a thousand miles away who might be fain to see the
+inside of Larkland. Let them but try, and they should see more than
+they bargained on, he ended, with a grim chuckle, as he fondled his
+snaphance.
+
+"But they are friends unto us, Rupert and Claus," cried Merrylips.
+"They are soldiers to the king whom we serve."
+
+"And how know you that, mistress," asked the old man, "save by their
+own telling? And how know you that they tell the truth?"
+
+In all her life Merrylips had never thought that any one could really
+lie. Wicked people did so, she had been told, but she had never dreamed
+that she herself should ever know such people. It hurt her now to
+believe that Rupert could have lied to her who had trusted him. Yet if
+he had not lied, Roger, her tried old friend, who called him false, was
+harsh and cruel.
+
+It was a torn and tossed little heart that Merrylips carried to her
+godmother to be quieted, at the hour of twilight when they usually
+talked together.
+
+"It is not true," she said stormily. "Oh, dear godmother, now that you
+have seen Rupert, you know it is not true--the evil things they all are
+saying of him."
+
+"I know that he is ill and weary, poor lad!" said Lady Sybil, but when
+Merrylips would have protested further, she hushed her.
+
+"Think not too harshly of thine old friends that they suspect this new
+friend thou hast made," she counselled. "Remember these are days when
+every man in this poor country doth suspect his fellow--when brother is
+arrayed against brother. We know not whence these two strangers come."
+
+"Claus told me--" Merrylips began.
+
+"Ay," said Lady Sybil, "he told thee somewhat, even as thou didst tell
+it unto me, but, child, when I questioned him, he unsaid much that he
+had said aforetime."
+
+Then, touched by the little girl's sorrowful silence, Lady Sybil made
+haste to add:--
+
+"It may be the poor soul was but confused and frightened. He seemeth
+none too ready of wit, and hath small skill in our language. In any
+case, my dear, time will show whether he be true man or false, and to
+time we'll leave the proof."
+
+But at eight years old it is not easy to leave a small matter to time,
+let alone so great a matter as the proving of a dear new friend. Lady
+Sybil might go comfortably to her bed, but for Merrylips that night
+there was no rest. Between dozing and dreaming and waking to doze
+again, she thought about Rupert, her little soldier of the king.
+
+So much to heart she took the charge of falseness that all the
+household made against him that she felt as if he must somehow know of
+that charge and suffer under it. She longed to do something to show him
+that she, at least, believed in him. Sleepily she wondered which one of
+her treasures she might give him by way of comfort. Should it be her
+dear whittle, or her best ball, or her own crossbow?
+
+The light of the summer dawn was just breaking in the chamber when
+Merrylips sat up in her bed. She had been struck with a fine idea. She
+would give Rupert a cherry tart of her own baking. He would like a
+cherry tart, she knew. Any boy would! Besides, she must put herself to
+some pains to bake it, and she was glad to sacrifice herself for the
+sake of poor Rupert whom every one distrusted.
+
+As soon as Merrylips had made up her mind, she began to wonder why she
+should not rise at once and go pluck the cherries for the tart. Then
+she decided that that would be a very wise thing to do,--indeed, that
+she ought to do it, and by such industry she should greatly please her
+godmother.
+
+So up she got, at four o'clock in the morning, and dressed herself
+swiftly. She tied a little hood over her flyaway hair, and an apron
+round her waist to hold the cherries. Then she slipped out at the
+garden door, just as the cocks were crowing, and ran through the dewy
+grass to the great tree in the corner of the garden, where the duke
+cherries grew.
+
+When once she was seated on high among the branches, Merrylips
+could look over the wall of the garden. On her right hand she saw
+the ox-house and the wain-house and the stable, all faintly gray
+in the morning light. Almost beneath her ran a footpath from these
+outbuildings. It skirted the garden wall until it reached the corner
+where stood the duke cherry tree, and there it led into the fields.
+
+With her eyes Merrylips followed this path. It made a narrow thread of
+darkness among the grasses that were white with dew, until it was lost
+in a hazel copse. Beyond the copse the sun was rising, and the sky was
+flushed with a strong red that dazzled her eyes, so that she had to
+turn them away.
+
+Just at that moment Merrylips heard a sound of cautious footsteps on
+the path below, and a hoarse exclamation. She looked down, but she was
+so dazzled that for a second she could not see clearly. Then on the
+path below she saw Rupert standing. She was surprised, not only to see
+him there, but to see him alone, for she had thought that the voice
+that she had heard was not his, but Claus's.
+
+Still, she could not stop to wonder about this, for here was Rupert,
+looking up at her with a piteous, startled face. She could not bear
+that for a single minute he should think her unfriendly, like the rest
+of the household.
+
+"Good-morrow, Rupert!" she called gayly. "You're early afoot. Fie! So
+ill as you are, you should lie snug abed. My godmother will be vexed
+with you."
+
+For a moment Rupert thrummed his battered cap and cast down his eyes.
+
+"I stole forth. I was starved for a sup o' fresh air," he muttered.
+"But now--I will go back."
+
+"Best so!" nodded Merrylips. "And oh, Rupert!" she leaned from her
+perch to add: "Ere noontime I'll have something rare to show you."
+
+He looked up at her then, and blinked fast with his gray eyes. If he
+had been a younger boy, she would have said that he was almost crying.
+
+So sorry did she feel for him that she was very near telling him about
+the cherry tart, but she checked herself, and tried another means of
+comfort.
+
+"Rupert," said she, "would you like to see my crossbow? Old Roger gave
+'t me,--ay, and I can hit the white at twenty paces. Would it pleasure
+you to see it?"
+
+"Will you go now to fetch it?" Rupert asked in a low voice.
+
+Merrylips nodded, and tossed him a cluster of cherries.
+
+"Do you wait me here," she bade, as she made ready to climb down from
+the tree. "You will await me, Rupert?"
+
+He kept his eyes on the ground beneath the garden wall,--the little
+strip of ground that Merrylips could not see. After a moment he bowed
+his head, and then, as Merrylips swung herself downward from branch to
+branch, she lost sight of him.
+
+In breathless haste Merrylips ran to her chamber. There she flung down
+the cherries, and bundled into her apron her crossbow and her ball and
+her top and all her other treasures.
+
+Then out she posted, in the light that now was broadening, and ran
+through the garden gate into the path to the spot where she had left
+Rupert. She found footprints in the gravel, and under the wall the
+elder bushes were crushed as if a man had crouched there, but she found
+no other sign of human creature.
+
+Sadly enough Merrylips trudged back to her chamber and put away the
+playthings that Rupert had not cared to see. She felt that she should
+have been angry with him, if it were not that she was his only friend
+in Larkland and must be faithful to him. And perhaps, she tried to
+excuse him, he had been too ill to stay longer out-of-doors. She did
+not blame him for going back to his bed, and she would make him the
+cherry tart, just the same.
+
+When the rest of the household rose for the day, Merrylips said no word
+of Rupert, for at heart she was still a little hurt. But she took the
+cherries in a pipkin and sat down to stone them on the shady bench by
+the garden door. She was thinking, as she did so, how all would be made
+right between her and Rupert, when she carried him the little tart.
+Perhaps he would even say that he was sorry that he had broken his
+promise to her.
+
+Just then Mawkin came bustling to her side.
+
+"Lackaday, mistress," cried Mawkin, "but you are lessoned fairly, and
+mayhap next time you'll hark to the words of them that be older and
+wiser than you, a-vexing her sweet Ladyship and a-setting the house
+by the ears, as you have done, with fetching in of graceless vagrom
+wretches, no whit better than they should be!"
+
+"You have no right so to speak of Rupert!" cried Merrylips, hotly.
+
+"And have I not?" Mawkin took her up. "Look you now, my lady her kind
+self hath just been unto the ox-house to minister to that vile boy,
+and he and the man are both gone hence--stolen away like thieves under
+cover of night. Now what do you say unto that, Mistress Merrylips?"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+
+                        IN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS
+
+
+Indeed, what could poor Merrylips say? Even she must admit that Rupert
+had deceived her.
+
+At the very moment when he promised to wait for her, he had been
+stealing away from Larkland, like the spy that Goody Trot and Roger
+and Mawkin called him. No doubt he had Claus with him all the time,
+crouched in the bushes underneath the wall. No doubt he had let her
+fetch the crossbow only to get rid of her, that she might not see their
+flight. From first to last he had deceived her, and she had so trusted
+him!
+
+It troubled Merrylips, too, in the hours that followed Rupert's flight,
+to feel that her godmother was troubled.
+
+At first Lady Sybil seemed to make light of the matter. She said that
+no doubt the man Claus, in his stupidity, had been frightened by her
+questions and so had run away and taken the boy with him. She was sorry
+for the lad, who was so ill and so unfit to travel, and she sent out
+into the countryside to find him. But she could get no news of the
+runaways. No one seemed to have seen or heard of them. And then Lady
+Sybil became grave and anxious indeed.
+
+Little by little Merrylips stopped pitying Rupert, who might be lying
+sick under some hedge. Instead she began to wonder what harm might,
+through Rupert, come upon her dear godmother. She thought about this so
+much that she made her head ache. Indeed her head seemed strangely apt
+to ache in those days!
+
+At last, one twilight, when Rupert had been gone four days from
+Larkland, Merrylips cast herself down on the cushion at her godmother's
+feet, and begged her to say just what was the evil that all the
+household seemed to fear.
+
+"The silly serving-folk have filled thy little head with idle tales,"
+said Lady Sybil, as if displeased; but then, as she looked into the
+piteous little face that was raised to hers, she changed her tone.
+
+"Sweetheart," said she, "I have done ill to let thee be frightened with
+fancies, so now I will tell thee the mere truth. Thou art to be relied
+on, I know. Thou wilt keep all secret."
+
+"As I am a gentleman," said Merrylips, soberly.
+
+Then Lady Sybil told her that in the house of Larkland she kept hidden
+a great treasure of jewels that had been left her by her father, the
+Duke of Barrisden. She had told no one of this treasure, except old
+Roger, who was most faithful; but she feared lest others of her
+servants might suspect its whereabouts, and for that she was troubled.
+For jewels, she explained, could quickly be turned into money, and
+money could furnish soldiers with horses and guns and powder. So there
+were many on both sides, now that war was coming in the land, who would
+be glad to have the spending of the Larkland treasure.
+
+"But it is to the service of our king that I shall give my jewels,"
+said Lady Sybil.
+
+Merrylips drew a long breath and nodded her head. "Be sure!" she
+whispered.
+
+Lady Sybil went on to explain that in that part of the country there
+were many people--Roundheads, as Merrylips had learned to call
+them--who were for the Parliament against the king. She was afraid lest
+these people should learn that her jewels were hidden at Larkland and
+come and seize them. On that account she was troubled at Rupert's and
+Claus's coming to the house and then fleeing away by night. She feared
+lest they had been sent by these Roundhead neighbors to spy upon her,
+in the hope of learning where she kept her treasure.
+
+Not twenty-four hours later it seemed as if Lady Sybil's worst fears
+were to come true. About noontime there sounded a sudden trampling of
+horses in the courtyard, and a moment later a man strode into the room
+where Lady Sybil and Merrylips were at dinner. He was a tall, solid
+man with a close-set mouth and a square jaw, and the bow that he made
+before Lady Sybil was brisk and businesslike.
+
+"'Tis a graceless matter I am come upon, your Ladyship," said he, "but
+'tis better done by me, who am known to you, than by a stranger. I am
+come, on behalf of the Parliament, whose servant I am, to search your
+house for arms."
+
+[Illustration: "I AM COME, ON BEHALF OF THE PARLIAMENT, TO SEARCH
+YOUR HOUSE FOR ARMS."]
+
+Merrylips waited to hear no more. She knew that crossbows were arms,
+and she loved her own crossbow. She flew up the stairs, and as she did
+so, caught a glimpse of rough men in the hall, who were tearing down
+the pikes and fowling-pieces from the wall, and heeding old Roger never
+a bit.
+
+In her chamber she seized her dear crossbow and ran down again to the
+parlor, where she posted herself in front of Lady Sybil.
+
+"The Roundheads shall not have my arms!" she said.
+
+The square-jawed man looked at her then, and smiled. He was sitting
+much at his ease, with his elbow on the table and a cup of wine within
+reach of his hand.
+
+"That's a chopping wench," said he. "A kinswoman to your Ladyship?"
+
+"A daughter to Sir Thomas Venner," Lady Sybil answered, in her coldest
+and sweetest voice.
+
+"Then, on my word, a kinswoman of mine own!" cried the man. "I am
+William Lowry, my lass, your third cousin by the distaff side. Come!
+Wilt thou not give me a cousinly kiss?"
+
+Merrylips shook her head.
+
+"I am kin to no Roundhead," she answered.
+
+Mr. Lowry seemed not at all angry.
+
+"Thy health, for a brisk little shrew!" he laughed. "I've a wife at
+home would be fain of a little daughter like unto thee."
+
+Just then Mr. Lowry was called from the room by one of his followers.
+Indeed Merrylips saw no more of him till she looked from the parlor
+window, and saw him riding away at the head of his little band. They
+took with them all the pikes and muskets and snaphances, and even old
+rusted headpieces and cuirasses that were stored at Larkland, but that
+was all that they did take. Plainly, they had not guessed that precious
+jewels were hidden in the house.
+
+"But they may come again," said Lady Sybil, gravely, when Merrylips
+asked her if all was not now well.
+
+"And a second time," she went on, "the searchers may be ruder. I have
+no love to Will Lowry, 'tis true, but he bore himself to-day as well
+as a man might do that hath in hand a hateful and a wicked work. Others
+might prove less courteous."
+
+"He is an evil man and false," cried Merrylips. She found it easy to
+believe people false, since she had been so deceived in Rupert. "He
+said he was my mother's kinsman."
+
+"And so he is, child," Lady Sybil answered. "He is a kinsman to thy
+mother, and to me also by marriage. He is a gentleman of good estate
+in the eastern part of the county, and he took to wife my cousin,
+Elizabeth Fernefould, a sister to the present Duke of Barrisden."
+
+Now Merrylips had always thought of Lady Sybil's father as the duke.
+Indeed, she had never heard a word of the present Duke of Barrisden. So
+at the mention of his name she looked puzzled.
+
+Then Lady Sybil, who had trusted Merrylips with much, trusted her with
+more. She told her that her father, the duke, had had no son, and so
+his title had gone to a distant cousin, and that he had been angered
+with her, and so had left much of his property to this same cousin.
+This man, who now was Duke of Barrisden, was a Puritan, as those were
+called who wished to make changes in the great Church of England. Like
+most Puritans, he was no friend to the king, and in all likelihood
+would fight against him in the coming struggle.
+
+"For thou seest his brother-in-law, Will Lowry, hath already ranged
+himself on the side of the Parliament," said Lady Sybil. "He had not
+done so, without the duke's counsel. 'Tis a great nest of Roundhead
+gentry, here in our parts, and no friends to me."
+
+That evening, as you may guess, there was no playing of hunt and hide
+in the corridors of Larkland, nor dancing in the little parlor. Instead
+Lady Sybil went hither and thither, and gave orders and sent off
+letters, while Merrylips, holding fast to her crossbow, trudged bravely
+at her heels. Next day Goody Trot, who since Will Lowry's coming was
+quite sure that the Spaniards were upon them, went away in a wagon to
+her daughter in the next village. The next day after that old Roger had
+the coach horses shod with extra care. Finally, on the third day, came
+a messenger, riding post, from the Duke of Barrisden, who brought an
+answer to the letter that Lady Sybil had sent him.
+
+Lady Sybil read this letter, seated in her chamber, beside a chest
+where she was sorting garments. When she had read, she drew Merrylips
+to her, with a gayer face than she had shown since the morning of
+Rupert's flight.
+
+"Methinks we shall yet be clear of this gin," said she. "Here's his
+Grace most courteously assureth me that no let nor hindrance will be
+put in my way, if I wish to quit Larkland and go unto my friends who,
+even as myself, are Cavaliers--malignants, he is pleased to call them."
+
+"Shall we go on a journey, then?" asked Merrylips. "That's brave!"
+
+"Ay, brave indeed!" said Lady Sybil, and she flushed and smiled like
+a girl. "We'll go in the coach, thou, and I, and Mawkin, and Roger,
+and with us--lean closer, darling!--with us will go the jewels, snugly
+hidden in our garments. We'll guard them for the king."
+
+"God save him!" whispered Merrylips.
+
+"And at Winchester," Lady Sybil went on, "there'll be trusty men to
+meet us. I have written unto them. And whom dost thou think to see
+commanding them?"
+
+Merrylips caught her breath.
+
+"Not--not--" she faltered.
+
+"Ay, thine own dear brother, Longkin. Thy father will send some of his
+troop to guard us, and they will take us--where thinkest thou?"
+
+"Oh!" cried Merrylips. "To Walsover! To Walsover! Sweet godmother,
+we're going home at last to Walsover!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII
+
+                            THE SILVER RING
+
+
+That night Merrylips hardly slept a wink. No doubt it was the thought
+of home that kept her wakeful, but she wondered why that thought should
+also make her head heavy and her throat dry.
+
+As long as it was dark, she thought that when morning came she should
+have to tell her godmother that she was not feeling well. But when
+the day broke, she found so much to do that at first she forgot about
+herself. Later, when she remembered, thanks to the ache in her head,
+she was afraid that if she said a word about it, she should not be
+allowed to run to and fro and help her godmother, so she kept silent.
+
+Indeed it was a busy day at Larkland,--so busy that Lady Sybil did not
+pay such close heed as usual to Merrylips, and so did not notice that
+she was not quite her brisk little self. There were boxes and bundles
+to pack for the journey upon the morrow. There were orders to give to
+the serving-folk about the care of the house. There were last visits
+to pay to good folk in Cuckstead village. Everything was done openly.
+That was the surest way, Lady Sybil told Merrylips, to keep people from
+guessing that she had any other reason for taking this journey than
+that she wished to leave a neighborhood that she disliked.
+
+Yet at one time it seemed as if the secret of the jewels must have got
+out. Early in the afternoon old Roger came with a whispered word of
+danger. From an upper window of the house he had spied a little band
+of horsemen riding from the east, and in the east lay the lands of the
+Duke of Barrisden, and Will Lowry, and their Roundhead neighbors.
+
+The moments of waiting that followed were hard to bear. It seemed an
+endless time before Roger came again to Lady Sybil's chamber. But now
+he brought good news, for he told her that the horsemen had turned
+southward over Cuckstead common, toward the next village, which was
+called Rofield.
+
+"No doubt they are gone thither to plunder the loyal folk of their
+arms, even as they did by me," said Lady Sybil. "Indeed, our going
+hence is timed not an hour too soon."
+
+Then she dismissed Roger. She bade him keep a sharp watch, and meantime
+to tell the other servants that she was not to be disturbed. Against
+the long journey on the morrow, she and her young goddaughter would
+rest that afternoon in her chamber.
+
+But it was anything but rest that Lady Sybil and Merrylips were to have
+that day. As soon as Roger had gone, Lady Sybil bolted the door, and
+closed the shutters, as if she wished to keep the light from the eyes
+of a sleeper. Then she pressed a spring in a panel of the wainscot,
+near the chimneypiece. Behold! the panel swung open like a door, and
+Merrylips looked into the secret chamber of Larkland, of which she had
+so often heard.
+
+Out from the dingy little recess Lady Sybil brought caskets and coffers
+of odd shapes and sizes. Some were of leather. Some were wrought of
+metal. All these she opened, in the rays of dusty sunlight that came
+through the heart-shaped openings, high up in the shutters, and at
+sight of what they held, Merrylips cried out softly. She thought that
+all the jewels in the world must be gathered in that room. She looked
+on blood-red rubies, and great emeralds, and fire-bright topazes, and
+milky pearls, and flawless diamonds, and all were set in a richness of
+chased silver and fine gold.
+
+"Oh, surely," breathed Merrylips, "with such wealth to aid him, our
+king will soon put down his enemies!"
+
+At first she scarcely dared to touch the precious things, but soon
+she found herself handling them as if they were no more than bits of
+colored glass. For it was her part to help Lady Sybil sew the jewels
+into the lining of the gowns and cloaks that they should wear upon the
+journey. Mighty proud Merrylips was that such a trust was placed in
+her, and glad, too, that she had learned to use a needle, so that she
+might be of service in such a need!
+
+Hour after hour Merrylips sat at Lady Sybil's feet, in the darkened
+chamber, where the air was heavy with heat, and stitched and stitched.
+While the busy moments passed, the sunlight faded from the room. There
+came a rumbling of thunder in the sultry air, and then the beating of
+rain upon the roof.
+
+It must be the thunder, thought Merrylips, that made her head ache.
+So languid did she feel that she was glad to lay her head against her
+godmother's knee. Thus she rested, and listened to the plash of rain,
+while through her half-closed eyelids she watched her godmother, with
+deft, white fingers, sew the last necklace into the bodice of her gown.
+
+For a moment Merrylips must have dozed, but all at once she was awake
+again. She saw that her godmother had paused in her sewing, and
+wonderingly, she looked upon her. Then she saw that Lady Sybil sat with
+her eyes upon a ring that she had taken from the casket beside her--a
+ring wrought of dull old silver, in the shape of two hearts entwined.
+
+"I've seen that ring ere now," said Merrylips, drowsily. "Godmother,
+when did I see that ring?"
+
+Lady Sybil made no answer, and when Merrylips looked up into her face,
+she saw that there were tears in her eyes.
+
+"I remember me," said Merrylips. "'Twas in the portrait that I saw
+it--the miniature of your fair sister, Lady Venetia. She wore that
+ring."
+
+"Nay, not this ring, my darling, but its mate," Lady Sybil answered.
+"'Tis the crest of our house, of the Fernefoulds of Barrisden. The two
+rings were wrought for us, two sisters, and given us by our father.
+'Twas the last token ever he gave unto us, while love was still amongst
+us three."
+
+Merrylips took the ring from the fingers that yielded it, and caressed
+it with her hand and with her lips.
+
+"Poor Lady Venetia!" she whispered. "And poor godmother!"
+
+The storm had now passed over Larkland. On the roof the rain pattered
+softly, and from the garden rose the keen scent of drenched herbs. In
+the hush Lady Sybil's voice sank almost to a whisper.
+
+"I said that one day thou shouldst hear her story--my poor, pretty
+sister! We were our father's only children, Venetia and I, and sorely
+he grudged that we should both be daughters. He was a stern man,
+and wont to have his will in all things. He was fain to make great
+marriages for us, since he had no sons, but in that purpose he was
+thwarted. He who should have been my husband died a month before the
+wedding day. When thou art older, thou mayst understand.
+
+"My father was angered for that I would not take another mate, and he
+vowed that he would bring his younger daughter to do his will. But
+she--my poor Venetia!--had given her heart already out of her keeping.
+His name was Edward Lucas, a gentleman of good birth and no fortune,
+who was master of horse in our father's household. When she found that
+our father would force her to a marriage with one whom she loathed,
+she did madly, yet I cannot think her all to blame. By stealth she was
+wedded to Edward Lucas, and with him she left the kingdom."
+
+"And did you never see her more?" asked Merrylips.
+
+She felt that she must not look upon her godmother's face, so she bent
+her eyes upon the ring. She had now slipped it upon her own finger.
+
+"Nay, sweetheart," said Lady Sybil. "I never saw my sister again in
+this world. My father forbade me to go unto her, or even to receive her
+letters. I was ill and broken in those days. 'Twas then that my hair
+grew gray as thou dost see it. But by secret ways, ofttimes through
+writings to thy father, who had been a friend to Ned Lucas, I had
+tidings of my sister.
+
+"She went with her husband into the Low Countries, where he served in
+the army of the States General and proved himself an able soldier.
+Thence they went into far Germany, where great wars have raged these
+many weary years. Two children were born unto them, and taken from
+them, and then at last, in a great fever that swept through the camp,
+they died in one same week, my sister and her husband. And thou knowest
+now, sweetheart, the story of her who wore the ring that was mate to
+the one which thou dost fondle."
+
+In the dim light Merrylips crept closer, and laid her cheek against her
+godmother's hand.
+
+"Poor godmother!" she whispered. "I be right sorry."
+
+"Dear little heart!" said Lady Sybil, and sat for a moment with her
+hand on Merrylips' cheek.
+
+Then suddenly, as if she returned to herself, she exclaimed aloud:--
+
+"Why, child, thy cheek is fever-hot. I have done ill to vex thee with
+sad tales, on a day of such alarums and with such a morrow before us.
+Now in very truth, I shall clap thee straightway into thy bed to rest
+against our journey."
+
+Oddly enough, Merrylips felt no wish to cry out at such an order. So
+though it was not yet sunset she soon found herself tucked snugly into
+her own little bed, between sheets that smelled of lavender, and she
+found her godmother bending over her, to give her a good night kiss.
+
+"Why, my Merrylips!" said Lady Sybil, in a voice that seemed to come
+from a drowsy distance. "If thou hast not here my ring upon thy finger!
+Let me bestow it safely."
+
+But Merrylips, for once, was disobedient.
+
+"Let me keep it by me!" she begged, in a fretful voice. "I'll not lose
+it. Only let me wear it till I come unto Walsover! Prithee, let me,
+dear godmother!"
+
+All unlike her brave little self, Merrylips was fairly crying, and with
+those tears she won her way. When she fell at last into a restless and
+broken sleep, she still wore on her finger the silver ring that was the
+mate of the one that had belonged to poor, pretty Lady Venetia.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX
+
+                           ALL IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+For a thousand years, it seemed to Merrylips, she had been climbing a
+hill. It was a long, long hill, and very steep, but at the top, she
+knew, was Walsover, and only by gaining the top could she reach home.
+So she climbed and she climbed, with the breath short in her throat and
+her body aching with weariness, but climb as she would, she was just as
+far as ever from the top.
+
+She knew also--how, she could not say,--that she had no time to lose.
+She must reach the top of the hill very soon, or something dreadful
+would happen. Between weariness and fright she found herself sobbing,
+yet all the time she kept saying to herself:--
+
+"'Tis a dream! 'Tis naught but a dream!"
+
+Then she heard Mawkin's voice.
+
+"Hasten, hasten, mistress!" Mawkin was saying. "Rise and don your
+clothes! Rise, else 'tis too late!"
+
+"Oh, I be trying, Mawkin! Indeed, I try, but 'tis so far to climb!"
+Merrylips heard her own voice wail in answer.
+
+She wondered why she troubled herself to answer, when it was nothing
+but a dream.
+
+Before her eyes flashed a candle, as bright as if it were real. Round
+her she seemed to see the wainscotted walls of her little chamber, and
+the carved chair by the bedside, on which her clothes were laid. She
+seemed to see Mawkin bending over her, with her hair disordered and her
+eyes wild--so clear and lifelike had this dream become!
+
+"'Tis the soldiers!" Mawkin was saying. "The loyal folk at Rofield have
+sent to warn us. The wicked Roundheads will be down on Larkland this
+same night. You must forth at once, little mistress, with no staying
+for coaches. You must go a-horseback, you and her Ladyship, and Roger
+to guard you. You must go, and without more staying. Waken, waken,
+little slug-abed, if you be fain to see Walsover!"
+
+"I know! I know!" moaned Merrylips. "I've this long hill to climb."
+
+Then, in her dream, she felt hands laid upon her.
+
+"Quickly, quickly, you must don your clothes!" Mawkin was crying.
+
+With all her strength Merrylips struggled against her and struck with
+her hands.
+
+"Oh, thou art cruel," she sobbed, "so to hold me back from this hill!
+Thou art cruel--cruel! Let me go, Mawkin! Let me go!"
+
+She heard Mawkin crying and coaxing, and at last calling for help, but
+she heard her far off in the dream. Once more she was struggling up the
+long hill to Walsover, and the time, she knew, ran every moment shorter.
+
+For one instant the dream was at a standstill. Heavy-headed and weak
+and sick, Merrylips found herself. She lay in her own bed, in her own
+chamber. On the table close by shone a candle, which made strange
+shadows on the wall, and through the casement she saw a thin moon
+riding down the sky. At the foot of the bed, stood Mawkin, and, just as
+she had done in the dream, she was wringing her hands and talking and
+crying.
+
+But, not as it had been in the dream, Lady Sybil, in the green gown and
+the cloak into which, that afternoon, the jewels had been sewn, was
+bending over the bed. Her arms were round Merrylips, and her hand, on
+the little girl's forehead, felt cool and soft. It was the touch of her
+hand, thought Merrylips, that had ended the dream.
+
+"Little one!" Lady Sybil was saying. "Thou dost know me, mine own lass?"
+
+"Ay, godmother," Merrylips tried to answer, but could make no sound.
+
+"Oh, your Ladyship!" Mawkin began to blubber. "She's fever-stricken, my
+poor, bonny lamb! She can never forth and ride with this sickness upon
+her. She must e'en bide here at Larkland. And when the soldiers come,
+haply they will--"
+
+"Peace, thou silly fool!" Lady Sybil spoke sharply. "No harm will be
+done the child. And yet, ill as she is and in sore need of my care--oh,
+how can I leave thee, Merrylips? How can I leave thee?"
+
+Upon her face Merrylips felt hot tear-drops fall. She thought that she
+must be dreaming again. It could not be her godmother who was weeping
+so!
+
+Once more she had set her tired feet to the dream-hill that she must
+climb, when she heard a heavy step in the chamber. Beside the bed she
+saw old Roger stand. He wore a leathern coat, and at his side he bore a
+rusted old sword. She wondered where he had hidden it at the time when
+Will Lowry searched the house of Larkland.
+
+"Your Ladyship!" said old Roger.
+
+He spoke in the curt, soldierly fashion that must have been his when he
+was a young man and served against the Irish kern in Connaught.
+
+"Your horses stand ready at the door," he went on. "Your enemies are
+yonder on Cuckstead common, not a mile away. An you will come, with
+that which you bear upon you, you must come now, or never!"
+
+Merrylips lay with her head upon Lady Sybil's bosom, and she felt that
+bosom shaken with sobbing.
+
+"Oh, Roger! My good Roger!" said a broken voice, which, Merrylips felt,
+could only in a dream be Lady Sybil's voice. "What shall I do? What can
+I do? This child--my little lass! She hath fallen ill. I cannot take
+her with me in my flight. Yet I cannot leave her."
+
+Old Roger answered in a voice that rang through the dream.
+
+"'Tis a sweet little lady and winsome,--ay, and dear unto mine old
+heart, your Ladyship! But the king's cause is dearer than any child
+unto us, who are your father's poor servants. Your Ladyship, 'tis to
+save your wealth for the good cause you go. 'Tis for the king you ride
+to-night!"
+
+"The king!" whispered Merrylips. "God save him!"
+
+"Hath not the child herself said it?" cried old Roger. "Come, your
+Ladyship!"
+
+For one instant Merrylips felt on her forehead the touch of Lady
+Sybil's lips. For one instant she heard that dear voice in her ear.
+
+"For the king, my little true heart--to bear him aid--only for that I
+leave thee! And oh! God keep thee, Merrylips, till I may come to thee
+again! God keep thee!"
+
+But Merrylips heard the voice now, drowsily and far off. Far off, too,
+she heard the sound of footsteps hurrying from the room, and the sound
+of some one--was it Mawkin?--sobbing. Fainter, still farther off, she
+heard a ringing of horse-hoofs--a ringing sound that soon died away.
+She saw the slit of a moon and the candle at the bedside shrink till
+they were dim dreamlights.
+
+Once again she was climbing the long hill that never had an end. But
+as she struggled on and on, with breath that failed and feet that were
+so tired, she told herself that it was all a dream, and nothing but a
+dream. The hill was a dream, and the terror that followed her a dream,
+and oh! most surely of all, it was a black and not-to-be-believed-in
+dream that Lady Sybil could have gone from Larkland and left her there
+alone.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+
+                            PRISONER OF WAR
+
+
+The dream of the steep hill was only a dream. In time it ended, and
+Merrylips found herself, such a weak little shadow of a Merrylips,
+lying in her chamber at Larkland. Round her bed moved her own maid,
+Mawkin, and other people whom she did not know. There were strange
+serving-women, and a doctor dressed in black, and a tall, pale woman,
+with hands that were dry and cold.
+
+Little by little Merrylips guessed that the other dream that had
+troubled her was no dream. By and by she got strength to ask questions,
+and then she found that it was indeed true that Lady Sybil had gone
+from Larkland and left her behind.
+
+Mawkin told her the story one night when she watched at the bedside.
+She told how the Roundhead soldiers had been almost at the gates of
+Larkland; how, to save the jewels, which she dared trust to no other
+hand, Lady Sybil had fled on horseback; and how she had been obliged to
+leave Merrylips, who had that very night been stricken with fever.
+
+"No doubt you took the sickness from that rascal boy whom you did bring
+to shelter here," said Mawkin. "As if that little vagabond had not
+brought trouble enough upon us without this! But in any case, you have
+been most grievous ill. Full three weeks you have lain in sick-bed, and
+we have all been in great fear for you."
+
+At the moment Merrylips had strength only to wonder whom Mawkin meant
+by "all." She asked no questions then, but as the slow days passed, she
+came to know that Mistress Lowry, Will Lowry's wife and Lady Sybil's
+cousin, was living at Larkland.
+
+Upon Lady Sybil's flight, Will Lowry had seized her house. He said
+that he had a right to it, because his wife was nearest of kin to Lady
+Sybil, and Lady Sybil had proved herself an enemy to the Parliament, by
+fleeing to the king's friends, and so had justly forfeited her house
+and lands. Doubtless Mr. Lowry would have found it hard to make good
+his claim to Larkland in the courts of law, but at such a time, when
+the country was plunging into civil war, the courts had little to say.
+
+So Lowry's men and maids served in the house of Larkland. Lowry's
+steward gathered the harvests and collected the rents. And Lowry's
+wife, who was sickly and wished the air of the Sussex Weald, left her
+own house by the sea and came to rule in Lady Sybil's place.
+
+Of the old household only Mawkin and Merrylips were left. Mawkin was
+there because Merrylips needed her, and Merrylips was there because,
+at first, she was too sick to be moved, and because afterward--but
+afterward was some time in coming.
+
+Meanwhile Merrylips grew slowly better and stronger. And every day,
+and more than once each day, Mistress Lowry, the tall, pale woman with
+the dry hands, was at her bedside. She brought possets and jellies to
+the little girl. She read to her from a brown book with clasps. She
+talked to her of what might have happened to her, if she had died in
+the fever, after the careless life that she had led. So gravely did she
+speak that Merrylips dared not go to sleep at night until she had a
+candle burning on the table beside her.
+
+Once or twice, too, Will Lowry himself, with the close mouth and the
+square jaw, came into Merrylips' chamber, and patted her cheek and bade
+her get well.
+
+"Ay, sir," promised Merrylips. "I shall soon be well, and then I shall
+go unto Walsover, shall I not?"
+
+But to that Will Lowry answered that she must first get strong. It
+would be time enough then to talk of the long journey to Walsover.
+
+So Merrylips got well as fast as she could. She did not doubt that
+Mistress Lowry meant to be kind, but she much preferred to be with her
+father and her brothers and her dear godmother at Walsover.
+
+Again and again she begged for news of her family. All that Mawkin
+could tell her was that letters had come from Walsover. Mawkin did not
+know a word that was in them. Then Merrylips questioned Mistress Lowry,
+but she would tell her only that her kinsfolk all were well in body,
+though they were given over, heart and soul, to the service of a wicked
+king and a false religion.
+
+When Merrylips heard her dear ones spoken of in this harsh fashion,
+she could not help crying, for she still was very weak. This crying
+and fretting and wondering as to when she should go home, did not help
+her to get well quickly. Indeed it was autumn, and her birthday once
+again,--her ninth birthday,--before she was able to fling crumbs to the
+carp in the fish-pond and walk in the little village, as she had used
+to do with Lady Sybil.
+
+Then, one blowy October day, Mawkin came to Merrylips' chamber. Her
+face was all red with weeping, and she blubbered out that she had been
+dismissed from Mistress Lowry's service. The very next morning she was
+to be sent packing off to Walsover.
+
+"Thou art going to Walsover?" cried Merrylips. "Why, what hast thou
+to weep on, thou silly Mawkin? Thou shouldst rather be smiling. Come,
+we'll make ready our mails against the journey."
+
+As she spoke, Merrylips started to rise from the broad window-bench
+where she had been sitting. But Mawkin caught her in her arms, and
+hugged her, and poured out her story, weeping all the while.
+
+"But I am to go alone, sweet little mistress! That wicked rebel Lowry
+and his sanctified wife are sending your poor Mawkin away, because she
+loveth you, mine own poppet, and would mind you of home, and they mean
+that you shall never go again unto Walsover, but stay here with them
+forever and ever, and forget your father and your mother!"
+
+"But wherefore?" asked poor Merrylips, who was quite dazed at this news.
+
+Many times, both on the day of Mawkin's sorrowful departure, and in
+the days that followed, Merrylips repeated that question. At the time
+she got no answer that she could understand. It was not till she was
+much older that she learned the reasons that had lain behind what might
+almost be called her captivity.
+
+Out of policy Will Lowry had kept Merrylips at Larkland. He had
+brothers and nephews fighting for the Parliament in the west country,
+where Merrylips' father was commanding a troop for the king. He
+believed that Sir Thomas was powerful enough to befriend these kinsmen,
+if they should be taken prisoners, and he believed that Sir Thomas
+would be more likely to do so, if Sir Thomas knew that his own little
+daughter was in the hands of the enemy. As a possible hostage, then,
+Will Lowry kept his masterful grasp on Merrylips.
+
+For a different reason Mistress Lowry was not willing to let the little
+girl go. She had but one child, a son who was away at school, and, as
+Will Lowry had said, on the day when he seized the arms at Larkland,
+she wanted a little daughter. Now, like many other people, Mistress
+Lowry thought Merrylips a sweet child, and she wanted her for her own,
+and so she calmly took her.
+
+Stranger still, Mistress Lowry believed that she did a praiseworthy
+thing in keeping the little girl from her parents and her friends. She
+meant to bring Merrylips up in the straitest sect of the Puritans.
+With such a bringing up she thought that Merrylips would be better and
+happier than if she were bred among her own kindred, for, according to
+Mistress Lowry, they were careless and evil people. No doubt Mistress
+Lowry, in her own way, dearly loved Merrylips, but it was a selfish and
+a cruel way.
+
+So Will Lowry, from policy, and Mistress Lowry, from what she called
+love, were both determined to keep Merrylips at Larkland. And when they
+were thus determined, who could stop them? There were no courts of law,
+with power over men of both parties, to make Roundhead Will Lowry give
+back to Cavalier Sir Thomas his stolen child.
+
+Neither could Sir Thomas risk the lives of his soldiers by marching
+a hundred miles or so into the enemy's country and taking back his
+little daughter by force of arms. When Sir Thomas had written a couple
+of hot-tempered letters to Will Lowry, he had done all that he could
+do. Perhaps at times he even forgot about Merrylips. He was so busy
+fighting for the king that he had no time to think about a little girl
+who, after all, was in no danger of ill-treatment.
+
+But all these things Merrylips knew only when she was older. At the
+time, in the dreary autumn of 1642, she could not understand why
+the Lowrys kept her at Larkland, nor why her own kindred let her
+stay there. But at least she knew that she did not at all like it at
+Larkland, so, as soon as she felt strong and well again, she started
+off, one damp November day, to make her way alone to Walsover.
+
+She had her crossbow to keep off padders and Roundheads, and a big
+piece of gingerbread to eat on the way. She took the silver ring,
+shaped like two hearts entwined, and hung it on a little cord about her
+neck, within her gown. She wished to have it with her for luck, because
+it was the last token that Lady Sybil had given her.
+
+Thus she started off in the early morning, and at twilight she
+was found under a hedge, eight miles from home. She had eaten the
+gingerbread, and lost one shoe, and draggled her petticoat in the mud
+and wet. She was tired and half-frightened, but she still clung to her
+crossbow, and she lifted a brave little face to the searchers when they
+came upon her.
+
+Will Lowry himself was at the head of the little band of serving-folk.
+He had come down from London, where he sat in Parliament, to see how
+matters were going at Larkland, and he did not seem much pleased at
+having to ride out and hunt for a naughty little runaway.
+
+When once he had Merrylips seated on the saddle before him, he said
+sharply:--
+
+"An thou wert a lad, I'd flog thee soundly for this."
+
+"An I were a lad," said Merrylips, swallowing her tears, "you'd not
+flog me at all, for I'd 'a' been clear to Walsover by now."
+
+She was quite sure that she should be flogged now, even though she was
+a girl. She was too tired and down-hearted to care.
+
+But to her surprise, Will Lowry, instead of being more angry at her
+answer, laughed.
+
+"A stout-hearted wench!" said he. "'Tis pity thou art not indeed a lad!"
+
+Then Lowry unstrapped the cloak that was bound behind his saddle, and
+wrapped it about Merrylips, and brought her back to Larkland very
+tenderly. Better still, he would not let a word of reproof be spoken
+to her. The child was punished enough, he said, with the weariness and
+fright that she had suffered. He was kind, and Merrylips knew it.
+
+But after that night, by order of this same kind Will Lowry, Merrylips
+was never allowed to set foot outside the garden, unless one of the
+servants was with her. So never again did she have a chance to run away
+to Walsover.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI
+
+                      THE COMING OF HERBERT LOWRY
+
+
+There was no singing of carols nor eating of plum-pudding and mince
+pies at Larkland that Christmas, you may be sure. Mistress Lowry said
+that to keep Christmas was to bow the knee to Baal.
+
+Merrylips did not know what that meant, though she thought it had a
+sinful sound. But at least she did know that on Christmas Day she had
+nothing better than stewed mutton for dinner, and she was given extra
+tasks that kept her busy till nightfall.
+
+Indeed Merrylips had so many tasks, while she was under Mistress
+Lowry's care, that she looked back on her life at Walsover as one
+long holiday. She had to spin, and to knit, and to read aloud from
+dull books about predestination and election and other deep religious
+matters. Worst of all, she had to sit quietly for an hour each day and
+think about the sinful state of her heart and how she might amend it.
+If she had not been as sunny-tempered and brave a little soul as ever
+lived, she would surely have grown fretful and morbid, shut up as she
+was with poor, sickly, fanatical Mistress Lowry.
+
+Strangely enough, in those dull winter days, Merrylips was much
+comforted by Will Lowry, who came almost every week on a visit from
+London. He seemed to like her the better, because she had tried to run
+away.
+
+Once he brought her from London a silken hood. At first he could not
+get her to wear it, because it was the gift of a rebel. But later, when
+Mistress Lowry took the silver ring away from Merrylips, saying that it
+was a vain, worldly gaud, he bade her give it back to the little girl.
+After that Merrylips was glad to please him by wearing the hood.
+
+Will Lowry called her Merrylips, too, and that was a comfort, for
+Mistress Lowry and all the household called her Sybil, a name by
+which she scarcely knew herself. Better still, when he rode about the
+fields and farms that belonged to Larkland, he would often take her,
+boy-fashion, on the saddle before him, or when he walked in Cuckstead
+village, he would have her tramping at his side. He did not scold her
+for scrambling over walls and climbing trees. Instead he seemed pleased
+with her strength and fearlessness.
+
+Once, when they had come in from a long walk in the chill winter
+weather, and were supping alone on bread and cheese, Lowry said, half
+playfully:--
+
+"Merrylips, wouldst thou not like to have been born my little daughter?"
+
+Merrylips shook her head sternly.
+
+"I'm daddy's daughter," she said, "and I will be none other's."
+
+"Thou canst not help thyself," Will Lowry answered. "One day thou'lt
+wed, and so become some other man's daughter."
+
+Then he added, and whether he spoke in jest or earnest Merrylips was
+too young to know:--
+
+"Upon my word, when thou art five years older, I'll wed thee to my boy
+Herbert, and so I'll have thee for a daughter in thine own despite."
+
+At least Will Lowry was so much in earnest that from that day he
+stopped promising Merrylips that some time she should go home to
+Walsover. Also he began to talk to her of his boy Herbert. He was
+going to bring Herbert to Larkland soon, he said, and so give her a
+playfellow of her own years. And she must teach Herbert to play at ball
+and run and leap, and not to be afraid of a horse.
+
+"Thou art a better lad than he in some regards," said Herbert's father,
+with what sounded like a sigh. "He is overfond of his book, but a good
+lad, none the less, and you two shall be dear friends."
+
+Merrylips did not feel drawn toward Herbert by this description, nor
+was she pleased at Lowry's hint that when she was older she should be
+Herbert's wife. Of course she knew that some day she should marry, and
+she knew that girls were often wives at fourteen. Still she did not
+wish to think of marriage yet, and especially of marriage with a boy
+who was overfond of his book.
+
+But as the springtime passed, Merrylips grew so tired of Mistress
+Lowry's gloomy company that she began to think that it would be
+pleasant to have a boy of her own age to play with, even such a boy
+as Herbert. So she was more glad than sorry when Mistress Lowry told
+her, one bright day at Whitsuntide, that a sickness had broken out in
+Herbert's school, and next week Herbert would come home.
+
+A little while after young Herbert came to Larkland. When he and
+Merrylips stood side by side, any grown person would have understood
+why poor Will Lowry wanted Merrylips for a daughter, and would have
+been a little sorry for him.
+
+Herbert was frail and sickly like his mother. He was two years older
+than Merrylips, but hardly a fraction of an inch the taller. His hair
+was whity yellow, and lank, while hers was ruddy brown and curly. His
+eyes were pale blue, while hers were, like her hair, a ruddy brown. He
+drooped his head and shoulders. She carried her chest and chin bravely
+uplifted and looked the world in the face.
+
+Not only was Herbert sickly like his mother, but, as Merrylips soon
+found out, he was, like his mother, peevish and selfish. Besides, he
+was a coward. He would not even mount a horse, though his father, to
+shame him, set Merrylips on his own steady cob and let her trot up and
+down the courtyard. Worse still, once when his father caught him in a
+lie and struck him with a riding whip, Herbert whimpered aloud, so that
+Merrylips was ashamed for him.
+
+But Herbert was not whipped a second time. His mother took his part,
+and said that he must not be beaten, for he was not strong. Then his
+mother and his father quarrelled,--so Merrylips heard it whispered
+among the serving-folk,--and Mistress Lowry took to her bed for a week,
+and Will Lowry went up to London in some temper.
+
+After that Will Lowry came less often to Larkland. Perhaps it was
+because the Parliament in which he sat was very busy all that summer.
+Perhaps it was because he felt himself helpless to contend against his
+ailing wife. In any case, he stayed away from Larkland, and Merrylips,
+for one, missed him sorely.
+
+Still, though Merrylips did not like Herbert, they were two children
+in a dull house full of grown folk, so they were much together. When
+Herbert felt good-natured, he could tell long stories that he had read
+in books, about the wars of Greece and Rome and the pagan gods and
+goddesses. Sometimes he sang, too, in a reedy little voice, and he
+could make sketches with his pencil such as neither Flip nor Munn nor
+even Longkin could ever hope to make. At such times as these Merrylips
+was glad of his company and openly admired his cleverness.
+
+But out-of-doors, at boyish sports, Herbert was worse than useless. He
+could not climb and run and ride and play as Merrylips did, and he was
+jealous because she could. He mocked at all she did, and said that, if
+he chose, he could do it far better, because he was a boy, and she but
+a paltry girl. He would not let her touch his bat and balls, and once,
+when he found her peeping into one of his Latin books, he ran and told
+his mother that she was meddling with his things.
+
+Very soon Herbert found a better way to tease Merrylips than by
+laughing at her or bearing tales to his mother. Whenever he quarrelled
+with her, and that was often, he delighted to taunt her with the
+fact that she was a Cavalier. All Cavaliers, he said, were false and
+cowardly, and the brave and virtuous Parliament men were beating them
+soundly.
+
+Here Herbert took an unfair advantage. From his parents he knew all
+that was happening in England, from the Roundhead standpoint. But poor
+Merrylips was not allowed to read for herself the letters that were
+sent her from Walsover and get the Cavalier side of the story. So she
+had no arguments with which to answer him.
+
+One day in October Herbert told her joyfully that the king's army had
+been driven back from Gloucester and soundly beaten at a place called
+Newbury.
+
+Merrylips could answer only that she didn't believe it.
+
+Then he told her that the king had made peace with the murderous Irish,
+and that he was a false and wicked man.
+
+At that Merrylips used the oldest argument in the world. She clenched
+her little fists, as she had not done since her eighth birthday,
+two full years before, and she gave Herbert a smack that sent him
+blubbering to his mother.
+
+To be sure, Merrylips was well punished for that blow. Mistress Lowry
+whipped her hands, and prayed over her. Then she sent her supperless to
+her chamber, and bade her pray that her naughty spirit might be broken.
+
+But Merrylips did not pray. Instead she curled up on the window-seat,
+and from within her gown took the silver ring that Lady Sybil had left
+with her, and kissed it and stroked it and talked to it.
+
+"I do think long to be at Walsover," she whispered. "But ere I go, I'd
+fain smack Herbert once again for a tittling talebearer. Ay, and I'd
+fain fight the wicked Roundheads, for Herbert and his mother be of
+their party, and O kind Lord! Thou knowest that they have used me much
+unhandsomely!"
+
+And if, at that point, under cover of the twilight, a tear or two fell
+on the silver ring, even Merrylips' big brothers could scarcely have
+blamed that poor little captive maid.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+
+                        A VENNER TO THE RESCUE!
+
+
+"Sybil! Hey, Sybil! Why dost not answer when I speak thee fair?"
+
+It was Herbert Lowry that spoke from the threshold of the hall, where
+Merrylips sat alone at her knitting. She raised her eyes from the
+tiresome stitches, and saw him standing there, and she thought to
+herself that never had she seen him look so well.
+
+He was wearing breeches and doublet of reddish brown stuff, with gilt
+buttons,--a suit that pleased her best of all his clothes. In the
+autumn sunlight that slanted through the door, his hair was touched
+with yellow, and the color of his skin seemed almost healthy. He had
+spoken too in a friendly voice. It was clear that he was ready to make
+up, after the quarrel of two weeks ago in which she had struck him.
+
+She was not sorry to be friends with him again. After all, she found
+Herbert better company than no company at all.
+
+"Look 'ee, Sybil!" said Herbert, as he met her eyes.
+
+He tiptoed into the hall, and held up before her a little creel and a
+long line.
+
+"The cook-maid hath given me a dainty bit to eat, and I've here a brave
+new line. What sayst thou if we go angling for gudgeons to-day in the
+brook under Nutfold wood?"
+
+Merrylips clapped her hands and forgave Herbert everything.
+
+"A-fishing? Wilt take me, Herbert? I've not cast a line in a
+twelvemonth. Oh, wilt thou truly take me, Herbert?" she cried.
+
+"Now hush!" he snapped. "'Tis like a silly girl to be squawking it out
+so all the house may hear. To be sure, I'll be gracious to take thee
+with me, Sybil, if thou'lt be good--"
+
+"I will!" promised Merrylips, headlong.
+
+"And do as I bid thee--"
+
+"Yes, yes!" cried Merrylips. "Let us be gone!"
+
+Deep in her heart she mistrusted that Herbert had planned this trip
+without telling his mother. She doubted if Mistress Lowry would let
+her ramble off the three miles to Nutfold with no better guard than
+this young boy. So she was much afraid lest she should be called back
+and forbidden to go a-fishing. She fairly tiptoed out of the house at
+Herbert's side, and never drew a long breath till she heard the garden
+gate close behind them.
+
+The two children were now quite sure of not being seen and stopped.
+But none the less Herbert, who was sly by nature, picked their path in
+the shelter of walls and hedges and through copses. In this stealthy
+way they went westward toward the wood that lay by the hamlet of
+Nutfold. Herbert was empty-handed. He bade Merrylips carry the creel
+in which their luncheon was packed, and true to her word, she did his
+bidding.
+
+When they reached the brook Herbert said:--
+
+"Now thou mayst dig for worms, Sybil, while I cut me a fish-rod."
+
+Well, well! She had promised to do as he asked, and a gentleman must
+keep his word, so she took a stick and grubbed in the dirt for bait,
+while Master Herbert sat at his ease and trimmed an alder branch with
+his knife. As she worked, she wondered if she had not been foolish to
+come with Herbert. She should be punished, surely, for running away and
+leaving her knitting undone. And meanwhile she was not having at all a
+good time.
+
+As the morning passed, Merrylips found less and less pleasure in the
+sport to which she had looked forward. Again and again Herbert bade her
+bait his hook for him, and he made her carry the creel, but not once
+did he let her cast the line.
+
+It was his line, he said, when she timidly asked to have it only for
+one throw. It was his line, and he should use it, and in any case she
+could not catch a fish. She was but a girl.
+
+"I'd not need to be a skilled angler to do better than thou," answered
+Merrylips. "Thou hast not taken a fish this morning."
+
+"'Tis because thou hast frighted them away with thy clitter-clatter,"
+scolded Herbert. "A fool I was to let thee come with me!"
+
+Almost at an open quarrel, they stumbled through the tangled sedges
+and trailing underwood upon the bank of the stream. The tireder
+Herbert grew, the crosser he was, and the worse luck he had with his
+fishing--and he had very bad luck!--the surer he was that Merrylips was
+to blame.
+
+Soon he began to mock and to tease her, and once, when she tripped over
+a fallen branch, he laughed outright.
+
+"You may laugh," cried Merrylips, "but haply you'd not find it easy to
+keep your feet, if you bore a great basket, and if you wore hateful
+petticoats a-dangling round your feet. I would that you had to wear
+petticoats but once!"
+
+"Thou'rt weeping now!" jeered Herbert.
+
+Merrylips made herself laugh in his face.
+
+"'Tis only silly boys that weep," said she. "When their fathers beat
+them, they snivel, and run with tales to their mothers."
+
+The quarrel had begun in earnest. For the next half mile the tired
+children tramped in angry silence. Then Herbert snatched the creel from
+Merrylips.
+
+"'Tis mine!" he said.
+
+He sat down on a grassy bank and opened the creel. Within it were spice
+cakes and cheese and a little chicken pasty, and every crumb that
+greedy boy munched down himself, and never offered so much as one spice
+cake to Merrylips.
+
+Perhaps he hoped that she would ask for a share of the luncheon, but
+in that case he was disappointed. Merrylips was hungry indeed, after
+the long walk in the autumn air, but she would have starved before she
+would have begged of Herbert.
+
+She went a little way off, but only a little way, for she could not
+help hoping that he might offer her some of the food. She sat down on
+the edge of the brook and flung clods of dirt into the water. She sang,
+too, because she wished Herbert to think that she did not care at all,
+but out of the corner of her eye she watched the chicken pasty and the
+cheese and the spice cakes till the last crumb was gone.
+
+Then Merrylips lay down and drank from the brook, for she saw that
+a drink of water was all the luncheon that she was to have. As she
+leaned over the brook, the silver ring that hung about her neck slipped
+from the bosom of her gown and swung at the end of the cord on which
+she wore it.
+
+"What's that?" said Herbert.
+
+He too had come to the edge of the brook to drink, and he stood near
+Merrylips.
+
+"Let me look upon it, Sybil."
+
+"Go finish your dinner!" Merrylips answered as she put the ring back
+within her gown.
+
+Her tone angered Herbert even more than her words.
+
+"You show me that as I bid you!" he cried. "How dare you disobey me?
+You're going to be my wife some day--father saith so--and then I'll
+learn you! Now you show me that silver thing, mistress, or I'll beat
+you!"
+
+"Try it!" flashed Merrylips.
+
+But for all her brave words, she did not wish to fight with Herbert.
+She felt too tired and hungry to fight, and besides, if she beat
+Herbert, she knew that she should be punished for it by Mistress Lowry.
+So when Herbert put out his hand to seize her, she dodged him and took
+to her heels through the wood. She knew that she could outrun him.
+
+She heard him crashing among the bushes behind her. She felt the sting
+of the bare branches that whipped her face as she ran. Blindly she
+sped along till right at her feet she saw the ground open where a
+sunken bridle-path ran between steep banks. Far off on the path she
+heard, as something that did not concern her, like a sound in a dream,
+a muffled padding of horse-hoofs.
+
+Panting and spent, she jumped down the bank into the path, and as
+she did so, she caught her skirt on a prickly bush of holly. She was
+brought to her knees by the sudden jerk, and before she could free her
+skirt and rise she felt Herbert's grasp close on her arm.
+
+"You jade! I'll learn you now!" Herbert cried.
+
+All the time she had heard the horse-hoofs, nearer and nearer, and she
+heard now a deep voice.
+
+"Lord 'a' mercy! Ye little fools!" the voice said. "Will ye be ridden
+down?"
+
+Horses, two horses, that looked to Merrylips as tall as steeples, were
+halted right above her. In the saddle of one a big man in a steel cap
+and a leathern coat sat gaping. From the saddle of the other there had
+vaulted down a slim young fellow in a shiny cuirass, with a plumed hat
+on his head and a sword slung from his baldric. He caught Herbert by
+the neck.
+
+"Learn her, wilt thou?" he cried in a clear, youthful voice. "Faith,
+here's a schooling in which I'll bear a hand, my pretty gentleman!"
+
+[Illustration: "FAITH, HERE'S A SCHOOLING IN WHICH I'LL BEAR A
+HAND, MY PRETTY GENTLEMAN!"]
+
+There was something in the voice, something in the figure, that brought
+to Merrylips the sight of Walsover, and the sound of voices that she
+had not heard in two long years. She scrambled to her feet, and with a
+loud cry flung her arms about the young man.
+
+"'Tis thou! 'Tis thou!" she cried. "'Tis thou at last, and I did not
+know thee! Oh, Munn! mine own dear brother!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIII
+
+                          IN BORROWED PLUMES
+
+
+At first Merrylips could only laugh and cry and repeat her brother's
+name, while all the time she clung tight to him. It seemed too good to
+be true that Munn had really come at last! If once she let go of him,
+she feared that he would vanish, as the shapes of her dear ones had so
+many times vanished in her homesick dreams.
+
+Little by little she grew sure that the figures on which she looked
+were real. The horses that drooped their heads to crop the brown grass
+were real. The big trooper, who held their bridles with one hand, was
+real, and in his face, which was all one broad grin, she recognized
+the features of that same Stephen Plasket, the serving-man who had
+gone with her when she went walking in London. From him she turned to
+Herbert Lowry, who stood scared and shaking, with his arm in Stephen's
+grasp, and she found him so real that she knew this was no dream.
+
+Then she looked up again, at the sunburnt young face under the plumed
+hat, that bent above her. She was certain now that it was indeed Munn,
+in flesh and blood. So she kept back the tears of which he would not
+approve.
+
+"And what's the news from Walsover?" she begged, as soon as she could
+speak. "Oh, tell me how it is with daddy and with my godmother!"
+
+Very hastily Munn told her all that she wished to know. First he told
+how Lady Sybil had come safe to Walsover with her jewels, which had
+long since been spent in the king's service. After that Lady Sybil had
+gone a long journey into France, to beg some of the great folk in those
+parts, whom she had known in her girlhood, to send aid to the cause she
+served. For a time also she had been in the king's camp at Oxford, but
+now she had come back to Walsover.
+
+Then he went on to tell how Lady Venner and Puss and Pug were full of
+cares, for Walsover had been fortified and garrisoned. Besides, many
+cousins and kinsfolk had come there for shelter, so the great house was
+full to overflowing.
+
+Of more interest to Merrylips, he said that their father, Sir Thomas,
+was in command of a troop of horse, with headquarters at Walsover.
+Longkin, who was now a tall gallant with mustaches, was a lieutenant
+under him, and Flip hoped soon to be an officer. But at present Flip
+was thought too young to hold a commission, and so he had to stay,
+much against his will, and mind his book at Walsover.
+
+For his own part, Munn ended, he had got him a cornetcy in the
+horse-troop of Lord Eversfield, the father of one of his schoolfellows.
+Just now he was serving under one Captain Norris, at a fortified house
+called Monksfield, in the rape of Arundel.
+
+While Munn was speaking, he kept glancing up and down the bridle-path,
+and when Merrylips noticed this, she cut him short.
+
+"Leave the rest!" she said. "Thou'lt have time enough to tell it me on
+our way. And now let us be off quickly, lest we be stayed."
+
+At that Herbert lifted his voice.
+
+"Don't you dare to go with these vile knaves!" he shrilled. "My mother
+will be angered. Don't you dare!"
+
+Merrylips laughed and turned her back on him. Then she saw that Munn
+stood biting his lip, with his eyes upon the ground, and she stopped
+laughing.
+
+"Munn!" she gasped. "But surely thou art come to fetch me? Thou wilt
+never think to go and leave me here behind?"
+
+With a gesture that she remembered, Munn took off his hat and ran his
+fingers through his hair.
+
+"Look 'ee, Merrylips," said he, "I was i' the wrong, belike, to come
+hither at all. 'Twas that I was sent from Monksfield with others of
+our troop to gather cattle and provender for our garrison. We seized
+this morn upon the village of Storringham, a league or so to the west
+of here. And Lieutenant Crashaw who commandeth our party bade me ride
+forward with a trusty man, to spy out the country. And so I shaped our
+course toward Larkland, on the chance that I might see thee, honey, or
+get news of thee, for I was fain to know how thou wert faring."
+
+"Yes, yes!" said Merrylips. "But now that thou hast found me, Munn,
+dear, what shall hinder me to go away with thee?"
+
+Munn shook his head.
+
+"How can I take thee, Merrylips? I tell thee, I am in garrison, in a
+house where no women dwell, among men ruder than any thou hast ever
+dreamed on, or should dream on, little maid. Our captain indeed hath
+straitly charged us to bring thither no women of our kindred, nor young
+children. For the life in garrison is rough and hard, and more, we are
+in daily peril of assault from our enemies. Thou seest well, thou canst
+not come with me. Thou must be content to stay at Larkland, where thou
+art safe from danger."
+
+"But I do not fear danger!" cried Merrylips, flinging back her head.
+
+Then once more she clung to Munn, and begged and pleaded as never
+before in her little life.
+
+"Oh, Munn! Sweetest brother! Thou canst not have the heart to leave me,
+when I have waited long. And 'tis so hateful at Larkland, with Mistress
+Lowry ever chiding and lessoning me, and Mr. Lowry, he cometh almost
+never among us now. And they say that daddy and thou and Longkin are
+evil men, and that I must hate the king--"
+
+"Say they so?" growled Stephen, the trooper. "Quiet, ye rebel imp!"
+
+As he said that, he shook Herbert, though Herbert had not so much as
+stirred.
+
+"And," Merrylips hurried on, "they say when I am older, I must wed
+Herbert Lowry yonder."
+
+Then it was Munn's turn to break into words.
+
+"Now renounce my soul!" he cried, and flushed to the hair, and then
+grew white under his coat of tan. "So that's Will Lowry's bent--to mate
+my sister with his ill-conditioned brat! Upon my conscience, Merrylips,
+I be half minded--"
+
+She held her breath, waiting to hear him bid her scramble on his
+horse's back. But after a moment he shook his head.
+
+"Nay, it must not be," he said sadly. "Monksfield is no place to which
+to bring a girl child. Ah, Merrylips, if thou wert but a young boy!"
+
+Merrylips clenched her hands. She was fairly trembling with a great
+idea that had come to her. When she tried to speak, she almost
+stammered.
+
+"Munn! Dearest Munn! Why should I not go as a boy--as thy little
+brother? Oh, I'll bear me like a boy! I'll never cry nor fret nor be
+weary. Oh, do but try me, Munn! Best brother! Sweetest brother! Let me
+go with thee as a little boy!"
+
+"Thou lookest a boy," said Munn, and tried to smile, as he pointed at
+her petticoat. "What of clothes?"
+
+"Faith, sir," cried Stephen, "if the little mistress be stayed for
+naught but a doublet and a pair of breeches, here they be, ready to
+hand!"
+
+As he spoke, the trooper began to unfasten Herbert's ruddy brown
+doublet, and at that Herbert screamed:--
+
+"Do thou but wait! 'Tis thou shalt pay for this, Sybil Venner, when my
+mother cometh to hear on it!"
+
+"Be quiet!" bade Munn, in a stern voice. "And you, Stephen Plasket,
+hold your hand. Let me think!"
+
+He stood in the bridle-path, with his brows knit and his lips
+stiffened, while he tried to see his way clear, this young officer, who
+himself was after all no more than a boy. He knew that Monksfield was
+no place for Merrylips. He knew that he would disobey his captain's
+orders, if he should take a little girl thither.
+
+Yet he dreaded to leave her behind at Larkland. Not only did he hate
+to disappoint her so cruelly, but he was angry at the mere hint of her
+being brought up to make Herbert Lowry a wife. Besides he was afraid,
+hearing Herbert's outcry, that if she were left behind, she might be
+punished only for thinking to escape.
+
+In short, Munn felt that he could not leave his sister at Larkland.
+But at the same time he knew that he could not take her, as a girl, to
+Monksfield.
+
+In this dilemma he began to turn over her childish proposal that she
+should go with him disguised as a boy. He felt almost sure that he
+should be allowed to bring a young lad into the garrison for a few
+days. Within those few days he hoped to find means to send Merrylips on
+to Walsover, before any one could discover that she was no boy, but a
+little girl.
+
+He knew that this was a risky undertaking, and he knew that the burden
+of it would fall upon the child, but he thought that he could trust
+her. He noted how straight and vigorous was her slim young figure, how
+brown and healthy her color, how brave her carriage. She had always
+been a boyish little girl, and in her boyishness he now placed his hope.
+
+From Merrylips Munn turned to that pallid and ill-favored Herbert,
+who was squirming in Stephen's grip. Suddenly all that in Munn which
+was still a schoolboy thought it a rare jest to put Herbert into
+petticoats, where he belonged, and set brave little Merrylips, for
+once, in the breeches that all her life she had longed to wear. So
+good a jest it was, that he thought, for the jest's sake, he might win
+forgiveness even from his captain, if he should be found out.
+
+Carried away by the fun of it, he turned to Merrylips, and his eyes
+were dancing.
+
+"Run thou behind yonder thick holly bush," he spoke the words that
+bound him to this plan. "Off with thy gown and fling it forth to me.
+Thou shalt speedily have other gear to replace it."
+
+Before he had done speaking, Merrylips was screened behind the holly
+bush, and with fingers that shook was casting off her bodice and her
+petticoat. As she did so, she heard an angry cry from Herbert.
+
+"I'll tell my mother! I'll tell my--"
+
+There the cry changed, and from the sounds that went with it she knew
+that at last Herbert was getting, from Stephen Plasket, the whipping
+that for months he had so sorely needed.
+
+A moment later a little ruddy brown bundle came tumbling over the
+holly bush, and Merrylips, in all haste, turned herself into a boy.
+She kept her own worsted stockings and stout country-made shoes. Over
+her own plain little smock she drew the ruddy brown breeches, which
+she gartered trimly at the knee, and the ruddy brown doublet, with
+the slashed sleeves and the pretty buttons of gilt. She unbound the
+lace that tied her hair and shook her flyaway mop about her face. Her
+hair was so curly that it had never grown long enough to fall below
+her shoulders, and that was a very fit length for a little Cavalier.
+She tied Herbert's white collar round her neck. Last of all she set
+Herbert's felt hat upon her head, and then she was ready.
+
+But she did not feel at all as she had thought she should feel. Instead
+of feeling bold and manly, she was suddenly afraid lest, in spite of
+the clothes, she should not be boy enough to please Munn. So great was
+her fear that she stood shrinking behind the holly bush till she heard
+Munn call, a little impatiently. Then she crept out, with her head
+hanging.
+
+Munn looked at her, and gave a whistle between his teeth--a whistle of
+dismay. He had thought her a boyish little girl, but he saw her now a
+very girlish little boy. He doubted if, when they came to Monksfield,
+he could keep up for one moment the deception that he had planned. But
+come what might, he knew that he had now gone too far to draw back.
+After the rough way in which he had let Master Herbert be used, he
+dared not leave his little sister in the hands of Herbert's kin.
+
+"Into the saddle with thee!" he bade more cheerily than he felt.
+
+He had to help Merrylips to his horse's back. When he had vaulted into
+the saddle behind her and put his arm about her, he felt that she was
+quivering with excitement and nervousness. He called himself a fool to
+have ventured on such a hare-brained prank.
+
+But just then Stephen, who all this time had held Herbert silent with
+a hand upon his mouth, let go of him in order that he might mount his
+horse. And straightway up jumped Herbert, right by Munn's stirrup, half
+in and half out of Merrylips' gown, with his face all smeared with
+tears.
+
+"Oh, thou Sybil Venner!" he wailed. "I'll tell my mother! I'll--"
+
+Then Merrylips threw back her head and laughed, with the color bright
+in her cheeks once more.
+
+"See how thou dost like it thyself to walk in petticoats!" she cried.
+"Go tell thy mother--tell her what thou wilt. Thou canst tell her I'm
+off to the wars to fight for the king."
+
+"Well said!" laughed Munn, as he gathered up the reins. "Upon my word,
+I believe that after all thou'lt do thy part fairly, Merrylips, my
+little new brother!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+
+                            OFF TO THE WARS
+
+
+As they rode along the way to Storringham, Munn gave Merrylips good
+advice.
+
+"Look to it thou dost not swagger nor seek to play the man," he checked
+some fine schemes that she had hinted at.
+
+"Be just as thou art, and let them think thee a timid little lad,
+and one that hath been reared among women. I'll say thou art not
+overstrong, and under that pretext will keep thee close, for the
+most part, in mine own chamber, till I find means to send thee unto
+Walsover. Ay, ay! We may win through in safety. For Stephen, I know,
+will be faithful and hold his tongue."
+
+"Trust me for that, sir," cried the ex-serving-man, who rode close
+behind. "I'll never betray the little mistress--the little master, I
+should say."
+
+Presently Munn spoke again, telling Merrylips what people she would
+meet at Monksfield, and how she should bear herself toward them.
+
+"Our senior captain," said he, "that commandeth our garrison, is called
+Tibbott Norris. He is a soldier of fortune--that is, he hath been a
+soldier all his life for hire in foreign armies. He is a harsh, stern
+man, and one of whom many folk stand in fear, and with reason. So do
+thou be civil to him and keep thyself out of his path."
+
+This Merrylips promised to do, most earnestly. She was a little
+frightened at the mere thought of this Captain Norris, of whom her
+big brother Munn seemed himself to be afraid. She found his very name
+fearful.
+
+"Tibbott!" she repeated. "I never heard of any one that was called
+Tibbott."
+
+"Why, no doubt he was christened Theobald," said Munn. "That is quite a
+common name, whereof Tibbott is a byname."
+
+But Merrylips still thought Tibbott an odd name, so odd that she said
+it over to herself a number of times.
+
+"Of our other officers," Munn went on, "the junior captain is called
+George Brooke. He loveth a jest and may well try to tease thee, but
+do not fear him. Neither do thou be too saucy and familiar, for he is
+shrewd and may guess that thou art not what thou dost seem. Miles Digby
+is his lieutenant, a rough companion and apt to bully, but I'll see to
+it that he try not his tricks with thee. And Brooke's cornet is one
+Nick Slanning, somewhat a braggart, but a good heart and will do thee
+no harm. That's our officers' mess at Monksfield, save for Eustace
+Crashaw, Captain Norris's lieutenant, and him thou soon shalt see, for
+we now are drawing nigh unto Storringham."
+
+In the last moments they had left the shelter of the wood, through
+which Munn had prudently shaped their course. They now were riding over
+some low, bare hillocks. As they reached the top of one that was higher
+than the rest, they saw, right below them, a clump of trees, and rising
+through the branches were a shingled church spire and a number of
+thatched roofs. Over all, trees and spire and roofs, hung a murky film
+which thickened at the centre to a black smear.
+
+"My life on't!" cried Munn. "Lieutenant Crashaw hath been smoking these
+pestilent rebels."
+
+So saying, Munn put spurs to his horse, and at a round trot they swung
+down the hill into Storringham. Then they found that the smoke which
+they had seen came from a great pile of corn that had been heaped in
+the open space before the church, where four roads met, and set afire.
+Near by stood three great wains, heaped high with corn, and hitched
+each to six horses. Farther along, herded in one of the narrow roads, a
+drove of frightened cattle were plunging and tossing their heads.
+
+Everywhere there were dismounted troopers. They herded the cattle, with
+loud shouts and curses. They piled corn upon the wains. They went
+at will in and out of the cottages, the doors of which stood open.
+Oftenest of all they went in and out of the largest cottage, which
+seemed a tavern, and when they came out, they were wiping their mouths
+on their sleeves.
+
+In the midst of this hurly-burly, where men hurried to and fro, and
+cattle plunged, and horses stamped, and dogs barked, a little group of
+people stood sadly by the smouldering heap of wasted corn. They were
+village folk, Merrylips saw at once.
+
+Most of them were women, and of these some wrung their hands and wept,
+and some cried out and railed at the troopers. Almost all had young
+children clinging to them. There were not many men among them, and
+these were mostly old, white-headed gaffers in smock frocks. But one or
+two were lusty young fellows. Of these one had his arm bandaged, and
+another sat nursing his broken head in his two hands.
+
+Now when Merrylips looked at these unhappy people, she was much
+surprised. She had thought that Storringham, which the gallant
+Cavaliers had taken, would be a strong fort with walls, and that the
+people in it would be fierce and wicked Roundheads. But now she saw
+that Storringham was like Cuckstead, and the Storringham folk were like
+the Cuckstead folk who were her friends, and she was sorry for them.
+
+"How did it chance that all their corn was burned?" she asked her
+brother.
+
+"Faith," said Munn, quite carelessly, "Lieutenant Crashaw bade bring
+all the corn hither, and then, it seemeth, he must have bidden waste
+what we could not bear away for our own use."
+
+Merrylips turned where she sat before him, and looked up into his face.
+
+"But, Munn," she said, "what will they do when winter cometh, and they
+have no corn to make them bread?"
+
+"Why, little limber-tongue," Munn answered, "that concerneth us not at
+all. These folk are all rebels, and they fired upon us when we rode
+into their village this morn. So we have punished them, as thou seest.
+'Tis the way of war, child."
+
+At that word Merrylips remembered how in her heart she had longed for
+war. But she had thought that war was all gallant fighting and brave
+deeds. She had never dreamed that it meant wasting poor folk's food and
+making women cry.
+
+By this time Munn had pulled up before the tavern, and now there
+came across the open space and halted by his stirrup a fair-haired
+gentleman, with a drooping-mustache and a scrap of beard.
+
+"W-what news?" said he, speaking with a little stammer.
+
+Munn saluted him and told him that he had seen no sign of the enemy to
+eastward. So respectfully did he speak that Merrylips judged, quite
+rightly, that the fair-haired gentleman was Munn's superior officer,
+Lieutenant Crashaw.
+
+When Munn had done speaking, the lieutenant looked at Merrylips, and
+said, with a smile:--
+
+"W-what! Have you b-been child-stealing, C-Cornet Venner?"
+
+Then Munn stiffened himself, holding Merrylips tight, for he knew that
+the minute of trial had come.
+
+"This is my young brother," he said slowly. "He hath been reared among
+Puritan kinsfolk and kept from us by the fortunes of war. This day I
+chanced upon him--"
+
+"Ch-chanced, eh?" said Crashaw, and his smile deepened, so that Munn
+grew red.
+
+"Well, well!" Crashaw went on, "you d-did wisely to snatch this
+b-bantling out of rebel hands. Fetch him along, and we'll m-make a
+m-man of him--if Captain Norris l-let him live to grow up! Now l-let
+him down and stretch his l-legs, for we'll not m-march hence for an
+hour."
+
+Merrylips found herself lifted to the ground, where she stood looking
+about her. She was not quite sure what she should do. She would have
+chosen to stick close to Munn's heels, but she feared that would not
+be like a boy. So she stood where she was left, and anxiously watched
+Munn, as he went a little aside and spoke with Lieutenant Crashaw.
+
+While the two young men were talking together, a little girl ran out
+from the group of village folk and halted before them. She was about
+Merrylips' own age, with a shock of tawny hair and chapped little
+hands. Her gown was old and patched. She wore no stockings, and her
+little apron, which she kept twisting between her hands, was all soiled
+with dirt.
+
+"Kind gentlemen," she said, in a scared voice, "will ye not be good to
+give back our cow--the spotted one yonder with the crumpled horn. For
+there's Granny, and Popkin, and Hodge, and Polly, and me, and we've
+naught but the cush-cow to keep us--sweet gentlemen!"
+
+"R-run away with thee, little rebel!" said Crashaw, not unkindly, but
+much as he would have spoken to a little dog that was troublesome.
+
+And Merrylips' own brother Munn, that was so good to her, said
+carelessly:--
+
+"If you'll believe these folk, every cow in the herd is the only
+maintenance of seven souls at least."
+
+The little girl turned away, with her grimy apron twisted tight in her
+hands, and so sorry for her did Merrylips feel that she started after
+her.
+
+"Little maid!" she said, and fumbled in her pocket.
+
+In that pocket, when she had changed into Herbert's clothes, she had
+remembered to put her own whittle and three half-pence that Mr. Lowry
+had given her. She pulled out the half-pence now, and said she:--
+
+"Prithee, take these, and I would they were more, and I be main sorry
+for thy cush-cow."
+
+But the little girl with the tawny hair turned upon her like a little
+fury.
+
+"I do hate thee for one of 'em!" she cried. "I'd fain see thee dead,
+thou wicked boy!"
+
+As she spoke, smack! she struck Merrylips a sounding blow right across
+the face.
+
+"Hey! Hey!" said Lieutenant Crashaw, laughing. "C-close with her, young
+Venner! Strike for the k-king!"
+
+Merrylips blinked and swallowed hard, for the blow had not been a light
+one.
+
+"I am--a gentleman," she answered jerkily. "I may not strike--a girl."
+
+She turned away and sat down on a bench by the tavern door. Presently
+she picked up a bit of stick and marked with it in the dirt at her feet.
+
+In this fashion she was busied, when she heard a step beside her. She
+looked up, and found the lieutenant standing over her. She saw, too,
+that Munn was gone, and Stephen with him, and she felt afraid, but she
+tried not to show it.
+
+"So thou art too good a g-gentleman to strike a g-girl, eh?" said
+Lieutenant Crashaw.
+
+Merrylips stood up civilly when he spoke.
+
+"Ay, sir," she said, and looked him full in the face.
+
+"And too young a g-gentleman yet to k-kiss a girl, I take it?" the
+lieutenant laughed, and then he looked sober and half-ashamed.
+
+"Thou hast r-ridden far," he said, in a kind voice. "Art hungry,
+b-belike?"
+
+Then he called in at the open window of the tavern, and speedily a
+flurried serving-man came out. In his hands he brought a great piece of
+bread, on which a slice of beef was laid, and a hunch of cheese, and a
+pot of beer, which he placed on the bench by Merrylips.
+
+"'Tis g-good trooping fare," said Crashaw. "D-down with it, my gallant,
+and till thy b-brother cometh again, I'll have an eye to thee."
+
+So Merrylips sat down, and in spite of the bustle round her and the
+anxiety which she felt at finding herself without Munn in this strange
+place, she made a hearty meal, for indeed she was hungry.
+
+While she ate, she saw a squadron of the troopers mount on horseback
+and set the herd of cattle in motion. Soon horses and cattle and men
+had all disappeared in a cloud of dust. Next the wains full of corn
+were started from the village. Then, at last, when Merrylips had long
+since eaten her luncheon and had kicked her heels for a weary while,
+Munn Venner, on a fresh horse, came clattering through the village and
+reined up before the tavern.
+
+Munn leaped from the saddle, and ran to speak to the lieutenant. What
+he said, Merrylips had no way of knowing, but she saw Lieutenant
+Crashaw turn to his trumpeter, who stood near. The trumpeter blew a
+blast that echoed through the village, and speedily troopers began to
+straggle in from cottages and lanes and rick-yards and get to horse.
+
+Then Munn beckoned to Merrylips, and she ran to him, and waited for his
+orders.
+
+"Were it not best, sir," Munn said to the lieutenant, "that this little
+one be placed in the van?"
+
+"Munn!" whispered Merrylips. "Am I not to ride with thee?"
+
+"Hush!" he bade. "I shall be in the rear of the troop, where my
+place is. There is no danger," he added hastily, "but 'tis better
+thou shouldst be in the front of our squadron. Have no fear! With
+Lieutenant Crashaw's good leave, I'll give thee into the care of a
+trooper I can trust."
+
+The lieutenant nodded, as he turned away to give some orders, and Munn
+raised his voice:--
+
+"Hinkel! Come hither!"
+
+At that word a burly, thick-set man, who had been bent down, tightening
+a saddle-girth, at the farther side of the way, came hurrying across to
+Munn and stood at salute.
+
+"Take this lad, my brother," bade Munn, "and bear him on your horse,
+and see to it, Hinkel, that you bring him safely unto Monksfield."
+
+"Ja, mein Herr!" said Hinkel.
+
+At the sound of that guttural voice Merrylips gave a little cry.
+Looking up, she looked into a low-browed face that she remembered. In
+the trooper Hinkel she saw the same man that months before at Larkland
+she had known as the runaway Claus.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XV
+
+                         TIDINGS AT MONKSFIELD
+
+
+So Merrylips was perched on the saddle in front of Claus Hinkel. And
+for the first half mile that she rode, she wondered what would happen
+to her, now that she was left in the care of the man whom she so
+distrusted.
+
+For the next half mile she had a new fear. What if Claus should
+recognize her as the little maid that he had seen at Larkland, and tell
+every one that she was no boy? But she must have been wholly changed by
+eighteen months of time and the boy's dress. Though she held her breath
+and waited to hear Claus tell her secret, hers and Munn's, he said not
+a word.
+
+By this time Merrylips and Claus had worked their way through the mass
+of men with whom they had left Storringham. They had now caught up with
+the vanguard, which had marched out of the village an hour before them.
+With the van went the creaking wains and the herd of cattle. Over all
+hung a cloud of dust that shone in the light of the setting sun.
+
+Soon the sun had sunk in a red smear of cloud behind the hills to
+westward. Over the brown fields that lay on either hand the twilight
+fell. In the hollows and where the road wound beneath trees it was
+quite dark. Merrylips could see the men and horses round her only
+as dim shapes in the blackness. But all the time she could hear the
+padding of hoofs on the road, the jingle of bits, the squeak of stirrup
+leathers, and the heavy breathing of horses and of men.
+
+From time to time, too, she heard sharp orders from Lieutenant Crashaw,
+who rode at the head of the troop, and low mutterings that passed
+from man to man. They were moving slowly, because of the darkness and
+because of the cattle and the wains, which could not be hurried. She
+felt that all were uneasy at this slowness, and then she herself became
+uneasy.
+
+After what seemed a long, long time the moon broke through the clouds
+and flung black shadows on the road. They moved a little faster now.
+Presently they passed through a straggling village that lay along a
+brook. No lights were burning in the cottages, and many of the doors
+stood open to the night wind. From the talk of the men about her
+Merrylips guessed that the Cavaliers had served this village as they
+had served Storringham, later in the morning, and that in fear of their
+return the village folk had stolen away.
+
+In all the length of the village they heard no sound, except the dreary
+howling of a dog, far off in the darkness. They saw no human creature,
+until they came to a little bridge, by which they must cross the
+stream. There, on the parapet, a lean man in fluttering rags sprang up
+and mowed and gibbered at them.
+
+"Hey! Go bet!" he cried, in a shrill voice that showed that his mind
+was empty. "Whip and spur! Whip and spur! Hatcher of Horsham will learn
+ye better speed. Ride, ride, ye robbers! Ye'll never outride Hatcher
+and his men."
+
+One of the troopers that rode near to Merrylips swung his carabine to
+his shoulder. For the first time in her life she heard a shot fired in
+anger. She bit her lip not to scream. But the crazy man was not hurt.
+He leaped from the parapet, and before another shot could be fired
+was out of sight among the shadows of the bushes that grew along the
+brookside.
+
+Lieutenant Crashaw came pushing to the spot and soundly rated the man
+that had fired. Then he turned his horse to the rear, and trotted away
+down the moon-lit road.
+
+From that time Merrylips could not help glancing over her shoulder
+every now and then. She wondered what might be happening in the rear.
+And with all her heart she wished that Munn were at her side, or even
+Stephen Plasket.
+
+They had left the village well behind them, but they still were
+following the road along the brook. Then, above the creak of the wains
+and the clatter of the horses' feet, Merrylips heard a sound that
+made her think of the beat of heavy hailstones on the leaded panes at
+Larkland.
+
+"Hark 'ee!" said Claus to the trooper beside him.
+
+"Ay," said the latter.
+
+He turned in the saddle to listen. All the while the spatter of the
+hailstones sounded through the night.
+
+"The fat's i' the fire now," said the trooper. "'Tis yonder at Loxford
+village, and a pestilence place for an ambuscado!"
+
+The corporal who was left in charge of the squadron came riding then
+along their line, with sharp orders. Promptly the men fell silent. They
+closed their ranks, and with little rustlings and clickings looked to
+their primings and loosened their swords in their scabbards.
+
+Still the hailstones spattered in their rear. Merrylips knew now that
+she was listening to the crack of carabines. Through all her body she
+began to tremble.
+
+The rest of that strange night she remembered dimly. They rode on and
+on, in a tense silence. They flogged forward the wain-horses and the
+cattle, and some of them they had to leave behind. They met a great
+body of horsemen who were friends, sent out to help them. They came
+to a vast pile of buildings, set apart in a field, where there was a
+sheet of water that gleamed dully in the moonlight. They rode through
+an arched gateway, past sentries, into a big courtyard, where torches
+were flaring. Merrylips knew then that at last they had come in safety
+to Monksfield.
+
+She felt herself lifted from the saddle, and stood upon a bench against
+a stable wall.
+
+"Stay ye there, master," she heard Claus say. "Cornet Venner will
+speedily be here."
+
+For a weary while Merrylips stood there, and watched the crowd. The
+courtyard was choked with frightened cattle and horses, and men that
+tried to clear the press, and officers that shouted orders. But she
+seemed to be unnoticed by them all.
+
+She was very tired with riding all day long. She was frightened, too,
+at the strangeness of the place in which she stood, and troubled at
+Munn's not coming. If she had not promised her brother to be brave, she
+felt that she should have cried.
+
+From time to time she shut her eyes. She was so tired! Once, as she
+did so, she reeled and almost fell off the bench. Then she grew afraid
+that she might fall and be trampled on by the cattle, so she left the
+bench and crept into a shed that stood close by. There she sat down on
+a truss of straw to wait for Munn. When he did not come, she thought it
+no harm to lie down. She could wait for him just as well lying down as
+sitting, and she was very tired.
+
+It might have been minutes later, or hours later, when Merrylips woke
+up. It still was night, and the torches were burning, but the courtyard
+now was cleared of cattle. She sat up in the straw, and at first she
+scarcely knew where she was, or how she came there, or anything, except
+that she was lame and tired and cold.
+
+Then she saw, standing over her, a man who must have wakened her.
+She rubbed her eyes and looked again, and now she saw that it was
+Lieutenant Crashaw. He wore his doublet bound about his neck by the two
+sleeves, and his left hand rested bandaged in a sling.
+
+For a moment she stared at him, and wondered, for she had not
+remembered him like that. Then she came to herself.
+
+"Where's Munn?" she asked. "Where's my brother?"
+
+"My l-lad," said Crashaw, gravely, "thy b-brother is not here, nor will
+be here for l-long."
+
+Then, while Merrylips stared speechless into his haggard face and
+seemed to see it far off, Crashaw went on:--
+
+"The Roundheads from Horsham--C-Colonel Hatcher and a troop of
+dragoons--set upon our rear at L-Loxford village. And one of our
+troopers, Plasket, had his h-horse shot under him. And thy b-brother
+like a g-gallant fool, reined up to take the f-fellow up behind him.
+And so the rebels c-closed with him. And so, my l-lad, we had to leave
+thy b-brother and the trooper, Plasket, p-prisoners in the hands of the
+enemy."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+
+                           BROTHER OFFICERS
+
+
+When Merrylips next woke, she wondered for a minute where she was.
+Then she remembered last night. She remembered how Lieutenant Crashaw
+had led her across the courtyard, and through dim halls and passages,
+and up a narrow stair. She remembered how he had opened the door of a
+little chamber and had said:--
+
+"This is thy b-brother's quarters. Thou canst l-lie here for now."
+
+So it was Munn's own room in which she woke. Munn's coats hung on the
+wall, and on the table, beneath the window, were paper and ink and two
+bitten apples. Munn must have sat there, writing and eating, before he
+started on the march from which he had not come back.
+
+At the thought of her lost brother, Merrylips hid her face in the
+pillow. She was sorry for Munn, who was left a prisoner in the hands of
+the cruel Roundheads. And she was sorry for herself, too, and sorely
+afraid of what might happen to her. For if it had seemed hard to be a
+boy at Monksfield, when Munn was to be there to help her, what did it
+not seem, now that he was taken from her and she was left to play her
+part alone?
+
+Still, she never dreamed of telling any one, not even friendly
+Lieutenant Crashaw, that she was a little girl. She had promised Munn
+to bear herself as a boy, as long as she stayed at Monksfield. And a
+gentleman must keep his promise, whatever might happen.
+
+So presently, as a little boy, she should have to meet those brother
+officers that Munn had told her about. She thought of Captain George
+Brooke, who would tease, and Lieutenant Miles Digby, who was apt to
+bully, and Captain Tibbott Norris, from whose path she had been warned
+to keep herself. She felt that she should never, never have the courage
+to show her face among them.
+
+But as the morning passed, poor Merrylips grew hungry. And she doubted
+if there was any one in Monksfield who would bring dinner to a lazy
+little boy that stayed in bed.
+
+So she got up, and brushed her hair, and smoothed her doublet and
+breeches, which she had sadly rumpled in her sleep. Then she took from
+the wall an old red sash and tied it round her waist in a huge bow. It
+was an officer's sash, and Munn's sash, too. Somehow she felt braver
+when she had it on.
+
+Like a little soldier and Munn's brother, she marched out of the room
+and down the stairs into a flagged corridor. Right before her she saw
+a door that was ajar, and in the room beyond she heard a murmur of
+men's voices. She shrank back, but just then she smelled the savor of
+bakemeat. And indeed she was very hungry!
+
+So she sidled through the crack of the door, like a very timid little
+boy. She found herself in a rude old hall, which was paved with stone
+and very damp, in spite of the great fire that blazed upon the hearth.
+Against the wall were benches, and in the middle of the room was
+an oaken table on which dinner was set out--a chine of beef, and a
+bakemeat, and leathern jacks full of beer.
+
+Round the table, on forms and stools, were seated five men, who all
+wore the red sashes of Cavalier officers. At the sound of Merrylips'
+step on the echoing floor, they looked up, every one of them. In her
+alarm, she came near dropping them a courtesy like a girl.
+
+"Yonder's l-little Venner, whereof I told you, sir," spoke a voice that
+Merrylips remembered for Lieutenant Crashaw's.
+
+Then a harsh voice that she did not remember struck in:--
+
+"Come you hither, sirrah!"
+
+A long, long way it seemed to Merrylips she went. She crossed the floor
+that echoed in a startling manner. She passed the faces that were bent
+upon her. At last she halted at the head of the table.
+
+The man who sat there was dark, and ill-shaven, and bearded, and his
+hair was touched with gray. His leathern coat was worn and stained, and
+his great boots were muddied. Yet Merrylips did not doubt that he was
+commander in that place. This was the man whom even her big brother
+feared--the dreaded Captain Tibbott Norris.
+
+For a moment Captain Norris looked at Merrylips, and she looked bravely
+back at him, for all that she breathed a little faster.
+
+"So you're Venner's brother!" he said at last. "Well, an you grow to be
+as gallant a lad as Venner, your kinsmen need find no fault in you."
+
+When Merrylips heard Captain Norris, whom Munn had feared, praise him
+so generously, now that he was gone, she wanted to cry. But she blinked
+fast and said, with only a little quaver:--
+
+"I thank you--for my brother's sake, sir!"
+
+Captain Norris noticed the struggle that she made. Into his sombre eyes
+there came a spark of interest.
+
+"How do they call ye, lad?" he asked.
+
+Before she had thought, out popped her own name.
+
+"Merrylips, an't like you, sir."
+
+She heard a chuckle go round the table. She did not realize that
+Merrylips was a nickname that might be given to a boy as well as to a
+girl. So she did not dream that the officers were laughing at a little
+boy who told his pet-name to strangers. Instead she thought that she
+had told her secret and that they knew her for a girl. At that she was
+so frightened that she hardly knew what she did.
+
+Captain Norris broke out impatiently:--
+
+"No, no, ye little bufflehead! I asked your given name."
+
+In her fright Merrylips could think of but one name, among all the
+boys' names in the world. That was the one that had so taken her fancy
+the day before. She knew that she must not say it. But while she was
+thinking how dreadful it would be if she did say it, she let it slip
+off her tongue:--
+
+"Tibbott, sir."
+
+Then indeed she knew that Captain Norris would be angry at her for
+taking his name. She would have run away, if she had not been too
+scared to move.
+
+Strangely enough, Captain Norris did not seem angry. He stared at her
+for a moment. Then he gave a sort of laugh, which the men around him
+echoed. Indeed, to them it seemed droll, that such a scrap of a lad
+should bear the very name that Captain Norris had made feared through
+all the countryside.
+
+"My namesake, are you?" said Captain Norris.
+
+He laid a hand on Merrylips' shoulder, but not unkindly, and drew her
+to him.
+
+[Illustration: HE LAID A HAND ON MERRYLIPS' SHOULDER AND DREW HER
+TO HIM.]
+
+"Sit you down, sir," he bade, "and do me the honor to dine with me,
+Master Tibbott."
+
+So Merrylips sat beside Captain Norris, on the form at the head of
+the table, and ate her share of the bakemeat, like a soldier and a
+gentleman. She meant to be as still as a mouse, for she bore in mind
+all Munn's warnings. But when she was spoken to, she had to answer, and
+she was spoken to a great deal.
+
+For those tall officers were very tired of doing and saying the same
+thing, day after day. They were as pleased with this round-eyed, sober
+little boy as Merrylips herself would have been with a new plaything.
+They chaffed her and asked her foolish questions, only to make her talk.
+
+Captain George Brooke, who was tall, with shrewd eyes, asked her if she
+hoped to win a commission before Christmastide. Nick Slanning, who was
+hardly older than Merrylips' brother Longkin, wished to know how many
+rebels she thought she could kill in a day. And when dinner was eaten
+and the men were lighting their pipes, Miles Digby urged her to take
+tobacco with him.
+
+Merrylips drew back, a little frightened, but there Captain Norris
+struck in.
+
+"Let the child be," he ordered sternly. "He's overyoung for such
+jesting, Digby."
+
+For the first time in hours Merrylips smiled. She moved a little nearer
+to Captain Norris. Indeed, she would have much liked to say to him,
+"Thank you!"
+
+But just at that moment the door was pushed open, and a boy came into
+the mess-room. He did not come timidly, as Merrylips had come. He
+clanged across the floor, swaggering like a trooper, with his head up.
+He wore a sleeveless leathern coat, as if he were a truly soldier.
+
+At first Merrylips was so envious of that coat that she did not look at
+the boy's face. But when he halted at Captain Brooke's side and swung
+his hand to his forehead in salute, she looked up. Then she saw that he
+was a handsome boy, brown-haired and gray-eyed, and she knew him for
+Rupert, Claus Hinkel's little comrade in the far-off times at Larkland.
+
+Now Merrylips might have guessed that if Claus were at Monksfield,
+Rupert would be there too. But she had not thought about it at all, so
+now she was taken aback at the sight of him.
+
+She heard Rupert say something to Captain Brooke about what the farrier
+said of a horse that was sick. She did not much heed the words.
+Indeed, Rupert himself seemed to make them only an excuse for coming
+to the mess-room. He lingered, when he had done his errand, as if he
+waited to be spoken to. But the officers all were busy talking to
+Merrylips.
+
+They scarcely noticed Rupert till they all rose from table. Then
+Captain Brooke said:--
+
+"Here, young Venner! Yonder's a playfellow of your own years. Go you
+with Rupert Hinkel."
+
+So Merrylips was dismissed, with a clap on the shoulder. And presently
+she found herself outside the house, in a little walled space that once
+had been a garden.
+
+There she stood and looked at Rupert, and Rupert looked at her. His
+cheeks were red, and his level brows were knit. She knew that she
+disliked and feared him, because he had run away from Larkland. And she
+felt that he disliked her twice as much, but she could not guess why.
+
+"Shall we sit and tell riddles?" drawled Rupert. "Thou art overyoung
+for me to take thee where the horses are. Thou shouldst not be in
+garrison, but at home wi' thy mother."
+
+"Thou art not thyself so wonderful old," Merrylips answered hotly.
+
+Rupert laughed.
+
+"Thy sash is knotted unhandily," he said. "Let me put it aright. Thou
+hast tied it like a girl."
+
+At that word Merrylips grew red and frightened.
+
+"Do not thou touch it!" she cried. "It liketh me as it is."
+
+She spoke so angrily, in her fright, that Rupert grew angry too.
+
+"In any case," he said, "thou hast no right to wear that sash. Thou art
+no officer."
+
+"Then," said Merrylips, "thou hast no right to wear that soldier's
+coat. Thou art thyself but a young lad and no soldier."
+
+Surely, there would have been a bitter quarrel, then and there, but
+just at that moment Slanning and Lieutenant Crashaw sauntered into the
+garden.
+
+"Hola, young Venner!" Slanning sang out.
+
+"Go to thy friends!" Rupert said, in a low voice. "They'll use thee
+fairly. I care not, I! 'Tis only little boys like thou are fain to be
+made much of."
+
+Then Rupert marched away, very stiffly, and Merrylips stood wondering
+what it was all about. But while she was wondering, Slanning and
+Crashaw came to the spot where she stood. They set to playing a fine
+game that Merrylips' brothers had often played at Walsover, a game in
+which they pitched horseshoes over a crowbar that was driven into the
+ground some twenty paces away. And part of the time they let Merrylips
+play too.
+
+So friendly were they all three together that at last Merrylips
+ventured to ask a question.
+
+"If it like you, Cornet Slanning, may I not wear this sash, even though
+I be not an officer?"
+
+"Who saith thou art not?" Slanning answered.
+
+Merrylips shook her head. Though she thought Rupert a rude lad, she
+could not bear tales of him.
+
+"I--I did but wonder," she stammered.
+
+"W-wonder no more!" bade Crashaw. "To be sure, thou art an officer--the
+youngest one at M-Monksfield, and b-brave as the best, eh, Tibbott?"
+
+"I'll try, sir!" Merrylips answered, and saluted him, just as Rupert
+had saluted Captain Brooke.
+
+And she did not see why those new brother officers of hers should have
+laughed aloud!
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVII
+
+                    "WHO CAN SING AND WON'T SING--"
+
+
+As soon as Merrylips found that her secret was safe and that she seemed
+to every one a little boy, she enjoyed her days at Monksfield very
+much. Indeed, she would have been more than human, if she had not been
+pleased with all the notice that she won. She was the only child in a
+garrison of men, and from the horseboys in the stables to the officers
+in the mess-room, she was petted by all.
+
+The saddlers made her more leathern hand-balls than she could ever use.
+The smiths let her tug at the wheezy bellows in their sooty forge.
+The horseboys set her on the bare-backed horses when they led them to
+water. Even the cross men-cooks in the fiery kitchen made her sometimes
+little pasties for herself alone.
+
+As for the troopers, they were all her friends. They let her help them,
+when they cleaned their bright swords or scoured their carabines. They
+told her endless stories of battles and sieges and of wicked Roundheads
+that dined on little babies. So terrible were these stories that
+Merrylips quite shook in her shoes to hear them, yet she could not
+help asking for more.
+
+Best of all, the officers, whom she had so feared, were almost as kind
+as if they had been her own big brothers. They laughed at her and
+chaffed her, to be sure, as a little boy who had been reared too long
+among women, but on the whole, they all, even rough Miles Digby, were
+very gentle with her.
+
+Sometimes Merrylips wondered why they were so kind. But it was not
+until she was much older that she realized that she owed some thanks to
+Captain Tibbott Norris. By some strange impulse that big, harsh man was
+moved toward the bit of a lad that bore his own name of Tibbott, and
+silently he stood his friend.
+
+It was Captain Norris that gave Merrylips her brother's room for her
+very own. It was Captain Norris that promised to send her, by the first
+safe convoy, to her kinsfolk at Walsover. Above all, it was Captain
+Norris that from the very first made all his followers, both officers
+and men, understand that little Tibbott Venner was under his special
+care. After that it would have been a very bold man that would have
+harmed little Tibbott by word or deed.
+
+So Merrylips passed her days at Monksfield, safe and unafraid. Indeed
+she would have been quite happy, if she had not had two causes for
+grief that never let her be.
+
+The first was, of course, the loss of her brother Munn. At night, when
+she lay in his bed, she would think of all the stories that she had
+heard from the troopers of the cruel way in which the Roundheads used
+their prisoners. Then she would seem to see her brother, haggard and
+pale and hungry, shivering half-clad in some dismal prison, and perhaps
+even struck and abused by his jailers. Often, when she called up that
+sorrowful picture, she would have cried, if she had not promised Munn
+that she would bear herself as became a boy.
+
+The second trouble, not so deep as the loss of Munn, but always
+present, was the unfriendliness that Rupert showed her. He seemed the
+only soul in the Monksfield garrison that disliked her, and all the
+time she was so eager to be friends with him!
+
+At the outset, to be sure, Merrylips had been shy of Claus and Rupert,
+for she remembered how her godmother had suspected them for spies. But
+when she found that Claus was trusted as a good soldier by all the
+officers, who were her friends, she dared to think that her godmother
+perhaps had been mistaken.
+
+So now there was nothing to keep her from being Rupert's playfellow,
+as she had planned to be, long ago at Larkland. At least, there was
+nothing except their squabble on her first day at Monksfield. And that
+she was ready to forgive and forget.
+
+She tried to show Rupert that she was willing to meet him halfway,
+if he wished to make up. She put herself into his path, but he only
+scowled at her and so passed by. She hung about, smiling and trying to
+catch his eye, but he would not even look at her. She could not guess
+why he should hate her so.
+
+But one day she heard a horseboy jeer at Rupert.
+
+"Thou mayst carry thy crest lower now, young Hinkel," the horseboy
+laughed. "Thou art level wi' the rest of us, my lad, now that some one
+else is white-boy, yonder 'mongst the gentry coves."
+
+Very slowly Merrylips began to see what she had done to Rupert. From
+a word here and a sentence there she gathered that before she came
+to Monksfield he had been by several years the youngest lad in the
+garrison, and, as such, a favorite with the officers. They had had
+him into the mess-room to sing for them, when they were idle, and had
+laughed and jested with him as a towardly lad. But now that she was
+there, a younger child and a newer plaything, Rupert was forgotten by
+his patrons.
+
+When Merrylips found that she had taken Rupert's place, she remembered
+how she herself had felt when Herbert Lowry came to Larkland, where
+for such a long time she had been the only child. With all her heart
+she was sorry for Rupert, and she wondered how she could make up to him
+for the wrong that innocently she had done him.
+
+While Merrylips was wondering, something happened so dreadful that she
+feared it could never be put right.
+
+Late one afternoon she was trudging across the great court at
+Lieutenant Digby's side. She was good friends with Lieutenant Digby,
+for all that Munn had thought him apt to bully. He had been teaching
+her to handle a quarter-staff, and had given her some hard knocks, too.
+But a little boy must not mind hard knocks! Merrylips quite swaggered
+at the lieutenant's side, and as she went whistled--or thought that she
+whistled!--most boyishly.
+
+But, to her surprise, the lieutenant cried:--
+
+"Name o' Heaven, what tune is it thou dost so mangle, lad? Is it _The
+Buff-coat hath no Fellow_ thou dost hit at? Yonder's a knave can sing
+it like a blackbird, and shall put thee right."
+
+Then, before Merrylips had guessed what he meant to do, he shouted:--
+
+"Rupert! Ay, thou, young Hinkel! Come hither!"
+
+Rupert was at the well in the middle of the courtyard, where he was
+drawing a bucket of water for the cooks. He must have heard the
+lieutenant, for he looked up; but when he saw that Merrylips was with
+him, he dropped his eyes and did not stir.
+
+Then Lieutenant Digby called a second time, and now his face was
+stern. So Rupert came unwillingly. He slouched across the court,
+coatless, with his sleeves turned up, and halted by the porch where the
+lieutenant and Merrylips were standing.
+
+"Quicken thy steps next time," said Lieutenant Digby, "else they'll be
+quickened for thee. And now thou'rt here, off with these sullens and
+sing _The Buff-coat_ for Master Venner."
+
+Rupert's straight brows met in a scowl.
+
+"I winna sing for him," he said.
+
+As he spoke, Rupert caught his breath. Suddenly Merrylips realized that
+over against the big lieutenant he was but a little, helpless boy,
+scarcely older than herself. She knew how shamed she should have been,
+if she had been made to sing for Herbert Lowry's pleasure. She felt her
+face burn with pity for Rupert and anger at Lieutenant Digby.
+
+"I do not wish it!" she cried. "He shall not sing the song for me, I
+tell you!"
+
+But Lieutenant Digby did not heed her in the least. While she was still
+speaking, he took Rupert by the neck and struck him a sounding buffet.
+
+"Thou wilt not, eh?" he said. "Then we'll find means to make thee."
+
+Merrylips gave one glance at the lieutenant's set face. Then she took
+to her heels and never stopped running till she had shut the door
+behind her in Munn's chamber. She knew that Lieutenant Digby meant to
+beat Rupert till he was willing to sing the song for her, as he was
+bidden. But perhaps, if she were not there, he would give over his
+purpose. And if not--oh! in any case she could not bear to stay and see
+Rupert hurt.
+
+For some time Merrylips waited in the chamber, while she wondered what
+was happening in the court below. She was standing by the window, which
+looked into an orchard, and beyond the orchard was a great rampart of
+earth that had been flung up to defend the house from attack upon that
+side.
+
+As Merrylips looked out, she saw Rupert steal across the orchard and
+clamber up this rampart. For a moment she hesitated. Then she mustered
+courage. She slipped down the stairs, ran out of the house, and
+followed him.
+
+She found him seated on the top of the rampart. He was resting his chin
+in his two hands, and he had fixed his gaze on the open country that
+spread away below him in the gathering twilight. He would not look
+round, even at her step.
+
+"Rupert," she faltered, as she halted beside him. "I--I am right sorry."
+
+"Get thee away!" he answered between his teeth. "I'm a gentleman's son,
+I, as well as thou. I'll not buffoon for thee--not for all Miles Digby
+can do!"
+
+He looked up at her, and tried to speak stoutly, but his face was
+quivering.
+
+"Get thee hence!" he cried again, and turned away his head. "I'll not
+be made a gazing-stock, I tell thee! Get thee away, Tibbott Venner,
+thou little milksop! Truth, I do hate the very sight of thee!"
+
+So Merrylips clambered sadly down the rampart in the twilight, and
+after that put herself no more in Rupert's way. But she thought of him
+often, and whenever she thought of him, she was sorry for him, and
+sorry for herself, as if she had lost a friend.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                               TO ARMS!
+
+
+For two weeks and more Merrylips had lived at Monksfield. In a hole in
+her mattress she had hidden the silver ring that had been Lady Sybil's.
+As long as she had been a girl, she had worn the ring about her neck,
+but she felt that it did not become a boy to wear it so.
+
+She had changed her girlish little smock for one of Munn's loose
+shirts. Over her ruddy brown doublet she wore a sleeveless jerkin of
+leather, which had been made for her from an old coat of Munn's. In her
+sash she carried a pistol with a broken lock that Nick Slanning had
+given her.
+
+And she had learned to cock her hat like Lieutenant Crashaw, and stride
+like Captain Norris, and say, "Body a' truth!" loud and fierce, like
+Lieutenant Digby. In short, she felt that she now was truly a boy, such
+as all her life she had hoped to be. And she was willing to stay and be
+a boy, there at Monksfield, forever and ever.
+
+But there came a day when Merrylips found that things were different.
+At dinner she sat unnoticed by her friends, the officers, while they
+talked of beeves and sacks of corn and kegs of powder. Before the meal
+was over Lieutenant Crashaw left the mess-room, and Captain George
+Brooke did not come to table at all.
+
+When Merrylips went among her friends, the troopers, she found them
+busy with their arms. They bade her run away, or else told her the
+grimmest stories that they yet had told about the cruelties of the
+wicked Roundheads. Still, she did not quite catch what was in the air,
+until she came upon Rupert. She found him sitting on a bench against
+the stable wall. He had his sleeves turned up, and between his lips he
+held a straw, just as a grown man would have held a pipe, and he was
+cleaning an old carabine.
+
+At Merrylips' step Rupert looked up, and for the first time in days
+spoke to her of his own accord.
+
+"Look 'ee, Master Venner," said he, "thou wert best be at home wi' thy
+mammy. The Roundheads will be down upon us, and they be three yards
+tall, every man of 'em, and for the most part make their dinners off
+babes such as thou."
+
+Merrylips felt her cheeks grow hot.
+
+"I've lived two years amongst the Roundheads," she said, "and I know
+such tales be lies, and thou art a Jack fool to believe 'em."
+
+"Wait and see!" laughed Rupert, and then, as if he were glad of any one
+to listen to him, he held up the carabine.
+
+"This is _my_ gun," he said proudly, "and I shall be fighting with it
+at Claus Hinkel's side. I've a powder flask, and a touch-box, and a
+bullet pouch, and a piece of match as long as thine arm."
+
+"Pooh!" sniffed Merrylips, though indeed she was bitterly jealous. "_I_
+have a pistol."
+
+"With a broken lock," jeered Rupert. "To be sure, they'd not trust thee
+with a gun--a little lad like thou."
+
+"Do thou but wait and see what I shall have!" cried Merrylips, hotly.
+
+"Ay, we shall see!" said Rupert.
+
+Then Merrylips walked away, with a stride that was like Captain
+Norris's. At that moment she quite hated Rupert, and she did not
+believe his story that the Roundheads were coming to attack Monksfield.
+She was sure that he had said it only in the hope of frightening her.
+But before the day was over, she found that Rupert had spoken the truth.
+
+Late in that same afternoon Merrylips was playing with her ball in a
+little paved court at the north side of the great house. In the old
+days, a hundred years before, Monksfield had been a monastery, and
+many of the ancient buildings, with their quaint flagged courtyards,
+still were standing. At one side of the court where Merrylips played
+was a wall with a locked gate that led into what had been the herb
+garden, and on this garden abutted the still-house that the old monks
+had used.
+
+Presently in her play, Merrylips cast her ball clear over this wall.
+She did not wish to lose her toy, so she fetched a form from the
+wash-house, close by, and set it on end against the wall. By climbing
+upon it, she was able to scramble over into the garden.
+
+She landed in a pathway of sloping flags, along which she guessed
+that the ball must have rolled. So she followed the path till it
+pitched down a sunken stairway which led to an oaken door beneath the
+still-house. At the foot of the stairs lay the ball, and she had just
+bent to pick it up, when the door opened, right upon her, and a man
+stepped out.
+
+At her first glance Merrylips saw only that he was a rough fellow, in a
+smock frock and frieze breeches, and coarse brogues, and that he wore
+a patch upon one eye. So little did she like his looks that she turned
+to run up the steps, faster than she had come down, but just then she
+heard her name spoken:--
+
+"Tibbott Venner!"
+
+The voice was one that she knew. She halted and looked again, and this
+time, under the black patch and the walnut juice with which the man's
+face was stained, she recognized the features of Captain George Brooke.
+
+"What bringeth you hither?" Captain Brooke asked sternly, and took her
+by both shoulders, as she stood a step or two above him on the stairway.
+
+In answer Merrylips held out the ball.
+
+"Tibbott," said the captain then, less sternly but still in a grave
+voice, "you can keep a secret, can you not? Then remember, lad, you are
+never to tell to any one in Monksfield that you saw me come from the
+still-house cellar, nor that you saw me in this garb. Promise me!"
+
+Merrylips shook her head. She feared that she should anger Captain
+Brooke, and she was sorry, for she liked him, but still she said:--
+
+"I cannot promise. I must tell Captain Norris all that I have seen."
+
+"Now on my word!" said Captain Brooke. "Do you think me about some
+mischief, Tibbott--a traitor plotting to betray the garrison,
+perchance? Come, then, and tell all unto Captain Norris, an you will,
+you little bandog!"
+
+So saying, Captain Brooke locked the door of the cellar with a key that
+he took from his pocket, and then he led the way in silence across
+the herb garden. Through a door which he unlocked they entered a wing
+of the great house, where sacks of flour and barrels of biscuit were
+stowed. There he took down a cloak that hung upon a peg and cast it
+about him, so that his mean garments were hidden, and he laid aside the
+patch that was over his eye.
+
+From the store-room they entered a long passage, and so, by corridors
+that Merrylips knew well, came to a little study in the second story.
+There they found Captain Norris, who seemed to be waiting for Captain
+Brooke.
+
+"You come late, George," said Captain Norris. "I thought you lost. What
+news?"
+
+"They muster three hundred dragoons and a troop of pioneers, and
+thereto they have three pieces of ordnance, fetched from Ryeborough,"
+reported Captain Brooke. "Peter Hatcher holdeth the chief command, and
+one of Lord Caversham's sons is there besides, come with the guns from
+Ryeborough. Their march is surely for Monksfield, and they are like to
+be upon us ere the dawn."
+
+Now when Merrylips heard all this, she knew that Rupert had told the
+truth and that the Roundheads were coming to attack them. At that
+thought she felt her heart beat faster.
+
+To be sure, she had lived two years among Roundheads. She knew
+that they were not three yards tall and that they did not dine on
+babies,--at least, not at Larkland. But she had heard so many tales of
+their cruelty, since she had come to Monksfield, that she had begun to
+think that the Roundheads who went to battle must be very different
+from Will Lowry.
+
+Besides, was not this Hatcher who commanded the enemy the selfsame
+Hatcher of Horsham that had made her brother Munn a prisoner? It was no
+wonder, perhaps, that when Merrylips thought of Colonel Hatcher, she
+had to finger her pistol, to give herself courage.
+
+Just then Captain Norris seemed for the first time to notice her. He
+asked sternly what she was doing there, and Captain Brooke told him how
+Merrylips had come upon him at the still-house and would not promise to
+be silent.
+
+Merrylips grew quite frightened, so vexed and impatient both men seemed.
+
+"I am main sorry, sirs," she faltered, "but indeed I could not promise.
+I'm a soldier, and a soldier must report to his commander a thing that
+seemeth so monstrous strange."
+
+"A soldier, are you?" said Captain Norris. "Well, some day, no doubt,
+you'll be one, and not a bad one neither. But for now, remember, not
+one word of what you have seen and heard this afternoon!"
+
+"I promise, sir," Merrylips answered, and saluted Captain Norris, as
+his officers did, and marched out of the room.
+
+She was very proud of the praise that Captain Norris had given her, and
+of the secret that she shared with the two officers. She wished only
+that Master Rupert, with his gun, knew how she had been honored!
+
+Still, she could not help wondering how Captain George Brooke had
+learned all that about the Roundheads in the cellar of the still-house.
+Perhaps he was a wizard, she concluded, and she so frightened herself
+with that thought that she fairly ran through the dim passages, and
+never stopped till she reached the lighted mess-room.
+
+Well, she did not breathe a word, of course, for she had given her
+promise. It must have been Captain Norris himself that had the news
+spread abroad at Monksfield. At any rate, inside an hour every soul in
+the garrison knew that they were likely to be attacked at daybreak.
+
+That night at supper, you may be sure, nothing was talked of among the
+Monksfield officers but the numbers and the strength of the enemy.
+
+"So one of my lord Caversham's sons is of the attacking party?" asked
+Nick Slanning.
+
+"What would you?" said Captain Brooke, who still was very brown of
+face, for he had found the walnut stain hard to wash off.
+
+"They are all rank rebels, the whole house of Caversham," he went
+on. "His Lordship, old Rob Fowell, the white-haired hypocrite, is in
+command for the Parliament at Ryeborough. And did he not give his
+eldest daughter in marriage to that arrant Roundhead, Peter Hatcher?
+'Tis but in nature that one of my lord's hopeful sons should march
+against us at Hatcher's right hand."
+
+"By chance, do you know which one of Caversham's sons it is that cometh
+with Hatcher?" Lieutenant Digby looked up suddenly to ask.
+
+"'Tis the third son, Dick Fowell," Captain Brooke made answer.
+
+"Dick Fowell?" cried Digby, and flushed dully. "Heaven be thanked for
+good luck!"
+
+"You know him?" asked Slanning.
+
+"At home I dwell a neighbor to Lord Caversham," Digby answered. "Yes, I
+know Dick Fowell, and if we meet in the fight, by this hand! he'll have
+good cause to know me."
+
+As he spoke, Digby laughed, and when he left the room, he still was
+laughing. But in his laughter there was something that made a dry place
+come in Merrylips' throat and an emptiness at the pit of her stomach.
+
+Hastily she pulled out her pistol, and she went and sat by the fire,
+and rubbed it with a rag, just as she had seen Rupert clean his
+carabine. But while she seemed so busy, she could not help hearing
+Captain Brooke and Cornet Slanning, who were left alone at table, speak
+together. She knew that it was of her that they spoke.
+
+"'Twere better," said Slanning, "that Captain Norris had ventured it,
+after all, and sent the little rogue hence a week agone."
+
+"Not to be thought on!" Captain Brooke replied. "You know well that the
+ways were straitly laid. And who'd 'a' dreamed the assault would be
+made so soon!"
+
+Merrylips could not keep from glancing up. Then, when they saw that she
+was listening, the two men instantly laid off their grave looks, and
+began to chaff her.
+
+"What dost thou think to do with that murderous pistol, eh,
+Rittmeister?" said Slanning.
+
+Merrylips ran to him, and leaning against his shoulder, said:--
+
+"Good Cornet Slanning, I could do far more, an you gave me a carabine,
+such as Rupert Hinkel hath, and a flask of powder, and a touch-box, and
+a pouch, and a piece of match as long as my arm."
+
+"That's a gallant lad!" said Captain Brooke. "I see well, Tibbott, that
+thou art not afraid."
+
+"Body a' truth!" cried Merrylips, and stood up very straight. "I'm
+not feared of the scurvy Roundheads, no, not I! I shall fight 'em
+to-morrow--the base rogues that have taken my brother prisoner! Ay, and
+with mine own hand I have good hope to kill some among 'em!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+
+                          THE END OF THE DAY
+
+
+That night Merrylips slept on a form in the mess-room, with Lieutenant
+Crashaw's cloak wrapped about her. She had meant to sit up all night,
+to be ready when the attack came. Indeed, she had lain wide awake till
+midnight, and had thought to herself that she was glad to be lying in
+the lighted room, where the officers came in and out, rather than in
+her own dark and lonely chamber.
+
+But after midnight her eyelids grew heavy, and she heard the challenge
+of the sentries and the hurrying of feet in the courtyard fainter and
+farther away. Then she slept, and dreamed of Walsover. She was telling
+Flip proudly that she should go to the wars, for all she was but a
+wench, when she woke, with a sound of firing in her ears, and began a
+day that seemed to her in after days to be itself a series of dreams.
+
+A window in the mess-room stood open, and through it a dank wind was
+blowing. The sky was still dark, but the stars were few. On the hearth
+the logs had fallen into white ash, and the one candle on the table
+was guttering into a pool of melted wax. The room was empty, and
+awesomely still, but off in the darkness, where the dank wind blew,
+strange noises could be heard. Footsteps echoed in the flagged courts,
+muskets cracked, and then, like a tongue of flame, the clear call of a
+trumpet cleft the dark.
+
+Merrylips ran out into the great courtyard. She was cursed at, flung
+aside, jostled by men who were hurrying to their posts. And the trumpet
+called, and the shots cracked faster and faster, while overhead the
+stars went out and the sky grew pale.
+
+In the wan daylight Merrylips saw the banner that floated over
+Monksfield. It was red, and by its hue it told to all the world that
+the house was held for the king, and would be held for him while one
+drop of blood ran red in the veins of his followers.
+
+Against the stable wall sat a trooper whom Merrylips knew. He was
+trying to tie a bandage about his arm, with his left hand and his
+teeth. She helped him, fixing the bandage neatly, as she had been
+taught by Lady Sybil. She asked him about the fight, in a steady little
+voice that she scarcely knew for her own. While she was speaking, she
+heard a great burst of shouting and of firing on the west side of the
+house. The wounded man leaped to his feet. He caught up his carabine
+in his sound hand and made off across the courtyard.
+
+"God and our right!" he shouted as he ran.
+
+Merrylips shouted too. She snatched her pistol from her sash and ran,
+as the trooper had run, till she found herself at the foot of the
+western rampart, where one twilight she had tried to comfort Rupert.
+She found Rupert there now. His face was smudged with powder, and he
+was loading guns and passing them up to the men on the rampart above
+him. They were firing fast, all but one or two who lay quiet.
+
+"Shall I aid thee?" Merrylips asked.
+
+Rupert nodded, as if he had no time to quarrel now. So she knelt at
+his side and helped him to load the guns for hours and hours, as it
+seemed to her. Right overhead the sun came out from the gray film of
+clouds. The light was reflected from the steel helmets and the gleaming
+back-pieces of the troopers on the ramparts.
+
+"Come!" said Rupert, suddenly.
+
+Holding fast to the gun that he had just loaded, he scrambled up the
+rampart, and Merrylips scrambled after him. She saw that the fields
+below, which had been so peaceful on that twilight when she last had
+looked upon them, were all alive now with mounted men. A line of low
+trees that she remembered, some two hundred feet away, was now a line
+of gray smoke, spangled with red flashes of fire. All round her little
+clods of dirt kept spurting up so that she was sprinkled with dust. In
+the air, every now and then, was a humming, as of monstrous bumblebees.
+
+She did not know what had happened, in the moment of darkness and
+outcry through which she had passed. She was off the rampart. She was
+sitting on the porch of the great house, and over her stood a big,
+surly fellow, a trooper who had been least among her friends.
+
+"And if I catch thee again within range of the firing," she heard him
+say, "for the sake of mine own bairn at home, I swear I'll twist thy
+neck!"
+
+The trooper was gone, and she sat staring at a red stain upon her
+sleeve. It was blood, and yet she was not hurt, she knew. She wondered
+what those cries had been that she had heard, and what had been the
+weight that had fallen against her.
+
+She was very hungry. She was ashamed to think of such a thing, but she
+had not eaten since the night before. She stole into the mess-room and
+from the table got a pocketful of bread.
+
+While she was gnawing at it, she heard a louder noise that drowned
+the cracking of the muskets. At first she thought that it was a sound
+within her own ears, but when she had run out into the courtyard, she
+heard the men about her saying:--
+
+"'Tis the great guns from Ryeborough!"
+
+Through the rattle of the muskets and the boom of the artillery, a
+sharp cry rang through the courtyard: "Fire!" Against the gray sky a
+spurt of pale flame could be seen on the thatched roof of one of the
+great barns.
+
+Merrylips ran to the spot, screaming "Fire!" too, with all her might,
+yet she could not hear her own voice in the din. All the men who were
+not on the firing line--horseboys and cooks and farriers and wounded
+troopers--flocked to the barn. They scrambled to the roof. They tore
+off the blazing thatch by handfuls and cast it into the court below.
+They fetched buckets of water.
+
+Merrylips worked with the rest. She was drenched to the skin with spilt
+water. She burned her hands with the blazing thatch. She was hoarse
+with shouting and half choked with smoke.
+
+All about her, on the sudden, sounded a clatter of hoofs. She felt
+herself caught roughly by the arm and dragged against the wall of the
+barn. Past her a line of horses, that plunged and struggled as they
+sniffed the fire, were heading for the great gate of Monksfield.
+
+"'Tis a sally they go upon, God speed 'em!" cried a voice beside her.
+
+She looked, and saw that it was Rupert that had spoken. It must have
+been he that had dragged her back from the hoofs of the horses. Still
+holding her arm, he led her across the court and down the flagged
+passage to the buttery hatch.
+
+"Give us to drink!" he cried.
+
+The man at the hatch gave them a leathern jack, half full of water that
+was dashed with spirits. They drank from it, turn and turn about, and
+Merrylips felt new courage rise in her.
+
+Through the flagged passage she looked out at the barn, where the smoke
+rose murkily against the sunset sky. She saw that with every puff it
+sank lower. She listened, pausing as she drank, and she heard, in what
+seemed blank stillness, only the feeble crackling of hand-arms.
+
+Rupert took the words from her lips.
+
+"They've silenced the great guns!" he cried. "The day is ours, young
+Venner! Hurrah!"
+
+Side by side they dashed out into the courtyard. They found it full of
+men who shouted and cast up their caps. The day was theirs! The day was
+theirs! they cried on all sides. In the nick of time Captain Brooke
+had led a charge that had silenced the great guns from Ryeborough. God
+and our right! Long live the king! Long live his loyal garrison of
+Monksfield!
+
+In the midst of the shouting and the rejoicing, the sallying party
+came riding back, with the captured guns. Among horses' heels and
+dismounting men Merrylips went shouting with the loudest: "Long live
+the king! Down wi' the Parliament! Death to all rebels!" till she found
+herself in the thickest of the crowd.
+
+A young man stood there, staggering, held up by the grasp that one
+of the troopers had laid upon his shoulder. His helmet was off. His
+chestnut hair was clotted with blood, and there was a long smear of it
+upon his cheek. He wore no sword, and his officer's sash was of orange,
+the color of the Parliament.
+
+Scarcely had Merrylips grasped the fact that he was a rebel officer and
+a prisoner in the hands of her friends, when Miles Digby came smashing
+his way through the crowd. He was coatless and powder-blackened, and
+his face was the face that he had shown on the day when he had beaten
+Rupert.
+
+"So 'tis thou, Dick Fowell?" said he, with such words as Merrylips knew
+not the meaning of, and full and fair he struck the rebel officer a
+blow in the face.
+
+The young man reeled and fell heavily, full length, upon the cobbles
+of the courtyard. A savage shout broke from those that stood near. One
+of the horseboys kicked him as he lay. But Merrylips stood with the
+outcry against the rebels struck dumb upon her lips. For this rebel
+Dick Fowell had chestnut hair, like Munn, and if any one had struck
+Munn like that, when he was a prisoner--Merrylips caught her breath.
+
+Suddenly Miles Digby's eye had lighted on her. He seized her by the
+shoulder.
+
+"Here, you, Tibbott Venner!" he shouted madly. "'Tis time you were
+blooded, little whelp! Kick this dog--d'ye hear me? He won't strike
+back. They've got your brother prisoner amongst 'em. Serve him as
+they'll serve your brother! Kick the fellow--or 'twill be the worse for
+you!"
+
+"I will not!" screamed Merrylips.
+
+She saw the savage faces about her, the savage face of Miles Digby
+bending over her, and at her feet she saw the limp figure of the
+helpless man that might have been Munn. In that moment it seemed to her
+that she smelled blood, that she tasted it, bitter upon her tongue, and
+should not lose the taste for all her days. Maddened with fear, she
+struggled in Digby's grasp.
+
+"Let me go! Let me go!" she screamed. "You vile coward! A pest choke
+you! Let me go!"
+
+"Digby!" a stern voice shouted above the uproar of the crowd.
+
+It might have been Captain Norris that spoke, or it might have been
+George Brooke. Merrylips never knew. But she did know that the grasp
+was taken from her arm, and blindly she turned and ran from the spot.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XX
+
+                       LADY SYBIL'S GODDAUGHTER
+
+
+When Merrylips stopped running, she found herself in the darkest corner
+of the bare, stone-paved room that took up the ground-floor of the
+wash-house. At her feet was a heap of old sacks, and she burrowed in
+among them, and lay gasping for breath.
+
+She was sure that Miles Digby would follow her. On that account she had
+not dared run to her own chamber. For she was afraid of Digby now--yes,
+and afraid of all the men in Monksfield that had been her friends.
+
+As she lay in the darkness that deepened in the wash-house, she saw
+the faces of Lieutenant Crashaw and her own brother Munn, as they
+looked on indifferently, while they wasted the corn of the poor folk at
+Storringham. She saw the face of Lieutenant Digby, as he struck Dick
+Fowell down. Such deeds were a part of war, which she had thought was
+all brave riding and feats of honor and bloodless victory.
+
+She pressed her face between her arms, and as she did so, felt against
+her cheek the blood that had stiffened on her sleeve. At the feel of
+it she cried aloud.
+
+Oh, she was sick and frightened of it all! She was ashamed of the
+boy's dress that she wore, of Digby's oaths that had been on her
+tongue, of the draught that she had drunk at the buttery hatch, of
+the loud threats that she had spoken against the rebels. She was not
+the lad, Tibbott Venner, and she knew it now. She was Lady Sybil's
+little goddaughter. She wanted to be again where she could wear her
+own girlish dress, where she would hear only gentle voices, where such
+things as she had seen this day could never be done.
+
+"But I did not kick him after he had fallen," she kept repeating. "I
+remembered not to strike one that was weaker than myself."
+
+She found her only comfort in thinking that in this, at least, she had
+done as Lady Sybil would have wished her to do. For in that hour she
+felt so soiled in body and in soul that she feared that she never again
+could be Lady Sybil's little girl.
+
+It was pitchy dark in the wash-house when Merrylips heard steps just
+outside and the clatter of the door flung open. She burrowed deeper
+among the sacks and held her breath. In the stillness she heard rough
+voices speak:--
+
+"In with you, you cursed rebel!"
+
+"Stand on your feet, you dog!"
+
+Then she heard a sound as of a dead weight let fall upon the floor,
+the bang of a door shut to, the rattle of a bolt in its socket. Softly
+she drew breath again, and as she did so, she heard in the darkness a
+stifled moan.
+
+All at once she realized what had happened. A wounded rebel, a dying
+man, it might be, had been imprisoned in the very place where she was
+hidden. In terror she flung aside the sacks that covered her. No matter
+if she was afraid of Digby! She was more afraid to stay here with this
+Roundhead. She would run to the door and shout to them to open and let
+her out.
+
+But as Merrylips rose softly to her feet, a pale light flickered
+through the wash-house. It came from the narrow window, high in the
+eastern wall, that looked into the great court, where, no doubt,
+torches had been newly kindled. The light fell upon a man who was
+sitting on the stone floor, not ten feet from her corner, with his arm
+cast across his knee and his head bowed heavily upon his arm. His hair
+was chestnut-colored, ruddy in the light, like Munn's, and by that
+token Merrylips knew him for Dick Fowell.
+
+For many moments she stood, without daring to move, while she wondered
+what she should do. For if she called at the door, as she had planned
+to do, perhaps Digby would come. If he came, perhaps he would strike
+Fowell again. Perhaps he would try to make her strike him. No, no, she
+could not call now, but surely she could not stay a prisoner for hours
+with this Roundhead!
+
+While she was thus thinking, Dick Fowell groaned again. He would be
+ashamed, no doubt, when he found that he had let a child see that he
+was in pain. Somehow it seemed to Merrylips not quite honorable to be
+there without his knowing it.
+
+Hesitatingly she went toward him, but it was not until she stood right
+over him that Fowell looked up. She saw his face, all drawn and ghastly
+under the sweat and blood that were dried upon it, and his haggard eyes
+that looked upon her, yet did not seem to see her. In that moment she
+forgot that he was a Roundhead, such as she had hoped to slay. She saw
+only that he was hurt and suffering, and down she went on her knees
+beside him.
+
+"Doth thy poor head hurt?" she whispered, in her tenderest girl-voice.
+
+With her two arms about him--and a heavy weight he was!--she eased him
+down till he rested on the floor. She dragged the old sacks from the
+corner and pillowed his injured head upon them. He did not speak, but
+he seemed so far conscious of her presence that he stifled his groans
+right manfully.
+
+But presently, while she knelt beside him, he whispered, as if the
+words were forced from him:--
+
+"Water! Give me to drink!"
+
+She laid her hand lightly on his face. She could feel how cracked and
+dry were his lips.
+
+"I'll fetch it to thee," she promised, saying "thou" to this tall Dick
+Fowell as if he were her brother or a little child.
+
+In the wash-house was an old bucking-tub on which she could stand. And
+in the western wall was a window that looked upon the little paved
+court, where only yesterday she had been playing ball. The window was
+too narrow for Dick Fowell to have escaped that way, and so his jailers
+knew, but little slender Merrylips had no trouble in scrambling through
+it.
+
+From the little court she stole to the buttery hatch, where all night
+long strong waters were served out to the weary and wounded soldiers.
+As she went, she kept close in the shadow of the buildings, for she was
+sick with the dread of meeting Miles Digby. But she found no one to
+hinder her. Except for the sentries, who kept watch upon the walls, the
+Monksfield garrison were resting on their arms against the morning.
+
+From the man at the buttery hatch Merrylips got a flasket full of wine
+and water.
+
+"For the lieutenant," she answered when she was questioned.
+
+She guessed that such was Dick Fowell's rank, and she hoped that it was
+no lie she told, even though the man should believe that it was for
+Lieutenant Crashaw or Lieutenant Digby that she had been sent to fetch
+the wine and water.
+
+From the same man she begged a great leathern bottle, and this she
+filled with water at the well in the middle of the courtyard. As she
+drew the water, she looked about her. Above her head the stars were
+shining cold, and far away, across the walls, upon the hills that
+lay to eastward, she could see the ruddy fires where the rebels lay
+encamped.
+
+With the bottle and the flasket Merrylips hurried back to the little
+paved court. She sought out the form that she had left yesterday by
+the wall of the herb garden. She pushed it beneath the window of the
+wash-house, and climbing upon it, soon had scrambled back into Dick
+Fowell's prison.
+
+She held the flasket to his lips, and he drank, with long breaths
+of content. Then, in a dark corner, she stripped off her shirt and
+replaced her doublet and her leathern coat upon her bared shoulders.
+With a rag torn from the shirt she washed the dust and blood from Dick
+Fowell's face, and cleansed the wound on his head, as well as she was
+able. Then she bandaged the hurt place with strips of the shirt and
+she gave him again to drink from the flasket. After that she could do
+nothing but sit by him upon the paved floor, and when he muttered, half
+delirious, as once or twice he did, try to quiet him, with her hand
+against his cheek.
+
+The light flickered and faded in the wash-house, as the torches in the
+courtyard died down. Once, in the west, a burst of firing rattled out,
+and sank again to deeper silence. Through the western window came the
+chill light of the setting moon. Merrylips had dozed for a moment,
+perhaps, but she roused at the sound of a bolt withdrawn. She looked
+up, and in the open doorway she saw Miles Digby stand.
+
+Yet she was not afraid. She kept her place, on her knees, at Fowell's
+side, with her hand upon his hand, and "Hush!" she said to him, for he
+had stirred uneasily, as if he, too, had caught the sound of Digby's
+coming. Across his helpless body she looked at Digby.
+
+"He is hurt. Thou must not waken him," she said.
+
+[Illustration: "HE IS HURT. THOU MUST NOT WAKEN HIM," SHE
+SAID.]
+
+Digby, with the reek of battle half cleared from his brain, looked upon
+her in the moonlight. In that moment perhaps he saw, kneeling by the
+wounded man, something greater in strength than the boy Tibbott, with
+whom he had jested and played, something greater in compassion even
+than the maid, Sybil Venner, that little Merrylips should one day be.
+
+In any case, he came no farther into the room. Perhaps he dared not
+face what faced him there in the form of a little child. For an instant
+he stood with his hand upon the latch, and then he went forth again,
+and slammed and bolted the door behind him.
+
+"What was't?" Dick Fowell whispered, and suddenly he tightened his
+grasp on Merrylips' hand.
+
+"I dreamed," he whispered. "I dreamed--Miles Digby was come--to settle
+the old score."
+
+"Think not of him," soothed Merrylips. "For he will not harm thee,
+Dick. I will not suffer him to do thee harm."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+
+                        WHEN THE CAPTAIN CALLED
+
+
+It was broad daylight, and once more the fire of muskets was sputtering
+along the walls of Monksfield, when at last Dick Fowell opened his
+eyes. He looked at Merrylips, and smiled, and when he smiled, his face
+grew boyish and winning.
+
+"So!" said he. "Thou, at least, wert real, and not a phantom in those
+black dreams where I was laboring. Thou hast been at my side the
+livelong night?"
+
+Merrylips nodded. She gave him the flasket, which still held a little
+of the wine and water, and the bread which was in her pocket, and she
+sat by him, while he propped himself on his elbow and ate and drank.
+
+"I saw thee yesterday," said Fowell, presently.
+
+"In the courtyard," answered Merrylips, in a low voice. "When Miles
+Digby--he tried to make me, but I didn't! I didn't!"
+
+"I remember," said Fowell, and his eyes narrowed at the memory. "Child,
+what brought thee, bred among such as Digby, to succor me last night?"
+
+Merrylips swallowed a lump in her throat before she could answer. Now
+that she heard Fowell speak in that firm voice, she no longer felt that
+she was protecting him. Instead she felt little and weary, and herself
+in sore need of his protection.
+
+"It was--because of my brother," she whispered at last. "They made him
+prisoner, there at Loxford. I hope--perchance--some one had pity on
+him."
+
+She was angry that it should be so, but as she thought of Munn,
+helpless and ill-treated, perhaps, as Fowell had been, she felt the
+tears gather upon her lashes.
+
+At that Fowell sat up quickly, though he made a wry face at the effort
+that it cost him. He put his arm about her, and spoke as gently as one
+of her own Cavalier friends could have spoken.
+
+"Cheerly, my lad! Tell me the name of this brother of thine, and when
+I come clear of Monksfield, I promise thee I'll do my best endeavor to
+seek him out and requite him for thy tenderness."
+
+She whispered the name, "Munn Venner," and she felt the start of
+surprise that Fowell gave.
+
+"Venner?" said he. "Sure, thou art never one of the Venners of
+Walsover? Then by all that's marvellous I knew thine eldest brother,
+Tom Venner, two years agone at New College. A proper merry lad he was!
+And thou art a brother of Tom's! Thou must be the little one he called
+Flip, though I had judged him to be older."
+
+Merrylips answered neither yes nor no. She hoped it was no fib to let
+Dick Fowell think that she was her brother Flip, and not a little girl.
+Whatever happened, she must keep the secret that Munn had bidden her to
+keep. But she thought it no harm, in answer to Fowell's questions, to
+tell him how she had dwelt in Will Lowry's household at Larkland and
+had come to Monksfield by Munn's aid. Indeed she was glad to talk with
+Fowell. He seemed like an old friend, since he had known her brother
+Longkin at Oxford.
+
+But soon Dick Fowell said: "I'm loath to part with thee, little
+truepenny, but haply thy gentle friends in garrison will not be
+over-pleased at the company thou art keeping here. Were it not best
+thou shouldst slip hence and leave me?"
+
+Merrylips hesitated, and then he added, smiling:--
+
+"Have no fear, child! Lieutenant Digby and I will do each other no
+mortal damage."
+
+Merrylips feared that her next question was uncivil, but she had to put
+it. Point-blank she asked:--
+
+"Why doth Lieutenant Digby hate you so?"
+
+"A long tale," said Fowell, and frowned, though perhaps it was only
+with the pain of his hurt head.
+
+"We Fowells," he went on, "dwell neighbors to the Digbys yonder in
+Berkshire, and since my grandfather's time, faith, there hath been
+little love lost between us. There was at first a dispute over some
+lands, and then a plenty of wrongs and insults,--on both sides, no
+doubt. As little lads, Miles Digby and I came more than once to
+fisticuffs. And then, two years agone, he shot my dog that ran at my
+heels, vowing that I did trespass on his father's lands. For that I
+gave him such a trouncing as it seemeth he hath not forgot."
+
+The arm that Fowell had laid about Merrylips tightened in a grip that
+almost hurt her.
+
+"I do forgive him what happened yesterday," Fowell said, as if he found
+it hard to say. "But I hope the Lord in His goodness may let me meet
+him once again when I wear a sword!"
+
+Scarcely had Fowell uttered this pious wish, when there came a
+clattering of the bolt in the door of the wash-house.
+
+"'Tis Digby!" cried Merrylips, and felt herself half choked with the
+beating of her heart.
+
+But it was not the lieutenant, whom she feared for Dick Fowell's sake.
+It was a corporal and a couple of troopers who had come to fetch the
+prisoner to Captain Norris. They were in great haste. They seemed
+scarcely to notice or to care that she was in the wash-house. But
+for all their haste, she saw that they were sullenly civil toward
+Lieutenant Fowell, and they even helped him to walk away. He needed
+help, for in spite of all that he could do, he staggered as soon as he
+stood upon his feet.
+
+When Dick Fowell had been led away, Merrylips went slowly out into the
+courtyard. She felt faint and cold, and she was almost trembling at the
+thought that her old friends all would scorn and hate her, because she
+had helped a Roundhead. But she found the garrison too tired with the
+hours of fighting that were past, and too busy with making ready for
+the fight that was to come, to pay much attention to one small lad or
+wonder where he had spent the hours of the night.
+
+Ever since daybreak, she learned, there had been hard fighting, and
+many men had been killed and wounded. Cornet Slanning had been shot
+through the leg, and Lieutenant Crashaw, who had led out a sallying
+party, had been cut off from the garrison and made prisoner.
+
+It was because of this that Captain Norris had sent for Dick Fowell,
+and the guards were treating him civilly. Colonel Hatcher was offering
+to exchange Lieutenant Crashaw for his brother-in-law, Dick Fowell, and
+so sorely did the Monksfield garrison need officers that Captain Norris
+had agreed to the exchange.
+
+So white flags had been hung out on either side, and the firing
+stopped. Presently, about noontime, Dick Fowell was put on a horse and
+taken outside the gates of Monksfield, where he should be handed over
+to his own men. Merrylips' eyes met his, as he was riding forth. He did
+not speak, or even smile upon her, but she guessed that he did this out
+of caution, lest any show of friendliness from him, a Roundhead, should
+do her harm among the Cavaliers.
+
+Half an hour later Eustace Crashaw was once more within the walls of
+Monksfield. He was very grave of face, and he stammered more than ever
+as he told Captain Norris the number of men and the store of ammunition
+that the rebels had with them. Colonel Hatcher had shown all to him,
+in bravado, and bidden him tell his captain that, thus furnished, they
+meant to sit there till they had reduced the garrison.
+
+When Captain Norris heard this, he bit his mustaches. He looked so
+stern that Merrylips, who had stolen near, hoped with all her heart
+that he would never learn how she had helped the brother-in-law of this
+boastful Colonel Hatcher.
+
+Soon the guns were cracking again, all along the walls, but to-day
+Merrylips had no wish to go upon the ramparts and see men hurt and
+slain. She was turning away to the great house, when whom should
+she meet but Rupert. She was glad to see him, for she remembered how
+friendly they had been, only the day before. She halted, and would have
+spoken, but she saw that he was scowling upon her in his old way.
+
+"How is it with thee, little sister?" he jeered.
+
+Merrylips thought that now surely he had hit upon her secret. She was
+so frightened that she could only stare at him without speaking.
+
+"I thought thou hadst mettle in thee, for a young one," Rupert went on.
+"But to go sneaking away and coddle a vile rebel, only for that he had
+come by a bump in the head, as he well had merited! Tibbott Venner,
+thou art no better than a girl!"
+
+In her relief that she was not yet found out, Merrylips did not care
+what she said.
+
+"Then is a girl a better gentleman than thou, thou horseboy!" she
+answered back. "And I be glad that I am like a girl!"
+
+So saying, she trudged away to her own chamber. There she put on a
+fresh shirt, and then she fumbled in the hole in her mattress and drew
+out the silver ring that had been Lady Sybil's. She hung it about her
+neck on a cord, within her shirt, just as she had used to wear it. It
+was like a girl to wear it so, and she wanted to remember always that
+she was indeed a girl.
+
+While she sat fingering the ring, she felt that she did not care what
+Rupert or the Monksfield garrison thought of her. She knew that she had
+done what Lady Sybil would have wished a tender-hearted little maid to
+do. But as the afternoon passed, and the room grew dark, and the rebel
+watchfires kindled on the hills, she began to think how far away was
+Lady Sybil, and how near were the Monksfield garrison. And since Rupert
+knew that she had helped their captive enemy, all the garrison must
+know, and surely all would cease to be her friends.
+
+As she was thinking thus, and remembering the stern face that Captain
+Norris had worn, she heard a knock upon her door. When she called,
+"Come!" there appeared on the threshold a slender figure that she knew
+could be only Rupert's.
+
+He spoke in a formal, dry voice.
+
+"I am sent to find you, Master Venner. Captain Norris hath a word to
+say unto you."
+
+Within her shirt Merrylips clutched at the silver ring and tried to
+take courage.
+
+"The captain--is fain to speak with me?" she faltered.
+
+"Ay," said Rupert. "Now--this moment. Come! He waiteth for you."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXII
+
+                         A PARTING OF THE WAYS
+
+
+In the mess-room, where the candles were lighted, Captain Tibbott
+Norris sat alone at the table. Before him were a dish of stewed meat
+and a cup of wine, and he ate and drank steadily, but all the time his
+eyes were bent upon a map that was spread open at his elbow. He had not
+shaved in two days, and his unkempt face looked old and tired.
+
+For a full minute Merrylips must have hesitated on the threshold before
+Captain Norris noticed that she was there. Then he peered at her
+through the candlelight, and said he:--
+
+"Thou, is it, Tibbott? And young Hinkel, too? Come you in, both lads,
+and shut to the door."
+
+At heart Merrylips was glad that Rupert was to stay in the room. She
+was almost afraid to be left alone with the stern captain. But when he
+spoke again, she went to him obediently, and halted at his side. He
+turned and laid his hand on her shoulder, just as he had done on the
+day when she first had entered the mess-room. And suddenly, as she met
+the look in his tired eyes, she no longer feared him.
+
+But when Captain Norris spoke, it was to Rupert, not to Merrylips, that
+he said the words.
+
+"Young Hinkel," he began, "I've marked you for long as a brisk lad, of
+riper wit than many of like years. So to-night, when I cannot spare one
+man from the garrison, I shall trust you, a lad, with a man's work."
+
+Rupert's eyes shone. He drew himself up as tall as he could, and stood
+at salute, while he listened to the captain.
+
+"This child," said Captain Norris, and drew Merrylips to stand against
+his knee, "must leave Monksfield to-night. But to send him as a
+non-combatant, under a white flag, to Colonel Hatcher, would mean to
+return him to the Roundhead kinsfolk from whom his brother snatched
+him."
+
+"Prithee, not that!" begged Merrylips.
+
+She would have said more, if she had not found comfort in the captain's
+next words.
+
+"So the only course left," he went on, "is to set him outside our
+lines, and let him make his own way unto the nearest of our garrisons.
+You, Rupert Hinkel, shall go with him. Take him unto his kindred, and
+they will requite you well. Fail the lad, or play him false, and I
+shall seek you out and hang you."
+
+This last the captain said as quietly as if he promised Rupert a box
+on the ear, or a ha'penny, or some such trifle. Yet quiet as his voice
+was, there was in it something that made Merrylips shrink and Rupert
+stiffen.
+
+"I will not fail him, sir, on the faith of a gentleman," Rupert
+promised, in a voice almost as quiet as the captain's own.
+
+Then Captain Norris made Rupert stand by him, on the side opposite
+Merrylips, whom he still held fast, and he pointed out to him on the
+map lines that were paths and little specks that stood for villages.
+Point by point he taught Rupert the way to the nearest Cavalier outpost
+at King's Slynton, fifteen miles distant, and he gave him a pass-word,
+by which the commander of that garrison should know that he came indeed
+from Monksfield, and was to be helped upon his journey.
+
+"He will find means to send you both to Walsover," said Captain Norris.
+"Your troubles all are at an end when once you reach King's Slynton,
+and the distance thither is not great."
+
+Then he laid upon the table a handful of small coins, shillings and
+sixpences and groats. These he bade Rupert hide within his clothes.
+
+"Show but one piece at a time," he cautioned. "'Twill rouse question
+if so young a boy seem too well stored with money."
+
+"And shall I take my carabine, sir, for our defence?" asked Rupert.
+
+He was fairly a-quiver with eagerness, and his face fell when the
+captain answered, "No."
+
+But Rupert felt better when the captain pointed to the form by the fire
+and said that yonder lay what they must bear upon their journey. For on
+the form was not only a packet of what seemed food, and a flask, but a
+small pistol, with a steel patron full of cartridges and a touch-box,
+all complete.
+
+"You have your orders," said Captain Norris. "Now rest you here till
+you are sent for, and eat your suppers too."
+
+He rose as if the talk were at an end, and for the first time spoke to
+Merrylips.
+
+"Thou must lay off that Cavalier sash, be sure," he said. "And art thou
+warmly clad against this journey?"
+
+"Ay, sir," Merrylips answered.
+
+She spoke cheerily. For she was going to leave Monksfield, that in the
+last hours she had found so hateful. Almost she could have laughed for
+joy.
+
+"That's a brave lad!" said Captain Norris; yet somehow he seemed a
+little disappointed that she bore it so bravely.
+
+"Well, God speed thee, Tibbott, and farewell!" he added after a moment,
+and then suddenly, with his hand upon her shoulder, bent and kissed her.
+
+She felt the roughness of his untrimmed beard against her cheek, and
+then, in that same minute, he was gone from the mess-room.
+
+The hours that followed seemed to her like a dream. She laid aside
+her sash, as the captain had bidden, against her journey through the
+enemy's country. She watched Rupert hide away the coins, one by one,
+within the lining of his doublet and in his pockets. She sat at the
+table, because Rupert did so, and she ate some cold beef and bread,
+though she could scarcely taste the food. She was going to leave
+Monksfield--that was her one thought. And for all the dangers that she
+might meet upon the road, and for all that she must travel with Rupert,
+her little enemy, she was glad to be gone.
+
+Only one thing troubled her. How were she and Rupert to pass through
+the rebel lines that were drawn so closely now round Monksfield? She
+wanted to ask Rupert that question, but she was too proud to be the
+first to break the silence that was between them.
+
+So she sat playing with the wax that guttered from the candle on the
+table, and blinking at the light. Perhaps for a minute she had nodded,
+with her head upon her breast, when she felt a blast of cold air from
+the open door, and found that Captain Brooke was standing at her elbow.
+
+"Briskly, lads!" he bade.
+
+Already Rupert had pocketed the pistol and the flask, and taken up
+the packet of food. With scarcely a moment lost, they were all three
+outside the mess-room, in the flagged passage, and just then a shadow
+fell across their path, and before them stood Miles Digby.
+
+"Going hence, eh?" he said. "Then God be wi' ye, Tibbott."
+
+Digby held out his hand, and for the life of her Merrylips could not
+have helped doing what she did. All in an instant she seemed to see
+the face that he had worn when he struck Fowell, who stood wounded and
+helpless before him. She put her two hands behind her and shrank from
+him.
+
+He laughed, but his laughter was half-hearted, and he swore an oath.
+Then she heard no more of him, for Captain Brooke was heading down the
+passage, as if he had no time to waste, and she ran after him.
+
+Through corridors that she knew well they went, half lighted by the
+dark lantern that the captain carried. They crossed the echoing space
+of the great store-room, and through a narrow door stepped out beneath
+the stars. They stood in the herb garden, and Merrylips had guessed
+where they were going, even before the captain led them down the steps
+to the door beneath the still-house.
+
+"Do we go this way, even as you came?" she said to him.
+
+She spoke in a whisper, lest Rupert, who did not share the secret,
+might overhear.
+
+"Ay, by the same path," said Captain Brooke. "'Tis a buried passage
+that the monks must have builded in old days. Keep silent touching it,
+you two," he added gravely, and in the archway of the door turned the
+light full upon their faces. "To set you beyond danger we trust you
+with a secret that might be the ruin of the garrison."
+
+Then Merrylips knew that on the day when she had seen Captain Brooke
+come from the still-house, he had been out by the passage to spy upon
+the enemy. She wondered that she had been so stupid as not to have
+guessed as much.
+
+Through the damp cellar, where the long, slimy tracks of snails gleamed
+on the walls, they reached the low entrance of the buried passage.
+The walls were all of stone that sweated with moisture, and the roof
+was so low that Captain Brooke had to stoop as he went. Underfoot the
+ground was uneven. More than once Merrylips stumbled as she hurried
+to keep up with the captain's strides. Every moment, too, she found it
+harder to draw breath. Not only was she panting with the haste that she
+must make, but the air seemed lifeless in the passage, and in the dark
+lantern the candle burned blue and feeble.
+
+"Journey's end, boys!" Captain Brooke spoke at last, as it seemed to
+her from a great distance.
+
+Over his shoulder she saw a patch of dark sky, where stars were
+twinkling. Across the patch ran inky black lines that were leafless
+stalks of bushes. The fresh air of the upper world came keen and sweet
+to her nostrils.
+
+"Below you lieth the mere, upon the north of the rebel lines. Take
+your bearings by it, Rupert," said the captain. "Steer your course as
+Captain Norris bade, and so, good speed unto you both!"
+
+For a moment Rupert and Merrylips stood in the low opening, which was
+screened by hazel bushes and a bit of ivy-covered stonework. In the
+passage that they had just left they watched the light of the captain's
+lantern till they could no longer see it in the darkness.
+
+"So we're quit of Monksfield!" Merrylips said then, and as she thought
+of her last hours in the garrison, she spoke in a happy voice.
+
+"You're rejoiced, eh?" Rupert answered harshly. "Truth, I'm not! The
+best friend I have I left yonder, old Claus! And I'll not be near him
+now, in the last fight."
+
+"Last fight--" echoed Merrylips.
+
+"Dost thou not understand, little fool?" whispered Rupert. "The rebels
+will attack to-morrow, and we're now so weak that it well may be--Dost
+thou not see? 'Tis to save thy life the captain sendeth thee away,
+and for that thou art glad to leave him, Tibbott Venner, thou little
+coward!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIII
+
+                        OUTSIDE KING'S SLYNTON
+
+
+All that night Merrylips and Rupert groped their way by the paths that
+Captain Norris had bidden them take. At dawn they found a hiding-place
+at the edge of a beech wood on a low hill, and there they spent the day.
+
+Sometimes they slept, and sometimes they ate and drank, and sometimes
+from their hilltop they scanned the country round them. Near at hand,
+in the open fields, they saw hinds that went about their work, and in
+the distance twice, to their alarm, they saw squads of mounted men that
+sped along an unseen road.
+
+"Will those be Roundheads?" Merrylips asked.
+
+"What an if they be?" jeered Rupert. "Thou hast a kindness unto all
+rebels, young Venner. Mayhap 'tis thy dear comrade, Dick Fowell, and be
+hanged unto him!"
+
+For, as if they had not troubles enough, these two foolish children
+were making matters worse by keeping up their quarrel. Not one kind
+word did they exchange from the moment of their leaving Monksfield.
+Rupert looked down upon his companion for a weakling and a coward. And
+Merrylips, for her own part, vowed that she would never ask help or
+kindness of him--no, not if she died for it!
+
+So in angry silence they took up their march again when night came
+down. The sky was overcast, and the path was hard to find. Once they
+went astray and wandered into a bog, where the water oozed icily cold
+into their shoes.
+
+"A brave guide art thou!" Merrylips taunted Rupert. "Thou to be set to
+care for me, forsooth!"
+
+"Hold thy peace!" snapped Rupert. "I'll have thee safe at King's
+Slynton with the daybreak, and blithe I'll be then to wash my hands of
+thee, thou pestilent brat!"
+
+"Brat thyself!" retorted Merrylips. "Thou'rt no more than a lad. And if
+thou art glad to be rid of me, 'tis ten times as glad I am at thought
+of quitting thee and coming once more amongst gentlemen."
+
+As soon as Merrylips had spoken those last words, she knew that she had
+wounded Rupert cruelly. But she was so cold and footsore and wretched
+that she was glad to have made him suffer in his turn. Besides, she had
+meant what she had said. It would indeed be pleasant to set foot in the
+mess-room at King's Slynton, and to be warmly greeted and petted by
+the officers there, as she had been by the friends that she had left
+ungratefully behind her.
+
+Upheld by the thought of this welcome that awaited her, Merrylips
+dragged herself along at Rupert's heels all that dreary night. As
+worn-out a little girl as ever masked herself in boy's clothes, she saw
+the dawn at last break grayly over the eastern hills. The bare trees
+stood out from the mist, and the fields changed color from leaden hue
+to brown. Over the next hill, she hoped, would be King's Slynton, but
+she would not speak to Rupert, not even to ask that question.
+
+Up this hill they were toiling, with Rupert in the lead. He limped a
+little, as Merrylips was glad to notice. Then what should they see, on
+the crest of the hill above them, sharply outlined against the gray
+sky, but a mounted man? When they looked closer, they saw that he was
+an armed man, and that he wore across his cuirass the orange scarf of a
+rebel officer.
+
+At that sight both children shrank into the shadow of the thicket under
+which ran their path. But Merrylips thought less of the rebel officer
+than of the taunts that Rupert would surely cast at her, for having
+befriended the like of him. She tried to think of a bitter answer to
+make him, and she stiffened herself for an open quarrel, as she saw him
+turn toward her.
+
+But Rupert's face, as he looked at her, was not that of a quarrelsome
+little boy. It was a troubled, older face, such as she had not seen him
+wear.
+
+"Hide thou here in the bushes, Tibbott," he bade. "And stay thou
+hidden, whatever happen, till I come again."
+
+He did not make her his comrade so much as to tell her what he thought
+or feared or what he planned to do. But he chose a sheltered spot for
+her, deep among elder bushes and young birches, and he gave her the
+flask and what was left of the food. He bade her eat and drink and
+rest her there in safety. Then he tucked his pistol into his belt and
+trudged away alone over the hill to King's Slynton.
+
+There in the thicket Merrylips sat all day, and it was the longest day
+that ever she had known. At first she slept, but she could not sleep
+all the time. Then she watched the flights of rooks that winged across
+the sullen sky. She watched the rabbits that scurried through the
+copse below her. She built little houses of dead leaves and twigs and
+pebbles. All sorts of things she did, not to think of what might have
+happened to Rupert and be afraid.
+
+It was almost twilight when Rupert came back. He dropped down beside
+her under the bushes, and drew a long breath as if he were tired.
+
+"The rebels have taken King's Slynton," he said.
+
+Merrylips knew then that she had known that this would be his news. So
+she did not cry out or show fear. All she did was to ask him, "When?"
+
+"Yesterday," he answered. "They beat our men out of the village, and
+have set a garrison of their own ruffians in their stead."
+
+But there Merrylips broke in upon him. She had been peering at him
+sharply, and now she cried:--
+
+"Where's thy pistol, Rupert?"
+
+It was not so dark but that she could see how he reddened. He tried to
+speak roughly and angrily, but in the end he blurted out the truth.
+
+"They took my pistol from me, there in the village," he said. "I had
+to venture in among them to get news. They said--the rebel soldiers
+said--that I must have stolen it, at the time the town was taken. They
+took my pistol and what money was in the pockets of my doublet. They
+would have searched me further, but one of their officers came up and
+bade them let me go. And then he set me to clean his horse's stall.
+I've been fetching and carrying all day--for thy rebel friends, Tibbott
+Venner."
+
+Rupert spoke the jeer half-heartedly, and Merrylips made no answer.
+Both were too tired and frightened to quarrel. For some time they sat
+in silence, while the chill shadows gathered round them. Deep in the
+thicket the owls began to hoot.
+
+"Is there aught of food left?" asked Rupert, suddenly. "I'm nigh
+famished."
+
+In answer Merrylips laid the packet on the ground between them. Rupert
+opened it, and looked at what lay within--the dry end of a loaf, a
+slice of beef, and some crumbs of cheese. Then he looked at Merrylips.
+
+"Hast thou not eaten all this day?" he asked. "I bade thee, Tibbott."
+
+"I waited--to share with thee," Merrylips answered, and somehow she
+choked upon the words.
+
+"Thou art a little fool," said Rupert, angrily.
+
+He broke the bread and on the crumb that was least hard he placed the
+meat and laid it on her knee.
+
+"Eat this now!" he ordered.
+
+"Thou hast given me all the meat," she answered. "And we must share
+alike."
+
+Then Rupert caught her with his arm about her shoulders, and laid the
+bread in her hand.
+
+"Eat it!" he said roughly. "Thou must have the best. I'm older and
+stronger than thou--and I promised I'd care for thee--and I will now,
+indeed I will! Thou needst not fear, for all we may not find help at
+King's Slynton. I'll bring thee safe unto thy friends, and I--I'll not
+be rough with thee again. Now wilt thou not eat? I pray thee, Tibbott!"
+
+And this time Merrylips took the food and ate.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIV
+
+                            THE DARKEST DAY
+
+
+In the dull light of the dripping morning Rupert and Merrylips sat up
+and looked at each other. The packet that had held their food gaped
+emptily at their feet, and the flask lay forlornly on its side.
+
+"What shall we do? And whither shall we go now, Rupert?" Merrylips
+asked.
+
+She chafed her cold little hands while she waited hopefully for his
+reply.
+
+Rupert had his answer ready. Indeed, for twenty-four hours he had
+thought of little else.
+
+"We cannot well go back to Monksfield," he said, "for no doubt the
+place hath fallen by now."
+
+Merrylips nodded gravely.
+
+"If I had known!" she said in a low voice. "I wish now I'd shaken hands
+with Lieutenant Digby, since he was fain to do so."
+
+"Well," said Rupert, "we can't go back, so we must needs go forward.
+And since King's Slynton is no longer a Royalist garrison, we must make
+our way to the nearest place that is. But we will not make such long
+marches as we made yesterday!" he added.
+
+Merrylips was glad to hear those last words, for she was lame in every
+muscle. But she did not say that she was glad, lest Rupert think her a
+little milksop to be so quickly tired. Instead she asked:--
+
+"Where is the Royalist garrison to which we shall go now? I pray thee,
+tell me!"
+
+No doubt Rupert would have liked to seem wise in everything to this
+younger lad, but he was an honest boy. Though he hesitated, he
+presently spoke the truth.
+
+"That I do not rightly know," he said. "These parts are strange to me,
+and Captain Norris was so sure that we should find shelter at King's
+Slynton that he told me nothing of the ways beyond. But we must go
+westward, I know, to reach the king's country."
+
+"Ay," said Merrylips, "for Walsover lieth in the west."
+
+"But first of all," Rupert went on, "for this I learned yesterday in
+the village, we must cross the river Slyne that barreth our passage
+into the west. And we cannot cross it by the bridge at King's Slynton,
+now that the rebels are there, so we must go northward to a village
+called Slynford, where there is a fording place."
+
+"And is it far?" Merrylips asked as she rose stiffly to her feet.
+
+"Not far, I think," Rupert cheered her. "Not above two league, I am
+sure."
+
+Now two leagues may sound a very little distance, when the words
+are read by a snug fireside. But two leagues, when tramped through
+drizzling wet and mire, on tired feet, become a weary long journey, as
+Merrylips and Rupert found. It was sunset, if there had been a sun to
+set upon that damp and gloomy day, when they limped at last down the
+sticky road into Slynford.
+
+The first sound that greeted them, as they set foot in the village
+street, was a dirty little boy's shouting to his mate:--
+
+"Haste ye, Herry Dautry! The sojers do be changing guard at the ford.
+Come look upon 'em for a brave show!"
+
+Then they knew that they had come too late. Here in Slynford, as at
+King's Slynton, was an outpost of the rebel army that barred the
+passage into the west.
+
+Perhaps if they had gone straight to the ford and asked to be let
+cross, they might have got leave, for they were very young and
+harmless-looking travellers. But Rupert and Merrylips were both too
+tired and hungry and discouraged to pluck up heart for such a bold
+undertaking.
+
+Moreover, after his sad experience in King's Slynton, Rupert was shy
+of getting within arm's reach of rebel soldiers. He might be robbed of
+what money was left him, he told Merrylips. So they agreed that they
+should do well to leave Slynford and try to cross the river farther
+north.
+
+There followed for the two children a week of wandering that would
+not have been easy even for grown men. All the time they were in
+terror,--more than they need have been, perhaps,--lest they fall into
+the hands of the cruel rebels. Indeed, the country through which they
+passed was swarming with soldiers and with camp followers of the
+Parliament. And Rupert and Merrylips were sure, and rather proud of the
+fact, that in dress and bearing they themselves looked so much like
+Cavaliers that they should instantly be known for such, if they let
+themselves be seen by their enemies.
+
+So they kept away from towns and villages, where they were likely to be
+stopped and questioned. For greater safety they travelled by night, and
+their food--coarse bread, and meat, and fresh cheese--they bought at
+lonely cottages. They slept in woods and thickets, where sometimes they
+found nuts and haws with which to piece out their meals. They dared not
+even ask too many questions about the roads that they should take,
+and so it happened often that they went astray. Still, they travelled
+northward, in the main, along the river Slyne, till one morning they
+met with a rebel patrol.
+
+The soldiers shouted to them to stand. They were half in jest, no
+doubt, but it was no jest to Rupert and Merrylips. In great fright
+they ran for their lives, as they believed, into a wood close by. They
+heard a shot fired after them. They heard a crashing of horses that
+were forced through the bushes in their rear. They ran madly up hills
+and down muddy hollows. When Merrylips stumbled, Rupert caught her hand
+and dragged her along. Not till they had left the pursuit far behind
+them did they drop down, all scratched and bemired, and lie sobbing for
+breath.
+
+After that they shaped their course eastward, away from the danger belt
+between the lines, where they had been travelling. Presently, said
+Rupert, they would turn westward again, but for now, till the country
+was quieter, they would keep to the settled parts that were held for
+the Parliament.
+
+It was at this time that he thought up a story to tell, if they were
+caught and questioned. He would say that they were cousins and that
+their name was Smith, for that was a common, honest-sounding name. He
+would say, too, that they had been at school near Horsham and had run
+away to join the Parliament army and fight the Cavaliers.
+
+"And we must call 'em wicked Cavaliers, and abuse 'em roundly," said
+Rupert, who was very proud of his plan, "and then no doubt they'll
+believe us little rebels and let us go about our business."
+
+Merrylips was not over-pleased at the thought of telling so many fibs,
+nor did she wish to pass herself off as a rebel. More than ever she
+feared and hated all that party since the meeting with the Roundhead
+patrol. But she said nothing, for she wished to do as Rupert wished,
+since he was kind to her.
+
+For Rupert had kept his word, ever since that twilight outside King's
+Slynton. Not once had he been rough with Merrylips. He made her rest,
+while he went alone to get their food. He gave her all the choicest
+bits. He carried her on his back when they forded streams. Because he
+was the older and the stronger, he took good care of her, as he had
+promised to do. But all the time she knew that it was only because she
+was weak that he was kind.
+
+She meant to be very brave and strong. But she did not find it so easy
+to be a boy, out in the cold woods, as she had found it in the cheery
+mess-room at Monksfield. She did not whimper, no, not once, but she
+could not walk so stoutly as Rupert, for all her trying. And she
+caught a cold, and she had such a sore throat that she could scarcely
+eat their hard food. Rupert did not scold, but she knew that she must
+seem to him weak and cowardly.
+
+Now before long Merrylips had blistered her feet. Rupert had strained
+a tendon in his ankle, at the very outset, and though he made light of
+it, he went each day more lame. Thus crippled, they could not travel
+far in a single day. So it was that, about the time when they turned
+westward again, they found that, though they had not half finished
+their journey, they had spent all their money.
+
+Soon they had nothing left but Merrylips' three half-pence. These
+Rupert gave one morning for a noggin of milk and a piece of soft bread,
+which he bought at a farmyard gate. And he made Merrylips drink and eat
+it, every drop and crumb.
+
+The dairymaid from whom they bought the food must have run and told her
+mistress about them, for scarcely had Merrylips done eating, when the
+farmer's wife, a big, rosy woman, came bustling out of the house. She
+looked at the two little boys, who were standing forlornly by the bars,
+in the cold dawn, and then she called to them to come in.
+
+Merrylips was so tired and sick that she would have gone to the woman,
+even if she were a rebel. But Rupert whispered:--
+
+"'Tis a trap! No doubt she would betray us to the Roundhead soldiers!"
+
+So saying, he caught Merrylips by the arm and hurried her away. He
+would not let her stop running till he had led her deep into a lonely
+growth of willows that drooped above a swollen brook.
+
+"But I doubt--if she would have served us--an ill turn," Merrylips
+panted, as soon as she got breath. "She looked right kind."
+
+"Ay, she was one of thy rebel friends," sneered Rupert, and flung her
+hand from his.
+
+Yet there was some excuse for his ill humor. After all, he was but a
+young boy, and he suffered cruelly with his aching foot, and he had not
+eaten in hours. What with pain and hunger and fear for the future, it
+was no wonder, perhaps, that he was quite savage. In any case, he went
+and lay down in the shelter of a bank, and turned his back upon his
+little comrade.
+
+Merrylips was left sitting alone by the brookside. She wondered what
+would become of them now. Here they were, in the enemy's country,
+without money, and without friends, and without strength to travel
+farther. Perhaps they would die right there, like the poor babes in the
+old ballad that Goody Trot used to sing.
+
+When she thought of Goody Trot, she thought of all the kind old days
+at Larkland, and she was almost ready to cry. But she drew from within
+her shirt the silver ring, and kissed it, and laid her cheek against
+it. She thought of Lady Sybil, and how she had told her that she could
+be as brave as a boy, whatever dress she wore. Then she grew ashamed
+that she, who was Lady Sybil's goddaughter and Sir Thomas Venner's
+child, should be cast down, only because she was a little cold and
+hungry. So she made herself sing softly, and she sat turning the ring
+between her fingers while she thought what a brave, merry face she
+would have to show to Rupert when he woke.
+
+Suddenly, like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky, she felt a
+stinging blow across her cheek. Her head rang with it. Her eyes were
+dazzled with dancing stars. Through a haze she saw Rupert standing over
+her with fists clenched and eyes that flamed.
+
+"Tibbott Venner, thou little thief!" he choked. "Give me that ring."
+
+From where she had fallen upon her elbow Merrylips stared up at him.
+
+"But, Rupert," she said, "'tis mine! 'Tis mine own ring."
+
+"Thou dost lie!" he cried. "I could ha' forgiven thee aught else. But
+to serve me such a turn--when I had cared for thee, well as I knew! I
+gave thee the last o' the bread and the milk--all of it I gave thee,
+because thou wast little. And then thou--thou lying little trickster! I
+vow I'll beat thee for't!"
+
+Still Merrylips looked at him steadily.
+
+"Thou art strong. Thou canst do it," she whispered.
+
+Rupert lifted his clenched fist, but he let it fall as he met her eyes.
+He did not strike her. Instead he bent and snatched at the ring, where
+it hung about her neck. So fiercely did he snatch that he broke the
+cord and brought the ring away in his hand.
+
+"Shift for thyself now!" he flung the words at her. "I'll bear wi' thee
+no longer, thou liar! thou thief! And to do't while I slept and trusted
+thee!"
+
+Still Merrylips said not a word. Dumb and wide-eyed, she sat with her
+hand to her throbbing cheek, while she watched Rupert turn and stride
+away along the brookside. She watched till he had passed out of sight,
+and the branches that he had thrust aside no longer stirred.
+
+Then she groped with her fingers and touched the broken cord where the
+ring had hung. She had not dreamed it, then. Rupert had robbed her, and
+forsaken her. She did not cry, but she gave a little moan, and drooping
+forward, sank upon her face.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXV
+
+                            AFTER THE STORM
+
+
+At first Merrylips could not guess what had happened to her. Perhaps,
+she thought, she had been drowned. Her face was all wet and dripping,
+and she could hear a rushing sound of water.
+
+But when she raised her heavy eyelids, she saw bare willow branches
+against a gray sky. She lay by a brookside, she remembered. The sound
+of water that she had heard must be the rushing of the brook.
+
+Then she found that Rupert was bending over her. But this was a Rupert
+whom she had never known. This Rupert had a gray, drawn face that
+twitched and eyes that were wide and frightened. He was chafing her
+hands in his and saying over and over:--
+
+"Tibbott! Tibbott! Don't die! Prithee, say thou wilt not die! I did not
+know. I am sorry. Only don't die, Tibbott! Say thou wilt not die!"
+
+She did not understand. She could remember only that he had struck her,
+and she shrank from his touch.
+
+She heard a sound of sobbing. But she knew it was not she that cried.
+She had promised Munn that she would be brave. She raised her eyes
+again, and she saw Rupert on his knees beside her, with his ragged
+sleeve pressed to his face. It was he that was sobbing, for all that he
+was a big boy.
+
+"But wilt thou not even let me touch thee--when 'tis to help thee?" he
+begged. "For I'm sorry, Tibbott. And here's thy ring again. As soon
+as I knew, I ran back and found thee fainting. And I would not ha'
+done it, Tibbott, but indeed they were very like. So I thought thou
+hadst taken mine, and--and it meaneth much to me, more than I can tell
+thee, Tibbott. And I thought, there at King's Slynton, when the rebels
+searched me, they would find it and take it from me. So many times
+since I've dreamed 'twas taken from me and was lost! So when I woke and
+thought to see it in thy hands, so careless, I was angered. Tibbott,
+wilt thou not understand and--and not forgive me, perhaps, but let me
+help thee? For indeed they are so like! Look but upon them, Tibbott!"
+
+She thought that she must be very ill indeed, and that she was seeing
+things double. For there in Rupert's hand, as he held it out to her,
+lay two rings, wrought of dull old silver in the shape of two hearts
+entwined. She stared at them blankly, and Rupert, who thought from her
+silence that she was still angry, hid his face in his arms.
+
+But in that silence Merrylips began slowly to understand what had
+happened. She saw that Rupert, how or why she could not guess, had had
+a ring like hers and prized it dearly. No wonder, then, that when he
+had seen her handling such a ring he had thought her a little thief,
+until he had searched and found his own ring in its place. He was not
+wholly to blame, and until that hour he had been kind.
+
+How glad she was to feel that she could forgive him! "Rupert!" she
+whispered, but so softly that he did not heed.
+
+Then she dragged herself to him and put her two arms round his
+shoulders.
+
+"Rupert!" she said again, and bent and kissed him.
+
+He put his arms about her, and for a moment they clung to each other.
+
+"Thou art the strangest lad, Tibbott!" choked Rupert. "But thou dost
+not bear me ill will? Indeed thou dost not?"
+
+Merrylips nodded, as she settled herself beside him. She felt too weak
+to talk, but she was very happy.
+
+For a moment Rupert too was silent, while he busied himself in tying
+Merrylips' ring once more upon the broken cord. But presently he said,
+in a humble voice:--
+
+"Wilt thou tell me, Tibbott--if 'tis not a secret--how thou ever
+camest by this ring which is like mine own?"
+
+"I had it of my godmother," Merrylips answered, and she was almost too
+faint to notice what she said. "My godmother, with whom I dwelt at
+Larkland--Lady Sybil Fernefould--she for whom I am named."
+
+Rupert let his hands fall from the cord with which he was fumbling. In
+blank surprise he looked at her, and suddenly from his face she knew
+what she had said. In her dismay she roused from her faintness.
+
+"Oh, Rupert!" she cried, and hid her hot face in her hands. "And I
+promised not to tell--and I have told!"
+
+It seemed to her a long time that she sat with her face hidden and
+grieved for her broken promise. Then she heard Rupert say in a puzzled
+voice, but quite gently:--
+
+"Lady Sybil--for whom thou art named? But then--Why, Tibbott, is it
+true thou art not Tibbott--that thou art a little maid?"
+
+"Ay!" she answered with her face hidden.
+
+Presently she felt her two hands found and taken into Rupert's hands.
+
+"Prithee, look up!" he said. "And be not sorry. My word, I might ha'
+guessed it--only no one of all the men mistrusted! 'Twas because
+thou wast a maid, belike, thou hadst so tender a heart, even for
+the pestilent rebels. And I mocked at thee for it. I am right sorry,
+mistress."
+
+She looked up at Rupert then. She felt that at last they knew each
+other and would be friends. She was so glad that she smiled at him, and
+he too laughed as he knelt before her.
+
+"How thou didst trick us all!" he cried. "Why, Tibbott--mistress, I
+mean--"
+
+"My brothers call me Merrylips," she said.
+
+Rupert cocked his head, as if he thought the name odd, but he repeated,
+"Merrylips," and they laughed together.
+
+"I never knew of such a maid," Rupert kept repeating. "How couldst thou
+walk as thou hast done, and fare so poorly, and not fret, thou that
+hast been reared a gentlewoman?"
+
+Then he hesitated and seemed to remember something.
+
+"Merrylips," he asked, "did I dream it, or didst thou say indeed that
+thou didst dwell with thy godmother at a place called Larkland?"
+
+Merrylips nodded. Rupert passed his hand across his forehead.
+
+"There was a house called Larkland," he said slowly, "when we came
+first into England, Claus and I, and a sickness was on me. And there
+was a kind little maid that led us home, and said we should be friends."
+
+He paused, and sat gazing at Merrylips.
+
+"Yes," she answered, "and next morning I sat in the cherry tree and saw
+thee stealing away from Larkland."
+
+"Then it was thou indeed!" cried Rupert. "And I never knew thee,
+Tibbott,--Merrylips, I mean,--though I had thought upon thee often, for
+thou wast so kind, when every one was harsh unto us."
+
+But now that Merrylips remembered the old days at Larkland and her
+godmother's suspicions of Rupert, she grew sober again.
+
+"Wilt thou not tell me, Rupert," she said, "why thou didst steal away
+from Larkland, so like a thief, when we all would have used thee
+kindly?"
+
+For a moment Rupert was silent. Then he drew from his pocket the silver
+ring that was the counterpart of the one that hung at Merrylips' neck.
+
+"If I tell thee a part, I will tell thee all," he said, "and I am fain
+to tell thee, if thou wilt listen."
+
+"Tell me everything," bade Merrylips.
+
+So the two children settled themselves, side by side, under the bare
+willows, and Rupert told the story of his silver ring.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXVI
+
+                           HE THAT WAS LOST
+
+
+"First of all," Rupert began, "my name is not Rupert Hinkel, no more
+than thine is Tibbott. I am no kinsman to Claus Hinkel, nor to any
+peasant folk. I am a gentleman's son, and come of as good blood, they
+say, as any in all England."
+
+Indeed, as he spoke, with his head thrown back and his chin uplifted,
+Rupert looked what he claimed to be. Merrylips believed him, only
+hearing him say it.
+
+"My right name," he went on, "is called Robert Lucas."
+
+"Lucas! 'Tis a name I've heard," said Merrylips. "Perchance I shall
+remember where."
+
+He looked at her eagerly.
+
+"If thou couldst but help me!" he sighed. "I'll tell thee all, but
+there's so much I do not know and I can never learn. For I was but a
+little babe when both my father and my mother died. My father was an
+English gentleman, one Captain Lucas. He was an officer in the army of
+the Emperor Ferdinand, and he was serving in High Germany. My mother
+was with him. She was an Englishwoman, a great lady in her own country,
+and with a face like an angel, so my nurse hath ofttimes told me.
+
+"My mother held that the camp was too rude a place in which to nurture
+me. So she gave me, but three months old, to a good woman, Jettchen
+Kronk, a farmer's wife, who nursed me with her own child. Each week my
+mother would leave the camp, and ride across the hills on her palfrey,
+with men to attend her, and visit me for an hour.
+
+"One day, when I was eight months old, she gave me this ring from her
+hand to play with. I fell asleep holding it fast, and she would not
+waken me to take it from me, when it came her time to go. She would get
+her ring when next she came unto me, she said, and bade my nurse guard
+it safely, for 'twas dear to her and bore the crest of her house. Then
+she kissed me as I slept, my nurse hath told me, and went her way, and
+never came again.
+
+"For there fell a great fever on the camp, and among the rest my father
+and my mother must have died, for never a word was heard of them more.
+Many of the officers perished, as well as of the soldiers. Doubtless
+among them were those of my father's friends that would have been
+mindful of me. And presently, to save the remnant of the troops, they
+were sent to another camp, miles away, across the mountains, and I was
+left behind, for there was none now to take thought of me.
+
+"But Jettchen Kronk loved me. Her own child, my foster-brother, died
+that year, and her husband was slain, and she said that I was all was
+left unto her. So when her kinsmen bade her cast me forth as a beggar
+brat, she drove them from her house. And she reared me tenderly, as if
+I had been her own.
+
+"She had me taught to read and write, both German and Latin, by the
+priest of the village. And she told me always how I was a gentleman and
+the son of a gentleman, and she showed me this silver ring that she
+had kept for me. Through this ring, she said, I should one day find
+my English kindred, who would be glad to welcome me. But the journey
+into England was very long, and the country was vexed with war, and
+she herself was poor and all unable to furnish me for the road. So I
+could not hope to travel into England until I was old enough and strong
+enough to make mine own way thither.
+
+"'Twill be three years agone, come Eastertide, that dear Jettchen fell
+into a lingering sickness. She was in great fear for me, for she knew
+that there was none to stand my friend when she was gone. But while
+she was thus troubled, there came to her a cousin, Claus Hinkel, a
+kind, true soul that had been for years a soldier in the army of the
+Emperor. He promised Jettchen that he would take me into England, to my
+kinsfolk there, and so she died with her heart at peace. God rest her!
+She was kinder to me than any in all this world."
+
+For a little time after that Rupert sat blinking fast. Merrylips did
+not like to speak to him in words, but timidly she laid her hand on
+his, and he did not withdraw it.
+
+"I was a very little boy," he broke out suddenly, "and foolish--and so
+was poor Claus!--to think 'twas an easy task we went upon. First of
+all, we had no money, for my nurse's kindred seized on all she owned.
+So for a winter I dwelt with Claus in camp in Bohemia, while he put by
+money for our journey into England. And there was one in the ranks, a
+broken Englishman, who was good-natured, and such time as he was sober,
+taught me my father's tongue and told me much of England.
+
+"At last in the spring, we set out across the seas. For we had heard
+rumors that there would be war in this country. War was Claus Hinkel's
+trade, and he thought to maintain us with his sword, should we be a
+long time in finding my kinsfolk. But we did not think to be long
+about it. We were right hopeful!
+
+"'Twas at Brighthelmstone we landed, and hard by, in a town called
+Lewes, we went unto a gentleman, a magistrate, to whom the country
+folk directed us. I asked him whereabout in England the Lucases were
+dwelling. The talking fell to me, thou dost understand, for Claus had
+little mastery of English. But this gentleman did but laugh and bid us
+be off, and the next to whom we did apply was angry and threatened to
+set us in the stocks for landleapers and vagrants.
+
+"Then we were afraid, so we stayed to question no more, but hastened
+northward, as fast as we could travel. And that was not fast, for I was
+sickening with a fever. So we came, as thou knowest, unto Larkland and
+oh! what a good rest I had that night, in a fair bed with sheets, and I
+dreamed my mother came unto me.
+
+"But Claus was in great fear, for the lady of Larkland asked him many
+questions. And he, that knew little of English, and remembered the
+angry magistrate that had threatened us with the stocks, thought that
+harm was meant unto us. In the early dawn he roused me, saying that
+we must get thence. And I was stronger, for I had slept sweetly those
+hours, so I rose and went forth at his side.
+
+"We were skirting the garden wall when we heard a rustling in a cherry
+tree above us. Claus hid him under some elder bushes that grew by the
+wall, but I--I was loath to hide. And then thou didst speak unto me,
+Merrylips, so winningly that it seemed to me I'd liefer than all the
+world stay there at Larkland. And I did hate to tell thee an untruth,
+indeed I did, but Claus was signing to me, where he lay hidden, so I
+promised falsely to await thee there.
+
+"So soon as thou wert gone, we hastened away, and great part of the
+time Claus bore me in his arms. Then we learned that the lady of
+Larkland had sent to seek us and hale us back, so we were affrighted
+and hid us and travelled always by night till we were far away."
+
+"Oh, Rupert!" cried Merrylips, for she could wait no longer with what
+she had to tell. "If thou hadst but been found that time and brought
+back unto Larkland, how well it would have been with thee! For Lady
+Sybil that is mistress of Larkland--canst thou not guess who she is?"
+
+Rupert shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, but he began to breathe fast, like a runner when he sees
+the goal.
+
+"'Twas she that came to thy bed the night that thou didst dream thy
+mother stood nigh thee," Merrylips went on. "Rupert, in very truth, my
+dear godmother must be thy mother's sister and own aunt to thee."
+
+Rupert clenched and unclenched his hands, and for a moment did not
+speak.
+
+"Art thou sure?" he said at last. "How dost thou know? Don't jest with
+me, I pray thee!"
+
+She touched the ring at her neck, and Rupert held out his that was like
+it.
+
+"Nurse said 'twould be the ring would bring me to mine own!" he
+muttered.
+
+"There were two rings," Merrylips poured out her story, "wrought by
+order of his Grace of Barrisden with the crest of the Fernefoulds, two
+hearts entwined. And one ring was given to his daughter, Lady Sybil,
+that is my godmother, and here it lieth in mine hand. And the other was
+given to his daughter, Lady Venetia, that married Captain Edward Lucas
+and went into Germany, where they both died of a fever, as my godmother
+hath told me. And her ring she left unto her little son, and thou dost
+hold it there, Rupert, and surely, by that token, thou art the Lady
+Venetia's child."
+
+Then Rupert caught her hands in his and kissed them, though he did it
+roughly, as if he were not used to such courtesy.
+
+"Thou dost believe me, dost thou not?" he kept repeating.
+
+Merrylips was almost as wild as he. She forgot that an hour before she
+had been tired and hungry and discouraged. Over and over she said how
+glad she was, how glad Lady Sybil would be, how, when they came to
+Walsover, Rupert would be welcomed by every one, and would have his
+rightful name and place, and never again be poor and friendless and
+unhappy.
+
+But while Merrylips talked on, Rupert's face grew sober and more sober.
+At last he checked her, though gently.
+
+"But I must tell thee, Merrylips," he said hesitatingly. "'Twill not be
+so easy as thou dost think, and as I did think when I was a little boy.
+For after we fled from Larkland, we came unto Oxford, and there I took
+courage to tell my story once again unto a great magistrate.
+
+"This magistrate asked me questions: what was my father's Christian
+name? what was my mother's surname ere she was married? And I could
+not tell him, nor where I was born, nor by whom christened. And when I
+showed him the ring, he said, how could I prove that it had not been
+stolen and given to me, a peasant boy, to bring into England, if haply
+I might win money with a lying tale of my gentle birth. And he called
+me impostor and bade me begone out of Oxford, and threatened to take
+the ring from me.
+
+"So after that we said no more, Claus and I, for indeed it seemed
+hopeless. And we went into the king's army to win us bread till one day
+when I was older perhaps men would listen to me, or perhaps I might
+learn something further of my lost kinsfolk."
+
+"And so thou hast to-day!" cried Merrylips.
+
+"Ah, but will they believe me?" asked Rupert, wistfully. "Thou dost
+believe me, Merrylips, for thou art the kindest and truest little maid
+in all the world, and thou knowest I do not lie to thee. But will the
+grown folk believe me--thy godmother, and thy father, and thy brothers?
+Oh, Merrylips, dost think in truth that they will believe that I am son
+to Captain Lucas?"
+
+For one instant Merrylips hesitated. They were strange folk indeed, the
+grown folk. Even dear Lady Sybil had thought Claus and Rupert spies
+when they came, sick and weary, to Larkland. Even her brother Munn had
+looked on and smiled at the distress of the poor people at Storringham.
+They did not always believe and pity so quickly as did she, who was
+young and foolish. Maybe they would treat Rupert as that heartless
+magistrate at Oxford had treated him.
+
+But then Merrylips met Rupert's eyes, that had grown miserable with
+doubt in the moment while he saw her hesitate. So she hesitated no
+more. Laughing, she rose to her feet, and drew him up by the hand.
+
+"Word a' truth!" she cried in her stoutest voice. "They shall believe
+thee, Rupert. Come, let us be off this hour unto Walsover! They shall
+believe that thou art my godmother's nephew that was lost. And if they
+do not believe at first, why, Rupert, somehow we will win them to
+believe!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXVII
+
+                       HOW RUPERT WAS TOO CLEVER
+
+
+After all the wonders of the last hour, Merrylips and Rupert were keyed
+high with excitement. They felt as if they could walk right along and
+never tire until they came to Walsover. But before they had gone a mile
+they found that Master Robert Lucas and Mistress Sybil Venner were just
+as hungry and footsore as those little ragamuffins, Rupert Hinkel and
+Tibbott Venner, had ever been.
+
+They sat down at last under a hedge. Rupert pulled off his doublet and
+folded it about Merrylips, though she begged him keep it for himself.
+
+"I am hardier than thou," he said. "And I must care for thee tenderly,
+since thou art a little maid."
+
+"But I'm a boy," Merrylips answered. "Munn bade me be a boy, and so I
+still must be, unto all save thee, until I come among mine own people.
+So do not thou fret thyself for me, Rupert, for I am not cold nor am I
+overweary."
+
+They sat side by side and hand in hand while the twilight closed round
+them. Across the sombre fields they saw the small lights of a village
+kindle one by one. Then suddenly Rupert slapped his knee.
+
+"I've a plan!" he cried.
+
+Off he posted, and Merrylips was left alone in the dark. She watched
+the stars shine out above her, and called them by the names that Lady
+Sybil had taught her. Then she thought of Lady Sybil and of the joy
+that would be hers, when she saw her lost nephew. And in that thought
+she almost forgot that she was cold and hungry.
+
+It was late in the evening and the village lights were dimmed, when
+Rupert came stumbling back across the fields.
+
+"Here's bread," he panted, "a huge crusty piece, and a bit o' cold
+bacon, and two great apples, and I've a ha'penny besides, and one on
+'em gave me a sup of ale, but that I might not bear away. Now eat of
+the bread, Merrylips. Eat all thou wilt, for to-morrow we'll have more."
+
+"But how didst thou come by it, Rupert?" she asked.
+
+"Honestly, I warrant thee," he said, and then he laughed in a
+shamefaced manner.
+
+"I went unto the village alehouse, and I sang for the greasy clowns
+were sitting there. At Monksfield the officers said that I was a lusty
+lad at a catch. So when I sang and spoke up saucily, these rude
+fellows gave me of their food. So thou seest," he ended, "I've sung for
+thee at last, Merrylips, though at Monksfield I would not do't for the
+asking."
+
+Rupert joked and laughed about it bravely. But Merrylips knew that, in
+plain words, he had gone a-begging to get food for them.
+
+It was the first time, even in his rough life, that Rupert had had to
+do a thing that was so hateful to his pride, but it was not the last
+time. They had to have food, those two poor little travellers, and they
+had no money with which to buy it. So time after time Rupert did the
+only thing that he could do. He slipped into a farmyard or a lonely
+alehouse, and there, with his songs and his pert speeches, he got now a
+piece of bread, and now a ha'penny, and now, far oftener than he told
+Merrylips, only cuffs and curses for his pains.
+
+While Rupert went on these risky errands, Merrylips hid in the fields.
+But one afternoon, when she was seated under a straw-stack, she was
+found by the surly farmer that owned the field. He shook her as soundly
+as ever a little boy was shaken, and threatened to set his dog upon
+her. After that Rupert thought it best not to leave her alone, but to
+take her with him wherever he went.
+
+He was sorry to do this. He feared that she might be hurt or frightened
+by the rough men among whom he had to go. He feared too lest the sight
+of such a young lad as she seemed, might make people ask questions. And
+just then he was very eager to escape notice.
+
+They were now drawing near to the rebel lines, which they must cross,
+if they would ever reach Walsover. To north of them lay the town of
+Ryeborough, which was held for the Parliament by Robert Fowell, Lord
+Caversham. It was a walled town with a castle,--a strong place, from
+which bands of rebels went scouting through the countryside.
+
+This much Rupert had learned in the alehouses. And he and Merrylips
+remembered, too, that it was from Ryeborough that men and guns had been
+sent to the siege of Monksfield. They feared the very name of the town,
+and they would have been glad to slip from one hiding-place to another,
+and never show themselves to any one, till they had left it long miles
+behind them.
+
+But they could not keep on marching, unless they had food to eat. And
+in order to get food, they must go where people were. And since the
+cross farmer had frightened Merrylips, they felt that they must go
+together. So after some hours of hunger they screwed up their courage,
+and late of a chill afternoon limped, side by side, into a hamlet of
+thatched cottages that was called Long Wesselford.
+
+"Be not feared!" Rupert whispered to Merrylips, as they passed slowly
+down the village street. "There are no soldiers here, for I questioned
+yesternight at the alehouse. Indeed I have been wary! Now do thou keep
+mum and let me talk for both. And perchance, an we get a penny, we'll
+spend it for a night's lodging, and lie beneath a roof for once."
+
+"That would like me mightily!" sighed Merrylips.
+
+In spite of herself she shivered in her worn clothes. Up to that time
+the weather had been mercifully mild, but now the night was falling
+wintry cold. The puddles in the road were scummed with ice, and in the
+air was a raw chill that searched the very marrow of the bones.
+
+Halfway down the street the two children found that a stone had got
+into Merrylips' shoe. So they sat down on the doorstep of a cottage
+that was larger than the others, while Rupert untied the shoe-lace and
+shook out the stone. They were just ready to rise and trudge on, when
+behind them they heard the door of the cottage flung open.
+
+Out stepped a big, blowzy young woman that made Merrylips think of
+Mawkin. Before they could rise and run away, she was bending over them.
+
+"Whither beest thou going, sweetheart?" she asked Merrylips.
+
+Rupert looked surprised. You may be sure that he was not spoken to in
+that kindly way, when he went alone into the village alehouses! But
+Rupert was almost thirteen, and looked a hardy little fellow, while
+Merrylips, in her ragged boy's dress, did not seem over nine years old,
+and she looked tired and piteous besides.
+
+So the blowzy woman did perhaps what any woman would have done, when
+she took Merrylips by the hand and drew her into the cottage. Merrylips
+went meekly, because the woman was so large and determined, and Rupert
+went because Merrylips went.
+
+Almost before they knew how they had come there, they both were seated
+in a warm chimney-corner, in a well-scoured kitchen. They had a big
+bowl of porridge to share between them, and the blowzy woman and her
+old father, who had sat nodding by the fire, were asking them a heap of
+questions.
+
+Merrylips ate the hot porridge in silence, but Rupert told the story
+that he had planned to tell.
+
+"My name is called Hal Smith," he said glibly, "and this is my cousin
+John. And we were put to school down in the Weald of Sussex, but we
+are fain to fight the--the Cavaliers--" he tried hard to say "wicked
+Cavaliers," but in that he failed utterly--"so we have quitted the
+school and are bound unto the army."
+
+"Lawk! The brave little hearts! Didst ever hear the like?" cried the
+woman, and filled their bowl afresh.
+
+But the old father chuckled.
+
+"Runaways, I's wager!" said he. "Pack 'em back to their schoolmaster,
+Daughter Polly."
+
+Of such a danger Rupert had never dreamed. For the first time he saw
+now that any grown folk would surely try to send them back to the
+school about which he had made up his clever story. He had told one fib
+from choice, and he found now, as often happens, that he must tell many
+more from necessity.
+
+"Nay, we are no runaways," he said, and he spoke fast and trembled a
+little. "Our cousin Smith hath sent for us--he that is our guardian. He
+is with the Parliament army. 'Tis to him we are going."
+
+"And where might 'a be serving, this kinsman Smith ye speak of?"
+croaked Polly's old father.
+
+Rupert wished to answer promptly, as if it were the truth that he told.
+So he spoke the first word that came into his head.
+
+"At Ryeborough," he said. "'Tis at Ryeborough our kinsman Smith doth
+serve. Ay, and we must lose no time in going unto him. Come, up wi'
+thee, John, and let us trudge!"
+
+He slipped from his seat, and caught Merrylips' hand. He was no less
+eager than she to be safe out of the cottage.
+
+But as the two children rose, they saw, for the first time, a tall
+young man in a smock frock, who was standing in the outer doorway. He
+must have heard every word that they had said, for he and the blowzy
+woman, Polly, were looking at each other wisely.
+
+"Didst hear him say Ryeborough, Brother Kit?" cried Polly. "'Tis happy
+chance they came to us this hour, poor dears!"
+
+"Ay, happy chance indeed!" the young man said, and clapped Rupert on
+the shoulder.
+
+"Come, my fine cock!" he cried. "What say ye to riding to your
+journey's end, instead of shogging on your two feet?"
+
+"I--I would be beholden unto no one!" stammered Rupert, in great alarm.
+"Let us go, sir!"
+
+He fairly pleaded, and Merrylips, who was frightened to see him
+frightened, bit her lip and tried not to cry.
+
+"Thou seest, Kit, the little one is near forspent, poor lamb!" said
+kindly Polly, and stroked Merrylips' tumbled hair.
+
+"Don't 'ee be afeard now, pretty!" she comforted. "'Tis no trouble
+ye'll be to my brother Kit. He is drawing two wain-loads of
+horse-litter to Ryeborough this night. He'll find space to stow ye in
+the wain, all snug and cosey, and in the morn ye'll be safe with your
+cousin Smith."
+
+"I ha' seen him in Ryeborough market-place," said Kit. "Smith! 'Tis a
+thick-set fellow, and serveth in my lord's own troop of carabineers."
+
+When Rupert and Merrylips heard this, they were filled with terror. But
+they had to look pleased. They dared not do anything else. If they were
+to say now that they did not wish to go to Ryeborough, that they had
+no kinsman named Smith, and that all of Rupert's story was a lie, they
+were sure that they should suffer some dreadful punishment.
+
+In sorry silence they took the penny and the gingerbread that kind
+Polly gave them. They shuffled out into the raw, chill twilight of the
+street. They found that already the great wains had rumbled up and were
+halted at the door. They saw no help for it, so they let themselves be
+lifted up by Brother Kit and the stout carters, and placed among the
+sheaves of straw beneath an old horse-blanket.
+
+"Have an eye to 'em, Kit Woolgar!" Polly called from the doorway, where
+she stood with a cloak wrapped about her. "And don't 'ee let 'em down
+till 'ee come to Ryeborough, else they'll perish by the way."
+
+And to Rupert and Merrylips she called:--
+
+"Good speed to ye, Hal Smith, and little John! Your troubles all are
+ended now, dear hearts!"
+
+But Rupert and Merrylips, with their faces turned to the dreaded town
+of rebel Ryeborough, thought that in very truth their troubles were
+just beginning.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+                          IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP
+
+
+While the wain jolted through the stiffening mire, Rupert and Merrylips
+whispered together. They agreed that at the first chance they would
+scramble down noiselessly from the wain and run away, before Kit
+Woolgar could stop them. But they would not make this brave dash just
+yet, for a great white moon was staring in the sky, and the road was
+running through open fields, where they might easily be seen and hunted
+down.
+
+"We will wait," said Rupert, "till the night weareth late and is dark,
+and the carters are sleepy and forget to watch us. No doubt, too, the
+road will lead presently among trees, where we may hide ourselves. Ay,
+we shall do wisely to wait."
+
+That would have been a very prudent course, but for one thing, on which
+Master Rupert had not counted. Late in the evening, when the moon was
+setting, and the time for escape seemed near at hand, they came to a
+crossway. There they were joined by three more wains, and guarding
+these wains, and ready to guard them, too, was a little squad of
+Roundhead troopers.
+
+While those big, grim men rode alongside the wains, Rupert and
+Merrylips knew that it was useless to think of escape. So they gave up
+hope, and cuddled down amongst the straw, beneath the horse-blanket.
+
+[Illustration: RUPERT AND MERRYLIPS KNEW IT WAS USELESS TO THINK OF
+ESCAPE.]
+
+They wondered, in whispers, what they should do next day when they were
+handed over to the thick-set Smith, who served at Ryeborough. Surely,
+they should be known at once as no kinsmen of his! Then perhaps they
+should be judged to be spies, because they had told false stories. And
+spies--were not spies always hanged?
+
+In their fright they thought that they should lie awake till daybreak.
+But they were so tired that they were lulled by the padding of the
+horse-hoofs and the creaking of the wheels. And before they knew it,
+they both fell fast asleep.
+
+When they woke, a cold, wintry light was gleaming all about them. The
+wain in which they sat was just rumbling over a bridge. Beneath the
+bridge ran black water, which all along its banks was fringed with
+crispy ice. At the farther end of the bridge the stone walls of a
+castle stood up grimly against the sky.
+
+"'Tis Ryeborough!" whispered Rupert. "And 'tis neck or nothing now! So
+soon as we are set upon the ground, we must run for't!"
+
+They passed through a narrow, arched gateway in the massive wall,
+where sentinels kept watch. They came into a steep street, which ran
+between high houses that shut out the sun. Up one street and down
+another they rumbled.
+
+Everywhere, it seemed to them, they saw soldiers, on foot and on
+horseback, officers and men. They heard, now near, now far, the blare
+of trumpets and the roll of drums. On the footway girls went laughing
+by, and at their breasts they wore knots of orange ribbon, the color of
+the Parliament. Always the great bulk of the castle loomed against the
+sky, and from its highest tower drooped a banner that in the sunlight
+gleamed the hue of orange.
+
+In the very heart of the rebel town, after so many twistings and
+turnings that it was hard to say how they had come there, the wains
+halted in a dirty courtyard, near some gaunt stables. The soldiers of
+the escort swung heavily from their saddles. The carters clambered down
+and began to unhitch the steaming horses.
+
+"Down wi' ye, lads!" sang out Kit Woolgar, cheerily. "Else ye'll be
+cast into the stalls forthwith!"
+
+All a-tremble, Merrylips clambered over the trusses of straw and let
+herself down into Woolgar's arms.
+
+"Nigh frozen, art thou?" the young man said. "Do 'ee but wait, and
+speedily I'll get thee a swig of something hot, my youngster."
+
+As he spoke, Woolgar took his hand from Merrylips and turned to look to
+his horses. In that moment Rupert caught her arm.
+
+"Run!" he whispered. "Quick! 'Tis our one chance."
+
+Like frightened hares they darted toward the entrance of the courtyard.
+They slipped on the frosty cobbles. They stumbled, for they were
+cramped and stiff with lying still so long. Behind them they heard men
+shout, and at that sound they ran the faster.
+
+Outside the gate they dived into a narrow alley. At the farther end was
+a wall, over which they flung themselves. Beyond the wall were squalid
+courts, and frost-nipped gardens, and walls, and more walls.
+
+At last they halted in a damp courtyard. They were too spent to run
+a step farther. They crept into a great empty cask, which lay on its
+side among some rubbish against a blank wall. There they crouched and
+waited, while they listened for the coming of pursuers.
+
+They heard no sound, but long after they had got breath again they
+stayed in their hiding-place. They ate Polly Woolgar's gingerbread,
+and still they were very hungry. They found it cold, too, in that damp
+court. And because they were hungry and cold they could not stay there
+forever. About the middle of the afternoon they crawled out of the
+cask, and with hearts in their mouths stole into the streets of the
+rebel town.
+
+"If we ask questions," said Rupert, "they'll know us for strangers. So
+we'll make as if we knew the way, and stroll about like idle boys, and
+in time we'll hit upon a gate. And then mayhap we can slip through it
+into the open country."
+
+Merrylips smiled unsteadily. She felt as if she could not breathe until
+she was outside of the rebel town. She kept tight hold of Rupert's
+hand, and whenever they met a Roundhead soldier, pressed closer to
+Rupert's side.
+
+They had threaded a maze of little lanes that were overhung with dingy
+houses, and now they came into the pale sunlight of an open space. In
+the middle of this space stood a market-cross, and at the right a steep
+street wound upward to the castle.
+
+"Sure, here's the centre of things!" Rupert began joyfully. "Now I will
+take my bearings. Cheerly, Merrylips! We'll soon be clear o' this coil."
+
+Right in the middle of his brave words, he stopped, with his lips
+parted and his eyes wide. Merrylips looked up in great fright. There
+by the market-cross, not twenty paces from them, a group of men were
+lounging, and one of them was a tall young fellow in a smock frock.
+
+"'Tis Kit Woolgar himself!" whispered Rupert. "Quick, ere he see us!
+Turn in at this door!"
+
+Right beside them, as Rupert's quick eye had noted, a door stood open.
+Over it hung a board, on which was painted a spotted dog, and a bush
+of evergreen, which meant that wine was sold inside. The house was
+a tavern, then, and it was called the Spotted Dog. A rough place it
+seemed, but Rupert and Merrylips were glad of any port in storm.
+
+Hurriedly they turned in at the open door. They went down a flagged
+passage. They stepped into a low-ceiled taproom. There, on benches by
+the fire, lounged a half-dozen burly musketeers, who wore the colors of
+the Parliament.
+
+At the mere sight of the enemy, Merrylips shrank back, but Rupert
+tightened his hold on her hand. He knew that there was no retreat for
+them now. With head up, he marched across the sanded floor, and halted
+at the bar.
+
+"A penny 'orth o' beer, sirrah, and see that thou dost skink it
+handsomely!" he said to the tapster, in his most manlike voice.
+
+Some among the soldiers chuckled, and the tapster grinned, as he handed
+Rupert the can of beer for which he had called. But Rupert bore himself
+manfully. He clanged down the one penny that Polly had given him, and
+then he strode to a bench. There he sat down and made Merrylips sit
+beside him.
+
+"Drink slowly," he bade beneath his breath. "By the time we are done,
+Kit Woolgar haply will be gone, and we can slip forth again in safety."
+
+But Merrylips had scarcely taken a sup of the beer, when one of the
+soldiers sauntered toward them.
+
+"By your coat, master, I judge ye are come hither to join our ranks,"
+he said.
+
+His voice was grave, but his eyes were laughing. Clearly he did not
+think Rupert so much of a man as Merrylips thought him.
+
+Rupert flushed and took a swallow of beer, and Merrylips hung her head,
+but they could not hope to escape by keeping silent. The soldiers were
+idle and ready for sport. So they began to chaff the two children,
+roughly, but not altogether ill-humoredly. Like it or not, Rupert had
+to answer, but after his experience at Polly Woolgar's he was slow to
+make up stories.
+
+"We are come hither to fight, yes," he muttered. "To fight for the
+Parliament."
+
+"Good Parliament men, eh?" struck in one hulking fellow.
+
+All of a sudden he caught Merrylips by the shoulders and stood her on
+her feet. He thrust the can of beer into her hands.
+
+"Where's your civility, bantling?" said he. "Will ye wet your throat,
+and never a pious wish for the cause ye follow? Drink it off, come!
+Heaven speed the Parliament, and down wi' the wicked king!"
+
+Merrylips had raised the can to her mouth. She was too startled to
+dream of anything, except to obey. But as she heard those last words,
+she stopped and across the rim stared at the man.
+
+[Illustration: SHE STOPPED AND ACROSS THE RIM STARED AT THE
+MAN.]
+
+She had thought that she was going to drink. She feared that Rupert,
+who spoke so glibly of fighting for the Parliament, might think it like
+a girl, if she should refuse. But, in that second, while she faced the
+big musketeer in that dingy taproom, she seemed to stand in her own
+chamber at Larkland, in the fair days before ever Will Lowry came, and
+she seemed to hear Lady Sybil speak:--
+
+"I would have thee more than a man, my Merrylips. I would have thee a
+gentleman."
+
+A gentleman! Surely a gentleman would not deny the cause that he
+served, no, not even to save his life!
+
+Merrylips breathed fast. She felt the heart leaping in her throat, but
+she thought of Lady Sybil.
+
+"I cannot drink it, sir! I will not drink!" she cried, and let the can
+fall clattering from her hold.
+
+"Will not?" the fellow shouted.
+
+She felt his grasp tighten on her arm. She knew that he meant to
+strike her. But before the blow had time to fall, Rupert had thrust
+himself in front of her.
+
+"Do not you touch him!" he cried in a quavering voice. "'A is too
+little! Ye shall not touch him."
+
+"Let the brat drink that pledge. 'Tis a good pledge!" cried one.
+
+"Faith, you shall drink it yourself, you pestilence meddler!" said the
+fellow who had first laid hold of Merrylips.
+
+He turned from her and caught Rupert by the arm. Some one gave him a
+cup of ale, and he thrust it into Rupert's hand.
+
+"Down with it!" he ordered. "Drink! To the devil wi' false King
+Charles!"
+
+Rupert had talked lightly enough of how he should pass himself off for
+a Roundhead. But now that the time had come, he hesitated. Then his
+face turned gray and set, as it had been on the day when Lieutenant
+Digby had bidden him sing.
+
+"Drink!" the Roundhead bade again.
+
+"I'll see you dead first!" Rupert cried. "I am no rebel!"
+
+Merrylips threw her arm across her eyes. In very truth she thought
+that Rupert would be killed. She heard men cry out, and she heard them
+laugh. The sound of their laughter seemed to her more terrible than
+any threats.
+
+One shouted, "Make him drink now!"
+
+Then Rupert cried shrilly, "Away wi' thee, Merrylips! Run! The window!"
+
+Right beside Merrylips a casement stood open. She looked toward it, but
+she did not stir. She wondered how Rupert could think that she would
+run away and leave him.
+
+Beyond the casement she saw the sun slanting peacefully upon the
+market-place, and through the sunlight she saw a horseman go ambling.
+He wore a bandage round his head, and in the strong light his chestnut
+hair was ruddy, like her brother Munn's.
+
+It all happened in a second. Before the noise of laughter and Rupert's
+shrill cry had ceased, she had leaped on a bench beneath the window
+and cast herself over the sill. She fell upon the cobbles without. She
+sprang up and ran stumbling across the market-place.
+
+As she ran, she screamed. She heard her own voice, thin, like a voice
+in a nightmare:--
+
+"Dick Fowell! Oh, Dick Fowell! Help! Help! Help!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIX
+
+                           A FRIEND IN NEED
+
+
+For a long time after, indeed until she was a grown woman, Merrylips
+used to dream of that run across the market-place. She would wake all
+breathless and trembling with fear lest she might not reach Dick Fowell.
+
+Truly it seemed as if she never could make him hear. He was riding with
+his face to the front, headed for the street that led upward to the
+castle, and in the clatter of his horse's hoofs he heard no other sound.
+
+But Merrylips screamed with all her might, and the men lounging by the
+market-cross raised their voices too, and some idle boys took up the
+cry. Through the haze that wavered before her eyes, she saw Fowell
+check his horse and turn in the saddle. She reeled forward, and caught
+and clung to his stirrup.
+
+"Rupert! Rupert!" she wailed. "They're killing him--yonder at the
+Spotted Dog! Oh, they're killing Rupert!"
+
+Somebody snatched her out of harm's way, as Dick Fowell swung his
+horse about. She saw him go galloping across the market-place, and
+she staggered after him. She felt a grasp on her arm, and she saw that
+it was Kit Woolgar who was holding her up. But she was past being
+surprised or frightened at anything.
+
+She did not remember how she had crossed the market-place. She was
+at the door of the Spotted Dog, and beside it she saw Dick Fowell's
+horse, with the saddle empty and a potboy holding the bridle. She was
+stumbling down the flagged passage. She had pitched into the taproom.
+There, on a bench, in the midst of the little group of musketeers, who
+were far from laughing now, sat Dick Fowell, and Rupert leaned against
+his arm.
+
+Rupert was white about the mouth, and he had one sleeve torn from his
+doublet. He was drinking from a cup that Fowell held to his lips, and
+he steadied it with a hand that shook a great deal. Between swallows he
+caught his breath, with a sobbing sound.
+
+Merrylips ran to his side and threw her arms about him.
+
+"I thought they would ha' slain thee!" she gasped.
+
+"They did--no such thing!" answered Rupert, jerkily.
+
+He shifted himself from Dick Fowell's hold and sat up, with his arm
+about her.
+
+"And I blacked--one fellow's eye for him--the scurvy rogue! And I
+didn't--drink for none on 'em! And we're both--king's men!" he ended,
+lifting his face to Dick Fowell. "And you can hang us--if you will! And
+we're not afeard! And God save the king!"
+
+"God save the king!" quavered Merrylips.
+
+And then they clung to each other, and wondered what would happen to
+them.
+
+Kit Woolgar began to talk, and the idlers and the tavern folk, who
+had crowded into the room, began to question and exclaim. But Dick
+Fowell bade them be silent, and in the silence he spoke briefly to the
+musketeers. Merrylips hoped that never in her life should she be spoken
+to by any one in a voice like that. When he had said the little that
+was to be said to men that found their sport in bullying children, he
+dismissed them, with a promise to speak further to their captain.
+
+Then Fowell turned to Kit Woolgar and bade him tell his story. And
+Woolgar told how he had taken up the two children at Long Wesselford,
+and how they had slipped from him, and all the false tale with which
+they had cheated him. At that Merrylips remembered how kind Polly and
+Kit had been, and how she and Rupert had deceived them, and she blushed
+and hung her head for shame.
+
+"Truth," said Fowell, when the tale was ended, "I must be that kinsman
+Smith whom these young ones sought in Ryeborough--eh, Tibbott Venner?"
+
+"You're merry, sir," replied Woolgar. "You're no carabineer in my
+lord's troop. You're my lord Caversham's son, and well I know your
+honor."
+
+"In any case," said Fowell, "I'll charge me with the custody of these
+two arrant king's men."
+
+He gave Woolgar money for his pains in bringing the children thither.
+Then he picked Merrylips up in his arms, and bidding Rupert follow,
+walked through the midst of the people and out of the tavern. There in
+the market-place he hailed a mounted trooper who was passing.
+
+"Take this boy up behind you," he said, pointing to Rupert, "and follow
+me unto the castle."
+
+Then he set Merrylips on his own horse and mounted behind her. In
+such fashion they all four headed up the narrow street, beyond the
+market-place, that led to the very heart of the rebel stronghold.
+
+As they went, Fowell asked Merrylips to tell him truly how she came
+there, and she told him everything: how she and Rupert had been sent
+from Monksfield to save their lives on the eve of the last assault; how
+they had failed to get aid at King's Slynton; how they had wandered
+up and down the country; and by what bad luck they had been sent to
+Ryeborough, where of all places in the world they least wished to be.
+
+"And we ha' walked so far, and fared so hard," she ended sorrowfully,
+"and now here we be, prisoners at the last."
+
+"Sure, thou dost not think that I would be a harsh jailer unto thee,
+Tibbott?" Fowell asked.
+
+Merrylips said "No!" but her voice was not quite steady.
+
+This fine young officer, in his gay coat, with his sword swinging at
+his side, and his horse prancing beneath him, was very different from
+the broken, blood-stained fellow that she had tended in the wash-house
+at Monksfield. She could not be quite sure that he was indeed the same
+man and her friend.
+
+It was useless for Dick Fowell to try to set her at ease. He talked of
+things that he thought might interest her. He told how he had been sent
+to Ryeborough, right after his exchange, to mend his broken head. He
+told her good news of her friends at Monksfield.
+
+For after Colonel Hatcher had assaulted the house for two days, he
+had received unlooked-for orders to make terms with Captain Norris,
+so that he might be free to carry his Roundhead soldiers to another
+place, where they were sorely needed. So although Colonel Hatcher had
+taken the house, he had taken it by treaty, not by assault. And he had
+granted honorable terms to Captain Norris and let him go away with his
+followers into the west. So very likely many of Merrylips' old friends
+had come alive and unharmed from the siege.
+
+But even this good news Merrylips only half listened to. She was gazing
+up at the vast walls under which they rode and the gateways through
+which they passed. She shivered as she thought how like a prison was
+this great castle of Ryeborough.
+
+Dick Fowell drew rein at last in a little gravelled court, in front
+of a great house. It would have been a pleasant dwelling-place, if
+the walls of the castle had not hemmed it round on every side. A
+serving-man came bustling to take the horse, another lifted Merrylips
+to the ground, and as Fowell himself dismounted, a corporal of dragoons
+hurried forward and spoke to him in a low voice.
+
+Scarcely had Fowell heard three sentences when he laughed and glanced
+at Merrylips.
+
+"Faith," said he, "this falleth pat as a stage-play! You say yonder,
+corporal?"
+
+The man nodded, and pointed to the stone gatehouse by which they had
+entered the court.
+
+"Ten minutes hence, then," bade Fowell, "send him unto me in the long
+parlor."
+
+When he had dismissed the corporal, Fowell took Merrylips by the hand,
+and motioned to Rupert to walk at his side.
+
+"Since you are not afraid of what we may do to you," he said, smiling
+down at Rupert.
+
+Neither Rupert nor Merrylips felt much like smiling, but they went
+obediently whither they were led. They entered the great house, and
+found themselves in a dim entrance hall, where one or two lackeys were
+loitering, and a trooper in muddy boots stood waiting on the hearth.
+At the farther end of the hall was a door, and when Fowell had brought
+them to it, he halted them on the threshold.
+
+"Now wait you here like good lads for one minute," he said, "and seek
+not to run away a second time, for I am not Kit Woolgar."
+
+He smiled as he said this, but there was something in his eyes that
+made even Rupert think it would not be well to disobey him.
+
+So Rupert and Merrylips stood waiting, while Dick Fowell went into the
+next room. He left the door ajar behind him, and they could not help
+hearing something of what was said inside.
+
+Almost at once they heard a woman cry indignantly:--
+
+"Art thou stark mad, Dick? To think that I, forsooth, would look upon
+a brace of wretched malignants that thou hast taken prisoner! Why hast
+thou brought such fellows hither? Is thy father's house to be made a
+bridewell?"
+
+Then they caught the murmur of Fowell's words but not their sense, and
+after that they heard a girl's voice say:--
+
+"Sure, Dick must have reason for this that he doth ask."
+
+Then another merry young voice struck in:--
+
+"Are these prisoners of thine very desperate rogues to look on, Dick?"
+
+"Why," said Fowell, slowly, "they've neither of them shaved for some
+days, and they're travel-stained, and ragged thereto, yet I'll go bail
+they will not fright you sorely. Shall I bid them in, good mother?"
+
+A nod of assent must have been given, for next minute, though no word
+had been spoken, Fowell pushed the door wide.
+
+"Come you in, you two desperate malignants!" he said, and his eyes were
+dancing with the jest that he was playing upon his mother.
+
+Rupert and Merrylips stole quietly into the room. It was a long parlor,
+with lozenge-shaped panes in the windows and faded tapestry upon the
+walls. Midway of the room, by a cheery fire, sat a portly, middle-aged
+gentlewoman in a gown of silk tabby. Near her two young girls, with
+chestnut hair, were busy with embroidery frames.
+
+At sight of the two children all three exclaimed aloud.
+
+"Dick, thou varlet!" cried the old gentlewoman.
+
+"Are these your ruffian Cavaliers?" said the elder, and taller, of the
+two girls.
+
+But the younger, a sweet, rosy lass, of much the same age as Merrylips'
+own sister Puss, sprang to her feet.
+
+"Why," she cried, "'tis surely the little lad whereof Dick told us--the
+child that tended him that black night at Monksfield. Oh, mother! Look
+at his shoes, all worn to rags! Oh, poor little sweetheart!"
+
+She came straight to Merrylips, and bent and would have kissed her,
+but Merrylips threw up her elbow, just like a bad-mannered little boy.
+Somehow, before these folk, who were gentlewomen, like her godmother,
+she felt ashamed of her boy's dress, as she had never been among men,
+and she longed to hide her head.
+
+While Merrylips stood shrinking at Rupert's side, she saw that Fowell
+whispered something to the older girl, who laughed aloud.
+
+"Verily, thou art a gallant master of revels, Dick!" she cried, and in
+her turn came rustling to Merrylips.
+
+"If thou wilt kiss me, master," she said, "I will tell thee something
+should please thee mightily. Guess whom thou shalt see this hour--ay,
+this moment! And thank my brother for't."
+
+Merrylips peered over her elbow at Dick Fowell.
+
+"Oh, surely," she faltered, "'tis never--"
+
+"Did I not tell thee I'd requite thy kindness, Tibbott?" said Dick
+Fowell. "Look yonder, laddie, and tell me have I kept my word?"
+
+Merrylips saw the door to the parlor swing open. For a moment she dared
+not look. She was afraid that he who entered might not be the one whom
+with all her heart she prayed that she might see.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXX
+
+                        TO PUT IT TO THE TOUCH
+
+
+At last Merrylips gathered courage to look. Then she saw that just
+inside the door stood a young man, who blinked as if he had newly come
+from a dark place.
+
+He looked worn and tired. He seemed to have slept in his clothes. His
+coat, an old one, was too big for him, and his hair was dishevelled,
+and his face unshaven. But for all his sorry attire and his altered
+face, Merrylips knew him.
+
+"Munn! Oh, my brother Munn!" she cried.
+
+She flew across the room and cast her two arms about the young man, who
+caught her to him and crushed her in a grip that fairly hurt.
+
+"Merrylips!" he said in a shaky voice. "'Tis never Merrylips! How
+comest thou here? Why art thou still in that dress--"
+
+"I promised!" Merrylips answered. "I told no one, save only Rupert. I
+kept my promise, indeed I kept it, Munn!"
+
+If Munn had been younger, Merrylips would have thought that there were
+tears in his eyes, as he looked down at her.
+
+"All these days," he said slowly, "among men--and used as a boy--and
+through my blame! Merrylips, thou poor little wench!"
+
+"Come, come, Venner!" Dick Fowell's voice struck in, as he bent over
+the two. "Sure, man, your days in prison have clouded your wits. Do you
+not know your own brother, Tibbott?"
+
+"Brother?" retorted Munn, in a high tone that sounded like his old
+self. "'Tis you are crazed, sir. This is my young sister, Sybil Venner."
+
+Now if ever a young man who enjoyed surprising other folk, was neatly
+served, that young man was Lieutenant Dick Fowell. He stared at
+Merrylips, and rubbed his forehead, as if he could trust neither his
+eyes nor his ears.
+
+The elder of the two girls broke into laughter and clapped her hands.
+
+"Oh, Dick, thou shalt never hear the last of this!" she cried.
+
+But the other girl looked at Merrylips, and she seemed ready to weep.
+
+"Poor little lass!" she murmured.
+
+Then up stood Lady Caversham, in her gown of silk tabby.
+
+"Give that child unto me!" she said.
+
+She came across the room and without asking leave of any one, took
+Merrylips out of Munn's arms.
+
+Merrylips found herself sitting in Lady Caversham's lap, in a great
+chair by the hearth. The blaze of the fire winked and blurred through
+the tears that came fast to her eyes--why, she could not tell.
+
+"Oh!" she said. "I'm glad Munn told you. I'm wearied o' being a boy.
+I'm a little girl--a girl!"
+
+With that she dropped her head on Lady Caversham's kind breast and
+cried as in all her life she had never cried before.
+
+When Merrylips next took note of what went on round her, the younger
+girl was kneeling by her and loosing the broken shoes from her feet.
+The older girl was hovering near with a cup of wine, and as for good
+Lady Caversham, in the pauses of soothing Merrylips as if she were a
+baby, she was scolding Munn. Munn looked puzzled, and Dick Fowell, who
+stood near him, had for once not a single word to say.
+
+"Had you no wit at all?" said Lady Caversham to Munn. "Hush thee,
+precious child!" she spoke in quite a different tone to Merrylips. "To
+set this poor little tender maid in boy's dress and cast her among rude
+men! 'Tis all well now, poor little heart! Whilst you went about your
+riotous pleasures--"
+
+At that Dick Fowell and Munn exchanged nervous grins. Lady Caversham
+was a good woman, but sorely misinformed, if she thought riotous
+pleasures were to be found in a Roundhead prison.
+
+"No man can say what harm might have befallen her," Lady Caversham went
+on. "Cry, if 'twill ease thee, sweeting, but thou hast now no cause to
+weep! If you were son of mine, sirrah, I would cause you to repent this
+piece of stark folly. Come, honey, 'tis rest and quiet thou dost need."
+
+Up got Lady Caversham, with Merrylips still clasped in her arms.
+
+"Let me take him, mother," offered Dick Fowell. "Her, I should say."
+
+Lady Caversham waved him aside.
+
+"Methinks she hath been left long enough to the tendance of men," she
+said. "And blind as an owl thou must have been, Son Dick, not to have
+known her for a little maid."
+
+So Merrylips was borne away. She would have been glad to speak further
+with her brother Munn, but she felt too tired to ask that favor. She
+let herself be carried to an upper chamber, and there she was undressed
+and bathed and wrapped in fresh linen and laid in a soft bed.
+
+When she was cosey among the pillows, the older girl, Betteris,
+brought her a goblet of warm milk, and the younger girl, Allison, fed
+her with morsels of white bread and of roasted chicken. They would
+scarcely let the waiting-women touch her. It seemed as if they could
+not do enough for the little girl who in pity had helped their brother
+Dick in his time of need.
+
+Merrylips felt sure that now all would be well with her, and with
+Rupert, and with Munn. So she fell gently asleep, and when she woke,
+the sunlight was shining in the room.
+
+Allison and Betteris came in to see her soon. When they found her
+awake, Allison brought her bread and honey, and milk to drink. She told
+her, while she ate, that a gown was being made for her from one that
+was her own, and to-morrow, when it was ready, she should rise and
+dress and run about once more.
+
+While Allison was talking, Betteris came into the chamber again, and
+with her was Munn. Only he was now clean and shaven and wore a coat of
+Dick Fowell's and a fresh shirt, so that, for all that his face was
+thinner than it used to be, he looked himself again.
+
+Presently the two young girls stole from the room, and Merrylips and
+Munn were left together. What a talk they had, while he sat upon the
+bed and held her two hands fast, as if he were afraid to let her go!
+
+Munn told Merrylips how he and Stephen Plasket had been made prisoners
+at Loxford, and how troubled he had been for her, when he thought about
+her, there at Monksfield, with never a friend to help her. In the hope
+of getting to her, he and Stephen had tried to escape, when they were
+being taken under guard to London. Stephen had got away, but he himself
+had been retaken. After that he had been closely guarded, and not
+over-tenderly treated, Merrylips guessed, but of that part Munn would
+not speak.
+
+Then he told her how puzzled he had been, when an order came to the
+prison where he had been placed that he should be sent to Ryeborough.
+He confessed that he had been much afraid lest he should be brought
+before Will Lowry, and made to answer for carrying off Merrylips and
+using Herbert so roughly.
+
+In that fear he had passed several unhappy hours, a prisoner in the
+gatehouse of Ryeborough castle. And then he had been ordered into the
+long parlor, and there he had found Merrylips.
+
+"A rare fright Lieutenant Fowell set me in, with all this precious
+mystery," Munn grumbled. "But of a truth I owe him too much to grudge
+that he should have his sport. For he is right friendly, thanks to
+his old comradeship with Longkin and the affection that he hath to
+the little lad he thought thee. So he holdeth me here, a prisoner
+on parole, and through my lord Caversham thinketh soon to give me in
+exchange for one of their own officers."
+
+In her turn Merrylips told Munn all her adventures and all the kindness
+that she had met with at Monksfield. She told him everything, except
+the greatest thing of all--that Rupert was nephew to Lady Sybil
+Fernefould.
+
+For when Merrylips spoke Rupert's name, and asked how he fared, and why
+was he not come, too, to speak with her, Munn stiffened a little. In a
+careless voice he said:--
+
+"That little horseboy, Hinkel? Ay, to be sure, he hath served thee
+fairly. A brisk lad, no doubt! Our father will reward him handsomely."
+
+So Merrylips said no more about Rupert. But after Munn had left her,
+she thought about him. She wondered, with a sinking heart, if indeed
+Rupert had been in the right, when he had said it would be hard work to
+make the grown folk believe his story.
+
+While she lay wondering, and perhaps dozing a little, in bustled pretty
+Betteris Fowell.
+
+"Art waking, Tibbott-Merrylips?" she cried. "Then art thou well enough
+to rise? Here's my father is fain to have a sight of the little maid
+that footed it, like a little lad, from Monksfield unto Ryeborough."
+
+"But I've no clothes," Merrylips said sadly, for indeed she longed to
+get up.
+
+"And so said my sister Allison and my lady mother," Betteris replied.
+"But my father said surely thy boy's dress was seemly to-day as it was
+yesterday, and vowed he'd see thee in that same attire. So up with
+thee, and be a lad again!"
+
+Now that she was well rested, Merrylips thought it would be sport to be
+a boy once more, for a little while. She scrambled laughing from the
+bed, and as if it were a masking frolic, she dressed, with Betteris to
+help her. She put on a little clean smock and stockings, and the ruddy
+brown doublet and breeches. They had been neatly brushed, so that they
+did not look so much like the clothes of a beggar child. Last of all,
+she put on her warlike little leather jerkin, and then she felt herself
+a lad again.
+
+Quite gallantly, Merrylips left the chamber at Betteris's side, but on
+the staircase she paused.
+
+"Where is Rupert?" she said. "For 'twas Rupert brought us hither. He
+found the way, and won us food, and was brave when the soldiers did
+affright us. Surely, my lord, your father, is more eager to see Rupert
+than to look on me."
+
+At first Betteris seemed likely to laugh and say nay, but when she
+looked at Merrylips' earnest little face, she changed her mind.
+
+"It shall be as thou wilt," she said, and bent and kissed her.
+
+So they waited in the hall, while a servant fetched Rupert from the
+kitchen. He came almost at once, and he was clean and brushed and had
+new shoes, but he was shyer and more sullen than Merrylips remembered
+him. He did not even offer to take her hand.
+
+Betteris led them to an open door. Beyond it stood a screen of carved
+wood.
+
+"My father sitteth yonder at dinner," she said. "Come thy ways in,
+Merrylips, and fear not, for he is a kind soul."
+
+And then she added, in a little different tone, to Rupert:--
+
+"Come you, too, boy!"
+
+Rupert hung back.
+
+"My lord doth not wish to see me," he muttered. "Let me be gone whence
+I came."
+
+"Why, go, an thou wilt, sirrah," said Betteris, lightly.
+
+But Merrylips caught Rupert's hand.
+
+"No, no!" she cried. "Rupert, 'tis as well now as any time, since she
+doth say my lord is kind. Oh, Rupert, come with me, and we will tell
+him who thou art, and haply he will believe us."
+
+"Dost thou dare?" said Rupert, breathlessly.
+
+In Merrylips' eyes he saw that indeed she did dare. So he too lifted
+his head, and they walked bravely into Lord Caversham's presence.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXXI
+
+                       AT LORD CAVERSHAM'S TABLE
+
+
+As soon as Merrylips had passed beyond the carved screen, she was sorry
+for her rash promise. She did not wish to tell Rupert's story, then and
+there. For she found herself in a great vaulted room, where serving-men
+moved softly to and fro, and at a long table, in the middle of the
+room, was seated what seemed to her a great company.
+
+Lady Caversham was there, and Allison, and Dick Fowell, and a young man
+so like him that he must be a brother, and Munn, and a gentleman in a
+chaplain's dress, and two other gentlemen, who seemed rebel officers.
+But though Merrylips was startled by the sight of all these people, she
+forgot them in a second, when she looked at the head of the table, for
+there sat the man who she knew must be Lord Caversham.
+
+His Lordship, the Roundhead governor of Ryeborough, was not at all the
+lank, close-cropped churl that Merrylips' friends at Monksfield would
+have made her believe. He was a burly, broad-shouldered gentleman, with
+iron-gray hair, which he wore as long as any Cavalier, and warlike
+mustachios. His doublet was of murry-colored velvet, and his linen of
+the finest. Indeed, he looked like any great English gentleman, as he
+sat at his ample table, with his family and his friends about him.
+
+While Merrylips noted all this and dared to hope that his Lordship
+might indeed prove kind, Betteris spoke aloud:--
+
+"An't like you, sir, here is a young gentleman who is much at your
+service."
+
+It was she that was spoken of, Merrylips knew. She saw that all were
+looking at her. She did not think it proper to courtesy, while she wore
+those clothes, so she stood up straight and saluted, as she had done at
+Monksfield.
+
+She saw the men at table smile, and heard Lady Caversham murmur, "Dear
+heart!"
+
+She saw, too, that Munn was watching her with a warning look to make
+sure that she bore herself as became a little sister of his. So she
+remembered to be neither too bold nor too timid, but like a little
+gentleman went to Lord Caversham, when he called her, and let him draw
+her to his side.
+
+"Indeed thou art a little one!" said the Roundhead lord. "And thou hast
+walked that weary distance from Monksfield unto this town?"
+
+"Ay, my lord," she said.
+
+She was a little startled to find that all sat silent and listened to
+her.
+
+"But indeed," she hastened to add, "'twas Rupert planned all for us
+both, and was right brave, and kind unto me."
+
+"So! 'Twas Rupert, eh?" His Lordship smiled upon her. "And this is
+Rupert, I take it. Come here, lad!"
+
+Rupert came as he was bidden, but he came unwillingly. He halted at
+Merrylips' elbow, and kept his eyes cast down, while he plucked at
+the hem of his worn doublet. Merrylips knew that he waited for her to
+speak, and with Munn looking on, she wondered if she dared.
+
+"You're yourself but a young one," said Lord Caversham, in a kindly,
+careless voice. "A son to one of the troopers in the Monksfield
+garrison, they tell me."
+
+Rupert looked up.
+
+"No, my lord," he said.
+
+Then he dared say no more, but with his eyes asked help of Merrylips.
+And she gave it. Even if twenty Munns had sat there, she would have
+given help in answer to such a look.
+
+"Please you, my lord," she spoke out bravely, and took Rupert's hand
+in hers, "he is no common trooper's lad. His true name is called Robert
+Lucas, and he is son to an English gentleman, one Captain Edward Lucas
+that died long since in camp in High Germany."
+
+She had to stop then to draw breath, and she heard Munn cry sharply:--
+
+"Merrylips! Good faith, where got you that crack-brained story?"
+
+Then Munn added, more calmly:--
+
+"Believe me, my lord Caversham, that boy yonder is a son or nephew or
+the like to one of mine own troopers, a Saxon fellow named Hinkel, and
+known as such to all the Monksfield garrison."
+
+"Oh, but indeed thou art mistaken, Munn," pleaded Merrylips.
+
+She could not keep her voice from shaking. For all those faces that had
+looked so kindly on her had now grown doubtful and impatient, and she
+was half afraid. But still she went on:--
+
+"Rupert is truly son to Captain Lucas and to Lady Venetia that was my
+godmother's sister, and he hath a ring--"
+
+"So you say, boy, those were your parents' names?" Lord Caversham asked
+sternly.
+
+Rupert now was facing him steadily enough.
+
+"My lord--" he began.
+
+Then for a moment he hesitated. Indeed he would have been glad to claim
+the kindred that Merrylips had said was surely his! But he had to speak
+the truth, and he did it bravely.
+
+"I know not the name of my father nor my mother," he said. "But my
+nurse said my father's name was Lucas, and he was a captain, and the
+rest--Merrylips knew the rest and told it unto me."
+
+"Why, this is rare!" cried Dick Fowell, and he seemed angrier even than
+Munn himself. "Here's a complete trickster for so young a lad! So, you,
+sirrah, you've drained that little girl dry, and from her prattle have
+patched up this story of your great kin with which to cozen us."
+
+The chaplain said that Rupert were best confess at once that he was
+telling a false story. Dick Fowell's brother swore that such a young
+liar deserved a whipping. Munn Venner, who was as loud as any, vowed
+that such a tale, of a lost child of Lady Venetia's, was too strange
+for belief. And all the time Merrylips and Rupert held each other fast
+by the hand and wondered what they should say next.
+
+But in the midst of this clamor, Lord Caversham himself spoke out.
+
+"When you lads are older," said he,--and even in her distress,
+Merrylips wondered to hear Dick Fowell and her brother Munn called
+"lads,"--"you'll know that the stranger a story sound, the likelier it
+is to be the truth."
+
+While Lord Caversham spoke, he put his arm about Rupert and drew him
+down to sit upon his knee. At this treatment Rupert stiffened and grew
+red, for he was not pleased at being handled like a little boy.
+
+"Put back the shirt from your shoulder," my lord bade.
+
+There was something in his tone that made Rupert obey in haste. He put
+back his shirt, with shaking fingers. Merrylips stood near enough to
+see that on his bared chest was a red mark like a fresh cut. And yet
+she knew that Rupert had not recently been hurt.
+
+[Illustration: ON HIS BARED CHEST WAS A RED MARK LIKE A FRESH
+CUT.]
+
+"Enough!" said Lord Caversham. "And you can sit quiet, my boy, for I've
+held you in my arms before this day, my godson, Robert Lucas."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXXII
+
+                           NEWS FROM LONDON
+
+
+You may be sure that the rest of the dinner went that day untasted from
+Lord Caversham's table. For all who sat at the board forgot to eat,
+while they listened to the story, a strange one indeed, that my lord
+told, with his arm about Rupert's shoulders.
+
+"Thirteen years ago come Eastertide," said my lord Caversham, "I
+was sent upon an embassy by the Elector Palatine, whose fortunes
+I followed, unto the Emperor Ferdinand. The country all was sore
+distressed with war. Armies of both parties, of the Emperor and of the
+Protestant princes, were marching to and fro. I was myself stayed, for
+want of fitting escort, at a town called Rodersheim, upon the borders
+of Bohemia.
+
+"While I lay there, a battle was fought beneath the very walls of the
+town, wherein the Emperor's troops got the upper hand, but suffered
+heavy loss. Their wounded men were brought in sorry state into our
+town, which speedily was filled to overflowing. A piteous sight it
+was to see those poor fellows dying, more than one, for mere lack of
+tendance!
+
+"Now when night was falling on the groaning town, there halted at my
+door a rude country cart, in which lay a man who seemed near unto
+death, and a fair woman, who held his head on her knees and wept as
+one distraught. She made shift to tell me that she was born Venetia
+Fernefould, daughter to his Grace of Barrisden, and that the man she
+tended was her husband, Edward Lucas, a captain in the Emperor's
+service.
+
+"She had been with him on this expedition, and when the battle was
+over, she had sought and found him amid the slain. She had given all
+that she had to some country folk to fetch him in that poor cart unto
+the town. But now that she had brought him thither, she could find
+neither roof to shelter him, nor surgeon to dress his hurt. So she had
+sought me, as a fellow-countryman, and she prayed me, in the name of
+our common English blood, to give her husband succor.
+
+"Thus Captain Lucas and Lady Venetia, his wife, found harborage in
+my quarters. He was sore wounded indeed, with a great sword slash in
+the breast and shoulder, yet against all expectation he made a happy
+recovery. This was thanks partly to his own great vigor, and more,
+perhaps, to the loving care that his wife spent upon him.
+
+"While Lucas lay upon his bed of sickness, his son was born, there in
+my quarters. I myself, as nearest friend to the poor parents, had him
+christened and called him Robert, and stood sponsor for him. 'Twas in
+those days I saw the red mark on his breast and shoulder--the seal
+that his birth had set upon the lad, as it seemeth now, for his later
+happiness.
+
+"Now when my godson was a month old, Captain Lucas was well
+recovered. He went his way with his wife and child, and I went mine
+upon my embassy, and never again did I set eyes on any of the three
+until this hour. For though much kindness had been between us and
+affection,--for Lucas was a gallant fellow, and his wife was one to win
+all hearts,--yet so distracted was the country that there was little
+sending of letters, or hope that friend might hear from friend.
+
+"'Twas only through roundabout channels that I learned, near two years
+later, that Lucas and his sweet lady, who was ever at his side, had
+perished months before of a fever that had swept their camp. And I made
+no doubt but that their little child had died with them."
+
+By this time, if Merrylips had been any but a sweet-tempered little
+girl, she would have been almost jealous of Rupert. For her own
+adventures had quite paled beside this story of Captain Lucas's son,
+who had been so many years lost and was now so strangely found. She
+stood almost unheeded by Lord Caversham's chair, while the men asked
+Rupert questions, as if they were ready to believe him, at last.
+
+Thus encouraged, Rupert told Lord Caversham all that he had told
+Merrylips, on that bleak day among the willows, and showed the ring
+that had been his mother's. And then Merrylips was bidden show her
+ring, and tell all that she had learned of the Lady Venetia's story.
+
+"Mark it well," said Lord Caversham, when all had been told. "The
+lady's English kinsfolk knew only of two children of hers, that were
+dead in infancy. They had been told no word of the birth of this third
+child. No doubt letters were sent, and in the chances of war were lost.
+So there was none to seek and find this little waif, when his parents
+were taken from him.
+
+"And when he came into England, a mere child, with no friend to help
+him save a thick-witted trooper who could scarce speak the English
+tongue, small wonder there was none to listen to him! Of a truth,
+godson," he ended, "'twas a happy wind that blew thee unto Ryeborough!
+I mistrust I am the only man in England,--nay, in all the world,
+perchance,--that could piece together thy story and say with certainty
+that thou art thy father's son."
+
+Then at last Lord Caversham let Rupert rise from his knee, but he still
+kept his hand upon him.
+
+"Thou art a good lad of thine inches, Robert," said he, and then his
+eyes began to laugh, with just the trick that Dick Fowell's eyes had.
+
+"Look you," he spoke, "now that my Dick is grown, I need a young lad
+to sit at my table and ride at my bridle-hand. What sayst thou, wife?
+Shall we keep this godson of mine and make a good Parliament man of
+him?"
+
+Oh, but at that Rupert backed away quickly from my lord, and grew red
+to the roots of his hair!
+
+"Ah, but, my lord," he said, "I am a king's man, like Merrylips and
+like Cornet Venner."
+
+For the first time Munn's heart seemed to warm toward Rupert at those
+words.
+
+"I do beseech you, my lord," Munn said, "let the boy go unto the Lady
+Sybil Fernefould, who is now dwelling in my father's house at Walsover.
+She is blood-kin to the lad, his own aunt, and will make him welcome
+unto her, I dare undertake."
+
+"Ay, and make an arrant Cavalier of him, like all you Venners," my lord
+answered. "And if I refuse, no doubt, Cornet Venner, you will steal him
+away from under my face and eyes, as you did your young sister here
+from Mr. Lowry's keeping."
+
+Perhaps Munn did not know that so much of Merrylips' story had been
+told to Dick Fowell and his sisters, and through them had reached
+Lord Caversham. He grew quite red and flustered, and made no more
+suggestions.
+
+For a moment Merrylips was quite alarmed. She thought that now that
+their only champion was silenced, Rupert would indeed be kept forever
+at Ryeborough castle. But she found that, after the fashion of grown
+folk, Lord Caversham was only jesting.
+
+"Dick," he was saying next instant, quite soberly, "what sayst thou to
+a month's leave of absence? 'Twere well perhaps that thou shouldst go
+down into the west with these three lads."
+
+Once more Merrylips was astonished to hear Munn thus lumped with her
+and Rupert, as if he were but a boy!
+
+"Thou shalt lay open all the matter," went on Lord Caversham, "touching
+this boy's birth and kinship, to Sir Thomas Venner, and to Lady Sybil,
+even as I would do, could I myself go thither. And haply among the
+men that survived the assault of Monksfield they may find the trooper
+Hinkel, to tell his part in the story. For though this youngster might
+find it hard to prove his claim to the name of Lucas in a court of
+law, 'tis his in right and justice, and so I will maintain. And for Ned
+Lucas's sake, I would fain see the child acknowledged by his kinsfolk."
+
+"I'll do my best endeavor, sir," Dick Fowell promised. "So soon as you
+can get us safe conducts and arrange for Cornet Venner's exchange,
+we'll be off for Walsover."
+
+At that Merrylips longed to cry "Hurrah!" as Tibbott Venner would have
+done. Indeed her face broke into smiles, as she looked at Rupert, and
+then at Lord Caversham. She would gladly have said that she was much
+beholden to him, but she feared to be too forward, with Munn looking on.
+
+But Lord Caversham caught her eye. He was just asking kindly, "Wouldst
+thou say aught unto me, lad?" when a serving-fellow came to his side,
+and bent and whispered, and laid a packet in his hand.
+
+"A messenger post-haste from London, eh?" said Lord Caversham.
+
+With a grave face of business, such as he had not yet shown, he said,
+"By your leaves!" and opened and looked upon the letters that lay
+within the packet.
+
+When he glanced up, he was smiling in a dry fashion, as if he were but
+one part mirthful and the other part vexed. He tossed the letters on
+the table.
+
+"Here's like to be a merry meeting among kindred!" he cried. "Cornet
+Venner, you'll be blithe to know that your cousin, Will Lowry of
+Larkland, is riding hither, as fast as horse can bear him."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+                             WESTWARD HO!
+
+
+At the mere name of Will Lowry, Merrylips forgot the dress that she
+wore and forgot that she must be brave like a boy. She ran to her
+brother Munn, and creeping into the space between his seat and Dick
+Fowell's, clasped her arms tight about his neck.
+
+"Sure, thou'lt never let them give me back to Mr. Lowry, Munn dear!"
+she begged. "For now 'twill be worse than ever at Larkland and they
+said when I was grown, I must marry Herbert, and I am fain to marry no
+one, never, and least of all Herbert, that is a mean coward. Oh, _best_
+Munn, prithee say that Mr. Lowry shall not take me! Say it, Munn!"
+
+Poor Munn! He would have been more than glad to have said it, and to
+have made his promise good. But in a moment Merrylips herself realized
+that he was powerless to help her. He had no sword to wear like the
+other gentlemen. Even as herself he was a prisoner and helpless in Lord
+Caversham's hands.
+
+She looked beseechingly at Lord Caversham. But my lord sat fingering
+the London letter, and Dick Fowell waited in silence on his father's
+pleasure. They wasted time, while she was sure that next moment Will
+Lowry would come marching in and carry her back to Larkland.
+
+"Oh, Munn! Canst thou do naught to help me?" she cried in a
+heart-broken voice, and hid her face against his shoulder.
+
+Then for the second time that portly Lady Caversham took charge of
+Merrylips' affairs. She rose from her seat, and came and laid one hand
+on Merrylips' head and the other on Munn's shoulder. Now that she saw
+how troubled he was for his little sister, she seemed ready to forgive
+him, both for having used the child so carelessly and for having
+himself fought upon the king's side.
+
+"Have no fear, Merrylips," she said. "For thou shalt go unto thy kin at
+Walsover, ay, though twenty Lowrys were fain to stay thee. I promise
+it, and there's an end on't."
+
+Munn caught my lady's hand and kissed it, and Merrylips clung to her.
+Between laughing and crying she tried to say how glad she was, how
+grateful she should always be!
+
+"Come, little heart, and we will hit upon some plan!" bade Lady
+Caversham, and led her from the room.
+
+As Merrylips went with her, she heard Lord Caversham say: "Nay, if thou
+hast undertaken it, my wife, the plan is already as good as found, I
+warrant me!" and he laughed as he said it.
+
+Indeed, matters went fast in the next hours, under Lady Caversham's
+rule. Merrylips lay in bed and rested, against a long journey.
+Meantime, Allison and Betteris flew in and out, and brought her
+tidings, and sweetmeats, and little clothes, which they tried upon her,
+and then snipped and stitched to suit her figure. But all the little
+clothes were boy's clothes.
+
+"And am I never to be a girl again?" asked Merrylips, rather anxiously.
+
+Betteris laughed and would have teased her. But gentle Allison made
+haste to tell her why the grown folk wished her still to wear her boy's
+dress and keep her boy's name.
+
+"My father and Mr. Lowry, though not friends, are yet hand and glove
+in much business that pertaineth to the cause of the Parliament," said
+Allison. "So 'twere most unhappy, for divers reasons, if a breach were
+made between them, as there surely would be, were Mr. Lowry to find
+that his little ward was helped hence by my father's aid.
+
+"So all our household are pledged to silence, touching the fact that
+Tibbott Venner is in truth the little maid Sybil. And my father truly
+can say that he never saw thee, save in boy's dress and bearing a boy's
+name. And in that name thy safe conduct will be made out, and thou
+shalt ride hence Cornet Venner's young brother, upon whom Mr. Lowry
+hath no claim."
+
+"But surely when he seeth me, he will know me, whatever dress I wear,"
+urged Merrylips. "And he is coming hither to seek me."
+
+"Nay," cried Betteris, "'tis not to seek thy little self that Lowry
+is posting hither. He cometh on Parliament business. Perchance thou
+mightst even bide here, and he not spy thee, but 'tis too perilous for
+us to venture that. So to-morrow morn, when Mr. Lowry will ride in at
+the east gate, as his letter gave my father to know, thou shalt ride
+out at the west gate, and little Robert Lucas, and my brother, and
+thine own brother shall ride with thee. For my father will strain a
+point and set thy brother free on his own promise not to bear arms till
+an exchange may duly be arranged for him."
+
+But for all that was said, Merrylips could not believe that it was true
+that next morning she should set out for Walsover. She let herself be
+fitted with the brave new clothes, which had been made for the young
+son of one of my lord's officers. The doublet and breeches were of
+peacock blue, with silver buttons, and the cloak was lined with pale
+blue silk. She chatted with Dick's sisters, and ate and drank what was
+brought her. But all the time she felt as if she were moving in a dream.
+
+It was like a dream, too, when she woke in the chill, black morning.
+She dressed by candlelight in the brave new clothes. She had boot-hose,
+and a plumed hat, and gloves of soft leather, all complete. Then she
+went down the long stair, at Allison's side, into the shadowy hall, and
+there she met with dim shapes, cloaked and booted, that she knew for
+her comrades. Here were Dick Fowell, and Munn, and Rupert. At first she
+scarcely knew Rupert, for he was a gallant little figure, all in fine
+new clothes of a deep crimson hue.
+
+She drank a cup of steaming posset. She said farewell to Lady
+Caversham, and to Allison, and to Betteris. Lord Caversham she did not
+see again, for prudently he had no more speech with the sham Tibbott
+Venner.
+
+Then she trudged forth with her companions, and was mounted on a horse,
+a little horse of her own, and away they rode from Ryeborough castle.
+And as she felt the brisk air upon her face and saw the wintry dawn
+break round her, Merrylips came broad awake. At last she knew that it
+was no dream, but that indeed she was riding home to Walsover.
+
+Not till mid-morning, when Ryeborough and Will Lowry were miles behind
+them, did Dick Fowell give the word to draw rein at a village inn.
+There they rested and broke their fast. While Dick and Munn saw that
+the horses were well cared for, Merrylips and Rupert sat by the fire in
+the common room, and talked together.
+
+"'Twas my godfather gave me these clothes," said Rupert. "And he bade
+me, if I was not made welcome amongst mine own kin, come unto him
+again. He is right kind. I be sorry now for the hard things I have said
+of all rebels, since he himself is one."
+
+Then he sat silent and smoothed the silken lining of his doublet till
+he saw that Merrylips was watching him. He reddened, as if he were
+vexed with her and with himself that she should see how proud he was of
+his clothes, but next moment he said honestly:--
+
+"Thou seest, these be the first garments ever I have worn were like
+a gentleman's. And oh! Merrylips--" he cast down his eyes and spoke
+fast--"thou art the only one in the world I would ask it of, but wilt
+thou not mark me, and when we are alone tell me whatever I have done
+amiss? For when I watch thee and thy brother, there's such a weary deal
+for me to learn! And for one thing," he ended, "maybe I should not
+'thou' you, Merrylips."
+
+She was sorry for Rupert, for she had never seen him in this humble
+mood. She could not be quick enough to cheer him.
+
+"To be sure, I shall be right vexed with thee," she cried, "if thou
+dost call me 'you' so cold and formal. For we say 'thou' to those that
+we love, and thou and I, Rupert, are a'most kinsmen, and good comrades
+surely."
+
+He smiled at her.
+
+"That we are! And always shall be!" he said.
+
+"And for the other matter," Merrylips added hastily, for she heard Dick
+and Munn coming down the passage, "I'll aid thee if I may in that, as
+in all else. But indeed they are but little things thou hast to learn,
+Rupert, and will come unto thee quickly."
+
+So Merrylips did her best to teach Rupert to bear himself as became
+Captain Lucas's son, and Rupert, who was a quick-witted lad, learned
+when to pluck off his hat and bow, and how to walk into a room without
+blushing, and he stopped using some of the words that he had picked up
+in the camps.
+
+When Dick and Munn saw what the children were about, they helped Rupert
+in many quiet ways. For as soon as Munn had grasped the fact that
+Rupert was not a little impostor, he was grateful to him for the care
+that he had taken of Merrylips. So he was almost as kind as if Rupert
+had been his own young brother.
+
+Like good comrades, then, the four went riding westward. They went in
+brave state, with a trumpeter and four men to attend them. They put up
+at snug inns, where they slept soft and ate and drank of the best,--how
+different from the last journey that Rupert and Merrylips had made!
+Sometimes they lay at fortified places, at first of the Roundheads and
+later of the Cavaliers, for they bore safe conducts and rode beneath a
+flag of truce.
+
+They made short stages, for Rupert and Merrylips were but young riders.
+Sometimes, in cold or stormy weather, they lay by for a day or two.
+Thus it happened that it was hard December weather and almost Christmas
+time, when they came at last to the end of their journey.
+
+All that afternoon they had ridden briskly. In rising excitement Munn
+and Merrylips had pointed out to each other the landmarks that they
+remembered. Merrylips was grieved to see that a farm-house by the road,
+where Mawkin's father had lived, was burned to the ground. She could
+scarcely believe Munn when he said that the Roundheads had done this.
+
+For the first time she realized that the war had swept close to her own
+dear home. And she tried to fancy what Walsover would seem like. For
+she knew that she should find it fortified with walls and ditches, just
+as Monksfield had been, and garrisoned with troops of soldiers.
+
+While she thought about this change, they rode up the long slope of
+some downs, in the bleak yellow sunset light. On the road before them
+they saw the black bulk of a horseman against the sky. He had paused to
+watch them, and presently, as if he had seen their white flag, he rode
+to meet them.
+
+Then Munn, who had ridden foremost all that day, raised a shout:--
+
+"Crashaw! 'Truth, 'tis never Eustace Crashaw!"
+
+He put his horse to the gallop, and when Merrylips and the others came
+up with him, they found him shaking hands and asking questions and
+giving answers, all in one breath, with the stammering lieutenant from
+the Monksfield garrison.
+
+"Here's a r-rare meeting!" said Crashaw, and stammered more than ever.
+"R-renounce me, if ye have not l-little Tibbott with you! Now on my
+word, l-lad, Captain Norris will b-be blithe to see thee s-sound and
+well."
+
+"And is Captain Norris here at Walsover, sir?" Merrylips asked in great
+surprise.
+
+"Ay, that he is," Crashaw answered, "or will b-be with the dawning.
+For after M-Monksfield fell, we were shuffled off into the w-west, and
+now at the l-last are joined to the Walsover garrison. Captain Brooke
+l-led one troop hither but this d-day, and t'other one is hard at our
+heels. So speedily your old friends will be here to w-welcome you."
+
+"So!" said Dick Fowell, dryly, as they rode on once more. "Then I shall
+be fortuned to speak again with Lieutenant Digby?"
+
+Merrylips' heart beat fast to hear him say this. She waited
+breathlessly for Crashaw's answer.
+
+But Crashaw, who was a Romanist, crossed himself. Said he:--
+
+"God r-rest him for a brave soldier! There is now no m-more to say of
+him."
+
+Then Merrylips knew that Miles Digby had fallen in the fight at
+Monksfield. From the top of the down, which they now had gained, she
+could see the dear roofs of Walsover and faint lights gleaming through
+the dusk, but she saw them misted over with her tears.
+
+"Oh!" she thought, "I would that I had shaken hands wi' him, since he
+did wish it, and 'tis now too late!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+                             JOURNEY'S END
+
+
+But by the time that they had ridden down the long slope in the
+twilight, and reached the outermost of the barriers that now were built
+round Walsover, Merrylips' heart was light again. For she had before
+her a great happiness. Indeed, it was no small matter to come home at
+last, after two full years of absence.
+
+They laid a plot in whispers, she and Munn, as they rode past the
+sentinels. Munn should present her to her father as a little boy,
+and see if he would recognize her. Then they should have sport in
+presenting her to each one of her kinsfolk in turn. Last of all, they
+should tell Lieutenant Crashaw that she was no boy, but a little girl.
+
+"For 'tis clear he is so newly come to Walsover that he hath not yet
+had time to learn of our father which child of his was lost from
+Monksfield," Munn concluded.
+
+He chuckled at the thought of the laugh that he should have at Crashaw.
+And truly it was a beautiful plot! But Dick Fowell could have warned
+the plotters that such surprises sometimes turn out unexpectedly for
+their inventors. And so it proved with Munn and Merrylips.
+
+Soon they had come into Sir Thomas Venner's presence. He stood, tall
+and martial, on the hearth in the great hall, ready to receive the
+envoy that had been sent to him under the white flag. And Munn played
+his part well. He greeted his father, with all respect and affection,
+and presented to him Lieutenant Fowell, as one to whom he was much
+bound in gratitude. Then he began soberly:--
+
+"And, sir, I would further bespeak your kindness for this young lad--"
+
+But there Merrylips spoiled everything. For as she gazed at her father,
+who was so big and strong and splendid in his officer's dress, she
+remembered that sad day, months ago, when she had parted from him. She
+felt that she could not bear it, even for a moment and by way of jest,
+to have him look at her as if she were a stranger.
+
+So when Sir Thomas turned to look at the little boy of whom Munn had
+spoken, Merrylips ran to him and caught his hand.
+
+"Daddy! Mine own daddy! Do you not know me, then?" she cried.
+
+Well, for an instant he truly did not, and he was the more perplexed
+when Crashaw said kindly:--
+
+"Sir, 'tis your s-son Tibbott."
+
+"'Tis the first time ever I heard that I had such a son," Sir Thomas
+answered.
+
+The way in which he said it was so like him that Merrylips laughed,
+only to hear him. And then, as he looked on her laughing face, a great
+light seemed to break upon him.
+
+"Merrylips!" he shouted. "Good faith! And is it thou, brave little
+wench?"
+
+Merrylips never heard what Lieutenant Crashaw said in the next few
+minutes to Munn, now that he knew the secret and how he and all
+Monksfield had been befooled. For she was swept up bodily into her big
+father's arms, and when next she was stood upon her feet, it was in the
+west parlor that she remembered.
+
+It was the very room where long ago her mother had told her the
+dreadful news that she was to be sent to her unknown godmother at
+Larkland. The parlor had been green that day with the shadows of the
+vines, but now it was cheery with candles and with firelight. A group
+of gentlewomen in silken gowns were seated there, and a stout handmaid
+was in attendance on them.
+
+Sir Thomas stood Merrylips upon a great chair in the middle of the room.
+
+"And who is there here that knoweth this lad?" he cried.
+
+Before Merrylips could be quite sure of the presence in which she
+found herself, a slender gentlewoman rose from her seat by the fire.
+Her brown hair was thickly streaked with gray, and she had the kindest
+smile in the world.
+
+"Merrylips! My little Merrylips!" she said in a breathless voice, and
+stretched out her arms.
+
+Thus Merrylips and Lady Sybil found each other again. They were
+laughing and crying and asking questions long before the others in the
+parlor had taken breath. But soon Merrylips found them all thronging
+round her.
+
+Here was her mother, grave and careful as ever, who was glad to see
+her, but not over-pleased at her dress. And indeed, for a little girl
+who had been sent away to receive such nurture as became a maid,
+Merrylips had come home in strange attire.
+
+Here was sister Puss, who was a tall young gentlewoman now, and fairer
+even than Betteris or Allison Fowell. Here was Pug, who was rosier and
+rounder than ever. If you will believe it, she was hemming a napkin,
+just as Merrylips remembered her, for all the world as if she had come
+out of _A Garland of Virtuous Dames_!
+
+And here, too, was Merrylips' own maid, Mawkin, who was waiting upon
+the gentlewomen. She hugged Merrylips harder than any, and blubbered
+aloud with joy that she had come safe home at last.
+
+Hardly had the women begun exclaiming over Merrylips, when in came
+more company. Her brother, Longkin, came in his lieutenant's dress. He
+was grown such a fine young gallant that Merrylips found it hard to
+believe that he had ever done such an undignified thing as to romp with
+his brothers on the terrace. After Longkin, Flip came running. He was
+all legs and arms, and he squeezed Merrylips as if she were a bear or
+another boy.
+
+"And oh! Flip," she heard her own voice saying, "I ha' been to the
+wars, for all I am but a wench! I ha' been in a siege, and fired
+upon a many times, and chased by the enemy, and a prisoner among the
+Roundheads. And thou, what battles hast thou been fighting, Flip?"
+
+"I'm a gentleman volunteer!" cried Flip, very red and angry. "If father
+would let me ride into battle, I'd speedily show thee what mettle I am
+made of."
+
+Now that she had begun squabbling with Flip, Merrylips felt that she
+had indeed come home. So it seemed quite a matter of course, when
+presently she found herself seated by the fire, with her hand in Lady
+Sybil's hand, and telling all her strange adventures.
+
+While she was speaking, Sir Thomas Venner remembered the courtesy that
+he owed Lord Caversham's envoy. He went from the room, and Longkin,
+too, when he heard that the envoy was his old college mate, Dick
+Fowell, hurried out to speak with him. Merrylips wondered if this were
+the hour when her father would hear Rupert's story. While she wondered,
+she rambled in her talk and grew silent. Then her godmother vowed that
+she must be weary and sleepy and were best in bed.
+
+"All the rest thou shalt tell us on the morrow, heart's dearest," she
+said.
+
+So Lady Sybil led Merrylips to her own chamber and helped her to her
+own bed. In the pale candlelight, when they two were alone, they said
+many things that they would not say downstairs. And Merrylips told how
+often she had thought about her godmother, and had tried to do what
+would please her, both as a girl and as a little boy.
+
+They were talking thus together, while Merrylips sat up in bed, with
+her head on Lady Sybil's shoulder, just as she had sat in twilight
+talks at Larkland, when there came a tap at the door.
+
+"Oh, your Ladyship!" cried Mawkin's voice. "Sir Thomas doth pray you,
+of your courtesy, come unto his study."
+
+Then Merrylips guessed that Lady Sybil was to hear the great news about
+Rupert, and she cried:--
+
+"Oh, godmother, prithee go quickly! 'Tis such rare news!"
+
+But as she saw Lady Sybil rise from beside her bed, she felt a sharp
+little stab of fear, and perhaps of jealousy. She caught at her
+godmother's gown with one hand.
+
+"But pray you, kiss me first," she said. "For it may be, presently, you
+will not have so much love to give unto me."
+
+"Thou silly child!" whispered Lady Sybil, and kissed her, and went her
+way.
+
+Merrylips knew that she was silly. But she was very tired, now that the
+day was ended, and she could not help having sad thoughts. As she lay
+alone in the quiet chamber, she pictured how Lady Sybil, at that very
+moment, was opening her arms to a child that was blood-kin to her. Her
+heart grew heavy. How did she know that Rupert would not take her place
+in Lady Sybil's love?
+
+In that foolish fear Merrylips had fallen asleep. When she woke, it was
+dark, but she found herself clasped tight in two arms, and she heard
+Lady Sybil speak:--
+
+"And thou couldst think I had not love enough for two--oh! thou little
+silly one! Merrylips! Little true heart, that didst believe in my poor
+lad, even when I myself distrusted him! Oh, child, how can I ever love
+thee enough--thou, through whom, under God, my dead sister's son hath
+this hour been given unto me!"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXXV
+
+                     THE PASSING OF TIBBOTT VENNER
+
+
+When Merrylips woke next morning, she thought at first that she was
+back at Monksfield. She could hear the sounds that she loved--the
+clatter of horses ridden over flagged pavements, and the note of a
+trumpet that bade the men dismount and unsaddle. Then she guessed
+that Captain Norris and his troop had come to Walsover, as Lieutenant
+Crashaw had said they would.
+
+She was all eagerness to see her old friends. So she sprang up and
+started to dress. But when she looked for her shirt and her blue
+breeches, they were not on the form where she had laid them. In their
+place was a girl's long smock and a little gown of gray that Pug had
+outgrown.
+
+She was sitting on her bed, looking at the gray gown and winking fast,
+when Lady Sybil came softly into the chamber. Lady Sybil understood.
+She did not ask questions, nor did she pretend that this was a slight
+thing that Merrylips must do.
+
+"Little lass!" she said with a world of meaning. "My little lass!"
+
+"Ay," Merrylips answered. "I am a lass, when all's said. I must put on
+this gown, no doubt, and oh! a petticoat is such a pestilence thing in
+which to climb!"
+
+Then she stood up, but before she dressed she asked:
+
+"Where hath my mother hid my clothes--my Tibbott clothes?"
+
+Lady Sybil smiled, a little sadly, to see how quick Merrylips was to
+guess that it was Lady Venner who had ordered her back into her fit
+attire. But she told Merrylips where the little blue suit lay, in a
+chest in a far chamber. And as soon as Merrylips had flung on the
+girl's frock, she ran and fetched her boy's suit, even the gloves and
+the hat, and hung them in Lady Sybil's great wardrobe.
+
+"I'm fain to have them where I may look upon them," she said. "And
+maybe, for sport, I'll don them again, only for an hour."
+
+She looked to see if Lady Sybil would forbid, but Lady Sybil said never
+a word.
+
+"On Christmas Day," said Merrylips, then. "Shall we say Christmas Day?
+I'll go a-masking in them."
+
+So every night, when she laid off her girl's frock, she looked at her
+blue doublet and breeches that hung in the wardrobe, and fingered
+them, and said to herself:--
+
+"Six days more--" or five, or four, as it might be--"and 'twill be
+Christmas, and godmother doth not forbid, and I shall wear my boy's
+dress once again."
+
+The days before Christmas went fast in that great, busy garrison house
+of Walsover, and they went fast indeed for Merrylips. So much she had
+to tell and hear! So many friends she had to greet again!
+
+She found old Roger that had been butler at Larkland. He was carrying a
+halberd once more in the Walsover garrison, and he was as eager as any
+young man of them all to fight the rebels. She found Stephen Plasket,
+who came limping in, the day before Christmas. And a long story he had
+to tell of the adventures he had met with in making his escape through
+the Roundhead country! Best of all, for Rupert's sake, she found Claus
+Hinkel, who had been one of those that had lived through the assault of
+Monksfield.
+
+Claus took it all as a matter of course that Rupert was at last
+restored to his kinsfolk. Ja, wohl, 'twas bound to happen some day, he
+told her. And now, in time, Rupert would be a captain like his father
+before him, and he, Claus, would ride in his troop.
+
+"For that I can do, gracious fräulein," the dull-witted fellow said.
+"My lord, your high-born father, would have made me a corporal, and
+more, perchance. But I said 'No! no!' Here I am well placed, and can
+do my part. But if I were set higher, I should be but what you call a
+laughing-stock."
+
+Many and many another of the old Monksfield garrison were missing,
+besides Lieutenant Digby. But Lieutenant Crashaw, and Captain Norris,
+and Captain Brooke, with his arm in a sling, and Nick Slanning, who
+limped with a newly healed wound, were all at Walsover.
+
+Merrylips talked with them, but she was shy, almost as if they were
+new acquaintances. And they themselves seemed somehow shy of her. Once
+Slanning started to tousle her hair, as he had used to do, and craved
+her pardon for it. Captain Brooke and Captain Norris were too busy to
+speak with a little girl. And since she was no longer a little boy, she
+could not run about the courts and stables at their heels.
+
+So she found herself passing many hours with her mother and her
+godmother and her sisters. She did not like Pug, for Pug said that Dick
+Fowell was a wicked rebel, and would not speak a word to him. But she
+liked tall, pretty Puss. For Puss was always asking questions about
+Dick, and often and often she spoke with him. Indeed, Dick seemed to
+spend more time with Puss than with Longkin, for whose sake it was
+that he said that he was staying to keep Christmas at Walsover.
+
+It was Puss too that told Merrylips about Lady Sybil. After she left
+Larkland Lady Sybil had gone among great folk in foreign lands, and
+borrowed money for the king. It was difficult, delicate work, such as
+few might be trusted with. Then she had brought the money over seas
+with her, through dangers of storm and of pursuit by the enemy's ships
+that might have daunted the courage even of a man. And when she had
+done this task, she had gone to the king's headquarters at Oxford, and
+there, with her skill in nursing, she had tended the wounded soldiers,
+and thus had come by an illness that had been almost mortal.
+
+Merrylips pondered all this. She had always seen Lady Sybil gracious
+and gentle and quiet. She had not guessed that she had courage and
+constancy equal to that of a soldier. She had not dreamed that women
+could have such courage.
+
+But Merrylips was not always with the women, for Rupert and Flip were
+near enough of her age to make her a comrade. Flip would have been a
+little scornful, perhaps. He could not forgive Merrylips for having had
+such adventures, while he sat tamely at home and got his lessons.
+
+But Rupert would have her with them in every sport and study in which
+she could bear a part. He liked her in her girl's dress, and told her
+so.
+
+"Thou art fairer than any girl or woman in all the world," he said,
+"except it be my aunt Sybil."
+
+Rupert was very proud of the beautiful kinswoman that had taken him for
+her own. At first he was half ashamed to show his pride and love, but
+very soon, of his own will, he imitated Merrylips, as he did in many
+things, and would come with her to sit by Lady Sybil in the twilight
+and ask questions and talk of what was near his heart.
+
+One evening, the eve of Christmas, as it chanced, they three were
+together. They sat in the great oriel window of the long gallery.
+Merrylips was at Lady Sybil's side, where she could look out and see
+the frosty stars, and Rupert was on a cushion at her feet. They had
+been speaking, as they sometimes did, of how, when Rupert had had
+lessons for a couple of years, as was fitting for such a young boy, he
+should have a commission as an officer of the king, and of all the fine
+things that he should have and do in years to come.
+
+Then after a silence Rupert spoke, in the darkness:--
+
+"Good Aunt Sybil, I ha' been thinking, if 'twere not for what Merrylips
+did and I did mock her for, I should never ha' been more than a
+horseboy all my life."
+
+And he went on, with his head against Lady Sybil's knee:--
+
+"For if she had not had the heart to pity Dick Fowell, why, then, she
+had never known him. And so, at Ryeborough, he had been but as any
+rebel officer, and she had never dared call on him for help. And," he
+said truthfully, "I know not what would ha' happened me then, there
+at the Spotted Dog. But surely we should never have come into Lord
+Caversham's presence, and there would 'a' been none to say with surety
+that I was my father's son. So 'tis all thanks to Merrylips that I am
+here, because she had pity on Dick Fowell. Had you thought on that,
+good aunt?"
+
+"Why, indeed, I may have thought it, Robin, lad," said Lady Sybil, and
+in the darkness Merrylips felt her cheeks burn hot.
+
+Now the next day was Christmas, and when Merrylips woke, she went to
+the wardrobe to take down her Tibbott clothes. But just then Lady Sybil
+came into the chamber, and with her came Mawkin. Across her arm Mawkin
+bore a little gown of russet velvet. It had puffed sleeves and a short
+bodice, and the square neck and short sleeves were edged with deep lace.
+
+"Oh!" said Merrylips. "'Tis for a little girl. Is it for me?"
+
+"For thee. A fairing that I brought thee out of France," said Lady
+Sybil.
+
+Merrylips looked up from the dainty gown and laughed.
+
+"Indeed," she said, "I fear you are bribing me, godmother, not to wear
+my Tibbott clothes."
+
+"Nay," said her godmother, "don them this day, at whatever hour liketh
+thee best. Thy mother hath given her free consent."
+
+Merrylips looked at the blue doublet and breeches, and she looked at
+the gown of russet velvet. She hesitated, for indeed she wished to do
+as she had planned. But the russet gown was pretty, and she did not
+like to slight her godmother's gift. Besides she had all day in which
+to wear her boy's dress.
+
+So she let herself be clad in the velvet gown. There went with it a
+fine wrought smock, and silken stockings, and dainty shoes of soft
+brown leather. Last of all Lady Sybil fastened round her neck a slender
+chain of silver, with a tiny heart-shaped pendant.
+
+"Wear this, dear, in the place of the ring that thou hast worn so
+long," she said. "And that I will lay by for now, with our Robin's
+ring--" for so she called Rupert--"until such time as thy finger is big
+enough to fit it snugly, and then thou shalt have it for thine own."
+
+In the velvet dress, it seemed to Merrylips, when she glanced into
+the mirror, that she looked taller and older. So she bore herself more
+shyly and quietly than ever she had done. She would make up for it, she
+thought, and romp with the noisiest, when she had put on the Tibbott
+clothes.
+
+But she was glad that she had put on the girl's dress first. For that
+Christmas morning there was dancing in the long east parlor. And
+Merrylips danced a minuet with Munn. She was much afraid lest she had
+forgotten Lady Sybil's teachings and should make false steps and vex
+him. But she found that she could dance fairly, and Munn was very
+gallant to her. Then Flip would dance with her too. And Merrylips found
+it no less pleasant to be treated courteously by her brothers than to
+go to fisticuffs with them.
+
+Of course there was great feasting that day in the hall at Walsover.
+But at last the candles were lit, and the women rose and left Sir
+Thomas and his officers to drink their wine. But before they left the
+room Sir Thomas stood up in his place and proposed a health to Lady
+Sybil Fernefould. All those who were present must have known of her
+courage and her devotion to the cause they served, for they drank
+her health, every man of them, with full honors and cheers that made
+Merrylips' heart beat quicker.
+
+When Lady Sybil had thanked them, sweetly and fairly, Captain Norris
+leaned across the table and spoke in a low voice to Sir Thomas. Sir
+Thomas smiled and called Merrylips to him.
+
+She went gravely, in her girl's frock. Under so many eyes she was
+glad that it was a girl's frock. Her father helped her to stand upon
+the stool beside him. Then Captain Norris, who she thought had quite
+forgotten her, spoke respectfully, as if he spoke of a grown woman, and
+bade them drink a health to Mistress Sybil Venner, a brave and loyal
+servant of the king!
+
+She could not believe that it was for her that the cups were drained,
+and the swords flashed out, and the cheers given. She looked at all the
+faces that were turned toward her--Captain Norris, and Captain Brooke,
+and Crashaw, and Slanning, and Dick Fowell, and her brothers, and all
+her father's officers, kinsmen and friends whom from of old she knew.
+She pressed her two hands to her throat, and for an instant she wanted
+to cry.
+
+She could not speak as Lady Sybil had spoken to thank them. She put out
+her two hands uncertainly, and then, for it was Christmas, when men's
+hearts are tender to little children, they came to her, one by one,
+those tall officers, and kissed her hand, with all courtesy.
+
+Well, it was over, all but a memory that she should never lose! She
+was out of the hall, and up in her chamber. There presently Lady Sybil
+sought her, and found her on her knees, by a chest that stood beneath
+the window. She was folding away the little suit that Tibbott Venner
+had worn.
+
+"Little--lass?" said Lady Sybil, and stroked her hair.
+
+"Yes," said Merrylips.
+
+Her face was still rosy, and her eyes sparkled with the thought of what
+had happened in the hall.
+
+"For since I cannot be a boy," she hurried on, "I will not play at
+being a boy. Besides, there be some things that a truly boy must do and
+bear and see--Oh, godmother! There at Monksfield, that day when I found
+Dick--I knew then that I was fain to be a girl.
+
+"And some things too," she added, in a lower voice, "a girl may have
+perchance that belong not to a boy. Oh, godmother, is't strange and
+wicked that I should think so?"
+
+"Nay, not strange," said Lady Sybil, "nor all wicked, perchance. Only
+see to it that thou still art brave and true, even as a lad."
+
+"Or as you are, sweet godmother," whispered Merrylips. "Surely you
+are as brave and loyal, every whit, as if you were a soldier like my
+father. And I'll try to be such a gentlewoman as you--indeed I'll try!"
+
+So speaking, Merrylips shut the lid of the chest. She smiled, but she
+gave a little sigh, too, as she said:--
+
+"Fare thee well! I'm a lass--godmother's lass--henceforth! Fare thee
+well, Tibbott Venner, forever and ever!"
+
+
+               Printed in the United States of America.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                       Books by BEULAH MARIE DIX
+
+                              MERRYLIPS
+
+              LITTLE CAPTIVE LAD, A. Ill. by Will Grefe.
+
+               SOLDIER RIGDALE. Ill. by Reginald Birch.
+
+                   BLITHE MCBRIDE. Ill. by J. Henry.
+
+      HUGH GWYETH: A ROUNDHEAD CAVALIER. Ill. by James Daugherty.
+
+            TURNED-ABOUT GIRLS, THE. Ill. by Blanche Greer.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75142 ***
diff --git a/75142-h/75142-h.htm b/75142-h/75142-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..24cbc1b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/75142-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,8038 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+    <title>
+      Merrylips | Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
+    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
+    <style>
+
+body {
+    margin-left: 10%;
+    margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+    h1,h2 {
+    text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+    clear: both;
+}
+
+p {
+    margin-top: .51em;
+    text-align: justify;
+    margin-bottom: .49em;
+}
+
+hr {
+    width: 33%;
+    margin-top: 2em;
+    margin-bottom: 2em;
+    margin-left: 33.5%;
+    margin-right: 33.5%;
+    clear: both;
+}
+
+hr.tb   {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;}
+hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;}
+@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} }
+hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;}
+div.chapter {page-break-before: always;}
+h2.nobreak  {page-break-before: avoid;}
+
+x-ebookmaker-drop {display: none;}
+
+.center   {text-align: center;}
+
+.right    {text-align: right;}
+
+.smcap   { font-variant:small-caps; }
+
+/* Images */
+.figcenter {
+    margin: auto;
+    text-align: center;
+    page-break-inside: avoid;
+    max-width: 100%;
+}
+
+.caption p
+{
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0;
+  margin: 0.25em 0;
+  font-weight: bold;
+}
+
+div.titlepage {
+  text-align: center;
+  page-break-before: always;
+  page-break-after: always;
+}
+
+div.titlepage p {
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0em;
+  font-weight: bold;
+  line-height: 1.5;
+  margin-top: 3em;
+}
+
+table {
+    margin-left: auto;
+    margin-right: auto;
+}
+
+table.autotable    { border-collapse: collapse; }
+table.autotable td,
+table.autotable th { padding: 4px; }
+
+.tdl      {text-align: left;}
+.tdr      {text-align: right;}
+.tdc      {text-align: center;}
+
+.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; }
+.ph1 { font-size: x-large; margin: .83em auto; }
+
+.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; }
+.ph2 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; }
+
+.ph3 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; }
+.ph3 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; }
+
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75142 ***</div>
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+
+<h1>MERRYLIPS</h1>
+
+<p class="ph1">By BEULAH MARIE DIX</p>
+
+<p>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY<br>
+FRANK T. MERRILL</p>
+
+<p>AND<br>
+NEW FRONTISPIECE AND DECORATIONS BY<br>
+ANNE COOPER</p>
+
+<p>New York<br>
+THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br>
+1927</p>
+
+<p><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
+
+<p>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1906,<br>
+By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</span></p>
+
+<p>Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1906. Reprinted 1907,<br>
+1909, 1910, 1911, 1912, 1913, 1914, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, 1920,<br>
+1921, 1922, 1923, 1924, 1925.</p>
+
+<p>New edition September, 1925; June, 1926.</p>
+
+<p>Reissued October, 1927.</p>
+
+<p>Norwood Press<br>
+J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick &amp; Smith Co.<br>
+Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</p>
+
+
+<p>TO<br>
+EVERY LITTLE GIRL<br>
+WHO HAS WISHED FOR AN HOUR<br>
+TO BE A LITTLE BOY<br>
+THIS STORY IS DEDICATED<br>
+BY HER FRIEND<br>
+THE AUTHOR</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt="" id="illus1">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p>MERRYLIPS</p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">A Maid of Old</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">Her Birthday</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">Out in the World</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">At Larkland</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">Among the Golden Gorse</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">The Tart that was never Baked</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">In the Midst of Alarums</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">The Silver Ring</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">All in the Night</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">Prisoner of War</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">The Coming of Herbert Lowry</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">A Venner to the Rescue!</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">In Borrowed Plumes</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">Off to the Wars</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">Tidings at Monksfield</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">Brother Officers</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">"<span class="smcap">Who can Sing and won't Sing—</span>"</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">To Arms!</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">The End of the Day</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">Lady Sybil's Goddaughter</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">When the Captain Called</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">A Parting of the Ways</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">Outside King's Slynton</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><span class="smcap">The Darkest Day</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><span class="smcap">After the Storm</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><span class="smcap">He that was Lost</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><span class="smcap">How Rupert was too Clever</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><span class="smcap">In the Enemy's Camp</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"><span class="smcap">A Friend in Need</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"><span class="smcap">To Put it to the Touch</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI"><span class="smcap">At Lord Caversham's Table</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXXII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII"><span class="smcap">News from London</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII"><span class="smcap">Westward Ho!</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV"><span class="smcap">Journey's End</span></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdr">XXXV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV"><span class="smcap">The Passing of Tibbott Venner</span></a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus1">Merrylips</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus2">More than once they had to pause and sit by the path, while the lad
+rested</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus3">"I am come, on behalf of the Parliament, to search your house for arms"</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus4">"Faith, here's a schooling in which I'll bear a hand, my pretty
+gentleman!"</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus5">He laid a hand on Merrylips' shoulder and drew her to him</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus6">"He's hurt. Thou must not waken him," she said</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus7">Rupert and Merrylips knew it was useless to think of escape</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus8">She stopped and across the rim stared at the man</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#illus9">On his bared chest was a red mark like a fresh cut</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<h2>MERRYLIPS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">A MAID OF OLD</p>
+
+
+<p>The little girl's name was Sybil Venner, but she was known as
+Merrylips. For Sir Thomas Venner, her jolly, bluff father, never by any
+chance called a child of his by its baptismal name. His tall eldest
+son, Thomas, answered, whether he liked it or not, to the nickname of
+Longkin, and Edmund and Philip, the two younger lads, became Munn and
+Flip, and Katharine, the oldest girl, was Puss, and prim Lucy was Pug.</p>
+
+<p>So when Sir Thomas came riding home from London town and first saw his
+little daughter Sybil, a baby of three months old, crowing and laughing
+in her cradle, he cried:—</p>
+
+<p>"'Truth, here's a merry lass! Come to thy dad, little Merrylips."</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was that little Sybil was christened anew, and Merrylips she
+remained, to all who loved her, to the end of her story.</p>
+
+<p>The home of little Merrylips was a great old house called Walsover,
+which stood below a hill hard by a sleepy village of a half-score
+thatched cottages. The village, too, was called Walsover, and it lay in
+that pleasant part of merry England known as the county of Wilts.</p>
+
+<p>A remote countryside it was in the days, now more than two long
+centuries ago, when our Merrylips was romping and laughing in Walsover
+hall. From Walsover to Salisbury, the market-town, was a journey of
+many hours on horseback, by roads that were narrow and hard to follow,
+and full of ruts and stones, and oftentimes heavy with mire.</p>
+
+<p>From Salisbury to London was a journey of days, in a carrier's clumsy
+wain or on horseback, over downs where shepherds kept their flocks,
+through country lanes where the may bloomed white in the hedgerows,
+past little villages that nestled in the shadow of stumpy church
+towers, through muddy towns where half-timbered gables and latticed
+casements overhung the crooked streets, across wide commons—this
+far oftener than was pleasant!—where, in the fear of highwaymen or
+"padders," the traveller kept a hand upon his pistols, and so at last
+into the narrow streets amid the jostling crowd, under the jangling of
+the bells that swung in the many steeples of great London town.</p>
+
+<p>Of this long, perilous journey Merrylips, from a little child, never
+tired of hearing her father tell. Four times a year he rode to London,
+at the head of a little cavalcade of serving-men in blue coats, that
+made a brave show as they gathered for the start in the courtyard at
+Walsover. And four times a year, when he came back from London, he
+brought in his pockets treasures of sugar candy, and green ginger, and
+raisins of the sun. No wonder that Merrylips longed to take that great
+journey to London town, to have adventures by the way, and, at the end,
+come to the place where such sweets were to be found!</p>
+
+<p>But meantime, while she was too young for journeys and adventures,
+Merrylips lived at Walsover as happily, it would seem, as a little maid
+might live. Walsover was a rare place in which to play. The house was
+old and rambling, with odd little chambers hidden beneath the eaves,
+and odd little windows tucked away among the vines, and odd little
+steps, when you went from room to room, that you fell up or down—and
+Merrylips found it hard to remember which!</p>
+
+<p>In the upper story was a long gallery in which to run and romp on the
+days—and there were many such in the green county of Wilts!—when
+the rain fell softly. Downstairs were a great hall, with a balcony
+for musicians, and dim parlors, all wainscotted in dark wood, where
+Merrylips grew almost afraid of the pattering sound of her own
+footsteps.</p>
+
+<p>Better to her liking was the kitchen, with its paved floor and vast
+fireplace, and the group of buildings that lay beyond the kitchen.
+There was a brew-house, and a bakehouse, and a dairy, each with its own
+flagged court, where delightful tasks were always being done. Hard by
+the dairy was the cow-house, and barns full of sweet-scented hay, and
+great stables, where Merrylips knew by name and loved all the horses,
+from her father's bright bay courser to the honest draught beasts. Over
+against the stables were kennels full of dogs, both for hunting and for
+fowling. There were rough-coated staghounds, and fleet greyhounds, and
+setters, and spaniels.</p>
+
+<p>Round this block of buildings and little courts lay gardens and
+orchards, where wallflowers flamed and roses blew, and apricots and
+cherries ripened in the sun. And beyond the gardens were on one side
+rich fields, and on the other a park where rabbits burrowed and deer
+fed in the dappled shade.</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips had charming places in which to play, and she had, too,
+playfellows in plenty. She was the youngest child at Walsover, so she
+was the pet of every one, from the least scullery wench in the kitchen
+and the least horseboy in the stable, to her big, bluff father, Sir
+Thomas.</p>
+
+<p>Above all, she was dearly loved by her three big brothers. As soon as
+she was able to toddle, she had begun to follow them about, at their
+work or play, and when they found her merry always and afraid of
+nothing, the lads began, half in sport, to give her a share in whatever
+they took in hand.</p>
+
+<p>From those kind big brothers Merrylips learned to climb and to
+vault, to pitch a quoit and toss a ball, to sit a horse, and whip a
+trout-brook, to play fair always, and to keep back the tears when she
+was hurt. These were good lessons for a little girl, but Merrylips
+learned others that were not so good. She learned to speak hard words
+when she was angry, to strike with her little fists, to be rough and
+noisy. And because it seemed to them droll to see such a mite of a girl
+copy these faults of theirs, her brothers and sometimes even her father
+laughed and did not chide her.</p>
+
+<p>In all the house of Walsover there was no one to say Merrylips nay
+except her mother, Lady Venner. Of her mother Merrylips stood in great
+fear. Lady Venner was a silent woman, who was very busy with the cares
+of her large household and of the whole estate, which was left to her
+management when her husband was away. She had little time to spend on
+her youngest daughter, and that little she used, as seemed to her wise,
+in trying to correct the faults that her husband and sons had fostered
+in the child. So Merrylips soon came to think of her mother as always
+chiding her, or forbidding her some pleasure, or setting her some task.</p>
+
+<p>These tasks Merrylips hated. She did not mind so much when she was
+taught to read and write by the chaplain, for Munn and Flip, before
+they went away to Winchester School, had also had lessons to say to
+him. But when she was set down with a needle, to be taught all manner
+of stitches by her mother's waiting-woman, or bidden to strum a lute,
+under sister Puss's instruction, she fairly cried with rage and
+rebellion.</p>
+
+<p>For down in her little heart, so secret that none had suspected,
+Merrylips kept the hope that she might grow up a boy. To be a boy meant
+to run and play, with no hindering petticoats to catch the heels and
+trip the toes. It meant to go away to school or to camp. It meant to be
+a soldier and have adventures, such as her father had had when he was a
+captain in the Low Countries.</p>
+
+<p>To be a girl, on the other hand, meant to sew long seams and sit
+prettily in a quiet room, until the time, years and years away, when
+one was very old. Then one married, and went to another house, and
+there sat in another quiet room and sewed more seams till the end of
+one's life. No wonder Merrylips prayed with all her heart to grow up a
+boy!</p>
+
+<p>To her mind the granting of this prayer did not seem impossible. To be
+sure, she wore petticoats, but so had Longkin and Munn and Flip when
+they were little. If she did all the things that boys did, she had no
+doubt that in time she should, like them, pass beyond the stage of
+petticoats.</p>
+
+<p>But in this plan she was balked by her mother's orders to sew and play
+the lute and help in the still-room and do all the foolish things that
+girls were set to do. That was why Merrylips cried and raged over her
+needlework, and she raged still harder on the day about which you now
+shall hear.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Thomas, who had been to Salisbury market, came riding home, one
+sweet summer evening, and cried lustily in the hall:—</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips! Halloo! Where beest thou, little jade?"</p>
+
+<p>When Merrylips came running down the staircase, with her flyaway hair
+all blown about her face, he caught her and tossed her in his arms and
+said, laughing:—</p>
+
+<p>"Hast got thee a sweetheart without thine old dad's knowing? Here's a
+packet for thine own small self, come by carrier to Salisbury town."</p>
+
+<p>Now when Merrylips looked at the packet of which her father spoke, a
+little box that lay upon the table beside his whip and gloves, her
+eyes sparkled, for she guessed what it held. Only the month before her
+brother Munn, in a letter that he wrote from Winchester, had promised
+to send her a fish-line of hair that she much wanted and a four-penny
+whittle that should be her very own.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis from Munn!" she cried, and struggled from her father's arms,
+though he made believe to hold her hard, and ran to the table.</p>
+
+<p>"There you are out, little truepenny!" said Sir Thomas.</p>
+
+<p>He cast himself into a chair that his man might draw off his great
+riding boots. Lady Venner and tall Puss and rosy Pug, who loved her
+needle, had come into the hall at the sound of his voice, and to Lady
+Venner he now spoke:—</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a packet come out of Sussex, from thine old gossip, Lady Sybil
+Fernefould."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, our Sybil's godmother," said Lady Venner. "What hath she sent
+thee, little one?"</p>
+
+<p>All flushed with joy and pride, for never in her life had she received
+a packet all her own—nor, for that matter, had Puss or Pug—Merrylips
+tore open the box. Instantly she gave a sharp cry of anger. Within the
+box, wrapped in a piece of fair linen, lay a doll, made of cloth, and
+daintily dressed in a bodice and petticoat of thin figured silk, with
+little sleeves of lawn and a neat cloak and hood.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a mammet—a vild mammet!" screamed Merrylips, and dashed it to
+the floor and struck it with her foot.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Merrylips!" cried Pug, in her soft voice, and caught up the doll
+and cuddled it to her breast. "'Tis so sweet a baby! Look, Puss! It
+hath a whisket of lawn, and the under-petticoat, 'tis of fair brocade."</p>
+
+<p>"A mammet—a girl's toy!" repeated Merrylips, and stamped her foot. "My
+godmother shall not send me such. I will not be a girl. I'll be a lad."</p>
+
+<p>"Well said! And so thou shalt, if wishing will do't, my bawcock!"
+laughed Sir Thomas.</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Venner looked on in silence, and her face was grave.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">HER BIRTHDAY</p>
+
+
+<p>Gentle Pug took the doll, and, in the moments when she was not setting
+neat stitches or baking custards, played with it prettily. Meantime
+Merrylips went romping her own way, and soon had forgotten both the
+doll and the godmother that had sent it.</p>
+
+<p>This godmother Merrylips knew only by name, as the Lady Sybil
+Fernefould, her mother's old friend, a dread and distant being to whom,
+in her mother's letters, she was trained to send her duty. She had
+never seen Lady Sybil, nor, after the gift of the doll, did she wish to
+see her.</p>
+
+<p>Through the summer days that followed Merrylips was busy with matters
+of deeper interest than dolls and godmothers. She rode on the great
+wains, loaded with corn, that lumbered behind the straining horses to
+the barns of Walsover. She helped to gather fruit—plums and pears and
+rosy apples. She watched her father's men, while they thrashed the rye
+and wheat or made cider and perry. She shaped a little mill-wheel with
+the four-penny whittle that Munn, true to his promise, at last had sent
+her, and set it turning in the brook below the paddock.</p>
+
+<p>Almost in a day, it seemed to her, the time slipped by, till it was two
+months and more since she had been so angry at her godmother's gift.
+Michaelmas tide was near, and by a happy chance all three of her tall
+brothers were home from Winchester School and from college at Oxford.</p>
+
+<p>It was a clear, windy day of autumn in the first week of their
+home-coming,—the very day, so it chanced, on which Merrylips was
+eight years old. She was sitting on the flagstones of the west terrace
+of Walsover, eating a crisp apple and warding off the caresses of
+three favorite hounds, Fox and Shag and Silver, while she watched her
+brothers playing at bowls.</p>
+
+<p>They had thrown off their doublets in the heat of the game, and their
+voices rang high and boyish.</p>
+
+<p>"Fairly cast!"</p>
+
+<p>"A hit! A hit!"</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, they were no more than boys, those three big brothers. Tall
+Longkin himself, for all his swagger and the rapier that he sometimes
+wore, was scarcely eighteen. Munn, a good lad in the saddle but a
+dullard at his book, was three years younger, and Flip, with the curly
+pate, was not yet turned thirteen.</p>
+
+<p>But to Merrylips they were almost men and heroes who had gone out into
+the world, though it was but the world of Winchester School and of
+Oxford. With all her heart she loved and believed in them, those tall
+brothers. How happy she felt to be seated near them, pillowed among the
+dogs and munching her apple, where at any moment she could catch Munn's
+eyes or answer Flip's smile! She thought that she should be happy to
+sit thus forever.</p>
+
+<p>While she watched, the game came to an end with a notable strong cast
+from Longkin that made her clap her hands and cry, "Oh, brave!"</p>
+
+<p>Then the three, laughing and wiping their hot foreheads on their
+shirt-sleeves, came sauntering to the spot where Merrylips sat and
+flung themselves down beside her among the dogs.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me a bite of thine apple, little greedy-chaps!" said Munn, and
+cast his arm about Merrylips' neck and drew her to him.</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow, lads," said Longkin, who was stretched at his ease with his
+head upon the hound Silver, "say, shall we go angling in Walsover mead?"</p>
+
+<p>"Take me!" cried Merrylips, with her mouth full. "Oh, take me too, good
+Longkin!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art too small, pigwidgeon," said Flip.</p>
+
+<p>"I ben't," clamored Merrylips. "I can trudge stoutly and never cry, I
+promise ye. I be as apt to go as thou, Flip Venner. Thou hast but four
+years the better of me."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, but I am a lad, and thou art but a wench," said Flip.</p>
+
+<p>He had had the worst of the game with his elder brothers, poor Flip! So
+he was not in the sweetest of humors.</p>
+
+<p>"I care not!" Merrylips said stoutly. "Where thou canst go, Flip, <i>I</i>
+can go!"</p>
+
+<p>At this they all laughed, even that tall youth Longkin, who was growing
+to stand upon his dignity.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Merrylips!" Longkin teased. "What wilt thou do an Flip get him a
+long sword and go to war? 'Tis likely he may do so."</p>
+
+<p>"And that's no jest," cried Flip, most earnestly. "Father saith an
+the base Puritan fellows lower not their tone, all we that be loyal
+subjects to the king must e'en march forth and trounce 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Then Heaven send they lower not their tone!" added Munn. "I be wearied
+of Ovid and Tully. Send us a war, and speedily, that I may toss my
+dreary book to the rafters and go trail a pike like a lad of spirit!"</p>
+
+<p>"So you'll go unto the wars, you two?" Longkin kept on teasing. "Then
+hang me if Merrylips shall not make a third! 'Hath as good right as
+either of ye babies to esteem herself a soldier."</p>
+
+<p>Then Flip and Munn cast themselves upon the scoffing eldest brother and
+mauled him gloriously in a welter of yelping dogs. Like a loyal heart
+Merrylips tossed by her apple and ran in to aid the weaker side, where
+she cuffed Flip and tugged at Munn's arm with no mean skill.</p>
+
+<p>But in the thick of the fray she got a knock on the nose from Flip's
+elbow, and promptly she lost her hot little temper. She did not cry,
+for she had been too well trained by those big brothers, but she
+screamed, "Hang thee, varlet!" and hurled herself upon Flip.</p>
+
+<p>She heard Longkin cry, "Our right old Merrylips!"</p>
+
+<p>Through the haze that swam before her eyes, which were all dazzled with
+the knock that she had got, she saw Flip's laughing face, as he warded
+her off, and she raged at him for laughing. Then, all at once, she
+heard her shrill little voice raging in a dead stillness, and in the
+stillness she heard a grave voice speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Sybil! Little daughter!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips let fall her clenched hands. Shamefacedly she turned, and in
+the doorway that opened on the terrace she saw Lady Venner stand.</p>
+
+<p>"Honored mother!" faltered Merrylips, and stumbled through a courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>All in a moment she longed to cry with pain and shame and fright, but
+she would not, while her brothers looked on. Instead she blinked back
+the tears, and at a sign from her mother started to follow her into the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"If it like you, good mother, the fault was mine to vex the child,"
+said Longkin.</p>
+
+<p>But the mother answered sternly, "Peace!" and so led Merrylips away.</p>
+
+<p>In the cool parlor, where the long shadows of late afternoon made
+the corners as dim as if it were twilight, Lady Venner sat down on
+the broad window-seat. Merrylips stood meekly before her, and while
+she waited thus in the quiet, where the terrace and the dogs and the
+lads seemed to have drawn far away, she grew aware that her hair was
+tousled, and her hands were soiled and scratched. She was so ashamed
+that she cast down her eyes, and then she blushed to see how the toes
+of her shoes were stubbed. Stealthily she bent her knees and tried to
+cover her unmaidenly shoes with the hem of her petticoat.</p>
+
+<p>"Little daughter," said Lady Venner, "or haply should I say—little
+son?"</p>
+
+<p>Then, in spite of herself, Merrylips smiled, as she was always ready to
+do, for she liked that title.</p>
+
+<p>Straightway Lady Venner changed her tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Son I must call you," she said gravely, "for I cannot recognize a
+daughter of mine in this unmannered hoiden. For more than two months,
+Sybil, I have made my plans to send you where under other tutors than
+unthinking lads you may be schooled to gentler ways. What I have seen
+this hour confirmeth my resolve. This day week you will quit Walsover."</p>
+
+<p>"Quit Walsover—and Munn and Flip and Longkin?" Merrylips repeated; but
+thanks to the schooling of the unthinking lads, her brothers, breathed
+hard and did not cry.</p>
+
+<p>"You will go," said Lady Venner, "to your dear godmother, Lady Sybil,
+at her house of Larkland in the Weald of Sussex. She hath long been
+fain of your company, and in her household I know that you will receive
+such nurture as becometh a maid. Now go unto my woman and be made tidy."</p>
+
+<p>In silence Merrylips courtesied and stumbled from the room. Just
+outside, in the hall, she ran against Munn, who caught her by the
+sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>"What's amiss wi' thee?" he asked. "Did our mother chide thee roundly,
+little sweetheart?"</p>
+
+<p>"I be going hence," said Merrylips, and blinked fast. "I be going to
+mine old godmother—she that sent me a vild mammet—and I know I'll
+hate her fairly! Oh, tell me, dear Munn, where might her house of
+Larkland be? Is't far from Walsover?"</p>
+
+<p>"A long distance," said Munn; and his face was troubled for the little
+girl he loved.</p>
+
+<p>"Is't farther than Winchester?" Merrylips urged in a voice that to his
+ears seemed near to breaking.</p>
+
+<p>He was an honest lad, this Munn; and though he did not like to say it,
+spoke the truth.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, dear heart," he said, "'tis farther even than Winchester thou wilt
+go, but yet—"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips tossed back her flyaway hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell that unto Flip!" she cried. "He hath been but unto Winchester,
+and now I'll go farther than Winchester! I'll journey farther than
+Master Flip, though he be a lad and I but a wench!"</p>
+
+<p>She lifted a stanch little face to her brother, and smiled upon him,
+undismayed.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">OUT IN THE WORLD</p>
+
+
+<p>At first Merrylips found it easy to be brave. She was given a pretty
+new cloak and gown. She was pitied by the serving-maids, and envied by
+her sisters, and petted by her brothers, because she was going on a
+long journey.</p>
+
+<p>Better still, she found it easy to be, not only brave, but merry, like
+herself, on the autumn morning when she was mounted on a pillion behind
+one of the serving-men in her father's little cavalcade. For, girl
+though Flip had called her, she was leaving Walsover at last on that
+wondrous journey to great London town.</p>
+
+<p>For five long days they rode among the scenes that Merrylips knew from
+her father's tales. They passed through fields that were brown with
+autumn, and villages where homely smoke curled from the chimneys.
+They clattered through towns where beggar children ran at the horses'
+stirrups and whined for ha'pennies. They crossed great wastes of
+common, where Merrylips half hoped that they might meet with padders,
+so sure was she that her father and his stout serving-men could guard
+her from all harm.</p>
+
+<p>For four wonderful nights they halted at snug inns, where civil
+landladies courtesied to Merrylips. They supped together, Merrylips and
+her father, and he plied her with cakes and cream and oyster pies that
+she felt her mother would have forbidden. After supper she sat on his
+knee, while he sipped his claret by the blazing fire, till for very
+weariness she drooped her head against his shoulder and slept. Then, if
+she woke in the night, she would find herself laid in a big, strange
+bed, and she would wonder how she had ever come there.</p>
+
+<p>A happy journey it was, through the clear autumn weather! But the
+happiest day of all was the one when, toward sunset, Merrylips was
+shown a pile of roofs, where spires and towers rose sharp against the
+pale glow of the eastern sky. Yonder was London, so her father said.</p>
+
+<p>A little later, in the twilight, they were clattering through paved
+streets. Above them frowned dim houses, and on all sides were hurrying
+folk that jostled one another. This was London, Merrylips said over and
+over to herself, and in the London of her dreams she planned to have
+many gay hours, like those of the days that were just passed.</p>
+
+<p>But in this Merrylips was sadly disappointed. Next morning Sir Thomas,
+who had been her playmate since they left Walsover, was closeted with
+some of his friends,—men who wore long swords and talked loudly of
+church and king. He had no time to spend with his little daughter, so
+Merrylips had to go walk with Mawkin, the stout Walsover lass who was
+to wait upon her, and a serving-man who should guard them through the
+streets.</p>
+
+<p>On this walk Merrylips found that though there were raisins of the
+sun, and oranges, and sugar candy in the London shops, just as she
+had dreamed, these sweets—unlike her dreams!—were to be had only by
+paying for them. She found too that the streets of London were rough
+and dirty and full of rude folk. They paid no heed to her pretty new
+cloak and gown, but jostled her uncivilly.</p>
+
+<p>Once Merrylips and her companions were forced to halt by a crowd of
+staring folk that blocked the way. In the midst of the crowd they saw
+that a prentice lad and a brisk young page were hard at fisticuffs.</p>
+
+<p>"Rogue of a Cavalier!" taunted the prentice.</p>
+
+<p>In answer the other lad jeered: "Knave of a Roundhead!"</p>
+
+<p>Then the spectators took sides and urged them on to fight.</p>
+
+<p>"What be they, Cavaliers and Roundheads that they prate of, good
+Mawkin?" asked Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>Mawkin, who was gaping at the fight, said tartly that she knew not.</p>
+
+<p>But the serving-man, Stephen Plasket, said: "'Tis thus, little
+mistress: all gentlefolk who are for our gracious king are called by
+the name of Cavaliers, while the vile knaves who would resist him are
+Roundheads."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I am a Cavalier," said Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Mawkin cried: "Lawk! he hath it fairly!"</p>
+
+<p>There was the young page tumbled into the mud, with his nose a-bleeding!</p>
+
+<p>"O me!" lamented Merrylips. "If Munn were but here, <i>he</i> would 'a'
+learned that prentice boy a lesson, not to mock at us Cavaliers. I
+would that my brother Munn stood here!"</p>
+
+<p>Not till she had spoken the words did Merrylips realize how from her
+heart she wished that Munn were there. She wanted him, not only to beat
+the rude prentice boy, but to cheer her with the sight of his face. For
+the first time she realized that she longed to see Munn, or even prim
+Pug, or any of the dear folk that she had left at Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>When once she had realized this, she found that London was a dreary
+place, and she was tired of her journey in the world. From that moment
+she found it quite useless to try to be merry, and hard even to seem
+brave, and every hour she found it harder.</p>
+
+<p>There was the bad hour of twilight, when she sat alone by the fire in
+her father's chamber. She listened to the rumble of coaches in the
+street below and the cry of a street-seller: "Hot fine oat-cakes, hot!"
+She found something in the sound so doleful that she wanted to cry.</p>
+
+<p>There was the lonely hour when she woke in the night and did not know
+where she was. When she remembered at last that she was in London,
+bound for Larkland in Sussex, she lay wide-eyed and wondered what would
+happen to her at her godmother's house, till through the chamber window
+the dawn came, bleak and gray.</p>
+
+<p>Last, and worst, there was the bitter hour when she sat, perched on
+high at Mawkin's side, in a carrier's wagon. She looked down at her
+father, and he stood looking up at her. She knew that in a moment the
+wagon would start on its long journey into Sussex, and he would be left
+behind in London town.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips managed to smile, as she waved her hand to her father in
+farewell, but it was an unsteady little smile. And when once the clumsy
+wagon had lumbered out of the inn-yard, and she could no longer catch
+a glimpse of her father's sturdy figure, she hid her face against
+Mawkin's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Cheerly, mistress my pretty!" comforted Mawkin. "Do but look upon the
+jolly fairings your good father hath given you. If here be not quince
+cakes—yes, and gingerbread, and comfits! Mercy cover us! Comfits
+enough to content ye the whole journey, even an ye had ten mouths
+'stead o' one. And as I be christom woman, here are fair ribbons, and
+such sweet gloves,—yes, and a silver shilling in a little purse of
+silk. Do but look thereon!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I care not for none of 'em," said Merrylips. "Leave me be, good
+Mawkin!"</p>
+
+<p>But all that day Mawkin chattered. She pointed out sheep and kine and
+crooked-gabled houses, and men that were scouring ditches or mending
+hedges. Indeed, she tried her best to amuse her young mistress.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips found her talk wearisome, but next day, when Mawkin, who was
+vexed at her dumpishness, kept sulkily silent, she found the silence
+harder still to bear. She did not wish to think too much about her
+godmother, for the nearer she came to her, the more afraid of her she
+grew. So, to take up her mind, she ate the comfits and the cakes with
+which her father had heaped her lap. It was no wonder, then, that on
+the third day of her journey she had an ache in the head that was
+almost as hard to bear as the ache in her heart.</p>
+
+<p>About mid-afternoon a chill, fine rain began to fall. Mawkin, all
+huddled in her cloak, slept by snatches, and woke at the lurching of
+the wagon, and grumbled because she was wakened. But Merrylips dared
+not sleep lest she tumble from her place. So she sat clinging fast to
+Mawkin's cloak with her cold little hands, while through the drizzling
+rain she stared at the plashy fields and the sheep that cowered in the
+shelter of the dripping hedges.</p>
+
+<p>At last, in the deepening twilight, she saw the dim fronts of houses
+where candles, set in lanterns, were flaring gustily. She knew that the
+wagon had halted in the ill-smelling court of an inn. She saw the steam
+curl upward from the horses' flanks, and heard the snap of buckles and
+clatter of shafts, as the stable-lads unhitched the wagon.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, little mistress!" spoke the big carrier, who had clambered on
+the wheel near Merrylips. "Here we be, come to the inn at Horsham and
+the end of our journey. Ye must light down."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not!" cried Merrylips, and clung to the seat with stiffened
+hands. "I'll sit here forever till ye go back unto London. I'll not
+bide here in your loathly Sussex. I do hate your Sussex. I'll not light
+down. I'll not, I tell ye!"</p>
+
+<p>Mawkin, half awake, spoke sharply: "Hold your peace, I pray you,
+mistress!"</p>
+
+<p>One of the stable boys laughed, and with that laughter in her ears,
+Merrylips felt herself lifted bodily into the big carrier's arms and
+set down on her feet in the courtyard. The world was all against her,
+she thought, and it was a world of rain and darkness in which she felt
+small and weak and lonely. In sudden terror she caught at the carrier's
+sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, master, take me back to London!" she cried. "I'll give ye my new
+silver shilling. I cannot bide here—indeed, you know not! I like not
+your Sussex—and I be feared of mine old godmother. Oh, master, take me
+back wi' you to my daddy in London town!"</p>
+
+<p>Then, while she pleaded, Merrylips felt two hands, eager hands but
+gentle, laid on her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Little lass!" said a woman's voice. "Thou art cold and shivering. Do
+thou come in out of the storm."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm fain to go back!" cried Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>She turned toward this stranger who was friendly, but saw her all
+blurred through a mist of rain and of tears.</p>
+
+<p>"All in good time!" the kind voice went on. "If thou art fain to be
+gone, thou shalt go, but for now—come in from the storm."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips went obediently, with her hand in the hand that was held
+out to her. Too tired to question or to wonder, she found herself in a
+snug, warm chamber where candles burned on the table and a fire snapped
+on the hearth. She found herself seated in a great cushioned chair,
+with the shoes slipped from her numbed feet and the wet cloak drawn
+from her shoulders. She found herself drinking new milk and eating
+wheaten bread, that tasted good after the sweets on which she had
+feasted, and always she found her new friend with the kind voice moving
+to and fro and ministering to her.</p>
+
+<p>Shyly Merrylips looked upon the stranger. She saw that she was a very
+old woman, no doubt, for her soft brown hair was touched with gray,
+but she had fresh cheeks and bright eyes and the kindest smile in the
+world. Then she saw the kind face mistily, and knew that she had nodded
+with sleepiness.</p>
+
+<p>A little later she found herself laid in a soft bed, between fair
+sheets of linen, and she was glad to see that the stranger, her friend,
+was seated by the bedside.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mistress!" said Merrylips, and stretched forth her hand. "Did you
+mean it in sober truth—that you will aid me to go back to London—away
+from mine old godmother?"</p>
+
+<p>Then the gentlewoman laughed, with eyes and lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my little lass!" she said, and knelt and put her arms about
+Merrylips where she lay. "Hast thou not guessed that I am that poor old
+godmother thou wouldst run from? I pray thee, dear child, stay with me
+but a little, for I am sadly lonely."</p>
+
+<p>All in a moment, as she looked into the face that bent above her,
+Merrylips grew sorry that she had thrown the poor doll on the floor and
+kicked it too. She felt almost as if she had struck a blow at this kind
+soul who had come to befriend her when she had felt so tired and lost.</p>
+
+<p>She spoke no word, because of the lump that rose in her throat, but she
+put both arms about her godmother's neck.</p>
+
+<p>And when her godmother said: "We shall be friends, then, little
+Merrylips?" Merrylips nodded, with her head nestled against her
+godmother's breast.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">AT LARKLAND</p>
+
+
+<p>Next day, when the storm was over and the sky was a windy blue,
+Merrylips rode in her godmother's coach to her godmother's house of
+Larkland. And there at Larkland, with the godmother that she had so
+feared to meet, Merrylips lived for almost a year and was very happy.</p>
+
+<p>Larkland, to be sure, was a tiny house beside great Walsover. There
+were no lads to play with, and there were no dogs, except one fat old
+spaniel. There was no great company of serving-men and maids to watch
+at their tasks and be friends with. Neither was there a going and
+coming of guests and kinsfolk to keep the house in a stir.</p>
+
+<p>Yet Merrylips found much to please her. Though the house was little, it
+was very old. It was said to have a hidden chamber in the wall, such as
+great Walsover could not boast. And with her own eyes Merrylips could
+see that there was a moat, half choked with water-weeds, and a pond
+full of carp that came sluggishly to the surface when crumbs were flung
+to them.</p>
+
+<p>Though there were not many servants, there was among them an old
+butler, who all his life had served Lady Sybil's father, the Duke of
+Barrisden. He taught Merrylips to shoot at the butts with a crossbow,
+and while he taught her, told her tales of how, as a young man, he had
+gone with his Grace, the duke, to fight the Spaniards at Cadiz and to
+serve against the Irish kerns in Connaught.</p>
+
+<p>There was too an old, old woman who had been nurse to Lady Sybil's
+mother. She sat knitting all day in a warm corner by the kitchen hearth
+or on a sunny bench against the garden wall. This old woman, in her
+old, cracked voice, would sing to Merrylips long ballads—<i>The Lord of
+Lorn and the False Steward</i>, and <i>Chevy Chace</i>, and <i>The Fair Flower of
+Northumberland</i>. At such times Merrylips listened with round eyes and
+forgot to miss her brothers.</p>
+
+<p>But dearer to Merrylips even than Roger, the butler, or Goody Trot,
+the old nurse, or even Mawkin, her own kind maid from Walsover, was
+her godmother, Lady Sybil. For Lady Sybil, dwelling in that forgotten
+corner of Sussex, with only her few servants, was, as she had said,
+a lonely woman. She had a heartful of love to give to Merrylips, and
+it was a love that had wisdom to find the way to lead the little maid
+to what was for her good. So Merrylips, to her own surprise, found
+herself presently sewing seams and making tarts and toiling over
+lessons. In short, she did all the tasks that she had hated to do at
+Walsover, yet now she did them happily.</p>
+
+<p>This was partly because she felt that she should do the bidding of
+her godmother, who so plainly loved her, and partly because the tasks
+were put before her in so pleasant a way. When she sewed seams, she
+was learning to make shirts and handkerchiefs for Longkin and Munn
+and Flip. When she baked a burnt and heavy little pasty, she was
+learning to cook—a knowledge that in camp might prove most useful to a
+gentleman. When she struggled with inky pothooks, she was learning to
+write long letters to her dear, big brothers.</p>
+
+<p>There were other lessons, too, that Merrylips had not had at Walsover.
+Lady Sybil taught her Latin, in which she was herself an apt scholar,
+and Merrylips set herself eagerly to learn this tongue, because it was
+what her brothers studied.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Sybil gave her easy lessons in surgery and the use of simples.
+Sometimes she even let her be present when she herself dressed the
+hurts or prescribed for the ills of the poor folk of Cuckstead,
+the little hamlet that lay hard by the walls of Larkland. This art
+Merrylips was glad to be taught, and she spoke often of the use it
+would be to her when she was a grown lad and went to the wars.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, when once she had put this secret hope into words and her
+godmother had not laughed, Merrylips began herself to feel that such
+a thought was babyish. In those quiet days at Larkland she began to
+grow up and to realize, with bitter disappointment, that she was likely
+to grow up a girl. She talked of this sometimes at twilight with her
+godmother, and was much comforted.</p>
+
+<p>"For thou mayst have all the true virtues of a lad, dear little heart,"
+Lady Sybil would say. "Thou canst be brave and truthful as any of thy
+brothers, not fearing to bear hard knocks, but fearing to bestow them
+on any that be weaker than thyself. I do not chide thee that thou
+wouldst be a man, my Merrylips, but I would have thee more than that—a
+gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips tried to be a gentleman. She tried not to show a naughty
+temper, nor speak rudely to the serving-folk, but to be courteous and
+considerate always of those about her. And at times she found this a
+far harder task than sewing seams or reading Latin.</p>
+
+<p>But life at Larkland was far from being all tasks. There were hours
+when Lady Sybil played to Merrylips upon the lute or the virginals and
+sang sweet old songs. There were other hours, while they sat together
+at their sewing, when Lady Sybil told wondrous tales of what she had
+done when she lived with her father in Paris and at the Hague and in
+great London town.</p>
+
+<p>"I had no brothers as thou hast, Merrylips," said Lady Sybil, "but I
+had one dear sister, Venetia, and a sad madcap she was! By times thou
+dost mind me of her, honey."</p>
+
+<p>One wintry afternoon, when she had talked for a long time of the Lady
+Venetia's pranks and plays in their girlhood together, Lady Sybil
+fetched a miniature from a cabinet in her chamber and showed it to
+Merrylips. It was the portrait of a girl of much the same age as sister
+Puss, Merrylips thought—a beautiful girl, with soft brown hair parted
+from a white forehead, and eyes that laughed, and a finger laid upon
+her rosy lips. On the upraised finger, Merrylips noticed, was an odd
+ring of two hearts entwined, wrought in what seemed dull silver.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my sister Venetia," said Lady Sybil. "So she looked at
+eighteen, save that she was fairer than any picture."</p>
+
+<p>"She is not so fair as you, godmother mine!" Merrylips declared.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Sybil smiled in answer, but faintly. Indeed, as she looked upon
+the picture, she sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"And is she dead, this sister you did love?" Merrylips hushed her voice
+to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, long years dead," Lady Sybil answered. "'Tis a piteous tale that
+some day thou shalt hear, but not till thou art older."</p>
+
+<p>She put away the miniature and spoke no more of the Lady Venetia. But
+all the rest of the day she seemed burdened with heavy thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>But at most times Lady Sybil, although she seemed to Merrylips so very
+old, was a gay companion. At evening, when the fire danced on the
+hearth and the reflected glow danced on the oak panels of the parlor
+wainscot, she would dance too, and she taught Merrylips to dance.
+Sometimes even she would play at games of hunt and hide, all up and
+down the dim corridors and shadowy chambers of the old house. When they
+were tired, Lady Sybil and Merrylips would sit by the hearth and roast
+crabs or crack nuts, and Merrylips, like a little gentleman, would pick
+out the nut-meats for Lady Sybil.</p>
+
+<p>By day, in the pale sunlight, they would walk in the garden and scatter
+crumbs for the birds that found it hard to live in the rimy days of
+winter. Or they would stroll through tiny Cuckstead village, where Lady
+Sybil would talk with the cottage women, and Merrylips would talk with
+the rosy village lads of lark-traps and badger hunts and the best way
+in which to cover a hand-ball.</p>
+
+<p>So the days trod on one another's heels. Merrylips heard the waits
+sing beneath her chamber window on a Christmas eve of frosty stars.
+Almost the next week, it seemed, Candlemas had come, and she had found
+a pale snowdrop in a sheltered corner of the garden and run to lay it
+in Lady Sybil's hand. Then each week, almost each day, she found a new
+flower by the moist brookside, or heard a new bird-note in the budding
+hedgerows, till spring had come in earnest, and it was Whitsunday, and
+in good Sussex fashion Lady Sybil and Merrylips dined on roast veal and
+gooseberry pudding.</p>
+
+<p>From time to time, through these happy months, Merrylips had had
+letters, all her own, from her kindred. Her mother had written to bid
+her remember her duty to her godmother, and Pug to say that she was
+reading <i>A Garland of Virtuous Dames</i>. Munn had written twice, and
+each time had said he hoped that there would soon be war in England,
+for 'twas time that the king's men schooled the rebel Roundheads to
+their duty. Then Merrylips remembered the two lads that she had seen
+at fisticuffs in the London street, and wondered if it were true that
+outside of peaceful Larkland grown men were making ready to fly at one
+another's throats, and found it hard to believe.</p>
+
+<p>But soon after Whitsuntide Merrylips had a letter from Flip, which Lady
+Sybil read aloud to her. Flip wrote boastfully that he too was soon to
+see London, as well as Merrylips, only he, being a lad, was to ride
+thither as a soldier. Father was raising a troop to fight for the king,
+and he and Longkin and Munn were going to the wars. Maybe, he added
+loftily, he would send Merrylips a pretty fairing from London, when he
+had entered the town as a conqueror.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," cried Merrylips, most dismally. "I would I were a lad! Here'll be
+brave fighting, and Flip will have a hand therein while I must sit at
+home. I do so envy him!"</p>
+
+<p>There Lady Sybil hushed her, laying an arm about her neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Little one," she said, "thou knowest not what thou dost say. War in
+the land meaneth burned houses and wasted fields and slain men—men
+dear unto their daughters and their sisters, even as thy father and
+thy brothers are dear unto thee. Oh, little heart, instead of wishing
+to look on the sorry work of war, pray rather that peace, even at this
+late hour, be granted to our poor England."</p>
+
+<p>Now Merrylips understood little of this, except that she grieved her
+godmother when she wished for war. So she did not speak again in that
+strain, but in her heart she hoped, if war must come, that she might
+somehow have a share in the fighting, as well as Flip. She even at
+night, when she had prayed for peace as Lady Sybil bade, added a prayer
+of her own:—</p>
+
+<p>"But if there be any tall soldiers must needs come into these parts,
+grant that I may be brought to have a sight of 'em!"</p>
+
+<p>Once, in a roundabout way, she asked Mawkin if this prayer were likely
+to be granted.</p>
+
+<p>"Lawk, no!" cried Mawkin. "There's be no soldiery come into this
+nook-shotten corner. Put aside that whimsey, mistress."</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips still said her little prayer, and, in spite of Mawkin, it
+was answered, for before the month was out two of the king's soldiers
+had indeed come to Larkland.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">AMONG THE GOLDEN GORSE</p>
+
+
+<p>Yet for all her hoping and wishing Merrylips did not recognize her
+soldiers of the king, when first she set eyes on them. She had been out
+with Mawkin, one shimmery hot afternoon, to gather broom-flowers on
+Cuckstead common. She had also found a lively little green snake, which
+she was carrying home in her handkerchief to show to her godmother.</p>
+
+<p>"And indeed my lady will not thank you for the sight of such vermin!"
+protested Mawkin. "It giveth me creeps but to look thereon. Put it
+down, do 'ee now, there's my lovey mistress."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips shook her head, and held fast to her handkerchief. So intent
+was she upon the snake that she did not look up till she heard a sudden
+little cry from Mawkin. At that moment they had come to the top of
+a little swell of land, too gentle to be called a hill, whence they
+could look down on the roofs of Larkland and the thatched cottages of
+the village that nestled against its wall. They had reached indeed the
+highest point of Cuckstead common, and there, couched among the golden
+gorse, a boy was lying and a man was sitting by his side.</p>
+
+<p>So well were the strangers screened that Mawkin had not spied them till
+she was almost upon them. She gave a start of natural terror and laid
+her hand on Merrylips' shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Trudge briskly, mistress!" she bade, in a low voice. "I like not the
+look of yonder fellow."</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, Mawkin glanced anxiously at the roofs of the village,
+which were a good half mile away across the lonely common.</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips, who knew nothing of fear, halted short. To be sure, the
+man seemed a rough fellow. He was low-browed, with a shock of fair hair
+and a sunburnt face. His leathern breeches and frieze doublet were
+soiled and travel-stained, and he had laid on the ground beside him a
+bundle wrapped in a handkerchief and a great knotted cudgel. He looked
+as Merrylips fancied a padder might look, but there was a helpless
+distress in his pale eyes that made her, in spite of Mawkin's whisper,
+turn to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Were you fain to speak unto me?" asked Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>The man peered upon her stupidly beneath his thatch of light hair, and
+seemed to grope for words.</p>
+
+<p>"Ja, ja, gracious fräulein," he said, in a thick, foreign speech.
+"Rupert, mein kindlein—he beeth outworn—sick."</p>
+
+<p>At that the boy, who had lain face down among the flowering gorse,
+turned languidly and lifted his head. He was a young boy, not so old as
+Flip. He did not look like the man, for his hair was dark and soft, and
+his eyes were gray. Indeed he would have been a handsome boy, for all
+his mean garments, if his eyes had not been dulled and his face flushed
+with weariness or with fever.</p>
+
+<p>"Let be, Claus!" he said, in a weak voice. "I'll be better straightway,
+and then we'll trudge."</p>
+
+<p>But as he spoke, he let his dark head sink on his arms once more.</p>
+
+<p>"He cannot lie in the fields," the man said thickly. "Gracious
+fräulein—bring us to shelter!"</p>
+
+<p>"Haply you may find charitable folk in the next village," struck in
+Mawkin, who still was tugging at Merrylips' arm. "Come, mistress!"</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips cried, "Fie upon you, Mawkin! There's shelter at Larkland
+for all who ask it. An you can bear your son thither, good fellow, my
+godmother will make you welcome."</p>
+
+<p>The man stared, as if he were slow to understand, but the boy dragged
+himself to his knees.</p>
+
+<p>"She saith—there's shelter," he panted. "Take me thither, good Claus."</p>
+
+<p>Slowly they set out for Larkland, all four together, for Merrylips
+would not leave her chance guests, and Mawkin, though she grumbled
+beneath her breath, would not leave Merrylips. Claus, as the man was
+called, half carried the boy Rupert, holding him up with one arm about
+him, and Merrylips walked at the boy's side, and cheered him as well as
+she could by repeating that it was not far to Larkland.</p>
+
+<p>So they passed down the gentle slope of the common, with their shadows
+long upon the right hand, through the heavy scent of the gorse, amid
+the droning of bees. Always thereafter the warm, fruity fragrance of
+gorse brought to Merrylips the picture of the common, all golden with
+bloom, the feel of the sun upon her neck, and the sight of Rupert's
+strained and suffering face, that was so sadly at variance with the gay
+weather.</p>
+
+<p>More than once they had to pause and sit by the path, while the lad
+rested, leaning his heavy head upon Claus's shoulder. The first time
+Merrylips tried to comfort him by showing him the little green snake,
+but he would scarcely look upon it, so in disappointment she let it go
+free.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt="" id="illus2">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p><span class="smcap">More than once they had to pause and sit by the path, while the lad rested.</span></p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<p>After that she talked with Claus. Had they come from far, she asked him?</p>
+
+<p>"From beyond seas," he answered with a clumsy gesture to the south.
+"Yonder—they call it Brighthelmstone—we came a-land. We are bound
+to the king's army."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, the king," said Rupert, suddenly, and opened his eyes. "I am going
+to fight for the king of England, even as my father fought. For," said
+he, and his eyes sought Merrylips' face, yet seemed not to see her, "I
+am English born."</p>
+
+<p>Claus hushed him there, speaking in a tongue that Merrylips did not
+know, but she had scarcely heeded Rupert's last words in her joy at
+finding out that these strangers were recruits for the king's army.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said she. "You are going to the wars, even as my brothers will
+go."</p>
+
+<p>Jealously she looked at Rupert, who indeed seemed very childish as he
+rested in the circle of Claus's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"He is but little older than I," said Merrylips. "Can he fight?"</p>
+
+<p>"One winter in the camps he hath been with me, in Bohemia," Claus
+answered, when he had taken time to understand her question. "When he
+is taller, ja, he will be a trooper, and a gallant one."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be no trooper," said the boy, scarcely raising his eyelids. "I'll
+be captain of a troop, as was my father."</p>
+
+<p>"Fine prattle for a beggar brat!" Mawkin grumbled.</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips gazed with adoring eyes on the big, rough man, who no
+longer seemed to her like a padder, and the slender boy, who talked so
+lightly of fighting for the king and winning captaincies.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis happy chance," said she, "that you came unto Larkland, for we are
+here all Cavaliers, even as yourselves, and were I a lad, I'd go unto
+the wars with you."</p>
+
+<p>Then she met Rupert's eyes, fixed full upon her, and for the first
+time, in all his pain, Rupert smiled, seeing her earnestness, and his
+smile was winning.</p>
+
+<p>"I would you were a lad and my brother, mistress!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>Mawkin gave a little snort.</p>
+
+<p>"A landleaper such as thou a brother to Sir Thomas Venner's daughter!"
+she cried.</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips leaned nearer and laid her hand on the boy's limp fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"You are coming unto Larkland to be made well," she said, "and oh,
+Rupert! in very truth we'll be as good friends as if we were indeed
+born brothers."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">THE TART THAT WAS NEVER BAKED</p>
+
+
+<p>Welladay, as Merrylips would herself have said, 'twas passing strange,
+the way of wise, grown folk, even of such kind folk as her own dear
+godmother!</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips had thought that the bed in the great chamber would be made
+ready at once for Rupert. She had thought that she herself should
+be allowed to sit by him and tend him, as if he had been indeed her
+brother. But instead Lady Sybil, with her usual kindness for the sick
+and needy, neither more nor less, bade make a bed for the boy in the
+chamber above the ox-house, where some of the farm-servants used to
+lodge. And though she went herself to see that he was made comfortable,
+she would not let Merrylips go near him.</p>
+
+<p>"But I thought 'twould pleasure you," Merrylips faltered, "to aid one
+that was a soldier to the king."</p>
+
+<p>"And so it doth, sweetheart," said Lady Sybil, and bent to kiss her.
+"Thou didst well, no doubt, to bring the poor lad hither. But ere I let
+thee speak with him further, I must know whether his illness be such
+that thou mightst take it, and moreover I must know what manner of lad
+is he."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Sybil spoke with her own kind smile, but as she turned away
+Merrylips saw that a shadow of trouble was on her face.</p>
+
+<p>A little dashed in spirits, though she could scarcely say why, she ran
+to Goody Trot for comfort. Up and down the many stairs of Larkland she
+sought in vain for the old woman, till at last, as a most unlikely
+place, she looked into her chamber. And there she found Goody Trot, all
+in a flutter, busied in sewing a tawdry necklace and three broad pieces
+into the covering of her bolster.</p>
+
+<p>"Never do I look to see the light of morn!" cried the poor old soul, as
+soon as she saw Merrylips. "We's all be robbed of goods and gear and
+slain as well, with two murderous Spanish spies lying beneath our roof."</p>
+
+<p>It was useless for Merrylips to say that Claus and Rupert were neither
+spies nor Spaniards.</p>
+
+<p>They were foreign folk, were they not, Goody Trot asked. Go to, then!
+All foreigners were Spaniards, and had not the Spaniards, in her
+girlhood, sent a great fleet to conquer England? Now that there were
+rumors of war in the air, Goody Trot was sure that the Spaniards were
+coming again, and that Claus and Rupert were spies, sent before the
+general army.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost as sad when Merrylips left the old woman and sought out
+Roger, the butler. She found him loading an old snaphance, over which
+he cocked his head wisely. These were troublous times, he hinted, and
+there were those not a thousand miles away who might be fain to see the
+inside of Larkland. Let them but try, and they should see more than
+they bargained on, he ended, with a grim chuckle, as he fondled his
+snaphance.</p>
+
+<p>"But they are friends unto us, Rupert and Claus," cried Merrylips.
+"They are soldiers to the king whom we serve."</p>
+
+<p>"And how know you that, mistress," asked the old man, "save by their
+own telling? And how know you that they tell the truth?"</p>
+
+<p>In all her life Merrylips had never thought that any one could really
+lie. Wicked people did so, she had been told, but she had never dreamed
+that she herself should ever know such people. It hurt her now to
+believe that Rupert could have lied to her who had trusted him. Yet if
+he had not lied, Roger, her tried old friend, who called him false, was
+harsh and cruel.</p>
+
+<p>It was a torn and tossed little heart that Merrylips carried to her
+godmother to be quieted, at the hour of twilight when they usually
+talked together.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not true," she said stormily. "Oh, dear godmother, now that you
+have seen Rupert, you know it is not true—the evil things they all are
+saying of him."</p>
+
+<p>"I know that he is ill and weary, poor lad!" said Lady Sybil, but when
+Merrylips would have protested further, she hushed her.</p>
+
+<p>"Think not too harshly of thine old friends that they suspect this new
+friend thou hast made," she counselled. "Remember these are days when
+every man in this poor country doth suspect his fellow—when brother is
+arrayed against brother. We know not whence these two strangers come."</p>
+
+<p>"Claus told me—" Merrylips began.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," said Lady Sybil, "he told thee somewhat, even as thou didst tell
+it unto me, but, child, when I questioned him, he unsaid much that he
+had said aforetime."</p>
+
+<p>Then, touched by the little girl's sorrowful silence, Lady Sybil made
+haste to add:—</p>
+
+<p>"It may be the poor soul was but confused and frightened. He seemeth
+none too ready of wit, and hath small skill in our language. In any
+case, my dear, time will show whether he be true man or false, and to
+time we'll leave the proof."</p>
+
+<p>But at eight years old it is not easy to leave a small matter to time,
+let alone so great a matter as the proving of a dear new friend. Lady
+Sybil might go comfortably to her bed, but for Merrylips that night
+there was no rest. Between dozing and dreaming and waking to doze
+again, she thought about Rupert, her little soldier of the king.</p>
+
+<p>So much to heart she took the charge of falseness that all the
+household made against him that she felt as if he must somehow know of
+that charge and suffer under it. She longed to do something to show him
+that she, at least, believed in him. Sleepily she wondered which one of
+her treasures she might give him by way of comfort. Should it be her
+dear whittle, or her best ball, or her own crossbow?</p>
+
+<p>The light of the summer dawn was just breaking in the chamber when
+Merrylips sat up in her bed. She had been struck with a fine idea. She
+would give Rupert a cherry tart of her own baking. He would like a
+cherry tart, she knew. Any boy would! Besides, she must put herself to
+some pains to bake it, and she was glad to sacrifice herself for the
+sake of poor Rupert whom every one distrusted.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Merrylips had made up her mind, she began to wonder why she
+should not rise at once and go pluck the cherries for the tart. Then
+she decided that that would be a very wise thing to do,—indeed, that
+she ought to do it, and by such industry she should greatly please her
+godmother.</p>
+
+<p>So up she got, at four o'clock in the morning, and dressed herself
+swiftly. She tied a little hood over her flyaway hair, and an apron
+round her waist to hold the cherries. Then she slipped out at the
+garden door, just as the cocks were crowing, and ran through the dewy
+grass to the great tree in the corner of the garden, where the duke
+cherries grew.</p>
+
+<p>When once she was seated on high among the branches, Merrylips
+could look over the wall of the garden. On her right hand she saw
+the ox-house and the wain-house and the stable, all faintly gray
+in the morning light. Almost beneath her ran a footpath from these
+outbuildings. It skirted the garden wall until it reached the corner
+where stood the duke cherry tree, and there it led into the fields.</p>
+
+<p>With her eyes Merrylips followed this path. It made a narrow thread of
+darkness among the grasses that were white with dew, until it was lost
+in a hazel copse. Beyond the copse the sun was rising, and the sky was
+flushed with a strong red that dazzled her eyes, so that she had to
+turn them away.</p>
+
+<p>Just at that moment Merrylips heard a sound of cautious footsteps on
+the path below, and a hoarse exclamation. She looked down, but she was
+so dazzled that for a second she could not see clearly. Then on the
+path below she saw Rupert standing. She was surprised, not only to see
+him there, but to see him alone, for she had thought that the voice
+that she had heard was not his, but Claus's.</p>
+
+<p>Still, she could not stop to wonder about this, for here was Rupert,
+looking up at her with a piteous, startled face. She could not bear
+that for a single minute he should think her unfriendly, like the rest
+of the household.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-morrow, Rupert!" she called gayly. "You're early afoot. Fie! So
+ill as you are, you should lie snug abed. My godmother will be vexed
+with you."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Rupert thrummed his battered cap and cast down his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I stole forth. I was starved for a sup o' fresh air," he muttered.
+"But now—I will go back."</p>
+
+<p>"Best so!" nodded Merrylips. "And oh, Rupert!" she leaned from her
+perch to add: "Ere noontime I'll have something rare to show you."</p>
+
+<p>He looked up at her then, and blinked fast with his gray eyes. If he
+had been a younger boy, she would have said that he was almost crying.</p>
+
+<p>So sorry did she feel for him that she was very near telling him about
+the cherry tart, but she checked herself, and tried another means of
+comfort.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert," said she, "would you like to see my crossbow? Old Roger gave
+'t me,—ay, and I can hit the white at twenty paces. Would it pleasure
+you to see it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Will you go now to fetch it?" Rupert asked in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips nodded, and tossed him a cluster of cherries.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you wait me here," she bade, as she made ready to climb down from
+the tree. "You will await me, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>He kept his eyes on the ground beneath the garden wall,—the little
+strip of ground that Merrylips could not see. After a moment he bowed
+his head, and then, as Merrylips swung herself downward from branch to
+branch, she lost sight of him.</p>
+
+<p>In breathless haste Merrylips ran to her chamber. There she flung down
+the cherries, and bundled into her apron her crossbow and her ball and
+her top and all her other treasures.</p>
+
+<p>Then out she posted, in the light that now was broadening, and ran
+through the garden gate into the path to the spot where she had left
+Rupert. She found footprints in the gravel, and under the wall the
+elder bushes were crushed as if a man had crouched there, but she found
+no other sign of human creature.</p>
+
+<p>Sadly enough Merrylips trudged back to her chamber and put away the
+playthings that Rupert had not cared to see. She felt that she should
+have been angry with him, if it were not that she was his only friend
+in Larkland and must be faithful to him. And perhaps, she tried to
+excuse him, he had been too ill to stay longer out-of-doors. She did
+not blame him for going back to his bed, and she would make him the
+cherry tart, just the same.</p>
+
+<p>When the rest of the household rose for the day, Merrylips said no word
+of Rupert, for at heart she was still a little hurt. But she took the
+cherries in a pipkin and sat down to stone them on the shady bench by
+the garden door. She was thinking, as she did so, how all would be made
+right between her and Rupert, when she carried him the little tart.
+Perhaps he would even say that he was sorry that he had broken his
+promise to her.</p>
+
+<p>Just then Mawkin came bustling to her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Lackaday, mistress," cried Mawkin, "but you are lessoned fairly, and
+mayhap next time you'll hark to the words of them that be older and
+wiser than you, a-vexing her sweet Ladyship and a-setting the house
+by the ears, as you have done, with fetching in of graceless vagrom
+wretches, no whit better than they should be!"</p>
+
+<p>"You have no right so to speak of Rupert!" cried Merrylips, hotly.</p>
+
+<p>"And have I not?" Mawkin took her up. "Look you now, my lady her kind
+self hath just been unto the ox-house to minister to that vile boy,
+and he and the man are both gone hence—stolen away like thieves under
+cover of night. Now what do you say unto that, Mistress Merrylips?"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">IN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS</p>
+
+
+<p>Indeed, what could poor Merrylips say? Even she must admit that Rupert
+had deceived her.</p>
+
+<p>At the very moment when he promised to wait for her, he had been
+stealing away from Larkland, like the spy that Goody Trot and Roger
+and Mawkin called him. No doubt he had Claus with him all the time,
+crouched in the bushes underneath the wall. No doubt he had let her
+fetch the crossbow only to get rid of her, that she might not see their
+flight. From first to last he had deceived her, and she had so trusted
+him!</p>
+
+<p>It troubled Merrylips, too, in the hours that followed Rupert's flight,
+to feel that her godmother was troubled.</p>
+
+<p>At first Lady Sybil seemed to make light of the matter. She said that
+no doubt the man Claus, in his stupidity, had been frightened by her
+questions and so had run away and taken the boy with him. She was sorry
+for the lad, who was so ill and so unfit to travel, and she sent out
+into the countryside to find him. But she could get no news of the
+runaways. No one seemed to have seen or heard of them. And then Lady
+Sybil became grave and anxious indeed.</p>
+
+<p>Little by little Merrylips stopped pitying Rupert, who might be lying
+sick under some hedge. Instead she began to wonder what harm might,
+through Rupert, come upon her dear godmother. She thought about this so
+much that she made her head ache. Indeed her head seemed strangely apt
+to ache in those days!</p>
+
+<p>At last, one twilight, when Rupert had been gone four days from
+Larkland, Merrylips cast herself down on the cushion at her godmother's
+feet, and begged her to say just what was the evil that all the
+household seemed to fear.</p>
+
+<p>"The silly serving-folk have filled thy little head with idle tales,"
+said Lady Sybil, as if displeased; but then, as she looked into the
+piteous little face that was raised to hers, she changed her tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart," said she, "I have done ill to let thee be frightened with
+fancies, so now I will tell thee the mere truth. Thou art to be relied
+on, I know. Thou wilt keep all secret."</p>
+
+<p>"As I am a gentleman," said Merrylips, soberly.</p>
+
+<p>Then Lady Sybil told her that in the house of Larkland she kept hidden
+a great treasure of jewels that had been left her by her father, the
+Duke of Barrisden. She had told no one of this treasure, except old
+Roger, who was most faithful; but she feared lest others of her
+servants might suspect its whereabouts, and for that she was troubled.
+For jewels, she explained, could quickly be turned into money, and
+money could furnish soldiers with horses and guns and powder. So there
+were many on both sides, now that war was coming in the land, who would
+be glad to have the spending of the Larkland treasure.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is to the service of our king that I shall give my jewels,"
+said Lady Sybil.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips drew a long breath and nodded her head. "Be sure!" she
+whispered.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Sybil went on to explain that in that part of the country there
+were many people—Roundheads, as Merrylips had learned to call
+them—who were for the Parliament against the king. She was afraid lest
+these people should learn that her jewels were hidden at Larkland and
+come and seize them. On that account she was troubled at Rupert's and
+Claus's coming to the house and then fleeing away by night. She feared
+lest they had been sent by these Roundhead neighbors to spy upon her,
+in the hope of learning where she kept her treasure.</p>
+
+<p>Not twenty-four hours later it seemed as if Lady Sybil's worst fears
+were to come true. About noontime there sounded a sudden trampling of
+horses in the courtyard, and a moment later a man strode into the room
+where Lady Sybil and Merrylips were at dinner. He was a tall, solid
+man with a close-set mouth and a square jaw, and the bow that he made
+before Lady Sybil was brisk and businesslike.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a graceless matter I am come upon, your Ladyship," said he, "but
+'tis better done by me, who am known to you, than by a stranger. I am
+come, on behalf of the Parliament, whose servant I am, to search your
+house for arms."</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt="" id="illus3">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p>"<span class="smcap">I am come, on behalf of the Parliament, to search your house for arms.</span>"</p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<p>Merrylips waited to hear no more. She knew that crossbows were arms,
+and she loved her own crossbow. She flew up the stairs, and as she did
+so, caught a glimpse of rough men in the hall, who were tearing down
+the pikes and fowling-pieces from the wall, and heeding old Roger never
+a bit.</p>
+
+<p>In her chamber she seized her dear crossbow and ran down again to the
+parlor, where she posted herself in front of Lady Sybil.</p>
+
+<p>"The Roundheads shall not have my arms!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>The square-jawed man looked at her then, and smiled. He was sitting
+much at his ease, with his elbow on the table and a cup of wine within
+reach of his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a chopping wench," said he. "A kinswoman to your Ladyship?"</p>
+
+<p>"A daughter to Sir Thomas Venner," Lady Sybil answered, in her coldest
+and sweetest voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, on my word, a kinswoman of mine own!" cried the man. "I am
+William Lowry, my lass, your third cousin by the distaff side. Come!
+Wilt thou not give me a cousinly kiss?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"I am kin to no Roundhead," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lowry seemed not at all angry.</p>
+
+<p>"Thy health, for a brisk little shrew!" he laughed. "I've a wife at
+home would be fain of a little daughter like unto thee."</p>
+
+<p>Just then Mr. Lowry was called from the room by one of his followers.
+Indeed Merrylips saw no more of him till she looked from the parlor
+window, and saw him riding away at the head of his little band. They
+took with them all the pikes and muskets and snaphances, and even old
+rusted headpieces and cuirasses that were stored at Larkland, but that
+was all that they did take. Plainly, they had not guessed that precious
+jewels were hidden in the house.</p>
+
+<p>"But they may come again," said Lady Sybil, gravely, when Merrylips
+asked her if all was not now well.</p>
+
+<p>"And a second time," she went on, "the searchers may be ruder. I have
+no love to Will Lowry, 'tis true, but he bore himself to-day as well
+as a man might do that hath in hand a hateful and a wicked work. Others
+might prove less courteous."</p>
+
+<p>"He is an evil man and false," cried Merrylips. She found it easy to
+believe people false, since she had been so deceived in Rupert. "He
+said he was my mother's kinsman."</p>
+
+<p>"And so he is, child," Lady Sybil answered. "He is a kinsman to thy
+mother, and to me also by marriage. He is a gentleman of good estate
+in the eastern part of the county, and he took to wife my cousin,
+Elizabeth Fernefould, a sister to the present Duke of Barrisden."</p>
+
+<p>Now Merrylips had always thought of Lady Sybil's father as the duke.
+Indeed, she had never heard a word of the present Duke of Barrisden. So
+at the mention of his name she looked puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>Then Lady Sybil, who had trusted Merrylips with much, trusted her with
+more. She told her that her father, the duke, had had no son, and so
+his title had gone to a distant cousin, and that he had been angered
+with her, and so had left much of his property to this same cousin.
+This man, who now was Duke of Barrisden, was a Puritan, as those were
+called who wished to make changes in the great Church of England. Like
+most Puritans, he was no friend to the king, and in all likelihood
+would fight against him in the coming struggle.</p>
+
+<p>"For thou seest his brother-in-law, Will Lowry, hath already ranged
+himself on the side of the Parliament," said Lady Sybil. "He had not
+done so, without the duke's counsel. 'Tis a great nest of Roundhead
+gentry, here in our parts, and no friends to me."</p>
+
+<p>That evening, as you may guess, there was no playing of hunt and hide
+in the corridors of Larkland, nor dancing in the little parlor. Instead
+Lady Sybil went hither and thither, and gave orders and sent off
+letters, while Merrylips, holding fast to her crossbow, trudged bravely
+at her heels. Next day Goody Trot, who since Will Lowry's coming was
+quite sure that the Spaniards were upon them, went away in a wagon to
+her daughter in the next village. The next day after that old Roger had
+the coach horses shod with extra care. Finally, on the third day, came
+a messenger, riding post, from the Duke of Barrisden, who brought an
+answer to the letter that Lady Sybil had sent him.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Sybil read this letter, seated in her chamber, beside a chest
+where she was sorting garments. When she had read, she drew Merrylips
+to her, with a gayer face than she had shown since the morning of
+Rupert's flight.</p>
+
+<p>"Methinks we shall yet be clear of this gin," said she. "Here's his
+Grace most courteously assureth me that no let nor hindrance will be
+put in my way, if I wish to quit Larkland and go unto my friends who,
+even as myself, are Cavaliers—malignants, he is pleased to call them."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we go on a journey, then?" asked Merrylips. "That's brave!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, brave indeed!" said Lady Sybil, and she flushed and smiled like
+a girl. "We'll go in the coach, thou, and I, and Mawkin, and Roger,
+and with us—lean closer, darling!—with us will go the jewels, snugly
+hidden in our garments. We'll guard them for the king."</p>
+
+<p>"God save him!" whispered Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"And at Winchester," Lady Sybil went on, "there'll be trusty men to
+meet us. I have written unto them. And whom dost thou think to see
+commanding them?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips caught her breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Not—not—" she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, thine own dear brother, Longkin. Thy father will send some of his
+troop to guard us, and they will take us—where thinkest thou?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" cried Merrylips. "To Walsover! To Walsover! Sweet godmother,
+we're going home at last to Walsover!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">THE SILVER RING</p>
+
+
+<p>That night Merrylips hardly slept a wink. No doubt it was the thought
+of home that kept her wakeful, but she wondered why that thought should
+also make her head heavy and her throat dry.</p>
+
+<p>As long as it was dark, she thought that when morning came she should
+have to tell her godmother that she was not feeling well. But when
+the day broke, she found so much to do that at first she forgot about
+herself. Later, when she remembered, thanks to the ache in her head,
+she was afraid that if she said a word about it, she should not be
+allowed to run to and fro and help her godmother, so she kept silent.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed it was a busy day at Larkland,—so busy that Lady Sybil did not
+pay such close heed as usual to Merrylips, and so did not notice that
+she was not quite her brisk little self. There were boxes and bundles
+to pack for the journey upon the morrow. There were orders to give to
+the serving-folk about the care of the house. There were last visits
+to pay to good folk in Cuckstead village. Everything was done openly.
+That was the surest way, Lady Sybil told Merrylips, to keep people from
+guessing that she had any other reason for taking this journey than
+that she wished to leave a neighborhood that she disliked.</p>
+
+<p>Yet at one time it seemed as if the secret of the jewels must have got
+out. Early in the afternoon old Roger came with a whispered word of
+danger. From an upper window of the house he had spied a little band
+of horsemen riding from the east, and in the east lay the lands of the
+Duke of Barrisden, and Will Lowry, and their Roundhead neighbors.</p>
+
+<p>The moments of waiting that followed were hard to bear. It seemed an
+endless time before Roger came again to Lady Sybil's chamber. But now
+he brought good news, for he told her that the horsemen had turned
+southward over Cuckstead common, toward the next village, which was
+called Rofield.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt they are gone thither to plunder the loyal folk of their
+arms, even as they did by me," said Lady Sybil. "Indeed, our going
+hence is timed not an hour too soon."</p>
+
+<p>Then she dismissed Roger. She bade him keep a sharp watch, and meantime
+to tell the other servants that she was not to be disturbed. Against
+the long journey on the morrow, she and her young goddaughter would
+rest that afternoon in her chamber.</p>
+
+<p>But it was anything but rest that Lady Sybil and Merrylips were to have
+that day. As soon as Roger had gone, Lady Sybil bolted the door, and
+closed the shutters, as if she wished to keep the light from the eyes
+of a sleeper. Then she pressed a spring in a panel of the wainscot,
+near the chimneypiece. Behold! the panel swung open like a door, and
+Merrylips looked into the secret chamber of Larkland, of which she had
+so often heard.</p>
+
+<p>Out from the dingy little recess Lady Sybil brought caskets and coffers
+of odd shapes and sizes. Some were of leather. Some were wrought of
+metal. All these she opened, in the rays of dusty sunlight that came
+through the heart-shaped openings, high up in the shutters, and at
+sight of what they held, Merrylips cried out softly. She thought that
+all the jewels in the world must be gathered in that room. She looked
+on blood-red rubies, and great emeralds, and fire-bright topazes, and
+milky pearls, and flawless diamonds, and all were set in a richness of
+chased silver and fine gold.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, surely," breathed Merrylips, "with such wealth to aid him, our
+king will soon put down his enemies!"</p>
+
+<p>At first she scarcely dared to touch the precious things, but soon
+she found herself handling them as if they were no more than bits of
+colored glass. For it was her part to help Lady Sybil sew the jewels
+into the lining of the gowns and cloaks that they should wear upon the
+journey. Mighty proud Merrylips was that such a trust was placed in
+her, and glad, too, that she had learned to use a needle, so that she
+might be of service in such a need!</p>
+
+<p>Hour after hour Merrylips sat at Lady Sybil's feet, in the darkened
+chamber, where the air was heavy with heat, and stitched and stitched.
+While the busy moments passed, the sunlight faded from the room. There
+came a rumbling of thunder in the sultry air, and then the beating of
+rain upon the roof.</p>
+
+<p>It must be the thunder, thought Merrylips, that made her head ache.
+So languid did she feel that she was glad to lay her head against her
+godmother's knee. Thus she rested, and listened to the plash of rain,
+while through her half-closed eyelids she watched her godmother, with
+deft, white fingers, sew the last necklace into the bodice of her gown.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Merrylips must have dozed, but all at once she was awake
+again. She saw that her godmother had paused in her sewing, and
+wonderingly, she looked upon her. Then she saw that Lady Sybil sat with
+her eyes upon a ring that she had taken from the casket beside her—a
+ring wrought of dull old silver, in the shape of two hearts entwined.</p>
+
+<p>"I've seen that ring ere now," said Merrylips, drowsily. "Godmother,
+when did I see that ring?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Sybil made no answer, and when Merrylips looked up into her face,
+she saw that there were tears in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I remember me," said Merrylips. "'Twas in the portrait that I saw
+it—the miniature of your fair sister, Lady Venetia. She wore that
+ring."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, not this ring, my darling, but its mate," Lady Sybil answered.
+"'Tis the crest of our house, of the Fernefoulds of Barrisden. The two
+rings were wrought for us, two sisters, and given us by our father.
+'Twas the last token ever he gave unto us, while love was still amongst
+us three."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips took the ring from the fingers that yielded it, and caressed
+it with her hand and with her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Lady Venetia!" she whispered. "And poor godmother!"</p>
+
+<p>The storm had now passed over Larkland. On the roof the rain pattered
+softly, and from the garden rose the keen scent of drenched herbs. In
+the hush Lady Sybil's voice sank almost to a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"I said that one day thou shouldst hear her story—my poor, pretty
+sister! We were our father's only children, Venetia and I, and sorely
+he grudged that we should both be daughters. He was a stern man,
+and wont to have his will in all things. He was fain to make great
+marriages for us, since he had no sons, but in that purpose he was
+thwarted. He who should have been my husband died a month before the
+wedding day. When thou art older, thou mayst understand.</p>
+
+<p>"My father was angered for that I would not take another mate, and he
+vowed that he would bring his younger daughter to do his will. But
+she—my poor Venetia!—had given her heart already out of her keeping.
+His name was Edward Lucas, a gentleman of good birth and no fortune,
+who was master of horse in our father's household. When she found that
+our father would force her to a marriage with one whom she loathed,
+she did madly, yet I cannot think her all to blame. By stealth she was
+wedded to Edward Lucas, and with him she left the kingdom."</p>
+
+<p>"And did you never see her more?" asked Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>She felt that she must not look upon her godmother's face, so she bent
+her eyes upon the ring. She had now slipped it upon her own finger.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, sweetheart," said Lady Sybil. "I never saw my sister again in
+this world. My father forbade me to go unto her, or even to receive her
+letters. I was ill and broken in those days. 'Twas then that my hair
+grew gray as thou dost see it. But by secret ways, ofttimes through
+writings to thy father, who had been a friend to Ned Lucas, I had
+tidings of my sister.</p>
+
+<p>"She went with her husband into the Low Countries, where he served in
+the army of the States General and proved himself an able soldier.
+Thence they went into far Germany, where great wars have raged these
+many weary years. Two children were born unto them, and taken from
+them, and then at last, in a great fever that swept through the camp,
+they died in one same week, my sister and her husband. And thou knowest
+now, sweetheart, the story of her who wore the ring that was mate to
+the one which thou dost fondle."</p>
+
+<p>In the dim light Merrylips crept closer, and laid her cheek against her
+godmother's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor godmother!" she whispered. "I be right sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear little heart!" said Lady Sybil, and sat for a moment with her
+hand on Merrylips' cheek.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly, as if she returned to herself, she exclaimed aloud:—</p>
+
+<p>"Why, child, thy cheek is fever-hot. I have done ill to vex thee with
+sad tales, on a day of such alarums and with such a morrow before us.
+Now in very truth, I shall clap thee straightway into thy bed to rest
+against our journey."</p>
+
+<p>Oddly enough, Merrylips felt no wish to cry out at such an order. So
+though it was not yet sunset she soon found herself tucked snugly into
+her own little bed, between sheets that smelled of lavender, and she
+found her godmother bending over her, to give her a good night kiss.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my Merrylips!" said Lady Sybil, in a voice that seemed to come
+from a drowsy distance. "If thou hast not here my ring upon thy finger!
+Let me bestow it safely."</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips, for once, was disobedient.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me keep it by me!" she begged, in a fretful voice. "I'll not lose
+it. Only let me wear it till I come unto Walsover! Prithee, let me,
+dear godmother!"</p>
+
+<p>All unlike her brave little self, Merrylips was fairly crying, and with
+those tears she won her way. When she fell at last into a restless and
+broken sleep, she still wore on her finger the silver ring that was the
+mate of the one that had belonged to poor, pretty Lady Venetia.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">ALL IN THE NIGHT</p>
+
+
+<p>For a thousand years, it seemed to Merrylips, she had been climbing a
+hill. It was a long, long hill, and very steep, but at the top, she
+knew, was Walsover, and only by gaining the top could she reach home.
+So she climbed and she climbed, with the breath short in her throat and
+her body aching with weariness, but climb as she would, she was just as
+far as ever from the top.</p>
+
+<p>She knew also—how, she could not say,—that she had no time to lose.
+She must reach the top of the hill very soon, or something dreadful
+would happen. Between weariness and fright she found herself sobbing,
+yet all the time she kept saying to herself:—</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a dream! 'Tis naught but a dream!"</p>
+
+<p>Then she heard Mawkin's voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Hasten, hasten, mistress!" Mawkin was saying. "Rise and don your
+clothes! Rise, else 'tis too late!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I be trying, Mawkin! Indeed, I try, but 'tis so far to climb!"
+Merrylips heard her own voice wail in answer.</p>
+
+<p>She wondered why she troubled herself to answer, when it was nothing
+but a dream.</p>
+
+<p>Before her eyes flashed a candle, as bright as if it were real. Round
+her she seemed to see the wainscotted walls of her little chamber, and
+the carved chair by the bedside, on which her clothes were laid. She
+seemed to see Mawkin bending over her, with her hair disordered and her
+eyes wild—so clear and lifelike had this dream become!</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis the soldiers!" Mawkin was saying. "The loyal folk at Rofield have
+sent to warn us. The wicked Roundheads will be down on Larkland this
+same night. You must forth at once, little mistress, with no staying
+for coaches. You must go a-horseback, you and her Ladyship, and Roger
+to guard you. You must go, and without more staying. Waken, waken,
+little slug-abed, if you be fain to see Walsover!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know! I know!" moaned Merrylips. "I've this long hill to climb."</p>
+
+<p>Then, in her dream, she felt hands laid upon her.</p>
+
+<p>"Quickly, quickly, you must don your clothes!" Mawkin was crying.</p>
+
+<p>With all her strength Merrylips struggled against her and struck with
+her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thou art cruel," she sobbed, "so to hold me back from this hill!
+Thou art cruel—cruel! Let me go, Mawkin! Let me go!"</p>
+
+<p>She heard Mawkin crying and coaxing, and at last calling for help, but
+she heard her far off in the dream. Once more she was struggling up the
+long hill to Walsover, and the time, she knew, ran every moment shorter.</p>
+
+<p>For one instant the dream was at a standstill. Heavy-headed and weak
+and sick, Merrylips found herself. She lay in her own bed, in her own
+chamber. On the table close by shone a candle, which made strange
+shadows on the wall, and through the casement she saw a thin moon
+riding down the sky. At the foot of the bed, stood Mawkin, and, just as
+she had done in the dream, she was wringing her hands and talking and
+crying.</p>
+
+<p>But, not as it had been in the dream, Lady Sybil, in the green gown and
+the cloak into which, that afternoon, the jewels had been sewn, was
+bending over the bed. Her arms were round Merrylips, and her hand, on
+the little girl's forehead, felt cool and soft. It was the touch of her
+hand, thought Merrylips, that had ended the dream.</p>
+
+<p>"Little one!" Lady Sybil was saying. "Thou dost know me, mine own lass?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, godmother," Merrylips tried to answer, but could make no sound.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, your Ladyship!" Mawkin began to blubber. "She's fever-stricken, my
+poor, bonny lamb! She can never forth and ride with this sickness upon
+her. She must e'en bide here at Larkland. And when the soldiers come,
+haply they will—"</p>
+
+<p>"Peace, thou silly fool!" Lady Sybil spoke sharply. "No harm will be
+done the child. And yet, ill as she is and in sore need of my care—oh,
+how can I leave thee, Merrylips? How can I leave thee?"</p>
+
+<p>Upon her face Merrylips felt hot tear-drops fall. She thought that she
+must be dreaming again. It could not be her godmother who was weeping
+so!</p>
+
+<p>Once more she had set her tired feet to the dream-hill that she must
+climb, when she heard a heavy step in the chamber. Beside the bed she
+saw old Roger stand. He wore a leathern coat, and at his side he bore a
+rusted old sword. She wondered where he had hidden it at the time when
+Will Lowry searched the house of Larkland.</p>
+
+<p>"Your Ladyship!" said old Roger.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in the curt, soldierly fashion that must have been his when he
+was a young man and served against the Irish kern in Connaught.</p>
+
+<p>"Your horses stand ready at the door," he went on. "Your enemies are
+yonder on Cuckstead common, not a mile away. An you will come, with
+that which you bear upon you, you must come now, or never!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips lay with her head upon Lady Sybil's bosom, and she felt that
+bosom shaken with sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Roger! My good Roger!" said a broken voice, which, Merrylips felt,
+could only in a dream be Lady Sybil's voice. "What shall I do? What can
+I do? This child—my little lass! She hath fallen ill. I cannot take
+her with me in my flight. Yet I cannot leave her."</p>
+
+<p>Old Roger answered in a voice that rang through the dream.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a sweet little lady and winsome,—ay, and dear unto mine old
+heart, your Ladyship! But the king's cause is dearer than any child
+unto us, who are your father's poor servants. Your Ladyship, 'tis to
+save your wealth for the good cause you go. 'Tis for the king you ride
+to-night!"</p>
+
+<p>"The king!" whispered Merrylips. "God save him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hath not the child herself said it?" cried old Roger. "Come, your
+Ladyship!"</p>
+
+<p>For one instant Merrylips felt on her forehead the touch of Lady
+Sybil's lips. For one instant she heard that dear voice in her ear.</p>
+
+<p>"For the king, my little true heart—to bear him aid—only for that I
+leave thee! And oh! God keep thee, Merrylips, till I may come to thee
+again! God keep thee!"</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips heard the voice now, drowsily and far off. Far off, too,
+she heard the sound of footsteps hurrying from the room, and the sound
+of some one—was it Mawkin?—sobbing. Fainter, still farther off, she
+heard a ringing of horse-hoofs—a ringing sound that soon died away.
+She saw the slit of a moon and the candle at the bedside shrink till
+they were dim dreamlights.</p>
+
+<p>Once again she was climbing the long hill that never had an end. But
+as she struggled on and on, with breath that failed and feet that were
+so tired, she told herself that it was all a dream, and nothing but a
+dream. The hill was a dream, and the terror that followed her a dream,
+and oh! most surely of all, it was a black and not-to-be-believed-in
+dream that Lady Sybil could have gone from Larkland and left her there
+alone.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">PRISONER OF WAR</p>
+
+
+<p>The dream of the steep hill was only a dream. In time it ended, and
+Merrylips found herself, such a weak little shadow of a Merrylips,
+lying in her chamber at Larkland. Round her bed moved her own maid,
+Mawkin, and other people whom she did not know. There were strange
+serving-women, and a doctor dressed in black, and a tall, pale woman,
+with hands that were dry and cold.</p>
+
+<p>Little by little Merrylips guessed that the other dream that had
+troubled her was no dream. By and by she got strength to ask questions,
+and then she found that it was indeed true that Lady Sybil had gone
+from Larkland and left her behind.</p>
+
+<p>Mawkin told her the story one night when she watched at the bedside.
+She told how the Roundhead soldiers had been almost at the gates of
+Larkland; how, to save the jewels, which she dared trust to no other
+hand, Lady Sybil had fled on horseback; and how she had been obliged to
+leave Merrylips, who had that very night been stricken with fever.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt you took the sickness from that rascal boy whom you did bring
+to shelter here," said Mawkin. "As if that little vagabond had not
+brought trouble enough upon us without this! But in any case, you have
+been most grievous ill. Full three weeks you have lain in sick-bed, and
+we have all been in great fear for you."</p>
+
+<p>At the moment Merrylips had strength only to wonder whom Mawkin meant
+by "all." She asked no questions then, but as the slow days passed, she
+came to know that Mistress Lowry, Will Lowry's wife and Lady Sybil's
+cousin, was living at Larkland.</p>
+
+<p>Upon Lady Sybil's flight, Will Lowry had seized her house. He said
+that he had a right to it, because his wife was nearest of kin to Lady
+Sybil, and Lady Sybil had proved herself an enemy to the Parliament, by
+fleeing to the king's friends, and so had justly forfeited her house
+and lands. Doubtless Mr. Lowry would have found it hard to make good
+his claim to Larkland in the courts of law, but at such a time, when
+the country was plunging into civil war, the courts had little to say.</p>
+
+<p>So Lowry's men and maids served in the house of Larkland. Lowry's
+steward gathered the harvests and collected the rents. And Lowry's
+wife, who was sickly and wished the air of the Sussex Weald, left her
+own house by the sea and came to rule in Lady Sybil's place.</p>
+
+<p>Of the old household only Mawkin and Merrylips were left. Mawkin was
+there because Merrylips needed her, and Merrylips was there because,
+at first, she was too sick to be moved, and because afterward—but
+afterward was some time in coming.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Merrylips grew slowly better and stronger. And every day,
+and more than once each day, Mistress Lowry, the tall, pale woman with
+the dry hands, was at her bedside. She brought possets and jellies to
+the little girl. She read to her from a brown book with clasps. She
+talked to her of what might have happened to her, if she had died in
+the fever, after the careless life that she had led. So gravely did she
+speak that Merrylips dared not go to sleep at night until she had a
+candle burning on the table beside her.</p>
+
+<p>Once or twice, too, Will Lowry himself, with the close mouth and the
+square jaw, came into Merrylips' chamber, and patted her cheek and bade
+her get well.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, sir," promised Merrylips. "I shall soon be well, and then I shall
+go unto Walsover, shall I not?"</p>
+
+<p>But to that Will Lowry answered that she must first get strong. It
+would be time enough then to talk of the long journey to Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips got well as fast as she could. She did not doubt that
+Mistress Lowry meant to be kind, but she much preferred to be with her
+father and her brothers and her dear godmother at Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>Again and again she begged for news of her family. All that Mawkin
+could tell her was that letters had come from Walsover. Mawkin did not
+know a word that was in them. Then Merrylips questioned Mistress Lowry,
+but she would tell her only that her kinsfolk all were well in body,
+though they were given over, heart and soul, to the service of a wicked
+king and a false religion.</p>
+
+<p>When Merrylips heard her dear ones spoken of in this harsh fashion,
+she could not help crying, for she still was very weak. This crying
+and fretting and wondering as to when she should go home, did not help
+her to get well quickly. Indeed it was autumn, and her birthday once
+again,—her ninth birthday,—before she was able to fling crumbs to the
+carp in the fish-pond and walk in the little village, as she had used
+to do with Lady Sybil.</p>
+
+<p>Then, one blowy October day, Mawkin came to Merrylips' chamber. Her
+face was all red with weeping, and she blubbered out that she had been
+dismissed from Mistress Lowry's service. The very next morning she was
+to be sent packing off to Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art going to Walsover?" cried Merrylips. "Why, what hast thou
+to weep on, thou silly Mawkin? Thou shouldst rather be smiling. Come,
+we'll make ready our mails against the journey."</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, Merrylips started to rise from the broad window-bench
+where she had been sitting. But Mawkin caught her in her arms, and
+hugged her, and poured out her story, weeping all the while.</p>
+
+<p>"But I am to go alone, sweet little mistress! That wicked rebel Lowry
+and his sanctified wife are sending your poor Mawkin away, because she
+loveth you, mine own poppet, and would mind you of home, and they mean
+that you shall never go again unto Walsover, but stay here with them
+forever and ever, and forget your father and your mother!"</p>
+
+<p>"But wherefore?" asked poor Merrylips, who was quite dazed at this news.</p>
+
+<p>Many times, both on the day of Mawkin's sorrowful departure, and in
+the days that followed, Merrylips repeated that question. At the time
+she got no answer that she could understand. It was not till she was
+much older that she learned the reasons that had lain behind what might
+almost be called her captivity.</p>
+
+<p>Out of policy Will Lowry had kept Merrylips at Larkland. He had
+brothers and nephews fighting for the Parliament in the west country,
+where Merrylips' father was commanding a troop for the king. He
+believed that Sir Thomas was powerful enough to befriend these kinsmen,
+if they should be taken prisoners, and he believed that Sir Thomas
+would be more likely to do so, if Sir Thomas knew that his own little
+daughter was in the hands of the enemy. As a possible hostage, then,
+Will Lowry kept his masterful grasp on Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>For a different reason Mistress Lowry was not willing to let the little
+girl go. She had but one child, a son who was away at school, and, as
+Will Lowry had said, on the day when he seized the arms at Larkland,
+she wanted a little daughter. Now, like many other people, Mistress
+Lowry thought Merrylips a sweet child, and she wanted her for her own,
+and so she calmly took her.</p>
+
+<p>Stranger still, Mistress Lowry believed that she did a praiseworthy
+thing in keeping the little girl from her parents and her friends. She
+meant to bring Merrylips up in the straitest sect of the Puritans.
+With such a bringing up she thought that Merrylips would be better and
+happier than if she were bred among her own kindred, for, according to
+Mistress Lowry, they were careless and evil people. No doubt Mistress
+Lowry, in her own way, dearly loved Merrylips, but it was a selfish and
+a cruel way.</p>
+
+<p>So Will Lowry, from policy, and Mistress Lowry, from what she called
+love, were both determined to keep Merrylips at Larkland. And when they
+were thus determined, who could stop them? There were no courts of law,
+with power over men of both parties, to make Roundhead Will Lowry give
+back to Cavalier Sir Thomas his stolen child.</p>
+
+<p>Neither could Sir Thomas risk the lives of his soldiers by marching
+a hundred miles or so into the enemy's country and taking back his
+little daughter by force of arms. When Sir Thomas had written a couple
+of hot-tempered letters to Will Lowry, he had done all that he could
+do. Perhaps at times he even forgot about Merrylips. He was so busy
+fighting for the king that he had no time to think about a little girl
+who, after all, was in no danger of ill-treatment.</p>
+
+<p>But all these things Merrylips knew only when she was older. At the
+time, in the dreary autumn of 1642, she could not understand why
+the Lowrys kept her at Larkland, nor why her own kindred let her
+stay there. But at least she knew that she did not at all like it at
+Larkland, so, as soon as she felt strong and well again, she started
+off, one damp November day, to make her way alone to Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>She had her crossbow to keep off padders and Roundheads, and a big
+piece of gingerbread to eat on the way. She took the silver ring,
+shaped like two hearts entwined, and hung it on a little cord about her
+neck, within her gown. She wished to have it with her for luck, because
+it was the last token that Lady Sybil had given her.</p>
+
+<p>Thus she started off in the early morning, and at twilight she
+was found under a hedge, eight miles from home. She had eaten the
+gingerbread, and lost one shoe, and draggled her petticoat in the mud
+and wet. She was tired and half-frightened, but she still clung to her
+crossbow, and she lifted a brave little face to the searchers when they
+came upon her.</p>
+
+<p>Will Lowry himself was at the head of the little band of serving-folk.
+He had come down from London, where he sat in Parliament, to see how
+matters were going at Larkland, and he did not seem much pleased at
+having to ride out and hunt for a naughty little runaway.</p>
+
+<p>When once he had Merrylips seated on the saddle before him, he said
+sharply:—</p>
+
+<p>"An thou wert a lad, I'd flog thee soundly for this."</p>
+
+<p>"An I were a lad," said Merrylips, swallowing her tears, "you'd not
+flog me at all, for I'd 'a' been clear to Walsover by now."</p>
+
+<p>She was quite sure that she should be flogged now, even though she was
+a girl. She was too tired and down-hearted to care.</p>
+
+<p>But to her surprise, Will Lowry, instead of being more angry at her
+answer, laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"A stout-hearted wench!" said he. "'Tis pity thou art not indeed a lad!"</p>
+
+<p>Then Lowry unstrapped the cloak that was bound behind his saddle, and
+wrapped it about Merrylips, and brought her back to Larkland very
+tenderly. Better still, he would not let a word of reproof be spoken
+to her. The child was punished enough, he said, with the weariness and
+fright that she had suffered. He was kind, and Merrylips knew it.</p>
+
+<p>But after that night, by order of this same kind Will Lowry, Merrylips
+was never allowed to set foot outside the garden, unless one of the
+servants was with her. So never again did she have a chance to run away
+to Walsover.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">THE COMING OF HERBERT LOWRY</p>
+
+
+<p>There was no singing of carols nor eating of plum-pudding and mince
+pies at Larkland that Christmas, you may be sure. Mistress Lowry said
+that to keep Christmas was to bow the knee to Baal.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips did not know what that meant, though she thought it had a
+sinful sound. But at least she did know that on Christmas Day she had
+nothing better than stewed mutton for dinner, and she was given extra
+tasks that kept her busy till nightfall.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed Merrylips had so many tasks, while she was under Mistress
+Lowry's care, that she looked back on her life at Walsover as one
+long holiday. She had to spin, and to knit, and to read aloud from
+dull books about predestination and election and other deep religious
+matters. Worst of all, she had to sit quietly for an hour each day and
+think about the sinful state of her heart and how she might amend it.
+If she had not been as sunny-tempered and brave a little soul as ever
+lived, she would surely have grown fretful and morbid, shut up as she
+was with poor, sickly, fanatical Mistress Lowry.</p>
+
+<p>Strangely enough, in those dull winter days, Merrylips was much
+comforted by Will Lowry, who came almost every week on a visit from
+London. He seemed to like her the better, because she had tried to run
+away.</p>
+
+<p>Once he brought her from London a silken hood. At first he could not
+get her to wear it, because it was the gift of a rebel. But later, when
+Mistress Lowry took the silver ring away from Merrylips, saying that it
+was a vain, worldly gaud, he bade her give it back to the little girl.
+After that Merrylips was glad to please him by wearing the hood.</p>
+
+<p>Will Lowry called her Merrylips, too, and that was a comfort, for
+Mistress Lowry and all the household called her Sybil, a name by
+which she scarcely knew herself. Better still, when he rode about the
+fields and farms that belonged to Larkland, he would often take her,
+boy-fashion, on the saddle before him, or when he walked in Cuckstead
+village, he would have her tramping at his side. He did not scold her
+for scrambling over walls and climbing trees. Instead he seemed pleased
+with her strength and fearlessness.</p>
+
+<p>Once, when they had come in from a long walk in the chill winter
+weather, and were supping alone on bread and cheese, Lowry said, half
+playfully:—</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips, wouldst thou not like to have been born my little daughter?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips shook her head sternly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm daddy's daughter," she said, "and I will be none other's."</p>
+
+<p>"Thou canst not help thyself," Will Lowry answered. "One day thou'lt
+wed, and so become some other man's daughter."</p>
+
+<p>Then he added, and whether he spoke in jest or earnest Merrylips was
+too young to know:—</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word, when thou art five years older, I'll wed thee to my boy
+Herbert, and so I'll have thee for a daughter in thine own despite."</p>
+
+<p>At least Will Lowry was so much in earnest that from that day he
+stopped promising Merrylips that some time she should go home to
+Walsover. Also he began to talk to her of his boy Herbert. He was
+going to bring Herbert to Larkland soon, he said, and so give her a
+playfellow of her own years. And she must teach Herbert to play at ball
+and run and leap, and not to be afraid of a horse.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art a better lad than he in some regards," said Herbert's father,
+with what sounded like a sigh. "He is overfond of his book, but a good
+lad, none the less, and you two shall be dear friends."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips did not feel drawn toward Herbert by this description, nor
+was she pleased at Lowry's hint that when she was older she should be
+Herbert's wife. Of course she knew that some day she should marry, and
+she knew that girls were often wives at fourteen. Still she did not
+wish to think of marriage yet, and especially of marriage with a boy
+who was overfond of his book.</p>
+
+<p>But as the springtime passed, Merrylips grew so tired of Mistress
+Lowry's gloomy company that she began to think that it would be
+pleasant to have a boy of her own age to play with, even such a boy
+as Herbert. So she was more glad than sorry when Mistress Lowry told
+her, one bright day at Whitsuntide, that a sickness had broken out in
+Herbert's school, and next week Herbert would come home.</p>
+
+<p>A little while after young Herbert came to Larkland. When he and
+Merrylips stood side by side, any grown person would have understood
+why poor Will Lowry wanted Merrylips for a daughter, and would have
+been a little sorry for him.</p>
+
+<p>Herbert was frail and sickly like his mother. He was two years older
+than Merrylips, but hardly a fraction of an inch the taller. His hair
+was whity yellow, and lank, while hers was ruddy brown and curly. His
+eyes were pale blue, while hers were, like her hair, a ruddy brown. He
+drooped his head and shoulders. She carried her chest and chin bravely
+uplifted and looked the world in the face.</p>
+
+<p>Not only was Herbert sickly like his mother, but, as Merrylips soon
+found out, he was, like his mother, peevish and selfish. Besides, he
+was a coward. He would not even mount a horse, though his father, to
+shame him, set Merrylips on his own steady cob and let her trot up and
+down the courtyard. Worse still, once when his father caught him in a
+lie and struck him with a riding whip, Herbert whimpered aloud, so that
+Merrylips was ashamed for him.</p>
+
+<p>But Herbert was not whipped a second time. His mother took his part,
+and said that he must not be beaten, for he was not strong. Then his
+mother and his father quarrelled,—so Merrylips heard it whispered
+among the serving-folk,—and Mistress Lowry took to her bed for a week,
+and Will Lowry went up to London in some temper.</p>
+
+<p>After that Will Lowry came less often to Larkland. Perhaps it was
+because the Parliament in which he sat was very busy all that summer.
+Perhaps it was because he felt himself helpless to contend against his
+ailing wife. In any case, he stayed away from Larkland, and Merrylips,
+for one, missed him sorely.</p>
+
+<p>Still, though Merrylips did not like Herbert, they were two children
+in a dull house full of grown folk, so they were much together. When
+Herbert felt good-natured, he could tell long stories that he had read
+in books, about the wars of Greece and Rome and the pagan gods and
+goddesses. Sometimes he sang, too, in a reedy little voice, and he
+could make sketches with his pencil such as neither Flip nor Munn nor
+even Longkin could ever hope to make. At such times as these Merrylips
+was glad of his company and openly admired his cleverness.</p>
+
+<p>But out-of-doors, at boyish sports, Herbert was worse than useless. He
+could not climb and run and ride and play as Merrylips did, and he was
+jealous because she could. He mocked at all she did, and said that, if
+he chose, he could do it far better, because he was a boy, and she but
+a paltry girl. He would not let her touch his bat and balls, and once,
+when he found her peeping into one of his Latin books, he ran and told
+his mother that she was meddling with his things.</p>
+
+<p>Very soon Herbert found a better way to tease Merrylips than by
+laughing at her or bearing tales to his mother. Whenever he quarrelled
+with her, and that was often, he delighted to taunt her with the
+fact that she was a Cavalier. All Cavaliers, he said, were false and
+cowardly, and the brave and virtuous Parliament men were beating them
+soundly.</p>
+
+<p>Here Herbert took an unfair advantage. From his parents he knew all
+that was happening in England, from the Roundhead standpoint. But poor
+Merrylips was not allowed to read for herself the letters that were
+sent her from Walsover and get the Cavalier side of the story. So she
+had no arguments with which to answer him.</p>
+
+<p>One day in October Herbert told her joyfully that the king's army had
+been driven back from Gloucester and soundly beaten at a place called
+Newbury.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips could answer only that she didn't believe it.</p>
+
+<p>Then he told her that the king had made peace with the murderous Irish,
+and that he was a false and wicked man.</p>
+
+<p>At that Merrylips used the oldest argument in the world. She clenched
+her little fists, as she had not done since her eighth birthday,
+two full years before, and she gave Herbert a smack that sent him
+blubbering to his mother.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, Merrylips was well punished for that blow. Mistress Lowry
+whipped her hands, and prayed over her. Then she sent her supperless to
+her chamber, and bade her pray that her naughty spirit might be broken.</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips did not pray. Instead she curled up on the window-seat,
+and from within her gown took the silver ring that Lady Sybil had left
+with her, and kissed it and stroked it and talked to it.</p>
+
+<p>"I do think long to be at Walsover," she whispered. "But ere I go, I'd
+fain smack Herbert once again for a tittling talebearer. Ay, and I'd
+fain fight the wicked Roundheads, for Herbert and his mother be of
+their party, and O kind Lord! Thou knowest that they have used me much
+unhandsomely!"</p>
+
+<p>And if, at that point, under cover of the twilight, a tear or two fell
+on the silver ring, even Merrylips' big brothers could scarcely have
+blamed that poor little captive maid.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">A VENNER TO THE RESCUE!</p>
+
+
+<p>"Sybil! Hey, Sybil! Why dost not answer when I speak thee fair?"</p>
+
+<p>It was Herbert Lowry that spoke from the threshold of the hall, where
+Merrylips sat alone at her knitting. She raised her eyes from the
+tiresome stitches, and saw him standing there, and she thought to
+herself that never had she seen him look so well.</p>
+
+<p>He was wearing breeches and doublet of reddish brown stuff, with gilt
+buttons,—a suit that pleased her best of all his clothes. In the
+autumn sunlight that slanted through the door, his hair was touched
+with yellow, and the color of his skin seemed almost healthy. He had
+spoken too in a friendly voice. It was clear that he was ready to make
+up, after the quarrel of two weeks ago in which she had struck him.</p>
+
+<p>She was not sorry to be friends with him again. After all, she found
+Herbert better company than no company at all.</p>
+
+<p>"Look 'ee, Sybil!" said Herbert, as he met her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>He tiptoed into the hall, and held up before her a little creel and a
+long line.</p>
+
+<p>"The cook-maid hath given me a dainty bit to eat, and I've here a brave
+new line. What sayst thou if we go angling for gudgeons to-day in the
+brook under Nutfold wood?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips clapped her hands and forgave Herbert everything.</p>
+
+<p>"A-fishing? Wilt take me, Herbert? I've not cast a line in a
+twelvemonth. Oh, wilt thou truly take me, Herbert?" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Now hush!" he snapped. "'Tis like a silly girl to be squawking it out
+so all the house may hear. To be sure, I'll be gracious to take thee
+with me, Sybil, if thou'lt be good—"</p>
+
+<p>"I will!" promised Merrylips, headlong.</p>
+
+<p>"And do as I bid thee—"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes!" cried Merrylips. "Let us be gone!"</p>
+
+<p>Deep in her heart she mistrusted that Herbert had planned this trip
+without telling his mother. She doubted if Mistress Lowry would let
+her ramble off the three miles to Nutfold with no better guard than
+this young boy. So she was much afraid lest she should be called back
+and forbidden to go a-fishing. She fairly tiptoed out of the house at
+Herbert's side, and never drew a long breath till she heard the garden
+gate close behind them.</p>
+
+<p>The two children were now quite sure of not being seen and stopped.
+But none the less Herbert, who was sly by nature, picked their path in
+the shelter of walls and hedges and through copses. In this stealthy
+way they went westward toward the wood that lay by the hamlet of
+Nutfold. Herbert was empty-handed. He bade Merrylips carry the creel
+in which their luncheon was packed, and true to her word, she did his
+bidding.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the brook Herbert said:—</p>
+
+<p>"Now thou mayst dig for worms, Sybil, while I cut me a fish-rod."</p>
+
+<p>Well, well! She had promised to do as he asked, and a gentleman must
+keep his word, so she took a stick and grubbed in the dirt for bait,
+while Master Herbert sat at his ease and trimmed an alder branch with
+his knife. As she worked, she wondered if she had not been foolish to
+come with Herbert. She should be punished, surely, for running away and
+leaving her knitting undone. And meanwhile she was not having at all a
+good time.</p>
+
+<p>As the morning passed, Merrylips found less and less pleasure in the
+sport to which she had looked forward. Again and again Herbert bade her
+bait his hook for him, and he made her carry the creel, but not once
+did he let her cast the line.</p>
+
+<p>It was his line, he said, when she timidly asked to have it only for
+one throw. It was his line, and he should use it, and in any case she
+could not catch a fish. She was but a girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd not need to be a skilled angler to do better than thou," answered
+Merrylips. "Thou hast not taken a fish this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis because thou hast frighted them away with thy clitter-clatter,"
+scolded Herbert. "A fool I was to let thee come with me!"</p>
+
+<p>Almost at an open quarrel, they stumbled through the tangled sedges
+and trailing underwood upon the bank of the stream. The tireder
+Herbert grew, the crosser he was, and the worse luck he had with his
+fishing—and he had very bad luck!—the surer he was that Merrylips was
+to blame.</p>
+
+<p>Soon he began to mock and to tease her, and once, when she tripped over
+a fallen branch, he laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>"You may laugh," cried Merrylips, "but haply you'd not find it easy to
+keep your feet, if you bore a great basket, and if you wore hateful
+petticoats a-dangling round your feet. I would that you had to wear
+petticoats but once!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thou'rt weeping now!" jeered Herbert.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips made herself laugh in his face.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis only silly boys that weep," said she. "When their fathers beat
+them, they snivel, and run with tales to their mothers."</p>
+
+<p>The quarrel had begun in earnest. For the next half mile the tired
+children tramped in angry silence. Then Herbert snatched the creel from
+Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis mine!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on a grassy bank and opened the creel. Within it were spice
+cakes and cheese and a little chicken pasty, and every crumb that
+greedy boy munched down himself, and never offered so much as one spice
+cake to Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps he hoped that she would ask for a share of the luncheon, but
+in that case he was disappointed. Merrylips was hungry indeed, after
+the long walk in the autumn air, but she would have starved before she
+would have begged of Herbert.</p>
+
+<p>She went a little way off, but only a little way, for she could not
+help hoping that he might offer her some of the food. She sat down on
+the edge of the brook and flung clods of dirt into the water. She sang,
+too, because she wished Herbert to think that she did not care at all,
+but out of the corner of her eye she watched the chicken pasty and the
+cheese and the spice cakes till the last crumb was gone.</p>
+
+<p>Then Merrylips lay down and drank from the brook, for she saw that
+a drink of water was all the luncheon that she was to have. As she
+leaned over the brook, the silver ring that hung about her neck slipped
+from the bosom of her gown and swung at the end of the cord on which
+she wore it.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" said Herbert.</p>
+
+<p>He too had come to the edge of the brook to drink, and he stood near
+Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me look upon it, Sybil."</p>
+
+<p>"Go finish your dinner!" Merrylips answered as she put the ring back
+within her gown.</p>
+
+<p>Her tone angered Herbert even more than her words.</p>
+
+<p>"You show me that as I bid you!" he cried. "How dare you disobey me?
+You're going to be my wife some day—father saith so—and then I'll
+learn you! Now you show me that silver thing, mistress, or I'll beat
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Try it!" flashed Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>But for all her brave words, she did not wish to fight with Herbert.
+She felt too tired and hungry to fight, and besides, if she beat
+Herbert, she knew that she should be punished for it by Mistress Lowry.
+So when Herbert put out his hand to seize her, she dodged him and took
+to her heels through the wood. She knew that she could outrun him.</p>
+
+<p>She heard him crashing among the bushes behind her. She felt the sting
+of the bare branches that whipped her face as she ran. Blindly she
+sped along till right at her feet she saw the ground open where a
+sunken bridle-path ran between steep banks. Far off on the path she
+heard, as something that did not concern her, like a sound in a dream,
+a muffled padding of horse-hoofs.</p>
+
+<p>Panting and spent, she jumped down the bank into the path, and as
+she did so, she caught her skirt on a prickly bush of holly. She was
+brought to her knees by the sudden jerk, and before she could free her
+skirt and rise she felt Herbert's grasp close on her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"You jade! I'll learn you now!" Herbert cried.</p>
+
+<p>All the time she had heard the horse-hoofs, nearer and nearer, and she
+heard now a deep voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord 'a' mercy! Ye little fools!" the voice said. "Will ye be ridden
+down?"</p>
+
+<p>Horses, two horses, that looked to Merrylips as tall as steeples, were
+halted right above her. In the saddle of one a big man in a steel cap
+and a leathern coat sat gaping. From the saddle of the other there had
+vaulted down a slim young fellow in a shiny cuirass, with a plumed hat
+on his head and a sword slung from his baldric. He caught Herbert by
+the neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Learn her, wilt thou?" he cried in a clear, youthful voice. "Faith,
+here's a schooling in which I'll bear a hand, my pretty gentleman!"</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus4.jpg" alt="" id="illus4">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p>"<span class="smcap">Faith, here's a schooling in which I'll bear a hand, my pretty gentleman!</span>"</p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<p>There was something in the voice, something in the figure, that brought
+to Merrylips the sight of Walsover, and the sound of voices that she
+had not heard in two long years. She scrambled to her feet, and with a
+loud cry flung her arms about the young man.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis thou! 'Tis thou!" she cried. "'Tis thou at last, and I did not
+know thee! Oh, Munn! mine own dear brother!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">IN BORROWED PLUMES</p>
+
+
+<p>At first Merrylips could only laugh and cry and repeat her brother's
+name, while all the time she clung tight to him. It seemed too good to
+be true that Munn had really come at last! If once she let go of him,
+she feared that he would vanish, as the shapes of her dear ones had so
+many times vanished in her homesick dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Little by little she grew sure that the figures on which she looked
+were real. The horses that drooped their heads to crop the brown grass
+were real. The big trooper, who held their bridles with one hand, was
+real, and in his face, which was all one broad grin, she recognized
+the features of that same Stephen Plasket, the serving-man who had
+gone with her when she went walking in London. From him she turned to
+Herbert Lowry, who stood scared and shaking, with his arm in Stephen's
+grasp, and she found him so real that she knew this was no dream.</p>
+
+<p>Then she looked up again, at the sunburnt young face under the plumed
+hat, that bent above her. She was certain now that it was indeed Munn,
+in flesh and blood. So she kept back the tears of which he would not
+approve.</p>
+
+<p>"And what's the news from Walsover?" she begged, as soon as she could
+speak. "Oh, tell me how it is with daddy and with my godmother!"</p>
+
+<p>Very hastily Munn told her all that she wished to know. First he told
+how Lady Sybil had come safe to Walsover with her jewels, which had
+long since been spent in the king's service. After that Lady Sybil had
+gone a long journey into France, to beg some of the great folk in those
+parts, whom she had known in her girlhood, to send aid to the cause she
+served. For a time also she had been in the king's camp at Oxford, but
+now she had come back to Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>Then he went on to tell how Lady Venner and Puss and Pug were full of
+cares, for Walsover had been fortified and garrisoned. Besides, many
+cousins and kinsfolk had come there for shelter, so the great house was
+full to overflowing.</p>
+
+<p>Of more interest to Merrylips, he said that their father, Sir Thomas,
+was in command of a troop of horse, with headquarters at Walsover.
+Longkin, who was now a tall gallant with mustaches, was a lieutenant
+under him, and Flip hoped soon to be an officer. But at present Flip
+was thought too young to hold a commission, and so he had to stay,
+much against his will, and mind his book at Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>For his own part, Munn ended, he had got him a cornetcy in the
+horse-troop of Lord Eversfield, the father of one of his schoolfellows.
+Just now he was serving under one Captain Norris, at a fortified house
+called Monksfield, in the rape of Arundel.</p>
+
+<p>While Munn was speaking, he kept glancing up and down the bridle-path,
+and when Merrylips noticed this, she cut him short.</p>
+
+<p>"Leave the rest!" she said. "Thou'lt have time enough to tell it me on
+our way. And now let us be off quickly, lest we be stayed."</p>
+
+<p>At that Herbert lifted his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you dare to go with these vile knaves!" he shrilled. "My mother
+will be angered. Don't you dare!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips laughed and turned her back on him. Then she saw that Munn
+stood biting his lip, with his eyes upon the ground, and she stopped
+laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Munn!" she gasped. "But surely thou art come to fetch me? Thou wilt
+never think to go and leave me here behind?"</p>
+
+<p>With a gesture that she remembered, Munn took off his hat and ran his
+fingers through his hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Look 'ee, Merrylips," said he, "I was i' the wrong, belike, to come
+hither at all. 'Twas that I was sent from Monksfield with others of
+our troop to gather cattle and provender for our garrison. We seized
+this morn upon the village of Storringham, a league or so to the west
+of here. And Lieutenant Crashaw who commandeth our party bade me ride
+forward with a trusty man, to spy out the country. And so I shaped our
+course toward Larkland, on the chance that I might see thee, honey, or
+get news of thee, for I was fain to know how thou wert faring."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes!" said Merrylips. "But now that thou hast found me, Munn,
+dear, what shall hinder me to go away with thee?"</p>
+
+<p>Munn shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"How can I take thee, Merrylips? I tell thee, I am in garrison, in a
+house where no women dwell, among men ruder than any thou hast ever
+dreamed on, or should dream on, little maid. Our captain indeed hath
+straitly charged us to bring thither no women of our kindred, nor young
+children. For the life in garrison is rough and hard, and more, we are
+in daily peril of assault from our enemies. Thou seest well, thou canst
+not come with me. Thou must be content to stay at Larkland, where thou
+art safe from danger."</p>
+
+<p>"But I do not fear danger!" cried Merrylips, flinging back her head.</p>
+
+<p>Then once more she clung to Munn, and begged and pleaded as never
+before in her little life.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Munn! Sweetest brother! Thou canst not have the heart to leave me,
+when I have waited long. And 'tis so hateful at Larkland, with Mistress
+Lowry ever chiding and lessoning me, and Mr. Lowry, he cometh almost
+never among us now. And they say that daddy and thou and Longkin are
+evil men, and that I must hate the king—"</p>
+
+<p>"Say they so?" growled Stephen, the trooper. "Quiet, ye rebel imp!"</p>
+
+<p>As he said that, he shook Herbert, though Herbert had not so much as
+stirred.</p>
+
+<p>"And," Merrylips hurried on, "they say when I am older, I must wed
+Herbert Lowry yonder."</p>
+
+<p>Then it was Munn's turn to break into words.</p>
+
+<p>"Now renounce my soul!" he cried, and flushed to the hair, and then
+grew white under his coat of tan. "So that's Will Lowry's bent—to mate
+my sister with his ill-conditioned brat! Upon my conscience, Merrylips,
+I be half minded—"</p>
+
+<p>She held her breath, waiting to hear him bid her scramble on his
+horse's back. But after a moment he shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, it must not be," he said sadly. "Monksfield is no place to which
+to bring a girl child. Ah, Merrylips, if thou wert but a young boy!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips clenched her hands. She was fairly trembling with a great
+idea that had come to her. When she tried to speak, she almost
+stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"Munn! Dearest Munn! Why should I not go as a boy—as thy little
+brother? Oh, I'll bear me like a boy! I'll never cry nor fret nor be
+weary. Oh, do but try me, Munn! Best brother! Sweetest brother! Let me
+go with thee as a little boy!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thou lookest a boy," said Munn, and tried to smile, as he pointed at
+her petticoat. "What of clothes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Faith, sir," cried Stephen, "if the little mistress be stayed for
+naught but a doublet and a pair of breeches, here they be, ready to
+hand!"</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, the trooper began to unfasten Herbert's ruddy brown
+doublet, and at that Herbert screamed:—</p>
+
+<p>"Do thou but wait! 'Tis thou shalt pay for this, Sybil Venner, when my
+mother cometh to hear on it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Be quiet!" bade Munn, in a stern voice. "And you, Stephen Plasket,
+hold your hand. Let me think!"</p>
+
+<p>He stood in the bridle-path, with his brows knit and his lips
+stiffened, while he tried to see his way clear, this young officer, who
+himself was after all no more than a boy. He knew that Monksfield was
+no place for Merrylips. He knew that he would disobey his captain's
+orders, if he should take a little girl thither.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he dreaded to leave her behind at Larkland. Not only did he hate
+to disappoint her so cruelly, but he was angry at the mere hint of her
+being brought up to make Herbert Lowry a wife. Besides he was afraid,
+hearing Herbert's outcry, that if she were left behind, she might be
+punished only for thinking to escape.</p>
+
+<p>In short, Munn felt that he could not leave his sister at Larkland.
+But at the same time he knew that he could not take her, as a girl, to
+Monksfield.</p>
+
+<p>In this dilemma he began to turn over her childish proposal that she
+should go with him disguised as a boy. He felt almost sure that he
+should be allowed to bring a young lad into the garrison for a few
+days. Within those few days he hoped to find means to send Merrylips on
+to Walsover, before any one could discover that she was no boy, but a
+little girl.</p>
+
+<p>He knew that this was a risky undertaking, and he knew that the burden
+of it would fall upon the child, but he thought that he could trust
+her. He noted how straight and vigorous was her slim young figure, how
+brown and healthy her color, how brave her carriage. She had always
+been a boyish little girl, and in her boyishness he now placed his hope.</p>
+
+<p>From Merrylips Munn turned to that pallid and ill-favored Herbert,
+who was squirming in Stephen's grip. Suddenly all that in Munn which
+was still a schoolboy thought it a rare jest to put Herbert into
+petticoats, where he belonged, and set brave little Merrylips, for
+once, in the breeches that all her life she had longed to wear. So
+good a jest it was, that he thought, for the jest's sake, he might win
+forgiveness even from his captain, if he should be found out.</p>
+
+<p>Carried away by the fun of it, he turned to Merrylips, and his eyes
+were dancing.</p>
+
+<p>"Run thou behind yonder thick holly bush," he spoke the words that
+bound him to this plan. "Off with thy gown and fling it forth to me.
+Thou shalt speedily have other gear to replace it."</p>
+
+<p>Before he had done speaking, Merrylips was screened behind the holly
+bush, and with fingers that shook was casting off her bodice and her
+petticoat. As she did so, she heard an angry cry from Herbert.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell my mother! I'll tell my—"</p>
+
+<p>There the cry changed, and from the sounds that went with it she knew
+that at last Herbert was getting, from Stephen Plasket, the whipping
+that for months he had so sorely needed.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later a little ruddy brown bundle came tumbling over the
+holly bush, and Merrylips, in all haste, turned herself into a boy.
+She kept her own worsted stockings and stout country-made shoes. Over
+her own plain little smock she drew the ruddy brown breeches, which
+she gartered trimly at the knee, and the ruddy brown doublet, with
+the slashed sleeves and the pretty buttons of gilt. She unbound the
+lace that tied her hair and shook her flyaway mop about her face. Her
+hair was so curly that it had never grown long enough to fall below
+her shoulders, and that was a very fit length for a little Cavalier.
+She tied Herbert's white collar round her neck. Last of all she set
+Herbert's felt hat upon her head, and then she was ready.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not feel at all as she had thought she should feel. Instead
+of feeling bold and manly, she was suddenly afraid lest, in spite of
+the clothes, she should not be boy enough to please Munn. So great was
+her fear that she stood shrinking behind the holly bush till she heard
+Munn call, a little impatiently. Then she crept out, with her head
+hanging.</p>
+
+<p>Munn looked at her, and gave a whistle between his teeth—a whistle of
+dismay. He had thought her a boyish little girl, but he saw her now a
+very girlish little boy. He doubted if, when they came to Monksfield,
+he could keep up for one moment the deception that he had planned. But
+come what might, he knew that he had now gone too far to draw back.
+After the rough way in which he had let Master Herbert be used, he
+dared not leave his little sister in the hands of Herbert's kin.</p>
+
+<p>"Into the saddle with thee!" he bade more cheerily than he felt.</p>
+
+<p>He had to help Merrylips to his horse's back. When he had vaulted into
+the saddle behind her and put his arm about her, he felt that she was
+quivering with excitement and nervousness. He called himself a fool to
+have ventured on such a hare-brained prank.</p>
+
+<p>But just then Stephen, who all this time had held Herbert silent with
+a hand upon his mouth, let go of him in order that he might mount his
+horse. And straightway up jumped Herbert, right by Munn's stirrup, half
+in and half out of Merrylips' gown, with his face all smeared with
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thou Sybil Venner!" he wailed. "I'll tell my mother! I'll—"</p>
+
+<p>Then Merrylips threw back her head and laughed, with the color bright
+in her cheeks once more.</p>
+
+<p>"See how thou dost like it thyself to walk in petticoats!" she cried.
+"Go tell thy mother—tell her what thou wilt. Thou canst tell her I'm
+off to the wars to fight for the king."</p>
+
+<p>"Well said!" laughed Munn, as he gathered up the reins. "Upon my word,
+I believe that after all thou'lt do thy part fairly, Merrylips, my
+little new brother!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">OFF TO THE WARS</p>
+
+
+<p>As they rode along the way to Storringham, Munn gave Merrylips good
+advice.</p>
+
+<p>"Look to it thou dost not swagger nor seek to play the man," he checked
+some fine schemes that she had hinted at.</p>
+
+<p>"Be just as thou art, and let them think thee a timid little lad,
+and one that hath been reared among women. I'll say thou art not
+overstrong, and under that pretext will keep thee close, for the
+most part, in mine own chamber, till I find means to send thee unto
+Walsover. Ay, ay! We may win through in safety. For Stephen, I know,
+will be faithful and hold his tongue."</p>
+
+<p>"Trust me for that, sir," cried the ex-serving-man, who rode close
+behind. "I'll never betray the little mistress—the little master, I
+should say."</p>
+
+<p>Presently Munn spoke again, telling Merrylips what people she would
+meet at Monksfield, and how she should bear herself toward them.</p>
+
+<p>"Our senior captain," said he, "that commandeth our garrison, is called
+Tibbott Norris. He is a soldier of fortune—that is, he hath been a
+soldier all his life for hire in foreign armies. He is a harsh, stern
+man, and one of whom many folk stand in fear, and with reason. So do
+thou be civil to him and keep thyself out of his path."</p>
+
+<p>This Merrylips promised to do, most earnestly. She was a little
+frightened at the mere thought of this Captain Norris, of whom her
+big brother Munn seemed himself to be afraid. She found his very name
+fearful.</p>
+
+<p>"Tibbott!" she repeated. "I never heard of any one that was called
+Tibbott."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no doubt he was christened Theobald," said Munn. "That is quite a
+common name, whereof Tibbott is a byname."</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips still thought Tibbott an odd name, so odd that she said
+it over to herself a number of times.</p>
+
+<p>"Of our other officers," Munn went on, "the junior captain is called
+George Brooke. He loveth a jest and may well try to tease thee, but
+do not fear him. Neither do thou be too saucy and familiar, for he is
+shrewd and may guess that thou art not what thou dost seem. Miles Digby
+is his lieutenant, a rough companion and apt to bully, but I'll see to
+it that he try not his tricks with thee. And Brooke's cornet is one
+Nick Slanning, somewhat a braggart, but a good heart and will do thee
+no harm. That's our officers' mess at Monksfield, save for Eustace
+Crashaw, Captain Norris's lieutenant, and him thou soon shalt see, for
+we now are drawing nigh unto Storringham."</p>
+
+<p>In the last moments they had left the shelter of the wood, through
+which Munn had prudently shaped their course. They now were riding over
+some low, bare hillocks. As they reached the top of one that was higher
+than the rest, they saw, right below them, a clump of trees, and rising
+through the branches were a shingled church spire and a number of
+thatched roofs. Over all, trees and spire and roofs, hung a murky film
+which thickened at the centre to a black smear.</p>
+
+<p>"My life on't!" cried Munn. "Lieutenant Crashaw hath been smoking these
+pestilent rebels."</p>
+
+<p>So saying, Munn put spurs to his horse, and at a round trot they swung
+down the hill into Storringham. Then they found that the smoke which
+they had seen came from a great pile of corn that had been heaped in
+the open space before the church, where four roads met, and set afire.
+Near by stood three great wains, heaped high with corn, and hitched
+each to six horses. Farther along, herded in one of the narrow roads, a
+drove of frightened cattle were plunging and tossing their heads.</p>
+
+<p>Everywhere there were dismounted troopers. They herded the cattle, with
+loud shouts and curses. They piled corn upon the wains. They went
+at will in and out of the cottages, the doors of which stood open.
+Oftenest of all they went in and out of the largest cottage, which
+seemed a tavern, and when they came out, they were wiping their mouths
+on their sleeves.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of this hurly-burly, where men hurried to and fro, and
+cattle plunged, and horses stamped, and dogs barked, a little group of
+people stood sadly by the smouldering heap of wasted corn. They were
+village folk, Merrylips saw at once.</p>
+
+<p>Most of them were women, and of these some wrung their hands and wept,
+and some cried out and railed at the troopers. Almost all had young
+children clinging to them. There were not many men among them, and
+these were mostly old, white-headed gaffers in smock frocks. But one or
+two were lusty young fellows. Of these one had his arm bandaged, and
+another sat nursing his broken head in his two hands.</p>
+
+<p>Now when Merrylips looked at these unhappy people, she was much
+surprised. She had thought that Storringham, which the gallant
+Cavaliers had taken, would be a strong fort with walls, and that the
+people in it would be fierce and wicked Roundheads. But now she saw
+that Storringham was like Cuckstead, and the Storringham folk were like
+the Cuckstead folk who were her friends, and she was sorry for them.</p>
+
+<p>"How did it chance that all their corn was burned?" she asked her
+brother.</p>
+
+<p>"Faith," said Munn, quite carelessly, "Lieutenant Crashaw bade bring
+all the corn hither, and then, it seemeth, he must have bidden waste
+what we could not bear away for our own use."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips turned where she sat before him, and looked up into his face.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Munn," she said, "what will they do when winter cometh, and they
+have no corn to make them bread?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, little limber-tongue," Munn answered, "that concerneth us not at
+all. These folk are all rebels, and they fired upon us when we rode
+into their village this morn. So we have punished them, as thou seest.
+'Tis the way of war, child."</p>
+
+<p>At that word Merrylips remembered how in her heart she had longed for
+war. But she had thought that war was all gallant fighting and brave
+deeds. She had never dreamed that it meant wasting poor folk's food and
+making women cry.</p>
+
+<p>By this time Munn had pulled up before the tavern, and now there
+came across the open space and halted by his stirrup a fair-haired
+gentleman, with a drooping-mustache and a scrap of beard.</p>
+
+<p>"W-what news?" said he, speaking with a little stammer.</p>
+
+<p>Munn saluted him and told him that he had seen no sign of the enemy to
+eastward. So respectfully did he speak that Merrylips judged, quite
+rightly, that the fair-haired gentleman was Munn's superior officer,
+Lieutenant Crashaw.</p>
+
+<p>When Munn had done speaking, the lieutenant looked at Merrylips, and
+said, with a smile:—</p>
+
+<p>"W-what! Have you b-been child-stealing, C-Cornet Venner?"</p>
+
+<p>Then Munn stiffened himself, holding Merrylips tight, for he knew that
+the minute of trial had come.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my young brother," he said slowly. "He hath been reared among
+Puritan kinsfolk and kept from us by the fortunes of war. This day I
+chanced upon him—"</p>
+
+<p>"Ch-chanced, eh?" said Crashaw, and his smile deepened, so that Munn
+grew red.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well!" Crashaw went on, "you d-did wisely to snatch this
+b-bantling out of rebel hands. Fetch him along, and we'll m-make a
+m-man of him—if Captain Norris l-let him live to grow up! Now l-let
+him down and stretch his l-legs, for we'll not m-march hence for an
+hour."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips found herself lifted to the ground, where she stood looking
+about her. She was not quite sure what she should do. She would have
+chosen to stick close to Munn's heels, but she feared that would not
+be like a boy. So she stood where she was left, and anxiously watched
+Munn, as he went a little aside and spoke with Lieutenant Crashaw.</p>
+
+<p>While the two young men were talking together, a little girl ran out
+from the group of village folk and halted before them. She was about
+Merrylips' own age, with a shock of tawny hair and chapped little
+hands. Her gown was old and patched. She wore no stockings, and her
+little apron, which she kept twisting between her hands, was all soiled
+with dirt.</p>
+
+<p>"Kind gentlemen," she said, in a scared voice, "will ye not be good to
+give back our cow—the spotted one yonder with the crumpled horn. For
+there's Granny, and Popkin, and Hodge, and Polly, and me, and we've
+naught but the cush-cow to keep us—sweet gentlemen!"</p>
+
+<p>"R-run away with thee, little rebel!" said Crashaw, not unkindly, but
+much as he would have spoken to a little dog that was troublesome.</p>
+
+<p>And Merrylips' own brother Munn, that was so good to her, said
+carelessly:—</p>
+
+<p>"If you'll believe these folk, every cow in the herd is the only
+maintenance of seven souls at least."</p>
+
+<p>The little girl turned away, with her grimy apron twisted tight in her
+hands, and so sorry for her did Merrylips feel that she started after
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Little maid!" she said, and fumbled in her pocket.</p>
+
+<p>In that pocket, when she had changed into Herbert's clothes, she had
+remembered to put her own whittle and three half-pence that Mr. Lowry
+had given her. She pulled out the half-pence now, and said she:—</p>
+
+<p>"Prithee, take these, and I would they were more, and I be main sorry
+for thy cush-cow."</p>
+
+<p>But the little girl with the tawny hair turned upon her like a little
+fury.</p>
+
+<p>"I do hate thee for one of 'em!" she cried. "I'd fain see thee dead,
+thou wicked boy!"</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, smack! she struck Merrylips a sounding blow right across
+the face.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey! Hey!" said Lieutenant Crashaw, laughing. "C-close with her, young
+Venner! Strike for the k-king!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips blinked and swallowed hard, for the blow had not been a light
+one.</p>
+
+<p>"I am—a gentleman," she answered jerkily. "I may not strike—a girl."</p>
+
+<p>She turned away and sat down on a bench by the tavern door. Presently
+she picked up a bit of stick and marked with it in the dirt at her feet.</p>
+
+<p>In this fashion she was busied, when she heard a step beside her. She
+looked up, and found the lieutenant standing over her. She saw, too,
+that Munn was gone, and Stephen with him, and she felt afraid, but she
+tried not to show it.</p>
+
+<p>"So thou art too good a g-gentleman to strike a g-girl, eh?" said
+Lieutenant Crashaw.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips stood up civilly when he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, sir," she said, and looked him full in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"And too young a g-gentleman yet to k-kiss a girl, I take it?" the
+lieutenant laughed, and then he looked sober and half-ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou hast r-ridden far," he said, in a kind voice. "Art hungry,
+b-belike?"</p>
+
+<p>Then he called in at the open window of the tavern, and speedily a
+flurried serving-man came out. In his hands he brought a great piece of
+bread, on which a slice of beef was laid, and a hunch of cheese, and a
+pot of beer, which he placed on the bench by Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis g-good trooping fare," said Crashaw. "D-down with it, my gallant,
+and till thy b-brother cometh again, I'll have an eye to thee."</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips sat down, and in spite of the bustle round her and the
+anxiety which she felt at finding herself without Munn in this strange
+place, she made a hearty meal, for indeed she was hungry.</p>
+
+<p>While she ate, she saw a squadron of the troopers mount on horseback
+and set the herd of cattle in motion. Soon horses and cattle and men
+had all disappeared in a cloud of dust. Next the wains full of corn
+were started from the village. Then, at last, when Merrylips had long
+since eaten her luncheon and had kicked her heels for a weary while,
+Munn Venner, on a fresh horse, came clattering through the village and
+reined up before the tavern.</p>
+
+<p>Munn leaped from the saddle, and ran to speak to the lieutenant. What
+he said, Merrylips had no way of knowing, but she saw Lieutenant
+Crashaw turn to his trumpeter, who stood near. The trumpeter blew a
+blast that echoed through the village, and speedily troopers began to
+straggle in from cottages and lanes and rick-yards and get to horse.</p>
+
+<p>Then Munn beckoned to Merrylips, and she ran to him, and waited for his
+orders.</p>
+
+<p>"Were it not best, sir," Munn said to the lieutenant, "that this little
+one be placed in the van?"</p>
+
+<p>"Munn!" whispered Merrylips. "Am I not to ride with thee?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" he bade. "I shall be in the rear of the troop, where my
+place is. There is no danger," he added hastily, "but 'tis better
+thou shouldst be in the front of our squadron. Have no fear! With
+Lieutenant Crashaw's good leave, I'll give thee into the care of a
+trooper I can trust."</p>
+
+<p>The lieutenant nodded, as he turned away to give some orders, and Munn
+raised his voice:—</p>
+
+<p>"Hinkel! Come hither!"</p>
+
+<p>At that word a burly, thick-set man, who had been bent down, tightening
+a saddle-girth, at the farther side of the way, came hurrying across to
+Munn and stood at salute.</p>
+
+<p>"Take this lad, my brother," bade Munn, "and bear him on your horse,
+and see to it, Hinkel, that you bring him safely unto Monksfield."</p>
+
+<p>"Ja, mein Herr!" said Hinkel.</p>
+
+<p>At the sound of that guttural voice Merrylips gave a little cry.
+Looking up, she looked into a low-browed face that she remembered. In
+the trooper Hinkel she saw the same man that months before at Larkland
+she had known as the runaway Claus.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">TIDINGS AT MONKSFIELD</p>
+
+
+<p>So Merrylips was perched on the saddle in front of Claus Hinkel. And
+for the first half mile that she rode, she wondered what would happen
+to her, now that she was left in the care of the man whom she so
+distrusted.</p>
+
+<p>For the next half mile she had a new fear. What if Claus should
+recognize her as the little maid that he had seen at Larkland, and tell
+every one that she was no boy? But she must have been wholly changed by
+eighteen months of time and the boy's dress. Though she held her breath
+and waited to hear Claus tell her secret, hers and Munn's, he said not
+a word.</p>
+
+<p>By this time Merrylips and Claus had worked their way through the mass
+of men with whom they had left Storringham. They had now caught up with
+the vanguard, which had marched out of the village an hour before them.
+With the van went the creaking wains and the herd of cattle. Over all
+hung a cloud of dust that shone in the light of the setting sun.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the sun had sunk in a red smear of cloud behind the hills to
+westward. Over the brown fields that lay on either hand the twilight
+fell. In the hollows and where the road wound beneath trees it was
+quite dark. Merrylips could see the men and horses round her only
+as dim shapes in the blackness. But all the time she could hear the
+padding of hoofs on the road, the jingle of bits, the squeak of stirrup
+leathers, and the heavy breathing of horses and of men.</p>
+
+<p>From time to time, too, she heard sharp orders from Lieutenant Crashaw,
+who rode at the head of the troop, and low mutterings that passed
+from man to man. They were moving slowly, because of the darkness and
+because of the cattle and the wains, which could not be hurried. She
+felt that all were uneasy at this slowness, and then she herself became
+uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>After what seemed a long, long time the moon broke through the clouds
+and flung black shadows on the road. They moved a little faster now.
+Presently they passed through a straggling village that lay along a
+brook. No lights were burning in the cottages, and many of the doors
+stood open to the night wind. From the talk of the men about her
+Merrylips guessed that the Cavaliers had served this village as they
+had served Storringham, later in the morning, and that in fear of their
+return the village folk had stolen away.</p>
+
+<p>In all the length of the village they heard no sound, except the dreary
+howling of a dog, far off in the darkness. They saw no human creature,
+until they came to a little bridge, by which they must cross the
+stream. There, on the parapet, a lean man in fluttering rags sprang up
+and mowed and gibbered at them.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey! Go bet!" he cried, in a shrill voice that showed that his mind
+was empty. "Whip and spur! Whip and spur! Hatcher of Horsham will learn
+ye better speed. Ride, ride, ye robbers! Ye'll never outride Hatcher
+and his men."</p>
+
+<p>One of the troopers that rode near to Merrylips swung his carabine to
+his shoulder. For the first time in her life she heard a shot fired in
+anger. She bit her lip not to scream. But the crazy man was not hurt.
+He leaped from the parapet, and before another shot could be fired
+was out of sight among the shadows of the bushes that grew along the
+brookside.</p>
+
+<p>Lieutenant Crashaw came pushing to the spot and soundly rated the man
+that had fired. Then he turned his horse to the rear, and trotted away
+down the moon-lit road.</p>
+
+<p>From that time Merrylips could not help glancing over her shoulder
+every now and then. She wondered what might be happening in the rear.
+And with all her heart she wished that Munn were at her side, or even
+Stephen Plasket.</p>
+
+<p>They had left the village well behind them, but they still were
+following the road along the brook. Then, above the creak of the wains
+and the clatter of the horses' feet, Merrylips heard a sound that
+made her think of the beat of heavy hailstones on the leaded panes at
+Larkland.</p>
+
+<p>"Hark 'ee!" said Claus to the trooper beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," said the latter.</p>
+
+<p>He turned in the saddle to listen. All the while the spatter of the
+hailstones sounded through the night.</p>
+
+<p>"The fat's i' the fire now," said the trooper. "'Tis yonder at Loxford
+village, and a pestilence place for an ambuscado!"</p>
+
+<p>The corporal who was left in charge of the squadron came riding then
+along their line, with sharp orders. Promptly the men fell silent. They
+closed their ranks, and with little rustlings and clickings looked to
+their primings and loosened their swords in their scabbards.</p>
+
+<p>Still the hailstones spattered in their rear. Merrylips knew now that
+she was listening to the crack of carabines. Through all her body she
+began to tremble.</p>
+
+<p>The rest of that strange night she remembered dimly. They rode on and
+on, in a tense silence. They flogged forward the wain-horses and the
+cattle, and some of them they had to leave behind. They met a great
+body of horsemen who were friends, sent out to help them. They came
+to a vast pile of buildings, set apart in a field, where there was a
+sheet of water that gleamed dully in the moonlight. They rode through
+an arched gateway, past sentries, into a big courtyard, where torches
+were flaring. Merrylips knew then that at last they had come in safety
+to Monksfield.</p>
+
+<p>She felt herself lifted from the saddle, and stood upon a bench against
+a stable wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay ye there, master," she heard Claus say. "Cornet Venner will
+speedily be here."</p>
+
+<p>For a weary while Merrylips stood there, and watched the crowd. The
+courtyard was choked with frightened cattle and horses, and men that
+tried to clear the press, and officers that shouted orders. But she
+seemed to be unnoticed by them all.</p>
+
+<p>She was very tired with riding all day long. She was frightened, too,
+at the strangeness of the place in which she stood, and troubled at
+Munn's not coming. If she had not promised her brother to be brave, she
+felt that she should have cried.</p>
+
+<p>From time to time she shut her eyes. She was so tired! Once, as she
+did so, she reeled and almost fell off the bench. Then she grew afraid
+that she might fall and be trampled on by the cattle, so she left the
+bench and crept into a shed that stood close by. There she sat down on
+a truss of straw to wait for Munn. When he did not come, she thought it
+no harm to lie down. She could wait for him just as well lying down as
+sitting, and she was very tired.</p>
+
+<p>It might have been minutes later, or hours later, when Merrylips woke
+up. It still was night, and the torches were burning, but the courtyard
+now was cleared of cattle. She sat up in the straw, and at first she
+scarcely knew where she was, or how she came there, or anything, except
+that she was lame and tired and cold.</p>
+
+<p>Then she saw, standing over her, a man who must have wakened her.
+She rubbed her eyes and looked again, and now she saw that it was
+Lieutenant Crashaw. He wore his doublet bound about his neck by the two
+sleeves, and his left hand rested bandaged in a sling.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she stared at him, and wondered, for she had not
+remembered him like that. Then she came to herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Munn?" she asked. "Where's my brother?"</p>
+
+<p>"My l-lad," said Crashaw, gravely, "thy b-brother is not here, nor will
+be here for l-long."</p>
+
+<p>Then, while Merrylips stared speechless into his haggard face and
+seemed to see it far off, Crashaw went on:—</p>
+
+<p>"The Roundheads from Horsham—C-Colonel Hatcher and a troop of
+dragoons—set upon our rear at L-Loxford village. And one of our
+troopers, Plasket, had his h-horse shot under him. And thy b-brother
+like a g-gallant fool, reined up to take the f-fellow up behind him.
+And so the rebels c-closed with him. And so, my l-lad, we had to leave
+thy b-brother and the trooper, Plasket, p-prisoners in the hands of the
+enemy."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">BROTHER OFFICERS</p>
+
+
+<p>When Merrylips next woke, she wondered for a minute where she was.
+Then she remembered last night. She remembered how Lieutenant Crashaw
+had led her across the courtyard, and through dim halls and passages,
+and up a narrow stair. She remembered how he had opened the door of a
+little chamber and had said:—</p>
+
+<p>"This is thy b-brother's quarters. Thou canst l-lie here for now."</p>
+
+<p>So it was Munn's own room in which she woke. Munn's coats hung on the
+wall, and on the table, beneath the window, were paper and ink and two
+bitten apples. Munn must have sat there, writing and eating, before he
+started on the march from which he had not come back.</p>
+
+<p>At the thought of her lost brother, Merrylips hid her face in the
+pillow. She was sorry for Munn, who was left a prisoner in the hands of
+the cruel Roundheads. And she was sorry for herself, too, and sorely
+afraid of what might happen to her. For if it had seemed hard to be a
+boy at Monksfield, when Munn was to be there to help her, what did it
+not seem, now that he was taken from her and she was left to play her
+part alone?</p>
+
+<p>Still, she never dreamed of telling any one, not even friendly
+Lieutenant Crashaw, that she was a little girl. She had promised Munn
+to bear herself as a boy, as long as she stayed at Monksfield. And a
+gentleman must keep his promise, whatever might happen.</p>
+
+<p>So presently, as a little boy, she should have to meet those brother
+officers that Munn had told her about. She thought of Captain George
+Brooke, who would tease, and Lieutenant Miles Digby, who was apt to
+bully, and Captain Tibbott Norris, from whose path she had been warned
+to keep herself. She felt that she should never, never have the courage
+to show her face among them.</p>
+
+<p>But as the morning passed, poor Merrylips grew hungry. And she doubted
+if there was any one in Monksfield who would bring dinner to a lazy
+little boy that stayed in bed.</p>
+
+<p>So she got up, and brushed her hair, and smoothed her doublet and
+breeches, which she had sadly rumpled in her sleep. Then she took from
+the wall an old red sash and tied it round her waist in a huge bow. It
+was an officer's sash, and Munn's sash, too. Somehow she felt braver
+when she had it on.</p>
+
+<p>Like a little soldier and Munn's brother, she marched out of the room
+and down the stairs into a flagged corridor. Right before her she saw
+a door that was ajar, and in the room beyond she heard a murmur of
+men's voices. She shrank back, but just then she smelled the savor of
+bakemeat. And indeed she was very hungry!</p>
+
+<p>So she sidled through the crack of the door, like a very timid little
+boy. She found herself in a rude old hall, which was paved with stone
+and very damp, in spite of the great fire that blazed upon the hearth.
+Against the wall were benches, and in the middle of the room was
+an oaken table on which dinner was set out—a chine of beef, and a
+bakemeat, and leathern jacks full of beer.</p>
+
+<p>Round the table, on forms and stools, were seated five men, who all
+wore the red sashes of Cavalier officers. At the sound of Merrylips'
+step on the echoing floor, they looked up, every one of them. In her
+alarm, she came near dropping them a courtesy like a girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Yonder's l-little Venner, whereof I told you, sir," spoke a voice that
+Merrylips remembered for Lieutenant Crashaw's.</p>
+
+<p>Then a harsh voice that she did not remember struck in:—</p>
+
+<p>"Come you hither, sirrah!"</p>
+
+<p>A long, long way it seemed to Merrylips she went. She crossed the floor
+that echoed in a startling manner. She passed the faces that were bent
+upon her. At last she halted at the head of the table.</p>
+
+<p>The man who sat there was dark, and ill-shaven, and bearded, and his
+hair was touched with gray. His leathern coat was worn and stained, and
+his great boots were muddied. Yet Merrylips did not doubt that he was
+commander in that place. This was the man whom even her big brother
+feared—the dreaded Captain Tibbott Norris.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Captain Norris looked at Merrylips, and she looked bravely
+back at him, for all that she breathed a little faster.</p>
+
+<p>"So you're Venner's brother!" he said at last. "Well, an you grow to be
+as gallant a lad as Venner, your kinsmen need find no fault in you."</p>
+
+<p>When Merrylips heard Captain Norris, whom Munn had feared, praise him
+so generously, now that he was gone, she wanted to cry. But she blinked
+fast and said, with only a little quaver:—</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you—for my brother's sake, sir!"</p>
+
+<p>Captain Norris noticed the struggle that she made. Into his sombre eyes
+there came a spark of interest.</p>
+
+<p>"How do they call ye, lad?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Before she had thought, out popped her own name.</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips, an't like you, sir."</p>
+
+<p>She heard a chuckle go round the table. She did not realize that
+Merrylips was a nickname that might be given to a boy as well as to a
+girl. So she did not dream that the officers were laughing at a little
+boy who told his pet-name to strangers. Instead she thought that she
+had told her secret and that they knew her for a girl. At that she was
+so frightened that she hardly knew what she did.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Norris broke out impatiently:—</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, ye little bufflehead! I asked your given name."</p>
+
+<p>In her fright Merrylips could think of but one name, among all the
+boys' names in the world. That was the one that had so taken her fancy
+the day before. She knew that she must not say it. But while she was
+thinking how dreadful it would be if she did say it, she let it slip
+off her tongue:—</p>
+
+<p>"Tibbott, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Then indeed she knew that Captain Norris would be angry at her for
+taking his name. She would have run away, if she had not been too
+scared to move.</p>
+
+<p>Strangely enough, Captain Norris did not seem angry. He stared at her
+for a moment. Then he gave a sort of laugh, which the men around him
+echoed. Indeed, to them it seemed droll, that such a scrap of a lad
+should bear the very name that Captain Norris had made feared through
+all the countryside.</p>
+
+<p>"My namesake, are you?" said Captain Norris.</p>
+
+<p>He laid a hand on Merrylips' shoulder, but not unkindly, and drew her
+to him.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus5.jpg" alt="" id="illus5">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p><span class="smcap">He laid a hand on Merrylips' shoulder and drew her to him.</span></p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<p>"Sit you down, sir," he bade, "and do me the honor to dine with me,
+Master Tibbott."</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips sat beside Captain Norris, on the form at the head of
+the table, and ate her share of the bakemeat, like a soldier and a
+gentleman. She meant to be as still as a mouse, for she bore in mind
+all Munn's warnings. But when she was spoken to, she had to answer, and
+she was spoken to a great deal.</p>
+
+<p>For those tall officers were very tired of doing and saying the same
+thing, day after day. They were as pleased with this round-eyed, sober
+little boy as Merrylips herself would have been with a new plaything.
+They chaffed her and asked her foolish questions, only to make her talk.</p>
+
+<p>Captain George Brooke, who was tall, with shrewd eyes, asked her if she
+hoped to win a commission before Christmastide. Nick Slanning, who was
+hardly older than Merrylips' brother Longkin, wished to know how many
+rebels she thought she could kill in a day. And when dinner was eaten
+and the men were lighting their pipes, Miles Digby urged her to take
+tobacco with him.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips drew back, a little frightened, but there Captain Norris
+struck in.</p>
+
+<p>"Let the child be," he ordered sternly. "He's overyoung for such
+jesting, Digby."</p>
+
+<p>For the first time in hours Merrylips smiled. She moved a little nearer
+to Captain Norris. Indeed, she would have much liked to say to him,
+"Thank you!"</p>
+
+<p>But just at that moment the door was pushed open, and a boy came into
+the mess-room. He did not come timidly, as Merrylips had come. He
+clanged across the floor, swaggering like a trooper, with his head up.
+He wore a sleeveless leathern coat, as if he were a truly soldier.</p>
+
+<p>At first Merrylips was so envious of that coat that she did not look at
+the boy's face. But when he halted at Captain Brooke's side and swung
+his hand to his forehead in salute, she looked up. Then she saw that he
+was a handsome boy, brown-haired and gray-eyed, and she knew him for
+Rupert, Claus Hinkel's little comrade in the far-off times at Larkland.</p>
+
+<p>Now Merrylips might have guessed that if Claus were at Monksfield,
+Rupert would be there too. But she had not thought about it at all, so
+now she was taken aback at the sight of him.</p>
+
+<p>She heard Rupert say something to Captain Brooke about what the farrier
+said of a horse that was sick. She did not much heed the words.
+Indeed, Rupert himself seemed to make them only an excuse for coming
+to the mess-room. He lingered, when he had done his errand, as if he
+waited to be spoken to. But the officers all were busy talking to
+Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>They scarcely noticed Rupert till they all rose from table. Then
+Captain Brooke said:—</p>
+
+<p>"Here, young Venner! Yonder's a playfellow of your own years. Go you
+with Rupert Hinkel."</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips was dismissed, with a clap on the shoulder. And presently
+she found herself outside the house, in a little walled space that once
+had been a garden.</p>
+
+<p>There she stood and looked at Rupert, and Rupert looked at her. His
+cheeks were red, and his level brows were knit. She knew that she
+disliked and feared him, because he had run away from Larkland. And she
+felt that he disliked her twice as much, but she could not guess why.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we sit and tell riddles?" drawled Rupert. "Thou art overyoung
+for me to take thee where the horses are. Thou shouldst not be in
+garrison, but at home wi' thy mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art not thyself so wonderful old," Merrylips answered hotly.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Thy sash is knotted unhandily," he said. "Let me put it aright. Thou
+hast tied it like a girl."</p>
+
+<p>At that word Merrylips grew red and frightened.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not thou touch it!" she cried. "It liketh me as it is."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke so angrily, in her fright, that Rupert grew angry too.</p>
+
+<p>"In any case," he said, "thou hast no right to wear that sash. Thou art
+no officer."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Merrylips, "thou hast no right to wear that soldier's
+coat. Thou art thyself but a young lad and no soldier."</p>
+
+<p>Surely, there would have been a bitter quarrel, then and there, but
+just at that moment Slanning and Lieutenant Crashaw sauntered into the
+garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Hola, young Venner!" Slanning sang out.</p>
+
+<p>"Go to thy friends!" Rupert said, in a low voice. "They'll use thee
+fairly. I care not, I! 'Tis only little boys like thou are fain to be
+made much of."</p>
+
+<p>Then Rupert marched away, very stiffly, and Merrylips stood wondering
+what it was all about. But while she was wondering, Slanning and
+Crashaw came to the spot where she stood. They set to playing a fine
+game that Merrylips' brothers had often played at Walsover, a game in
+which they pitched horseshoes over a crowbar that was driven into the
+ground some twenty paces away. And part of the time they let Merrylips
+play too.</p>
+
+<p>So friendly were they all three together that at last Merrylips
+ventured to ask a question.</p>
+
+<p>"If it like you, Cornet Slanning, may I not wear this sash, even though
+I be not an officer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who saith thou art not?" Slanning answered.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips shook her head. Though she thought Rupert a rude lad, she
+could not bear tales of him.</p>
+
+<p>"I—I did but wonder," she stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"W-wonder no more!" bade Crashaw. "To be sure, thou art an officer—the
+youngest one at M-Monksfield, and b-brave as the best, eh, Tibbott?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try, sir!" Merrylips answered, and saluted him, just as Rupert
+had saluted Captain Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>And she did not see why those new brother officers of hers should have
+laughed aloud!</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">"WHO CAN SING AND WON'T SING—"</p>
+
+
+<p>As soon as Merrylips found that her secret was safe and that she seemed
+to every one a little boy, she enjoyed her days at Monksfield very
+much. Indeed, she would have been more than human, if she had not been
+pleased with all the notice that she won. She was the only child in a
+garrison of men, and from the horseboys in the stables to the officers
+in the mess-room, she was petted by all.</p>
+
+<p>The saddlers made her more leathern hand-balls than she could ever use.
+The smiths let her tug at the wheezy bellows in their sooty forge.
+The horseboys set her on the bare-backed horses when they led them to
+water. Even the cross men-cooks in the fiery kitchen made her sometimes
+little pasties for herself alone.</p>
+
+<p>As for the troopers, they were all her friends. They let her help them,
+when they cleaned their bright swords or scoured their carabines. They
+told her endless stories of battles and sieges and of wicked Roundheads
+that dined on little babies. So terrible were these stories that
+Merrylips quite shook in her shoes to hear them, yet she could not
+help asking for more.</p>
+
+<p>Best of all, the officers, whom she had so feared, were almost as kind
+as if they had been her own big brothers. They laughed at her and
+chaffed her, to be sure, as a little boy who had been reared too long
+among women, but on the whole, they all, even rough Miles Digby, were
+very gentle with her.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes Merrylips wondered why they were so kind. But it was not
+until she was much older that she realized that she owed some thanks to
+Captain Tibbott Norris. By some strange impulse that big, harsh man was
+moved toward the bit of a lad that bore his own name of Tibbott, and
+silently he stood his friend.</p>
+
+<p>It was Captain Norris that gave Merrylips her brother's room for her
+very own. It was Captain Norris that promised to send her, by the first
+safe convoy, to her kinsfolk at Walsover. Above all, it was Captain
+Norris that from the very first made all his followers, both officers
+and men, understand that little Tibbott Venner was under his special
+care. After that it would have been a very bold man that would have
+harmed little Tibbott by word or deed.</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips passed her days at Monksfield, safe and unafraid. Indeed
+she would have been quite happy, if she had not had two causes for
+grief that never let her be.</p>
+
+<p>The first was, of course, the loss of her brother Munn. At night, when
+she lay in his bed, she would think of all the stories that she had
+heard from the troopers of the cruel way in which the Roundheads used
+their prisoners. Then she would seem to see her brother, haggard and
+pale and hungry, shivering half-clad in some dismal prison, and perhaps
+even struck and abused by his jailers. Often, when she called up that
+sorrowful picture, she would have cried, if she had not promised Munn
+that she would bear herself as became a boy.</p>
+
+<p>The second trouble, not so deep as the loss of Munn, but always
+present, was the unfriendliness that Rupert showed her. He seemed the
+only soul in the Monksfield garrison that disliked her, and all the
+time she was so eager to be friends with him!</p>
+
+<p>At the outset, to be sure, Merrylips had been shy of Claus and Rupert,
+for she remembered how her godmother had suspected them for spies. But
+when she found that Claus was trusted as a good soldier by all the
+officers, who were her friends, she dared to think that her godmother
+perhaps had been mistaken.</p>
+
+<p>So now there was nothing to keep her from being Rupert's playfellow,
+as she had planned to be, long ago at Larkland. At least, there was
+nothing except their squabble on her first day at Monksfield. And that
+she was ready to forgive and forget.</p>
+
+<p>She tried to show Rupert that she was willing to meet him halfway,
+if he wished to make up. She put herself into his path, but he only
+scowled at her and so passed by. She hung about, smiling and trying to
+catch his eye, but he would not even look at her. She could not guess
+why he should hate her so.</p>
+
+<p>But one day she heard a horseboy jeer at Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou mayst carry thy crest lower now, young Hinkel," the horseboy
+laughed. "Thou art level wi' the rest of us, my lad, now that some one
+else is white-boy, yonder 'mongst the gentry coves."</p>
+
+<p>Very slowly Merrylips began to see what she had done to Rupert. From
+a word here and a sentence there she gathered that before she came
+to Monksfield he had been by several years the youngest lad in the
+garrison, and, as such, a favorite with the officers. They had had
+him into the mess-room to sing for them, when they were idle, and had
+laughed and jested with him as a towardly lad. But now that she was
+there, a younger child and a newer plaything, Rupert was forgotten by
+his patrons.</p>
+
+<p>When Merrylips found that she had taken Rupert's place, she remembered
+how she herself had felt when Herbert Lowry came to Larkland, where
+for such a long time she had been the only child. With all her heart
+she was sorry for Rupert, and she wondered how she could make up to him
+for the wrong that innocently she had done him.</p>
+
+<p>While Merrylips was wondering, something happened so dreadful that she
+feared it could never be put right.</p>
+
+<p>Late one afternoon she was trudging across the great court at
+Lieutenant Digby's side. She was good friends with Lieutenant Digby,
+for all that Munn had thought him apt to bully. He had been teaching
+her to handle a quarter-staff, and had given her some hard knocks, too.
+But a little boy must not mind hard knocks! Merrylips quite swaggered
+at the lieutenant's side, and as she went whistled—or thought that she
+whistled!—most boyishly.</p>
+
+<p>But, to her surprise, the lieutenant cried:—</p>
+
+<p>"Name o' Heaven, what tune is it thou dost so mangle, lad? Is it <i>The
+Buff-coat hath no Fellow</i> thou dost hit at? Yonder's a knave can sing
+it like a blackbird, and shall put thee right."</p>
+
+<p>Then, before Merrylips had guessed what he meant to do, he shouted:—</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert! Ay, thou, young Hinkel! Come hither!"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert was at the well in the middle of the courtyard, where he was
+drawing a bucket of water for the cooks. He must have heard the
+lieutenant, for he looked up; but when he saw that Merrylips was with
+him, he dropped his eyes and did not stir.</p>
+
+<p>Then Lieutenant Digby called a second time, and now his face was
+stern. So Rupert came unwillingly. He slouched across the court,
+coatless, with his sleeves turned up, and halted by the porch where the
+lieutenant and Merrylips were standing.</p>
+
+<p>"Quicken thy steps next time," said Lieutenant Digby, "else they'll be
+quickened for thee. And now thou'rt here, off with these sullens and
+sing <i>The Buff-coat</i> for Master Venner."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert's straight brows met in a scowl.</p>
+
+<p>"I winna sing for him," he said.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, Rupert caught his breath. Suddenly Merrylips realized that
+over against the big lieutenant he was but a little, helpless boy,
+scarcely older than herself. She knew how shamed she should have been,
+if she had been made to sing for Herbert Lowry's pleasure. She felt her
+face burn with pity for Rupert and anger at Lieutenant Digby.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not wish it!" she cried. "He shall not sing the song for me, I
+tell you!"</p>
+
+<p>But Lieutenant Digby did not heed her in the least. While she was still
+speaking, he took Rupert by the neck and struck him a sounding buffet.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou wilt not, eh?" he said. "Then we'll find means to make thee."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips gave one glance at the lieutenant's set face. Then she took
+to her heels and never stopped running till she had shut the door
+behind her in Munn's chamber. She knew that Lieutenant Digby meant to
+beat Rupert till he was willing to sing the song for her, as he was
+bidden. But perhaps, if she were not there, he would give over his
+purpose. And if not—oh! in any case she could not bear to stay and see
+Rupert hurt.</p>
+
+<p>For some time Merrylips waited in the chamber, while she wondered what
+was happening in the court below. She was standing by the window, which
+looked into an orchard, and beyond the orchard was a great rampart of
+earth that had been flung up to defend the house from attack upon that
+side.</p>
+
+<p>As Merrylips looked out, she saw Rupert steal across the orchard and
+clamber up this rampart. For a moment she hesitated. Then she mustered
+courage. She slipped down the stairs, ran out of the house, and
+followed him.</p>
+
+<p>She found him seated on the top of the rampart. He was resting his chin
+in his two hands, and he had fixed his gaze on the open country that
+spread away below him in the gathering twilight. He would not look
+round, even at her step.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert," she faltered, as she halted beside him. "I—I am right sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Get thee away!" he answered between his teeth. "I'm a gentleman's son,
+I, as well as thou. I'll not buffoon for thee—not for all Miles Digby
+can do!"</p>
+
+<p>He looked up at her, and tried to speak stoutly, but his face was
+quivering.</p>
+
+<p>"Get thee hence!" he cried again, and turned away his head. "I'll not
+be made a gazing-stock, I tell thee! Get thee away, Tibbott Venner,
+thou little milksop! Truth, I do hate the very sight of thee!"</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips clambered sadly down the rampart in the twilight, and
+after that put herself no more in Rupert's way. But she thought of him
+often, and whenever she thought of him, she was sorry for him, and
+sorry for herself, as if she had lost a friend.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">TO ARMS!</p>
+
+
+<p>For two weeks and more Merrylips had lived at Monksfield. In a hole in
+her mattress she had hidden the silver ring that had been Lady Sybil's.
+As long as she had been a girl, she had worn the ring about her neck,
+but she felt that it did not become a boy to wear it so.</p>
+
+<p>She had changed her girlish little smock for one of Munn's loose
+shirts. Over her ruddy brown doublet she wore a sleeveless jerkin of
+leather, which had been made for her from an old coat of Munn's. In her
+sash she carried a pistol with a broken lock that Nick Slanning had
+given her.</p>
+
+<p>And she had learned to cock her hat like Lieutenant Crashaw, and stride
+like Captain Norris, and say, "Body a' truth!" loud and fierce, like
+Lieutenant Digby. In short, she felt that she now was truly a boy, such
+as all her life she had hoped to be. And she was willing to stay and be
+a boy, there at Monksfield, forever and ever.</p>
+
+<p>But there came a day when Merrylips found that things were different.
+At dinner she sat unnoticed by her friends, the officers, while they
+talked of beeves and sacks of corn and kegs of powder. Before the meal
+was over Lieutenant Crashaw left the mess-room, and Captain George
+Brooke did not come to table at all.</p>
+
+<p>When Merrylips went among her friends, the troopers, she found them
+busy with their arms. They bade her run away, or else told her the
+grimmest stories that they yet had told about the cruelties of the
+wicked Roundheads. Still, she did not quite catch what was in the air,
+until she came upon Rupert. She found him sitting on a bench against
+the stable wall. He had his sleeves turned up, and between his lips he
+held a straw, just as a grown man would have held a pipe, and he was
+cleaning an old carabine.</p>
+
+<p>At Merrylips' step Rupert looked up, and for the first time in days
+spoke to her of his own accord.</p>
+
+<p>"Look 'ee, Master Venner," said he, "thou wert best be at home wi' thy
+mammy. The Roundheads will be down upon us, and they be three yards
+tall, every man of 'em, and for the most part make their dinners off
+babes such as thou."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips felt her cheeks grow hot.</p>
+
+<p>"I've lived two years amongst the Roundheads," she said, "and I know
+such tales be lies, and thou art a Jack fool to believe 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait and see!" laughed Rupert, and then, as if he were glad of any one
+to listen to him, he held up the carabine.</p>
+
+<p>"This is <i>my</i> gun," he said proudly, "and I shall be fighting with it
+at Claus Hinkel's side. I've a powder flask, and a touch-box, and a
+bullet pouch, and a piece of match as long as thine arm."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh!" sniffed Merrylips, though indeed she was bitterly jealous. "<i>I</i>
+have a pistol."</p>
+
+<p>"With a broken lock," jeered Rupert. "To be sure, they'd not trust thee
+with a gun—a little lad like thou."</p>
+
+<p>"Do thou but wait and see what I shall have!" cried Merrylips, hotly.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, we shall see!" said Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Then Merrylips walked away, with a stride that was like Captain
+Norris's. At that moment she quite hated Rupert, and she did not
+believe his story that the Roundheads were coming to attack Monksfield.
+She was sure that he had said it only in the hope of frightening her.
+But before the day was over, she found that Rupert had spoken the truth.</p>
+
+<p>Late in that same afternoon Merrylips was playing with her ball in a
+little paved court at the north side of the great house. In the old
+days, a hundred years before, Monksfield had been a monastery, and
+many of the ancient buildings, with their quaint flagged courtyards,
+still were standing. At one side of the court where Merrylips played
+was a wall with a locked gate that led into what had been the herb
+garden, and on this garden abutted the still-house that the old monks
+had used.</p>
+
+<p>Presently in her play, Merrylips cast her ball clear over this wall.
+She did not wish to lose her toy, so she fetched a form from the
+wash-house, close by, and set it on end against the wall. By climbing
+upon it, she was able to scramble over into the garden.</p>
+
+<p>She landed in a pathway of sloping flags, along which she guessed
+that the ball must have rolled. So she followed the path till it
+pitched down a sunken stairway which led to an oaken door beneath the
+still-house. At the foot of the stairs lay the ball, and she had just
+bent to pick it up, when the door opened, right upon her, and a man
+stepped out.</p>
+
+<p>At her first glance Merrylips saw only that he was a rough fellow, in a
+smock frock and frieze breeches, and coarse brogues, and that he wore
+a patch upon one eye. So little did she like his looks that she turned
+to run up the steps, faster than she had come down, but just then she
+heard her name spoken:—</p>
+
+<p>"Tibbott Venner!"</p>
+
+<p>The voice was one that she knew. She halted and looked again, and this
+time, under the black patch and the walnut juice with which the man's
+face was stained, she recognized the features of Captain George Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>"What bringeth you hither?" Captain Brooke asked sternly, and took her
+by both shoulders, as she stood a step or two above him on the stairway.</p>
+
+<p>In answer Merrylips held out the ball.</p>
+
+<p>"Tibbott," said the captain then, less sternly but still in a grave
+voice, "you can keep a secret, can you not? Then remember, lad, you are
+never to tell to any one in Monksfield that you saw me come from the
+still-house cellar, nor that you saw me in this garb. Promise me!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips shook her head. She feared that she should anger Captain
+Brooke, and she was sorry, for she liked him, but still she said:—</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot promise. I must tell Captain Norris all that I have seen."</p>
+
+<p>"Now on my word!" said Captain Brooke. "Do you think me about some
+mischief, Tibbott—a traitor plotting to betray the garrison,
+perchance? Come, then, and tell all unto Captain Norris, an you will,
+you little bandog!"</p>
+
+<p>So saying, Captain Brooke locked the door of the cellar with a key that
+he took from his pocket, and then he led the way in silence across
+the herb garden. Through a door which he unlocked they entered a wing
+of the great house, where sacks of flour and barrels of biscuit were
+stowed. There he took down a cloak that hung upon a peg and cast it
+about him, so that his mean garments were hidden, and he laid aside the
+patch that was over his eye.</p>
+
+<p>From the store-room they entered a long passage, and so, by corridors
+that Merrylips knew well, came to a little study in the second story.
+There they found Captain Norris, who seemed to be waiting for Captain
+Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>"You come late, George," said Captain Norris. "I thought you lost. What
+news?"</p>
+
+<p>"They muster three hundred dragoons and a troop of pioneers, and
+thereto they have three pieces of ordnance, fetched from Ryeborough,"
+reported Captain Brooke. "Peter Hatcher holdeth the chief command, and
+one of Lord Caversham's sons is there besides, come with the guns from
+Ryeborough. Their march is surely for Monksfield, and they are like to
+be upon us ere the dawn."</p>
+
+<p>Now when Merrylips heard all this, she knew that Rupert had told the
+truth and that the Roundheads were coming to attack them. At that
+thought she felt her heart beat faster.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, she had lived two years among Roundheads. She knew
+that they were not three yards tall and that they did not dine on
+babies,—at least, not at Larkland. But she had heard so many tales of
+their cruelty, since she had come to Monksfield, that she had begun to
+think that the Roundheads who went to battle must be very different
+from Will Lowry.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, was not this Hatcher who commanded the enemy the selfsame
+Hatcher of Horsham that had made her brother Munn a prisoner? It was no
+wonder, perhaps, that when Merrylips thought of Colonel Hatcher, she
+had to finger her pistol, to give herself courage.</p>
+
+<p>Just then Captain Norris seemed for the first time to notice her. He
+asked sternly what she was doing there, and Captain Brooke told him how
+Merrylips had come upon him at the still-house and would not promise to
+be silent.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips grew quite frightened, so vexed and impatient both men seemed.</p>
+
+<p>"I am main sorry, sirs," she faltered, "but indeed I could not promise.
+I'm a soldier, and a soldier must report to his commander a thing that
+seemeth so monstrous strange."</p>
+
+<p>"A soldier, are you?" said Captain Norris. "Well, some day, no doubt,
+you'll be one, and not a bad one neither. But for now, remember, not
+one word of what you have seen and heard this afternoon!"</p>
+
+<p>"I promise, sir," Merrylips answered, and saluted Captain Norris, as
+his officers did, and marched out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>She was very proud of the praise that Captain Norris had given her, and
+of the secret that she shared with the two officers. She wished only
+that Master Rupert, with his gun, knew how she had been honored!</p>
+
+<p>Still, she could not help wondering how Captain George Brooke had
+learned all that about the Roundheads in the cellar of the still-house.
+Perhaps he was a wizard, she concluded, and she so frightened herself
+with that thought that she fairly ran through the dim passages, and
+never stopped till she reached the lighted mess-room.</p>
+
+<p>Well, she did not breathe a word, of course, for she had given her
+promise. It must have been Captain Norris himself that had the news
+spread abroad at Monksfield. At any rate, inside an hour every soul in
+the garrison knew that they were likely to be attacked at daybreak.</p>
+
+<p>That night at supper, you may be sure, nothing was talked of among the
+Monksfield officers but the numbers and the strength of the enemy.</p>
+
+<p>"So one of my lord Caversham's sons is of the attacking party?" asked
+Nick Slanning.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you?" said Captain Brooke, who still was very brown of
+face, for he had found the walnut stain hard to wash off.</p>
+
+<p>"They are all rank rebels, the whole house of Caversham," he went
+on. "His Lordship, old Rob Fowell, the white-haired hypocrite, is in
+command for the Parliament at Ryeborough. And did he not give his
+eldest daughter in marriage to that arrant Roundhead, Peter Hatcher?
+'Tis but in nature that one of my lord's hopeful sons should march
+against us at Hatcher's right hand."</p>
+
+<p>"By chance, do you know which one of Caversham's sons it is that cometh
+with Hatcher?" Lieutenant Digby looked up suddenly to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis the third son, Dick Fowell," Captain Brooke made answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick Fowell?" cried Digby, and flushed dully. "Heaven be thanked for
+good luck!"</p>
+
+<p>"You know him?" asked Slanning.</p>
+
+<p>"At home I dwell a neighbor to Lord Caversham," Digby answered. "Yes, I
+know Dick Fowell, and if we meet in the fight, by this hand! he'll have
+good cause to know me."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, Digby laughed, and when he left the room, he still was
+laughing. But in his laughter there was something that made a dry place
+come in Merrylips' throat and an emptiness at the pit of her stomach.</p>
+
+<p>Hastily she pulled out her pistol, and she went and sat by the fire,
+and rubbed it with a rag, just as she had seen Rupert clean his
+carabine. But while she seemed so busy, she could not help hearing
+Captain Brooke and Cornet Slanning, who were left alone at table, speak
+together. She knew that it was of her that they spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twere better," said Slanning, "that Captain Norris had ventured it,
+after all, and sent the little rogue hence a week agone."</p>
+
+<p>"Not to be thought on!" Captain Brooke replied. "You know well that the
+ways were straitly laid. And who'd 'a' dreamed the assault would be
+made so soon!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips could not keep from glancing up. Then, when they saw that she
+was listening, the two men instantly laid off their grave looks, and
+began to chaff her.</p>
+
+<p>"What dost thou think to do with that murderous pistol, eh,
+Rittmeister?" said Slanning.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips ran to him, and leaning against his shoulder, said:—</p>
+
+<p>"Good Cornet Slanning, I could do far more, an you gave me a carabine,
+such as Rupert Hinkel hath, and a flask of powder, and a touch-box, and
+a pouch, and a piece of match as long as my arm."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a gallant lad!" said Captain Brooke. "I see well, Tibbott, that
+thou art not afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"Body a' truth!" cried Merrylips, and stood up very straight. "I'm
+not feared of the scurvy Roundheads, no, not I! I shall fight 'em
+to-morrow—the base rogues that have taken my brother prisoner! Ay, and
+with mine own hand I have good hope to kill some among 'em!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">THE END OF THE DAY</p>
+
+
+<p>That night Merrylips slept on a form in the mess-room, with Lieutenant
+Crashaw's cloak wrapped about her. She had meant to sit up all night,
+to be ready when the attack came. Indeed, she had lain wide awake till
+midnight, and had thought to herself that she was glad to be lying in
+the lighted room, where the officers came in and out, rather than in
+her own dark and lonely chamber.</p>
+
+<p>But after midnight her eyelids grew heavy, and she heard the challenge
+of the sentries and the hurrying of feet in the courtyard fainter and
+farther away. Then she slept, and dreamed of Walsover. She was telling
+Flip proudly that she should go to the wars, for all she was but a
+wench, when she woke, with a sound of firing in her ears, and began a
+day that seemed to her in after days to be itself a series of dreams.</p>
+
+<p>A window in the mess-room stood open, and through it a dank wind was
+blowing. The sky was still dark, but the stars were few. On the hearth
+the logs had fallen into white ash, and the one candle on the table
+was guttering into a pool of melted wax. The room was empty, and
+awesomely still, but off in the darkness, where the dank wind blew,
+strange noises could be heard. Footsteps echoed in the flagged courts,
+muskets cracked, and then, like a tongue of flame, the clear call of a
+trumpet cleft the dark.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips ran out into the great courtyard. She was cursed at, flung
+aside, jostled by men who were hurrying to their posts. And the trumpet
+called, and the shots cracked faster and faster, while overhead the
+stars went out and the sky grew pale.</p>
+
+<p>In the wan daylight Merrylips saw the banner that floated over
+Monksfield. It was red, and by its hue it told to all the world that
+the house was held for the king, and would be held for him while one
+drop of blood ran red in the veins of his followers.</p>
+
+<p>Against the stable wall sat a trooper whom Merrylips knew. He was
+trying to tie a bandage about his arm, with his left hand and his
+teeth. She helped him, fixing the bandage neatly, as she had been
+taught by Lady Sybil. She asked him about the fight, in a steady little
+voice that she scarcely knew for her own. While she was speaking, she
+heard a great burst of shouting and of firing on the west side of the
+house. The wounded man leaped to his feet. He caught up his carabine
+in his sound hand and made off across the courtyard.</p>
+
+<p>"God and our right!" he shouted as he ran.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips shouted too. She snatched her pistol from her sash and ran,
+as the trooper had run, till she found herself at the foot of the
+western rampart, where one twilight she had tried to comfort Rupert.
+She found Rupert there now. His face was smudged with powder, and he
+was loading guns and passing them up to the men on the rampart above
+him. They were firing fast, all but one or two who lay quiet.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I aid thee?" Merrylips asked.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert nodded, as if he had no time to quarrel now. So she knelt at
+his side and helped him to load the guns for hours and hours, as it
+seemed to her. Right overhead the sun came out from the gray film of
+clouds. The light was reflected from the steel helmets and the gleaming
+back-pieces of the troopers on the ramparts.</p>
+
+<p>"Come!" said Rupert, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>Holding fast to the gun that he had just loaded, he scrambled up the
+rampart, and Merrylips scrambled after him. She saw that the fields
+below, which had been so peaceful on that twilight when she last had
+looked upon them, were all alive now with mounted men. A line of low
+trees that she remembered, some two hundred feet away, was now a line
+of gray smoke, spangled with red flashes of fire. All round her little
+clods of dirt kept spurting up so that she was sprinkled with dust. In
+the air, every now and then, was a humming, as of monstrous bumblebees.</p>
+
+<p>She did not know what had happened, in the moment of darkness and
+outcry through which she had passed. She was off the rampart. She was
+sitting on the porch of the great house, and over her stood a big,
+surly fellow, a trooper who had been least among her friends.</p>
+
+<p>"And if I catch thee again within range of the firing," she heard him
+say, "for the sake of mine own bairn at home, I swear I'll twist thy
+neck!"</p>
+
+<p>The trooper was gone, and she sat staring at a red stain upon her
+sleeve. It was blood, and yet she was not hurt, she knew. She wondered
+what those cries had been that she had heard, and what had been the
+weight that had fallen against her.</p>
+
+<p>She was very hungry. She was ashamed to think of such a thing, but she
+had not eaten since the night before. She stole into the mess-room and
+from the table got a pocketful of bread.</p>
+
+<p>While she was gnawing at it, she heard a louder noise that drowned
+the cracking of the muskets. At first she thought that it was a sound
+within her own ears, but when she had run out into the courtyard, she
+heard the men about her saying:—</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis the great guns from Ryeborough!"</p>
+
+<p>Through the rattle of the muskets and the boom of the artillery, a
+sharp cry rang through the courtyard: "Fire!" Against the gray sky a
+spurt of pale flame could be seen on the thatched roof of one of the
+great barns.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips ran to the spot, screaming "Fire!" too, with all her might,
+yet she could not hear her own voice in the din. All the men who were
+not on the firing line—horseboys and cooks and farriers and wounded
+troopers—flocked to the barn. They scrambled to the roof. They tore
+off the blazing thatch by handfuls and cast it into the court below.
+They fetched buckets of water.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips worked with the rest. She was drenched to the skin with spilt
+water. She burned her hands with the blazing thatch. She was hoarse
+with shouting and half choked with smoke.</p>
+
+<p>All about her, on the sudden, sounded a clatter of hoofs. She felt
+herself caught roughly by the arm and dragged against the wall of the
+barn. Past her a line of horses, that plunged and struggled as they
+sniffed the fire, were heading for the great gate of Monksfield.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a sally they go upon, God speed 'em!" cried a voice beside her.</p>
+
+<p>She looked, and saw that it was Rupert that had spoken. It must have
+been he that had dragged her back from the hoofs of the horses. Still
+holding her arm, he led her across the court and down the flagged
+passage to the buttery hatch.</p>
+
+<p>"Give us to drink!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>The man at the hatch gave them a leathern jack, half full of water that
+was dashed with spirits. They drank from it, turn and turn about, and
+Merrylips felt new courage rise in her.</p>
+
+<p>Through the flagged passage she looked out at the barn, where the smoke
+rose murkily against the sunset sky. She saw that with every puff it
+sank lower. She listened, pausing as she drank, and she heard, in what
+seemed blank stillness, only the feeble crackling of hand-arms.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert took the words from her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"They've silenced the great guns!" he cried. "The day is ours, young
+Venner! Hurrah!"</p>
+
+<p>Side by side they dashed out into the courtyard. They found it full of
+men who shouted and cast up their caps. The day was theirs! The day was
+theirs! they cried on all sides. In the nick of time Captain Brooke
+had led a charge that had silenced the great guns from Ryeborough. God
+and our right! Long live the king! Long live his loyal garrison of
+Monksfield!</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of the shouting and the rejoicing, the sallying party
+came riding back, with the captured guns. Among horses' heels and
+dismounting men Merrylips went shouting with the loudest: "Long live
+the king! Down wi' the Parliament! Death to all rebels!" till she found
+herself in the thickest of the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>A young man stood there, staggering, held up by the grasp that one
+of the troopers had laid upon his shoulder. His helmet was off. His
+chestnut hair was clotted with blood, and there was a long smear of it
+upon his cheek. He wore no sword, and his officer's sash was of orange,
+the color of the Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely had Merrylips grasped the fact that he was a rebel officer and
+a prisoner in the hands of her friends, when Miles Digby came smashing
+his way through the crowd. He was coatless and powder-blackened, and
+his face was the face that he had shown on the day when he had beaten
+Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"So 'tis thou, Dick Fowell?" said he, with such words as Merrylips knew
+not the meaning of, and full and fair he struck the rebel officer a
+blow in the face.</p>
+
+<p>The young man reeled and fell heavily, full length, upon the cobbles
+of the courtyard. A savage shout broke from those that stood near. One
+of the horseboys kicked him as he lay. But Merrylips stood with the
+outcry against the rebels struck dumb upon her lips. For this rebel
+Dick Fowell had chestnut hair, like Munn, and if any one had struck
+Munn like that, when he was a prisoner—Merrylips caught her breath.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Miles Digby's eye had lighted on her. He seized her by the
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, you, Tibbott Venner!" he shouted madly. "'Tis time you were
+blooded, little whelp! Kick this dog—d'ye hear me? He won't strike
+back. They've got your brother prisoner amongst 'em. Serve him as
+they'll serve your brother! Kick the fellow—or 'twill be the worse for
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I will not!" screamed Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>She saw the savage faces about her, the savage face of Miles Digby
+bending over her, and at her feet she saw the limp figure of the
+helpless man that might have been Munn. In that moment it seemed to her
+that she smelled blood, that she tasted it, bitter upon her tongue, and
+should not lose the taste for all her days. Maddened with fear, she
+struggled in Digby's grasp.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me go! Let me go!" she screamed. "You vile coward! A pest choke
+you! Let me go!"</p>
+
+<p>"Digby!" a stern voice shouted above the uproar of the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>It might have been Captain Norris that spoke, or it might have been
+George Brooke. Merrylips never knew. But she did know that the grasp
+was taken from her arm, and blindly she turned and ran from the spot.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">LADY SYBIL'S GODDAUGHTER</p>
+
+
+<p>When Merrylips stopped running, she found herself in the darkest corner
+of the bare, stone-paved room that took up the ground-floor of the
+wash-house. At her feet was a heap of old sacks, and she burrowed in
+among them, and lay gasping for breath.</p>
+
+<p>She was sure that Miles Digby would follow her. On that account she had
+not dared run to her own chamber. For she was afraid of Digby now—yes,
+and afraid of all the men in Monksfield that had been her friends.</p>
+
+<p>As she lay in the darkness that deepened in the wash-house, she saw
+the faces of Lieutenant Crashaw and her own brother Munn, as they
+looked on indifferently, while they wasted the corn of the poor folk at
+Storringham. She saw the face of Lieutenant Digby, as he struck Dick
+Fowell down. Such deeds were a part of war, which she had thought was
+all brave riding and feats of honor and bloodless victory.</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her face between her arms, and as she did so, felt against
+her cheek the blood that had stiffened on her sleeve. At the feel of
+it she cried aloud.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, she was sick and frightened of it all! She was ashamed of the
+boy's dress that she wore, of Digby's oaths that had been on her
+tongue, of the draught that she had drunk at the buttery hatch, of
+the loud threats that she had spoken against the rebels. She was not
+the lad, Tibbott Venner, and she knew it now. She was Lady Sybil's
+little goddaughter. She wanted to be again where she could wear her
+own girlish dress, where she would hear only gentle voices, where such
+things as she had seen this day could never be done.</p>
+
+<p>"But I did not kick him after he had fallen," she kept repeating. "I
+remembered not to strike one that was weaker than myself."</p>
+
+<p>She found her only comfort in thinking that in this, at least, she had
+done as Lady Sybil would have wished her to do. For in that hour she
+felt so soiled in body and in soul that she feared that she never again
+could be Lady Sybil's little girl.</p>
+
+<p>It was pitchy dark in the wash-house when Merrylips heard steps just
+outside and the clatter of the door flung open. She burrowed deeper
+among the sacks and held her breath. In the stillness she heard rough
+voices speak:—</p>
+
+<p>"In with you, you cursed rebel!"</p>
+
+<p>"Stand on your feet, you dog!"</p>
+
+<p>Then she heard a sound as of a dead weight let fall upon the floor,
+the bang of a door shut to, the rattle of a bolt in its socket. Softly
+she drew breath again, and as she did so, she heard in the darkness a
+stifled moan.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she realized what had happened. A wounded rebel, a dying
+man, it might be, had been imprisoned in the very place where she was
+hidden. In terror she flung aside the sacks that covered her. No matter
+if she was afraid of Digby! She was more afraid to stay here with this
+Roundhead. She would run to the door and shout to them to open and let
+her out.</p>
+
+<p>But as Merrylips rose softly to her feet, a pale light flickered
+through the wash-house. It came from the narrow window, high in the
+eastern wall, that looked into the great court, where, no doubt,
+torches had been newly kindled. The light fell upon a man who was
+sitting on the stone floor, not ten feet from her corner, with his arm
+cast across his knee and his head bowed heavily upon his arm. His hair
+was chestnut-colored, ruddy in the light, like Munn's, and by that
+token Merrylips knew him for Dick Fowell.</p>
+
+<p>For many moments she stood, without daring to move, while she wondered
+what she should do. For if she called at the door, as she had planned
+to do, perhaps Digby would come. If he came, perhaps he would strike
+Fowell again. Perhaps he would try to make her strike him. No, no, she
+could not call now, but surely she could not stay a prisoner for hours
+with this Roundhead!</p>
+
+<p>While she was thus thinking, Dick Fowell groaned again. He would be
+ashamed, no doubt, when he found that he had let a child see that he
+was in pain. Somehow it seemed to Merrylips not quite honorable to be
+there without his knowing it.</p>
+
+<p>Hesitatingly she went toward him, but it was not until she stood right
+over him that Fowell looked up. She saw his face, all drawn and ghastly
+under the sweat and blood that were dried upon it, and his haggard eyes
+that looked upon her, yet did not seem to see her. In that moment she
+forgot that he was a Roundhead, such as she had hoped to slay. She saw
+only that he was hurt and suffering, and down she went on her knees
+beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"Doth thy poor head hurt?" she whispered, in her tenderest girl-voice.</p>
+
+<p>With her two arms about him—and a heavy weight he was!—she eased him
+down till he rested on the floor. She dragged the old sacks from the
+corner and pillowed his injured head upon them. He did not speak, but
+he seemed so far conscious of her presence that he stifled his groans
+right manfully.</p>
+
+<p>But presently, while she knelt beside him, he whispered, as if the
+words were forced from him:—</p>
+
+<p>"Water! Give me to drink!"</p>
+
+<p>She laid her hand lightly on his face. She could feel how cracked and
+dry were his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll fetch it to thee," she promised, saying "thou" to this tall Dick
+Fowell as if he were her brother or a little child.</p>
+
+<p>In the wash-house was an old bucking-tub on which she could stand. And
+in the western wall was a window that looked upon the little paved
+court, where only yesterday she had been playing ball. The window was
+too narrow for Dick Fowell to have escaped that way, and so his jailers
+knew, but little slender Merrylips had no trouble in scrambling through
+it.</p>
+
+<p>From the little court she stole to the buttery hatch, where all night
+long strong waters were served out to the weary and wounded soldiers.
+As she went, she kept close in the shadow of the buildings, for she was
+sick with the dread of meeting Miles Digby. But she found no one to
+hinder her. Except for the sentries, who kept watch upon the walls, the
+Monksfield garrison were resting on their arms against the morning.</p>
+
+<p>From the man at the buttery hatch Merrylips got a flasket full of wine
+and water.</p>
+
+<p>"For the lieutenant," she answered when she was questioned.</p>
+
+<p>She guessed that such was Dick Fowell's rank, and she hoped that it was
+no lie she told, even though the man should believe that it was for
+Lieutenant Crashaw or Lieutenant Digby that she had been sent to fetch
+the wine and water.</p>
+
+<p>From the same man she begged a great leathern bottle, and this she
+filled with water at the well in the middle of the courtyard. As she
+drew the water, she looked about her. Above her head the stars were
+shining cold, and far away, across the walls, upon the hills that
+lay to eastward, she could see the ruddy fires where the rebels lay
+encamped.</p>
+
+<p>With the bottle and the flasket Merrylips hurried back to the little
+paved court. She sought out the form that she had left yesterday by
+the wall of the herb garden. She pushed it beneath the window of the
+wash-house, and climbing upon it, soon had scrambled back into Dick
+Fowell's prison.</p>
+
+<p>She held the flasket to his lips, and he drank, with long breaths
+of content. Then, in a dark corner, she stripped off her shirt and
+replaced her doublet and her leathern coat upon her bared shoulders.
+With a rag torn from the shirt she washed the dust and blood from Dick
+Fowell's face, and cleansed the wound on his head, as well as she was
+able. Then she bandaged the hurt place with strips of the shirt and
+she gave him again to drink from the flasket. After that she could do
+nothing but sit by him upon the paved floor, and when he muttered, half
+delirious, as once or twice he did, try to quiet him, with her hand
+against his cheek.</p>
+
+<p>The light flickered and faded in the wash-house, as the torches in the
+courtyard died down. Once, in the west, a burst of firing rattled out,
+and sank again to deeper silence. Through the western window came the
+chill light of the setting moon. Merrylips had dozed for a moment,
+perhaps, but she roused at the sound of a bolt withdrawn. She looked
+up, and in the open doorway she saw Miles Digby stand.</p>
+
+<p>Yet she was not afraid. She kept her place, on her knees, at Fowell's
+side, with her hand upon his hand, and "Hush!" she said to him, for he
+had stirred uneasily, as if he, too, had caught the sound of Digby's
+coming. Across his helpless body she looked at Digby.</p>
+
+<p>"He is hurt. Thou must not waken him," she said.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus6.jpg" alt="" id="illus6">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p><span class="smcap">"He is hurt. Thou must not waken him," she said.</span></p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<p>Digby, with the reek of battle half cleared from his brain, looked upon
+her in the moonlight. In that moment perhaps he saw, kneeling by the
+wounded man, something greater in strength than the boy Tibbott, with
+whom he had jested and played, something greater in compassion even
+than the maid, Sybil Venner, that little Merrylips should one day be.</p>
+
+<p>In any case, he came no farther into the room. Perhaps he dared not
+face what faced him there in the form of a little child. For an instant
+he stood with his hand upon the latch, and then he went forth again,
+and slammed and bolted the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"What was't?" Dick Fowell whispered, and suddenly he tightened his
+grasp on Merrylips' hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I dreamed," he whispered. "I dreamed—Miles Digby was come—to settle
+the old score."</p>
+
+<p>"Think not of him," soothed Merrylips. "For he will not harm thee,
+Dick. I will not suffer him to do thee harm."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">WHEN THE CAPTAIN CALLED</p>
+
+
+<p>It was broad daylight, and once more the fire of muskets was sputtering
+along the walls of Monksfield, when at last Dick Fowell opened his
+eyes. He looked at Merrylips, and smiled, and when he smiled, his face
+grew boyish and winning.</p>
+
+<p>"So!" said he. "Thou, at least, wert real, and not a phantom in those
+black dreams where I was laboring. Thou hast been at my side the
+livelong night?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips nodded. She gave him the flasket, which still held a little
+of the wine and water, and the bread which was in her pocket, and she
+sat by him, while he propped himself on his elbow and ate and drank.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw thee yesterday," said Fowell, presently.</p>
+
+<p>"In the courtyard," answered Merrylips, in a low voice. "When Miles
+Digby—he tried to make me, but I didn't! I didn't!"</p>
+
+<p>"I remember," said Fowell, and his eyes narrowed at the memory. "Child,
+what brought thee, bred among such as Digby, to succor me last night?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips swallowed a lump in her throat before she could answer. Now
+that she heard Fowell speak in that firm voice, she no longer felt that
+she was protecting him. Instead she felt little and weary, and herself
+in sore need of his protection.</p>
+
+<p>"It was—because of my brother," she whispered at last. "They made him
+prisoner, there at Loxford. I hope—perchance—some one had pity on
+him."</p>
+
+<p>She was angry that it should be so, but as she thought of Munn,
+helpless and ill-treated, perhaps, as Fowell had been, she felt the
+tears gather upon her lashes.</p>
+
+<p>At that Fowell sat up quickly, though he made a wry face at the effort
+that it cost him. He put his arm about her, and spoke as gently as one
+of her own Cavalier friends could have spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"Cheerly, my lad! Tell me the name of this brother of thine, and when
+I come clear of Monksfield, I promise thee I'll do my best endeavor to
+seek him out and requite him for thy tenderness."</p>
+
+<p>She whispered the name, "Munn Venner," and she felt the start of
+surprise that Fowell gave.</p>
+
+<p>"Venner?" said he. "Sure, thou art never one of the Venners of
+Walsover? Then by all that's marvellous I knew thine eldest brother,
+Tom Venner, two years agone at New College. A proper merry lad he was!
+And thou art a brother of Tom's! Thou must be the little one he called
+Flip, though I had judged him to be older."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips answered neither yes nor no. She hoped it was no fib to let
+Dick Fowell think that she was her brother Flip, and not a little girl.
+Whatever happened, she must keep the secret that Munn had bidden her to
+keep. But she thought it no harm, in answer to Fowell's questions, to
+tell him how she had dwelt in Will Lowry's household at Larkland and
+had come to Monksfield by Munn's aid. Indeed she was glad to talk with
+Fowell. He seemed like an old friend, since he had known her brother
+Longkin at Oxford.</p>
+
+<p>But soon Dick Fowell said: "I'm loath to part with thee, little
+truepenny, but haply thy gentle friends in garrison will not be
+over-pleased at the company thou art keeping here. Were it not best
+thou shouldst slip hence and leave me?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips hesitated, and then he added, smiling:—</p>
+
+<p>"Have no fear, child! Lieutenant Digby and I will do each other no
+mortal damage."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips feared that her next question was uncivil, but she had to put
+it. Point-blank she asked:—</p>
+
+<p>"Why doth Lieutenant Digby hate you so?"</p>
+
+<p>"A long tale," said Fowell, and frowned, though perhaps it was only
+with the pain of his hurt head.</p>
+
+<p>"We Fowells," he went on, "dwell neighbors to the Digbys yonder in
+Berkshire, and since my grandfather's time, faith, there hath been
+little love lost between us. There was at first a dispute over some
+lands, and then a plenty of wrongs and insults,—on both sides, no
+doubt. As little lads, Miles Digby and I came more than once to
+fisticuffs. And then, two years agone, he shot my dog that ran at my
+heels, vowing that I did trespass on his father's lands. For that I
+gave him such a trouncing as it seemeth he hath not forgot."</p>
+
+<p>The arm that Fowell had laid about Merrylips tightened in a grip that
+almost hurt her.</p>
+
+<p>"I do forgive him what happened yesterday," Fowell said, as if he found
+it hard to say. "But I hope the Lord in His goodness may let me meet
+him once again when I wear a sword!"</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely had Fowell uttered this pious wish, when there came a
+clattering of the bolt in the door of the wash-house.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis Digby!" cried Merrylips, and felt herself half choked with the
+beating of her heart.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not the lieutenant, whom she feared for Dick Fowell's sake.
+It was a corporal and a couple of troopers who had come to fetch the
+prisoner to Captain Norris. They were in great haste. They seemed
+scarcely to notice or to care that she was in the wash-house. But
+for all their haste, she saw that they were sullenly civil toward
+Lieutenant Fowell, and they even helped him to walk away. He needed
+help, for in spite of all that he could do, he staggered as soon as he
+stood upon his feet.</p>
+
+<p>When Dick Fowell had been led away, Merrylips went slowly out into the
+courtyard. She felt faint and cold, and she was almost trembling at the
+thought that her old friends all would scorn and hate her, because she
+had helped a Roundhead. But she found the garrison too tired with the
+hours of fighting that were past, and too busy with making ready for
+the fight that was to come, to pay much attention to one small lad or
+wonder where he had spent the hours of the night.</p>
+
+<p>Ever since daybreak, she learned, there had been hard fighting, and
+many men had been killed and wounded. Cornet Slanning had been shot
+through the leg, and Lieutenant Crashaw, who had led out a sallying
+party, had been cut off from the garrison and made prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>It was because of this that Captain Norris had sent for Dick Fowell,
+and the guards were treating him civilly. Colonel Hatcher was offering
+to exchange Lieutenant Crashaw for his brother-in-law, Dick Fowell, and
+so sorely did the Monksfield garrison need officers that Captain Norris
+had agreed to the exchange.</p>
+
+<p>So white flags had been hung out on either side, and the firing
+stopped. Presently, about noontime, Dick Fowell was put on a horse and
+taken outside the gates of Monksfield, where he should be handed over
+to his own men. Merrylips' eyes met his, as he was riding forth. He did
+not speak, or even smile upon her, but she guessed that he did this out
+of caution, lest any show of friendliness from him, a Roundhead, should
+do her harm among the Cavaliers.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later Eustace Crashaw was once more within the walls of
+Monksfield. He was very grave of face, and he stammered more than ever
+as he told Captain Norris the number of men and the store of ammunition
+that the rebels had with them. Colonel Hatcher had shown all to him,
+in bravado, and bidden him tell his captain that, thus furnished, they
+meant to sit there till they had reduced the garrison.</p>
+
+<p>When Captain Norris heard this, he bit his mustaches. He looked so
+stern that Merrylips, who had stolen near, hoped with all her heart
+that he would never learn how she had helped the brother-in-law of this
+boastful Colonel Hatcher.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the guns were cracking again, all along the walls, but to-day
+Merrylips had no wish to go upon the ramparts and see men hurt and
+slain. She was turning away to the great house, when whom should
+she meet but Rupert. She was glad to see him, for she remembered how
+friendly they had been, only the day before. She halted, and would have
+spoken, but she saw that he was scowling upon her in his old way.</p>
+
+<p>"How is it with thee, little sister?" he jeered.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips thought that now surely he had hit upon her secret. She was
+so frightened that she could only stare at him without speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought thou hadst mettle in thee, for a young one," Rupert went on.
+"But to go sneaking away and coddle a vile rebel, only for that he had
+come by a bump in the head, as he well had merited! Tibbott Venner,
+thou art no better than a girl!"</p>
+
+<p>In her relief that she was not yet found out, Merrylips did not care
+what she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Then is a girl a better gentleman than thou, thou horseboy!" she
+answered back. "And I be glad that I am like a girl!"</p>
+
+<p>So saying, she trudged away to her own chamber. There she put on a
+fresh shirt, and then she fumbled in the hole in her mattress and drew
+out the silver ring that had been Lady Sybil's. She hung it about her
+neck on a cord, within her shirt, just as she had used to wear it. It
+was like a girl to wear it so, and she wanted to remember always that
+she was indeed a girl.</p>
+
+<p>While she sat fingering the ring, she felt that she did not care what
+Rupert or the Monksfield garrison thought of her. She knew that she had
+done what Lady Sybil would have wished a tender-hearted little maid to
+do. But as the afternoon passed, and the room grew dark, and the rebel
+watchfires kindled on the hills, she began to think how far away was
+Lady Sybil, and how near were the Monksfield garrison. And since Rupert
+knew that she had helped their captive enemy, all the garrison must
+know, and surely all would cease to be her friends.</p>
+
+<p>As she was thinking thus, and remembering the stern face that Captain
+Norris had worn, she heard a knock upon her door. When she called,
+"Come!" there appeared on the threshold a slender figure that she knew
+could be only Rupert's.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in a formal, dry voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sent to find you, Master Venner. Captain Norris hath a word to
+say unto you."</p>
+
+<p>Within her shirt Merrylips clutched at the silver ring and tried to
+take courage.</p>
+
+<p>"The captain—is fain to speak with me?" she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," said Rupert. "Now—this moment. Come! He waiteth for you."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">A PARTING OF THE WAYS</p>
+
+
+<p>In the mess-room, where the candles were lighted, Captain Tibbott
+Norris sat alone at the table. Before him were a dish of stewed meat
+and a cup of wine, and he ate and drank steadily, but all the time his
+eyes were bent upon a map that was spread open at his elbow. He had not
+shaved in two days, and his unkempt face looked old and tired.</p>
+
+<p>For a full minute Merrylips must have hesitated on the threshold before
+Captain Norris noticed that she was there. Then he peered at her
+through the candlelight, and said he:—</p>
+
+<p>"Thou, is it, Tibbott? And young Hinkel, too? Come you in, both lads,
+and shut to the door."</p>
+
+<p>At heart Merrylips was glad that Rupert was to stay in the room. She
+was almost afraid to be left alone with the stern captain. But when he
+spoke again, she went to him obediently, and halted at his side. He
+turned and laid his hand on her shoulder, just as he had done on the
+day when she first had entered the mess-room. And suddenly, as she met
+the look in his tired eyes, she no longer feared him.</p>
+
+<p>But when Captain Norris spoke, it was to Rupert, not to Merrylips, that
+he said the words.</p>
+
+<p>"Young Hinkel," he began, "I've marked you for long as a brisk lad, of
+riper wit than many of like years. So to-night, when I cannot spare one
+man from the garrison, I shall trust you, a lad, with a man's work."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert's eyes shone. He drew himself up as tall as he could, and stood
+at salute, while he listened to the captain.</p>
+
+<p>"This child," said Captain Norris, and drew Merrylips to stand against
+his knee, "must leave Monksfield to-night. But to send him as a
+non-combatant, under a white flag, to Colonel Hatcher, would mean to
+return him to the Roundhead kinsfolk from whom his brother snatched
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"Prithee, not that!" begged Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>She would have said more, if she had not found comfort in the captain's
+next words.</p>
+
+<p>"So the only course left," he went on, "is to set him outside our
+lines, and let him make his own way unto the nearest of our garrisons.
+You, Rupert Hinkel, shall go with him. Take him unto his kindred, and
+they will requite you well. Fail the lad, or play him false, and I
+shall seek you out and hang you."</p>
+
+<p>This last the captain said as quietly as if he promised Rupert a box
+on the ear, or a ha'penny, or some such trifle. Yet quiet as his voice
+was, there was in it something that made Merrylips shrink and Rupert
+stiffen.</p>
+
+<p>"I will not fail him, sir, on the faith of a gentleman," Rupert
+promised, in a voice almost as quiet as the captain's own.</p>
+
+<p>Then Captain Norris made Rupert stand by him, on the side opposite
+Merrylips, whom he still held fast, and he pointed out to him on the
+map lines that were paths and little specks that stood for villages.
+Point by point he taught Rupert the way to the nearest Cavalier outpost
+at King's Slynton, fifteen miles distant, and he gave him a pass-word,
+by which the commander of that garrison should know that he came indeed
+from Monksfield, and was to be helped upon his journey.</p>
+
+<p>"He will find means to send you both to Walsover," said Captain Norris.
+"Your troubles all are at an end when once you reach King's Slynton,
+and the distance thither is not great."</p>
+
+<p>Then he laid upon the table a handful of small coins, shillings and
+sixpences and groats. These he bade Rupert hide within his clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"Show but one piece at a time," he cautioned. "'Twill rouse question
+if so young a boy seem too well stored with money."</p>
+
+<p>"And shall I take my carabine, sir, for our defence?" asked Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>He was fairly a-quiver with eagerness, and his face fell when the
+captain answered, "No."</p>
+
+<p>But Rupert felt better when the captain pointed to the form by the fire
+and said that yonder lay what they must bear upon their journey. For on
+the form was not only a packet of what seemed food, and a flask, but a
+small pistol, with a steel patron full of cartridges and a touch-box,
+all complete.</p>
+
+<p>"You have your orders," said Captain Norris. "Now rest you here till
+you are sent for, and eat your suppers too."</p>
+
+<p>He rose as if the talk were at an end, and for the first time spoke to
+Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou must lay off that Cavalier sash, be sure," he said. "And art thou
+warmly clad against this journey?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, sir," Merrylips answered.</p>
+
+<p>She spoke cheerily. For she was going to leave Monksfield, that in the
+last hours she had found so hateful. Almost she could have laughed for
+joy.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a brave lad!" said Captain Norris; yet somehow he seemed a
+little disappointed that she bore it so bravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, God speed thee, Tibbott, and farewell!" he added after a moment,
+and then suddenly, with his hand upon her shoulder, bent and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>She felt the roughness of his untrimmed beard against her cheek, and
+then, in that same minute, he was gone from the mess-room.</p>
+
+<p>The hours that followed seemed to her like a dream. She laid aside
+her sash, as the captain had bidden, against her journey through the
+enemy's country. She watched Rupert hide away the coins, one by one,
+within the lining of his doublet and in his pockets. She sat at the
+table, because Rupert did so, and she ate some cold beef and bread,
+though she could scarcely taste the food. She was going to leave
+Monksfield—that was her one thought. And for all the dangers that she
+might meet upon the road, and for all that she must travel with Rupert,
+her little enemy, she was glad to be gone.</p>
+
+<p>Only one thing troubled her. How were she and Rupert to pass through
+the rebel lines that were drawn so closely now round Monksfield? She
+wanted to ask Rupert that question, but she was too proud to be the
+first to break the silence that was between them.</p>
+
+<p>So she sat playing with the wax that guttered from the candle on the
+table, and blinking at the light. Perhaps for a minute she had nodded,
+with her head upon her breast, when she felt a blast of cold air from
+the open door, and found that Captain Brooke was standing at her elbow.</p>
+
+<p>"Briskly, lads!" he bade.</p>
+
+<p>Already Rupert had pocketed the pistol and the flask, and taken up
+the packet of food. With scarcely a moment lost, they were all three
+outside the mess-room, in the flagged passage, and just then a shadow
+fell across their path, and before them stood Miles Digby.</p>
+
+<p>"Going hence, eh?" he said. "Then God be wi' ye, Tibbott."</p>
+
+<p>Digby held out his hand, and for the life of her Merrylips could not
+have helped doing what she did. All in an instant she seemed to see
+the face that he had worn when he struck Fowell, who stood wounded and
+helpless before him. She put her two hands behind her and shrank from
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed, but his laughter was half-hearted, and he swore an oath.
+Then she heard no more of him, for Captain Brooke was heading down the
+passage, as if he had no time to waste, and she ran after him.</p>
+
+<p>Through corridors that she knew well they went, half lighted by the
+dark lantern that the captain carried. They crossed the echoing space
+of the great store-room, and through a narrow door stepped out beneath
+the stars. They stood in the herb garden, and Merrylips had guessed
+where they were going, even before the captain led them down the steps
+to the door beneath the still-house.</p>
+
+<p>"Do we go this way, even as you came?" she said to him.</p>
+
+<p>She spoke in a whisper, lest Rupert, who did not share the secret,
+might overhear.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, by the same path," said Captain Brooke. "'Tis a buried passage
+that the monks must have builded in old days. Keep silent touching it,
+you two," he added gravely, and in the archway of the door turned the
+light full upon their faces. "To set you beyond danger we trust you
+with a secret that might be the ruin of the garrison."</p>
+
+<p>Then Merrylips knew that on the day when she had seen Captain Brooke
+come from the still-house, he had been out by the passage to spy upon
+the enemy. She wondered that she had been so stupid as not to have
+guessed as much.</p>
+
+<p>Through the damp cellar, where the long, slimy tracks of snails gleamed
+on the walls, they reached the low entrance of the buried passage.
+The walls were all of stone that sweated with moisture, and the roof
+was so low that Captain Brooke had to stoop as he went. Underfoot the
+ground was uneven. More than once Merrylips stumbled as she hurried
+to keep up with the captain's strides. Every moment, too, she found it
+harder to draw breath. Not only was she panting with the haste that she
+must make, but the air seemed lifeless in the passage, and in the dark
+lantern the candle burned blue and feeble.</p>
+
+<p>"Journey's end, boys!" Captain Brooke spoke at last, as it seemed to
+her from a great distance.</p>
+
+<p>Over his shoulder she saw a patch of dark sky, where stars were
+twinkling. Across the patch ran inky black lines that were leafless
+stalks of bushes. The fresh air of the upper world came keen and sweet
+to her nostrils.</p>
+
+<p>"Below you lieth the mere, upon the north of the rebel lines. Take
+your bearings by it, Rupert," said the captain. "Steer your course as
+Captain Norris bade, and so, good speed unto you both!"</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Rupert and Merrylips stood in the low opening, which was
+screened by hazel bushes and a bit of ivy-covered stonework. In the
+passage that they had just left they watched the light of the captain's
+lantern till they could no longer see it in the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"So we're quit of Monksfield!" Merrylips said then, and as she thought
+of her last hours in the garrison, she spoke in a happy voice.</p>
+
+<p>"You're rejoiced, eh?" Rupert answered harshly. "Truth, I'm not! The
+best friend I have I left yonder, old Claus! And I'll not be near him
+now, in the last fight."</p>
+
+<p>"Last fight—" echoed Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"Dost thou not understand, little fool?" whispered Rupert. "The rebels
+will attack to-morrow, and we're now so weak that it well may be—Dost
+thou not see? 'Tis to save thy life the captain sendeth thee away,
+and for that thou art glad to leave him, Tibbott Venner, thou little
+coward!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">OUTSIDE KING'S SLYNTON</p>
+
+
+<p>All that night Merrylips and Rupert groped their way by the paths that
+Captain Norris had bidden them take. At dawn they found a hiding-place
+at the edge of a beech wood on a low hill, and there they spent the day.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes they slept, and sometimes they ate and drank, and sometimes
+from their hilltop they scanned the country round them. Near at hand,
+in the open fields, they saw hinds that went about their work, and in
+the distance twice, to their alarm, they saw squads of mounted men that
+sped along an unseen road.</p>
+
+<p>"Will those be Roundheads?" Merrylips asked.</p>
+
+<p>"What an if they be?" jeered Rupert. "Thou hast a kindness unto all
+rebels, young Venner. Mayhap 'tis thy dear comrade, Dick Fowell, and be
+hanged unto him!"</p>
+
+<p>For, as if they had not troubles enough, these two foolish children
+were making matters worse by keeping up their quarrel. Not one kind
+word did they exchange from the moment of their leaving Monksfield.
+Rupert looked down upon his companion for a weakling and a coward. And
+Merrylips, for her own part, vowed that she would never ask help or
+kindness of him—no, not if she died for it!</p>
+
+<p>So in angry silence they took up their march again when night came
+down. The sky was overcast, and the path was hard to find. Once they
+went astray and wandered into a bog, where the water oozed icily cold
+into their shoes.</p>
+
+<p>"A brave guide art thou!" Merrylips taunted Rupert. "Thou to be set to
+care for me, forsooth!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hold thy peace!" snapped Rupert. "I'll have thee safe at King's
+Slynton with the daybreak, and blithe I'll be then to wash my hands of
+thee, thou pestilent brat!"</p>
+
+<p>"Brat thyself!" retorted Merrylips. "Thou'rt no more than a lad. And if
+thou art glad to be rid of me, 'tis ten times as glad I am at thought
+of quitting thee and coming once more amongst gentlemen."</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Merrylips had spoken those last words, she knew that she had
+wounded Rupert cruelly. But she was so cold and footsore and wretched
+that she was glad to have made him suffer in his turn. Besides, she had
+meant what she had said. It would indeed be pleasant to set foot in the
+mess-room at King's Slynton, and to be warmly greeted and petted by
+the officers there, as she had been by the friends that she had left
+ungratefully behind her.</p>
+
+<p>Upheld by the thought of this welcome that awaited her, Merrylips
+dragged herself along at Rupert's heels all that dreary night. As
+worn-out a little girl as ever masked herself in boy's clothes, she saw
+the dawn at last break grayly over the eastern hills. The bare trees
+stood out from the mist, and the fields changed color from leaden hue
+to brown. Over the next hill, she hoped, would be King's Slynton, but
+she would not speak to Rupert, not even to ask that question.</p>
+
+<p>Up this hill they were toiling, with Rupert in the lead. He limped a
+little, as Merrylips was glad to notice. Then what should they see, on
+the crest of the hill above them, sharply outlined against the gray
+sky, but a mounted man? When they looked closer, they saw that he was
+an armed man, and that he wore across his cuirass the orange scarf of a
+rebel officer.</p>
+
+<p>At that sight both children shrank into the shadow of the thicket under
+which ran their path. But Merrylips thought less of the rebel officer
+than of the taunts that Rupert would surely cast at her, for having
+befriended the like of him. She tried to think of a bitter answer to
+make him, and she stiffened herself for an open quarrel, as she saw him
+turn toward her.</p>
+
+<p>But Rupert's face, as he looked at her, was not that of a quarrelsome
+little boy. It was a troubled, older face, such as she had not seen him
+wear.</p>
+
+<p>"Hide thou here in the bushes, Tibbott," he bade. "And stay thou
+hidden, whatever happen, till I come again."</p>
+
+<p>He did not make her his comrade so much as to tell her what he thought
+or feared or what he planned to do. But he chose a sheltered spot for
+her, deep among elder bushes and young birches, and he gave her the
+flask and what was left of the food. He bade her eat and drink and
+rest her there in safety. Then he tucked his pistol into his belt and
+trudged away alone over the hill to King's Slynton.</p>
+
+<p>There in the thicket Merrylips sat all day, and it was the longest day
+that ever she had known. At first she slept, but she could not sleep
+all the time. Then she watched the flights of rooks that winged across
+the sullen sky. She watched the rabbits that scurried through the
+copse below her. She built little houses of dead leaves and twigs and
+pebbles. All sorts of things she did, not to think of what might have
+happened to Rupert and be afraid.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost twilight when Rupert came back. He dropped down beside
+her under the bushes, and drew a long breath as if he were tired.</p>
+
+<p>"The rebels have taken King's Slynton," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips knew then that she had known that this would be his news. So
+she did not cry out or show fear. All she did was to ask him, "When?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yesterday," he answered. "They beat our men out of the village, and
+have set a garrison of their own ruffians in their stead."</p>
+
+<p>But there Merrylips broke in upon him. She had been peering at him
+sharply, and now she cried:—</p>
+
+<p>"Where's thy pistol, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>It was not so dark but that she could see how he reddened. He tried to
+speak roughly and angrily, but in the end he blurted out the truth.</p>
+
+<p>"They took my pistol from me, there in the village," he said. "I had
+to venture in among them to get news. They said—the rebel soldiers
+said—that I must have stolen it, at the time the town was taken. They
+took my pistol and what money was in the pockets of my doublet. They
+would have searched me further, but one of their officers came up and
+bade them let me go. And then he set me to clean his horse's stall.
+I've been fetching and carrying all day—for thy rebel friends, Tibbott
+Venner."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert spoke the jeer half-heartedly, and Merrylips made no answer.
+Both were too tired and frightened to quarrel. For some time they sat
+in silence, while the chill shadows gathered round them. Deep in the
+thicket the owls began to hoot.</p>
+
+<p>"Is there aught of food left?" asked Rupert, suddenly. "I'm nigh
+famished."</p>
+
+<p>In answer Merrylips laid the packet on the ground between them. Rupert
+opened it, and looked at what lay within—the dry end of a loaf, a
+slice of beef, and some crumbs of cheese. Then he looked at Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"Hast thou not eaten all this day?" he asked. "I bade thee, Tibbott."</p>
+
+<p>"I waited—to share with thee," Merrylips answered, and somehow she
+choked upon the words.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art a little fool," said Rupert, angrily.</p>
+
+<p>He broke the bread and on the crumb that was least hard he placed the
+meat and laid it on her knee.</p>
+
+<p>"Eat this now!" he ordered.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou hast given me all the meat," she answered. "And we must share
+alike."</p>
+
+<p>Then Rupert caught her with his arm about her shoulders, and laid the
+bread in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Eat it!" he said roughly. "Thou must have the best. I'm older and
+stronger than thou—and I promised I'd care for thee—and I will now,
+indeed I will! Thou needst not fear, for all we may not find help at
+King's Slynton. I'll bring thee safe unto thy friends, and I—I'll not
+be rough with thee again. Now wilt thou not eat? I pray thee, Tibbott!"</p>
+
+<p>And this time Merrylips took the food and ate.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">THE DARKEST DAY</p>
+
+
+<p>In the dull light of the dripping morning Rupert and Merrylips sat up
+and looked at each other. The packet that had held their food gaped
+emptily at their feet, and the flask lay forlornly on its side.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall we do? And whither shall we go now, Rupert?" Merrylips
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>She chafed her cold little hands while she waited hopefully for his
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert had his answer ready. Indeed, for twenty-four hours he had
+thought of little else.</p>
+
+<p>"We cannot well go back to Monksfield," he said, "for no doubt the
+place hath fallen by now."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips nodded gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"If I had known!" she said in a low voice. "I wish now I'd shaken hands
+with Lieutenant Digby, since he was fain to do so."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Rupert, "we can't go back, so we must needs go forward.
+And since King's Slynton is no longer a Royalist garrison, we must make
+our way to the nearest place that is. But we will not make such long
+marches as we made yesterday!" he added.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips was glad to hear those last words, for she was lame in every
+muscle. But she did not say that she was glad, lest Rupert think her a
+little milksop to be so quickly tired. Instead she asked:—</p>
+
+<p>"Where is the Royalist garrison to which we shall go now? I pray thee,
+tell me!"</p>
+
+<p>No doubt Rupert would have liked to seem wise in everything to this
+younger lad, but he was an honest boy. Though he hesitated, he
+presently spoke the truth.</p>
+
+<p>"That I do not rightly know," he said. "These parts are strange to me,
+and Captain Norris was so sure that we should find shelter at King's
+Slynton that he told me nothing of the ways beyond. But we must go
+westward, I know, to reach the king's country."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," said Merrylips, "for Walsover lieth in the west."</p>
+
+<p>"But first of all," Rupert went on, "for this I learned yesterday in
+the village, we must cross the river Slyne that barreth our passage
+into the west. And we cannot cross it by the bridge at King's Slynton,
+now that the rebels are there, so we must go northward to a village
+called Slynford, where there is a fording place."</p>
+
+<p>"And is it far?" Merrylips asked as she rose stiffly to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Not far, I think," Rupert cheered her. "Not above two league, I am
+sure."</p>
+
+<p>Now two leagues may sound a very little distance, when the words
+are read by a snug fireside. But two leagues, when tramped through
+drizzling wet and mire, on tired feet, become a weary long journey, as
+Merrylips and Rupert found. It was sunset, if there had been a sun to
+set upon that damp and gloomy day, when they limped at last down the
+sticky road into Slynford.</p>
+
+<p>The first sound that greeted them, as they set foot in the village
+street, was a dirty little boy's shouting to his mate:—</p>
+
+<p>"Haste ye, Herry Dautry! The sojers do be changing guard at the ford.
+Come look upon 'em for a brave show!"</p>
+
+<p>Then they knew that they had come too late. Here in Slynford, as at
+King's Slynton, was an outpost of the rebel army that barred the
+passage into the west.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps if they had gone straight to the ford and asked to be let
+cross, they might have got leave, for they were very young and
+harmless-looking travellers. But Rupert and Merrylips were both too
+tired and hungry and discouraged to pluck up heart for such a bold
+undertaking.</p>
+
+<p>Moreover, after his sad experience in King's Slynton, Rupert was shy
+of getting within arm's reach of rebel soldiers. He might be robbed of
+what money was left him, he told Merrylips. So they agreed that they
+should do well to leave Slynford and try to cross the river farther
+north.</p>
+
+<p>There followed for the two children a week of wandering that would
+not have been easy even for grown men. All the time they were in
+terror,—more than they need have been, perhaps,—lest they fall into
+the hands of the cruel rebels. Indeed, the country through which they
+passed was swarming with soldiers and with camp followers of the
+Parliament. And Rupert and Merrylips were sure, and rather proud of the
+fact, that in dress and bearing they themselves looked so much like
+Cavaliers that they should instantly be known for such, if they let
+themselves be seen by their enemies.</p>
+
+<p>So they kept away from towns and villages, where they were likely to be
+stopped and questioned. For greater safety they travelled by night, and
+their food—coarse bread, and meat, and fresh cheese—they bought at
+lonely cottages. They slept in woods and thickets, where sometimes they
+found nuts and haws with which to piece out their meals. They dared not
+even ask too many questions about the roads that they should take,
+and so it happened often that they went astray. Still, they travelled
+northward, in the main, along the river Slyne, till one morning they
+met with a rebel patrol.</p>
+
+<p>The soldiers shouted to them to stand. They were half in jest, no
+doubt, but it was no jest to Rupert and Merrylips. In great fright
+they ran for their lives, as they believed, into a wood close by. They
+heard a shot fired after them. They heard a crashing of horses that
+were forced through the bushes in their rear. They ran madly up hills
+and down muddy hollows. When Merrylips stumbled, Rupert caught her hand
+and dragged her along. Not till they had left the pursuit far behind
+them did they drop down, all scratched and bemired, and lie sobbing for
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>After that they shaped their course eastward, away from the danger belt
+between the lines, where they had been travelling. Presently, said
+Rupert, they would turn westward again, but for now, till the country
+was quieter, they would keep to the settled parts that were held for
+the Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>It was at this time that he thought up a story to tell, if they were
+caught and questioned. He would say that they were cousins and that
+their name was Smith, for that was a common, honest-sounding name. He
+would say, too, that they had been at school near Horsham and had run
+away to join the Parliament army and fight the Cavaliers.</p>
+
+<p>"And we must call 'em wicked Cavaliers, and abuse 'em roundly," said
+Rupert, who was very proud of his plan, "and then no doubt they'll
+believe us little rebels and let us go about our business."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips was not over-pleased at the thought of telling so many fibs,
+nor did she wish to pass herself off as a rebel. More than ever she
+feared and hated all that party since the meeting with the Roundhead
+patrol. But she said nothing, for she wished to do as Rupert wished,
+since he was kind to her.</p>
+
+<p>For Rupert had kept his word, ever since that twilight outside King's
+Slynton. Not once had he been rough with Merrylips. He made her rest,
+while he went alone to get their food. He gave her all the choicest
+bits. He carried her on his back when they forded streams. Because he
+was the older and the stronger, he took good care of her, as he had
+promised to do. But all the time she knew that it was only because she
+was weak that he was kind.</p>
+
+<p>She meant to be very brave and strong. But she did not find it so easy
+to be a boy, out in the cold woods, as she had found it in the cheery
+mess-room at Monksfield. She did not whimper, no, not once, but she
+could not walk so stoutly as Rupert, for all her trying. And she
+caught a cold, and she had such a sore throat that she could scarcely
+eat their hard food. Rupert did not scold, but she knew that she must
+seem to him weak and cowardly.</p>
+
+<p>Now before long Merrylips had blistered her feet. Rupert had strained
+a tendon in his ankle, at the very outset, and though he made light of
+it, he went each day more lame. Thus crippled, they could not travel
+far in a single day. So it was that, about the time when they turned
+westward again, they found that, though they had not half finished
+their journey, they had spent all their money.</p>
+
+<p>Soon they had nothing left but Merrylips' three half-pence. These
+Rupert gave one morning for a noggin of milk and a piece of soft bread,
+which he bought at a farmyard gate. And he made Merrylips drink and eat
+it, every drop and crumb.</p>
+
+<p>The dairymaid from whom they bought the food must have run and told her
+mistress about them, for scarcely had Merrylips done eating, when the
+farmer's wife, a big, rosy woman, came bustling out of the house. She
+looked at the two little boys, who were standing forlornly by the bars,
+in the cold dawn, and then she called to them to come in.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips was so tired and sick that she would have gone to the woman,
+even if she were a rebel. But Rupert whispered:—</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a trap! No doubt she would betray us to the Roundhead soldiers!"</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he caught Merrylips by the arm and hurried her away. He
+would not let her stop running till he had led her deep into a lonely
+growth of willows that drooped above a swollen brook.</p>
+
+<p>"But I doubt—if she would have served us—an ill turn," Merrylips
+panted, as soon as she got breath. "She looked right kind."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, she was one of thy rebel friends," sneered Rupert, and flung her
+hand from his.</p>
+
+<p>Yet there was some excuse for his ill humor. After all, he was but a
+young boy, and he suffered cruelly with his aching foot, and he had not
+eaten in hours. What with pain and hunger and fear for the future, it
+was no wonder, perhaps, that he was quite savage. In any case, he went
+and lay down in the shelter of a bank, and turned his back upon his
+little comrade.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips was left sitting alone by the brookside. She wondered what
+would become of them now. Here they were, in the enemy's country,
+without money, and without friends, and without strength to travel
+farther. Perhaps they would die right there, like the poor babes in the
+old ballad that Goody Trot used to sing.</p>
+
+<p>When she thought of Goody Trot, she thought of all the kind old days
+at Larkland, and she was almost ready to cry. But she drew from within
+her shirt the silver ring, and kissed it, and laid her cheek against
+it. She thought of Lady Sybil, and how she had told her that she could
+be as brave as a boy, whatever dress she wore. Then she grew ashamed
+that she, who was Lady Sybil's goddaughter and Sir Thomas Venner's
+child, should be cast down, only because she was a little cold and
+hungry. So she made herself sing softly, and she sat turning the ring
+between her fingers while she thought what a brave, merry face she
+would have to show to Rupert when he woke.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky, she felt a
+stinging blow across her cheek. Her head rang with it. Her eyes were
+dazzled with dancing stars. Through a haze she saw Rupert standing over
+her with fists clenched and eyes that flamed.</p>
+
+<p>"Tibbott Venner, thou little thief!" he choked. "Give me that ring."</p>
+
+<p>From where she had fallen upon her elbow Merrylips stared up at him.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Rupert," she said, "'tis mine! 'Tis mine own ring."</p>
+
+<p>"Thou dost lie!" he cried. "I could ha' forgiven thee aught else. But
+to serve me such a turn—when I had cared for thee, well as I knew! I
+gave thee the last o' the bread and the milk—all of it I gave thee,
+because thou wast little. And then thou—thou lying little trickster! I
+vow I'll beat thee for't!"</p>
+
+<p>Still Merrylips looked at him steadily.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art strong. Thou canst do it," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert lifted his clenched fist, but he let it fall as he met her eyes.
+He did not strike her. Instead he bent and snatched at the ring, where
+it hung about her neck. So fiercely did he snatch that he broke the
+cord and brought the ring away in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Shift for thyself now!" he flung the words at her. "I'll bear wi' thee
+no longer, thou liar! thou thief! And to do't while I slept and trusted
+thee!"</p>
+
+<p>Still Merrylips said not a word. Dumb and wide-eyed, she sat with her
+hand to her throbbing cheek, while she watched Rupert turn and stride
+away along the brookside. She watched till he had passed out of sight,
+and the branches that he had thrust aside no longer stirred.</p>
+
+<p>Then she groped with her fingers and touched the broken cord where the
+ring had hung. She had not dreamed it, then. Rupert had robbed her, and
+forsaken her. She did not cry, but she gave a little moan, and drooping
+forward, sank upon her face.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">AFTER THE STORM</p>
+
+
+<p>At first Merrylips could not guess what had happened to her. Perhaps,
+she thought, she had been drowned. Her face was all wet and dripping,
+and she could hear a rushing sound of water.</p>
+
+<p>But when she raised her heavy eyelids, she saw bare willow branches
+against a gray sky. She lay by a brookside, she remembered. The sound
+of water that she had heard must be the rushing of the brook.</p>
+
+<p>Then she found that Rupert was bending over her. But this was a Rupert
+whom she had never known. This Rupert had a gray, drawn face that
+twitched and eyes that were wide and frightened. He was chafing her
+hands in his and saying over and over:—</p>
+
+<p>"Tibbott! Tibbott! Don't die! Prithee, say thou wilt not die! I did not
+know. I am sorry. Only don't die, Tibbott! Say thou wilt not die!"</p>
+
+<p>She did not understand. She could remember only that he had struck her,
+and she shrank from his touch.</p>
+
+<p>She heard a sound of sobbing. But she knew it was not she that cried.
+She had promised Munn that she would be brave. She raised her eyes
+again, and she saw Rupert on his knees beside her, with his ragged
+sleeve pressed to his face. It was he that was sobbing, for all that he
+was a big boy.</p>
+
+<p>"But wilt thou not even let me touch thee—when 'tis to help thee?" he
+begged. "For I'm sorry, Tibbott. And here's thy ring again. As soon
+as I knew, I ran back and found thee fainting. And I would not ha'
+done it, Tibbott, but indeed they were very like. So I thought thou
+hadst taken mine, and—and it meaneth much to me, more than I can tell
+thee, Tibbott. And I thought, there at King's Slynton, when the rebels
+searched me, they would find it and take it from me. So many times
+since I've dreamed 'twas taken from me and was lost! So when I woke and
+thought to see it in thy hands, so careless, I was angered. Tibbott,
+wilt thou not understand and—and not forgive me, perhaps, but let me
+help thee? For indeed they are so like! Look but upon them, Tibbott!"</p>
+
+<p>She thought that she must be very ill indeed, and that she was seeing
+things double. For there in Rupert's hand, as he held it out to her,
+lay two rings, wrought of dull old silver in the shape of two hearts
+entwined. She stared at them blankly, and Rupert, who thought from her
+silence that she was still angry, hid his face in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>But in that silence Merrylips began slowly to understand what had
+happened. She saw that Rupert, how or why she could not guess, had had
+a ring like hers and prized it dearly. No wonder, then, that when he
+had seen her handling such a ring he had thought her a little thief,
+until he had searched and found his own ring in its place. He was not
+wholly to blame, and until that hour he had been kind.</p>
+
+<p>How glad she was to feel that she could forgive him! "Rupert!" she
+whispered, but so softly that he did not heed.</p>
+
+<p>Then she dragged herself to him and put her two arms round his
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert!" she said again, and bent and kissed him.</p>
+
+<p>He put his arms about her, and for a moment they clung to each other.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art the strangest lad, Tibbott!" choked Rupert. "But thou dost
+not bear me ill will? Indeed thou dost not?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips nodded, as she settled herself beside him. She felt too weak
+to talk, but she was very happy.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Rupert too was silent, while he busied himself in tying
+Merrylips' ring once more upon the broken cord. But presently he said,
+in a humble voice:—</p>
+
+<p>"Wilt thou tell me, Tibbott—if 'tis not a secret—how thou ever
+camest by this ring which is like mine own?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had it of my godmother," Merrylips answered, and she was almost too
+faint to notice what she said. "My godmother, with whom I dwelt at
+Larkland—Lady Sybil Fernefould—she for whom I am named."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert let his hands fall from the cord with which he was fumbling. In
+blank surprise he looked at her, and suddenly from his face she knew
+what she had said. In her dismay she roused from her faintness.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Rupert!" she cried, and hid her hot face in her hands. "And I
+promised not to tell—and I have told!"</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to her a long time that she sat with her face hidden and
+grieved for her broken promise. Then she heard Rupert say in a puzzled
+voice, but quite gently:—</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Sybil—for whom thou art named? But then—Why, Tibbott, is it
+true thou art not Tibbott—that thou art a little maid?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay!" she answered with her face hidden.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she felt her two hands found and taken into Rupert's hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Prithee, look up!" he said. "And be not sorry. My word, I might ha'
+guessed it—only no one of all the men mistrusted! 'Twas because
+thou wast a maid, belike, thou hadst so tender a heart, even for
+the pestilent rebels. And I mocked at thee for it. I am right sorry,
+mistress."</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at Rupert then. She felt that at last they knew each
+other and would be friends. She was so glad that she smiled at him, and
+he too laughed as he knelt before her.</p>
+
+<p>"How thou didst trick us all!" he cried. "Why, Tibbott—mistress, I
+mean—"</p>
+
+<p>"My brothers call me Merrylips," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert cocked his head, as if he thought the name odd, but he repeated,
+"Merrylips," and they laughed together.</p>
+
+<p>"I never knew of such a maid," Rupert kept repeating. "How couldst thou
+walk as thou hast done, and fare so poorly, and not fret, thou that
+hast been reared a gentlewoman?"</p>
+
+<p>Then he hesitated and seemed to remember something.</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips," he asked, "did I dream it, or didst thou say indeed that
+thou didst dwell with thy godmother at a place called Larkland?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips nodded. Rupert passed his hand across his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a house called Larkland," he said slowly, "when we came
+first into England, Claus and I, and a sickness was on me. And there
+was a kind little maid that led us home, and said we should be friends."</p>
+
+<p>He paused, and sat gazing at Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she answered, "and next morning I sat in the cherry tree and saw
+thee stealing away from Larkland."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it was thou indeed!" cried Rupert. "And I never knew thee,
+Tibbott,—Merrylips, I mean,—though I had thought upon thee often, for
+thou wast so kind, when every one was harsh unto us."</p>
+
+<p>But now that Merrylips remembered the old days at Larkland and her
+godmother's suspicions of Rupert, she grew sober again.</p>
+
+<p>"Wilt thou not tell me, Rupert," she said, "why thou didst steal away
+from Larkland, so like a thief, when we all would have used thee
+kindly?"</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Rupert was silent. Then he drew from his pocket the silver
+ring that was the counterpart of the one that hung at Merrylips' neck.</p>
+
+<p>"If I tell thee a part, I will tell thee all," he said, "and I am fain
+to tell thee, if thou wilt listen."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me everything," bade Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>So the two children settled themselves, side by side, under the bare
+willows, and Rupert told the story of his silver ring.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">HE THAT WAS LOST</p>
+
+
+<p>"First of all," Rupert began, "my name is not Rupert Hinkel, no more
+than thine is Tibbott. I am no kinsman to Claus Hinkel, nor to any
+peasant folk. I am a gentleman's son, and come of as good blood, they
+say, as any in all England."</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, as he spoke, with his head thrown back and his chin uplifted,
+Rupert looked what he claimed to be. Merrylips believed him, only
+hearing him say it.</p>
+
+<p>"My right name," he went on, "is called Robert Lucas."</p>
+
+<p>"Lucas! 'Tis a name I've heard," said Merrylips. "Perchance I shall
+remember where."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"If thou couldst but help me!" he sighed. "I'll tell thee all, but
+there's so much I do not know and I can never learn. For I was but a
+little babe when both my father and my mother died. My father was an
+English gentleman, one Captain Lucas. He was an officer in the army of
+the Emperor Ferdinand, and he was serving in High Germany. My mother
+was with him. She was an Englishwoman, a great lady in her own country,
+and with a face like an angel, so my nurse hath ofttimes told me.</p>
+
+<p>"My mother held that the camp was too rude a place in which to nurture
+me. So she gave me, but three months old, to a good woman, Jettchen
+Kronk, a farmer's wife, who nursed me with her own child. Each week my
+mother would leave the camp, and ride across the hills on her palfrey,
+with men to attend her, and visit me for an hour.</p>
+
+<p>"One day, when I was eight months old, she gave me this ring from her
+hand to play with. I fell asleep holding it fast, and she would not
+waken me to take it from me, when it came her time to go. She would get
+her ring when next she came unto me, she said, and bade my nurse guard
+it safely, for 'twas dear to her and bore the crest of her house. Then
+she kissed me as I slept, my nurse hath told me, and went her way, and
+never came again.</p>
+
+<p>"For there fell a great fever on the camp, and among the rest my father
+and my mother must have died, for never a word was heard of them more.
+Many of the officers perished, as well as of the soldiers. Doubtless
+among them were those of my father's friends that would have been
+mindful of me. And presently, to save the remnant of the troops, they
+were sent to another camp, miles away, across the mountains, and I was
+left behind, for there was none now to take thought of me.</p>
+
+<p>"But Jettchen Kronk loved me. Her own child, my foster-brother, died
+that year, and her husband was slain, and she said that I was all was
+left unto her. So when her kinsmen bade her cast me forth as a beggar
+brat, she drove them from her house. And she reared me tenderly, as if
+I had been her own.</p>
+
+<p>"She had me taught to read and write, both German and Latin, by the
+priest of the village. And she told me always how I was a gentleman and
+the son of a gentleman, and she showed me this silver ring that she
+had kept for me. Through this ring, she said, I should one day find
+my English kindred, who would be glad to welcome me. But the journey
+into England was very long, and the country was vexed with war, and
+she herself was poor and all unable to furnish me for the road. So I
+could not hope to travel into England until I was old enough and strong
+enough to make mine own way thither.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twill be three years agone, come Eastertide, that dear Jettchen fell
+into a lingering sickness. She was in great fear for me, for she knew
+that there was none to stand my friend when she was gone. But while
+she was thus troubled, there came to her a cousin, Claus Hinkel, a
+kind, true soul that had been for years a soldier in the army of the
+Emperor. He promised Jettchen that he would take me into England, to my
+kinsfolk there, and so she died with her heart at peace. God rest her!
+She was kinder to me than any in all this world."</p>
+
+<p>For a little time after that Rupert sat blinking fast. Merrylips did
+not like to speak to him in words, but timidly she laid her hand on
+his, and he did not withdraw it.</p>
+
+<p>"I was a very little boy," he broke out suddenly, "and foolish—and so
+was poor Claus!—to think 'twas an easy task we went upon. First of
+all, we had no money, for my nurse's kindred seized on all she owned.
+So for a winter I dwelt with Claus in camp in Bohemia, while he put by
+money for our journey into England. And there was one in the ranks, a
+broken Englishman, who was good-natured, and such time as he was sober,
+taught me my father's tongue and told me much of England.</p>
+
+<p>"At last in the spring, we set out across the seas. For we had heard
+rumors that there would be war in this country. War was Claus Hinkel's
+trade, and he thought to maintain us with his sword, should we be a
+long time in finding my kinsfolk. But we did not think to be long
+about it. We were right hopeful!</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas at Brighthelmstone we landed, and hard by, in a town called
+Lewes, we went unto a gentleman, a magistrate, to whom the country
+folk directed us. I asked him whereabout in England the Lucases were
+dwelling. The talking fell to me, thou dost understand, for Claus had
+little mastery of English. But this gentleman did but laugh and bid us
+be off, and the next to whom we did apply was angry and threatened to
+set us in the stocks for landleapers and vagrants.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we were afraid, so we stayed to question no more, but hastened
+northward, as fast as we could travel. And that was not fast, for I was
+sickening with a fever. So we came, as thou knowest, unto Larkland and
+oh! what a good rest I had that night, in a fair bed with sheets, and I
+dreamed my mother came unto me.</p>
+
+<p>"But Claus was in great fear, for the lady of Larkland asked him many
+questions. And he, that knew little of English, and remembered the
+angry magistrate that had threatened us with the stocks, thought that
+harm was meant unto us. In the early dawn he roused me, saying that
+we must get thence. And I was stronger, for I had slept sweetly those
+hours, so I rose and went forth at his side.</p>
+
+<p>"We were skirting the garden wall when we heard a rustling in a cherry
+tree above us. Claus hid him under some elder bushes that grew by the
+wall, but I—I was loath to hide. And then thou didst speak unto me,
+Merrylips, so winningly that it seemed to me I'd liefer than all the
+world stay there at Larkland. And I did hate to tell thee an untruth,
+indeed I did, but Claus was signing to me, where he lay hidden, so I
+promised falsely to await thee there.</p>
+
+<p>"So soon as thou wert gone, we hastened away, and great part of the
+time Claus bore me in his arms. Then we learned that the lady of
+Larkland had sent to seek us and hale us back, so we were affrighted
+and hid us and travelled always by night till we were far away."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Rupert!" cried Merrylips, for she could wait no longer with what
+she had to tell. "If thou hadst but been found that time and brought
+back unto Larkland, how well it would have been with thee! For Lady
+Sybil that is mistress of Larkland—canst thou not guess who she is?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said, but he began to breathe fast, like a runner when he sees
+the goal.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas she that came to thy bed the night that thou didst dream thy
+mother stood nigh thee," Merrylips went on. "Rupert, in very truth, my
+dear godmother must be thy mother's sister and own aunt to thee."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert clenched and unclenched his hands, and for a moment did not
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Art thou sure?" he said at last. "How dost thou know? Don't jest with
+me, I pray thee!"</p>
+
+<p>She touched the ring at her neck, and Rupert held out his that was like
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse said 'twould be the ring would bring me to mine own!" he
+muttered.</p>
+
+<p>"There were two rings," Merrylips poured out her story, "wrought by
+order of his Grace of Barrisden with the crest of the Fernefoulds, two
+hearts entwined. And one ring was given to his daughter, Lady Sybil,
+that is my godmother, and here it lieth in mine hand. And the other was
+given to his daughter, Lady Venetia, that married Captain Edward Lucas
+and went into Germany, where they both died of a fever, as my godmother
+hath told me. And her ring she left unto her little son, and thou dost
+hold it there, Rupert, and surely, by that token, thou art the Lady
+Venetia's child."</p>
+
+<p>Then Rupert caught her hands in his and kissed them, though he did it
+roughly, as if he were not used to such courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou dost believe me, dost thou not?" he kept repeating.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips was almost as wild as he. She forgot that an hour before she
+had been tired and hungry and discouraged. Over and over she said how
+glad she was, how glad Lady Sybil would be, how, when they came to
+Walsover, Rupert would be welcomed by every one, and would have his
+rightful name and place, and never again be poor and friendless and
+unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>But while Merrylips talked on, Rupert's face grew sober and more sober.
+At last he checked her, though gently.</p>
+
+<p>"But I must tell thee, Merrylips," he said hesitatingly. "'Twill not be
+so easy as thou dost think, and as I did think when I was a little boy.
+For after we fled from Larkland, we came unto Oxford, and there I took
+courage to tell my story once again unto a great magistrate.</p>
+
+<p>"This magistrate asked me questions: what was my father's Christian
+name? what was my mother's surname ere she was married? And I could
+not tell him, nor where I was born, nor by whom christened. And when I
+showed him the ring, he said, how could I prove that it had not been
+stolen and given to me, a peasant boy, to bring into England, if haply
+I might win money with a lying tale of my gentle birth. And he called
+me impostor and bade me begone out of Oxford, and threatened to take
+the ring from me.</p>
+
+<p>"So after that we said no more, Claus and I, for indeed it seemed
+hopeless. And we went into the king's army to win us bread till one day
+when I was older perhaps men would listen to me, or perhaps I might
+learn something further of my lost kinsfolk."</p>
+
+<p>"And so thou hast to-day!" cried Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but will they believe me?" asked Rupert, wistfully. "Thou dost
+believe me, Merrylips, for thou art the kindest and truest little maid
+in all the world, and thou knowest I do not lie to thee. But will the
+grown folk believe me—thy godmother, and thy father, and thy brothers?
+Oh, Merrylips, dost think in truth that they will believe that I am son
+to Captain Lucas?"</p>
+
+<p>For one instant Merrylips hesitated. They were strange folk indeed, the
+grown folk. Even dear Lady Sybil had thought Claus and Rupert spies
+when they came, sick and weary, to Larkland. Even her brother Munn had
+looked on and smiled at the distress of the poor people at Storringham.
+They did not always believe and pity so quickly as did she, who was
+young and foolish. Maybe they would treat Rupert as that heartless
+magistrate at Oxford had treated him.</p>
+
+<p>But then Merrylips met Rupert's eyes, that had grown miserable with
+doubt in the moment while he saw her hesitate. So she hesitated no
+more. Laughing, she rose to her feet, and drew him up by the hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Word a' truth!" she cried in her stoutest voice. "They shall believe
+thee, Rupert. Come, let us be off this hour unto Walsover! They shall
+believe that thou art my godmother's nephew that was lost. And if they
+do not believe at first, why, Rupert, somehow we will win them to
+believe!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">HOW RUPERT WAS TOO CLEVER</p>
+
+
+<p>After all the wonders of the last hour, Merrylips and Rupert were keyed
+high with excitement. They felt as if they could walk right along and
+never tire until they came to Walsover. But before they had gone a mile
+they found that Master Robert Lucas and Mistress Sybil Venner were just
+as hungry and footsore as those little ragamuffins, Rupert Hinkel and
+Tibbott Venner, had ever been.</p>
+
+<p>They sat down at last under a hedge. Rupert pulled off his doublet and
+folded it about Merrylips, though she begged him keep it for himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I am hardier than thou," he said. "And I must care for thee tenderly,
+since thou art a little maid."</p>
+
+<p>"But I'm a boy," Merrylips answered. "Munn bade me be a boy, and so I
+still must be, unto all save thee, until I come among mine own people.
+So do not thou fret thyself for me, Rupert, for I am not cold nor am I
+overweary."</p>
+
+<p>They sat side by side and hand in hand while the twilight closed round
+them. Across the sombre fields they saw the small lights of a village
+kindle one by one. Then suddenly Rupert slapped his knee.</p>
+
+<p>"I've a plan!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>Off he posted, and Merrylips was left alone in the dark. She watched
+the stars shine out above her, and called them by the names that Lady
+Sybil had taught her. Then she thought of Lady Sybil and of the joy
+that would be hers, when she saw her lost nephew. And in that thought
+she almost forgot that she was cold and hungry.</p>
+
+<p>It was late in the evening and the village lights were dimmed, when
+Rupert came stumbling back across the fields.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's bread," he panted, "a huge crusty piece, and a bit o' cold
+bacon, and two great apples, and I've a ha'penny besides, and one on
+'em gave me a sup of ale, but that I might not bear away. Now eat of
+the bread, Merrylips. Eat all thou wilt, for to-morrow we'll have more."</p>
+
+<p>"But how didst thou come by it, Rupert?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Honestly, I warrant thee," he said, and then he laughed in a
+shamefaced manner.</p>
+
+<p>"I went unto the village alehouse, and I sang for the greasy clowns
+were sitting there. At Monksfield the officers said that I was a lusty
+lad at a catch. So when I sang and spoke up saucily, these rude
+fellows gave me of their food. So thou seest," he ended, "I've sung for
+thee at last, Merrylips, though at Monksfield I would not do't for the
+asking."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert joked and laughed about it bravely. But Merrylips knew that, in
+plain words, he had gone a-begging to get food for them.</p>
+
+<p>It was the first time, even in his rough life, that Rupert had had to
+do a thing that was so hateful to his pride, but it was not the last
+time. They had to have food, those two poor little travellers, and they
+had no money with which to buy it. So time after time Rupert did the
+only thing that he could do. He slipped into a farmyard or a lonely
+alehouse, and there, with his songs and his pert speeches, he got now a
+piece of bread, and now a ha'penny, and now, far oftener than he told
+Merrylips, only cuffs and curses for his pains.</p>
+
+<p>While Rupert went on these risky errands, Merrylips hid in the fields.
+But one afternoon, when she was seated under a straw-stack, she was
+found by the surly farmer that owned the field. He shook her as soundly
+as ever a little boy was shaken, and threatened to set his dog upon
+her. After that Rupert thought it best not to leave her alone, but to
+take her with him wherever he went.</p>
+
+<p>He was sorry to do this. He feared that she might be hurt or frightened
+by the rough men among whom he had to go. He feared too lest the sight
+of such a young lad as she seemed, might make people ask questions. And
+just then he was very eager to escape notice.</p>
+
+<p>They were now drawing near to the rebel lines, which they must cross,
+if they would ever reach Walsover. To north of them lay the town of
+Ryeborough, which was held for the Parliament by Robert Fowell, Lord
+Caversham. It was a walled town with a castle,—a strong place, from
+which bands of rebels went scouting through the countryside.</p>
+
+<p>This much Rupert had learned in the alehouses. And he and Merrylips
+remembered, too, that it was from Ryeborough that men and guns had been
+sent to the siege of Monksfield. They feared the very name of the town,
+and they would have been glad to slip from one hiding-place to another,
+and never show themselves to any one, till they had left it long miles
+behind them.</p>
+
+<p>But they could not keep on marching, unless they had food to eat. And
+in order to get food, they must go where people were. And since the
+cross farmer had frightened Merrylips, they felt that they must go
+together. So after some hours of hunger they screwed up their courage,
+and late of a chill afternoon limped, side by side, into a hamlet of
+thatched cottages that was called Long Wesselford.</p>
+
+<p>"Be not feared!" Rupert whispered to Merrylips, as they passed slowly
+down the village street. "There are no soldiers here, for I questioned
+yesternight at the alehouse. Indeed I have been wary! Now do thou keep
+mum and let me talk for both. And perchance, an we get a penny, we'll
+spend it for a night's lodging, and lie beneath a roof for once."</p>
+
+<p>"That would like me mightily!" sighed Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of herself she shivered in her worn clothes. Up to that time
+the weather had been mercifully mild, but now the night was falling
+wintry cold. The puddles in the road were scummed with ice, and in the
+air was a raw chill that searched the very marrow of the bones.</p>
+
+<p>Halfway down the street the two children found that a stone had got
+into Merrylips' shoe. So they sat down on the doorstep of a cottage
+that was larger than the others, while Rupert untied the shoe-lace and
+shook out the stone. They were just ready to rise and trudge on, when
+behind them they heard the door of the cottage flung open.</p>
+
+<p>Out stepped a big, blowzy young woman that made Merrylips think of
+Mawkin. Before they could rise and run away, she was bending over them.</p>
+
+<p>"Whither beest thou going, sweetheart?" she asked Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert looked surprised. You may be sure that he was not spoken to in
+that kindly way, when he went alone into the village alehouses! But
+Rupert was almost thirteen, and looked a hardy little fellow, while
+Merrylips, in her ragged boy's dress, did not seem over nine years old,
+and she looked tired and piteous besides.</p>
+
+<p>So the blowzy woman did perhaps what any woman would have done, when
+she took Merrylips by the hand and drew her into the cottage. Merrylips
+went meekly, because the woman was so large and determined, and Rupert
+went because Merrylips went.</p>
+
+<p>Almost before they knew how they had come there, they both were seated
+in a warm chimney-corner, in a well-scoured kitchen. They had a big
+bowl of porridge to share between them, and the blowzy woman and her
+old father, who had sat nodding by the fire, were asking them a heap of
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips ate the hot porridge in silence, but Rupert told the story
+that he had planned to tell.</p>
+
+<p>"My name is called Hal Smith," he said glibly, "and this is my cousin
+John. And we were put to school down in the Weald of Sussex, but we
+are fain to fight the—the Cavaliers—" he tried hard to say "wicked
+Cavaliers," but in that he failed utterly—"so we have quitted the
+school and are bound unto the army."</p>
+
+<p>"Lawk! The brave little hearts! Didst ever hear the like?" cried the
+woman, and filled their bowl afresh.</p>
+
+<p>But the old father chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>"Runaways, I's wager!" said he. "Pack 'em back to their schoolmaster,
+Daughter Polly."</p>
+
+<p>Of such a danger Rupert had never dreamed. For the first time he saw
+now that any grown folk would surely try to send them back to the
+school about which he had made up his clever story. He had told one fib
+from choice, and he found now, as often happens, that he must tell many
+more from necessity.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, we are no runaways," he said, and he spoke fast and trembled a
+little. "Our cousin Smith hath sent for us—he that is our guardian. He
+is with the Parliament army. 'Tis to him we are going."</p>
+
+<p>"And where might 'a be serving, this kinsman Smith ye speak of?"
+croaked Polly's old father.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert wished to answer promptly, as if it were the truth that he told.
+So he spoke the first word that came into his head.</p>
+
+<p>"At Ryeborough," he said. "'Tis at Ryeborough our kinsman Smith doth
+serve. Ay, and we must lose no time in going unto him. Come, up wi'
+thee, John, and let us trudge!"</p>
+
+<p>He slipped from his seat, and caught Merrylips' hand. He was no less
+eager than she to be safe out of the cottage.</p>
+
+<p>But as the two children rose, they saw, for the first time, a tall
+young man in a smock frock, who was standing in the outer doorway. He
+must have heard every word that they had said, for he and the blowzy
+woman, Polly, were looking at each other wisely.</p>
+
+<p>"Didst hear him say Ryeborough, Brother Kit?" cried Polly. "'Tis happy
+chance they came to us this hour, poor dears!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, happy chance indeed!" the young man said, and clapped Rupert on
+the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, my fine cock!" he cried. "What say ye to riding to your
+journey's end, instead of shogging on your two feet?"</p>
+
+<p>"I—I would be beholden unto no one!" stammered Rupert, in great alarm.
+"Let us go, sir!"</p>
+
+<p>He fairly pleaded, and Merrylips, who was frightened to see him
+frightened, bit her lip and tried not to cry.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou seest, Kit, the little one is near forspent, poor lamb!" said
+kindly Polly, and stroked Merrylips' tumbled hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't 'ee be afeard now, pretty!" she comforted. "'Tis no trouble
+ye'll be to my brother Kit. He is drawing two wain-loads of
+horse-litter to Ryeborough this night. He'll find space to stow ye in
+the wain, all snug and cosey, and in the morn ye'll be safe with your
+cousin Smith."</p>
+
+<p>"I ha' seen him in Ryeborough market-place," said Kit. "Smith! 'Tis a
+thick-set fellow, and serveth in my lord's own troop of carabineers."</p>
+
+<p>When Rupert and Merrylips heard this, they were filled with terror. But
+they had to look pleased. They dared not do anything else. If they were
+to say now that they did not wish to go to Ryeborough, that they had
+no kinsman named Smith, and that all of Rupert's story was a lie, they
+were sure that they should suffer some dreadful punishment.</p>
+
+<p>In sorry silence they took the penny and the gingerbread that kind
+Polly gave them. They shuffled out into the raw, chill twilight of the
+street. They found that already the great wains had rumbled up and were
+halted at the door. They saw no help for it, so they let themselves be
+lifted up by Brother Kit and the stout carters, and placed among the
+sheaves of straw beneath an old horse-blanket.</p>
+
+<p>"Have an eye to 'em, Kit Woolgar!" Polly called from the doorway, where
+she stood with a cloak wrapped about her. "And don't 'ee let 'em down
+till 'ee come to Ryeborough, else they'll perish by the way."</p>
+
+<p>And to Rupert and Merrylips she called:—</p>
+
+<p>"Good speed to ye, Hal Smith, and little John! Your troubles all are
+ended now, dear hearts!"</p>
+
+<p>But Rupert and Merrylips, with their faces turned to the dreaded town
+of rebel Ryeborough, thought that in very truth their troubles were
+just beginning.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP</p>
+
+
+<p>While the wain jolted through the stiffening mire, Rupert and Merrylips
+whispered together. They agreed that at the first chance they would
+scramble down noiselessly from the wain and run away, before Kit
+Woolgar could stop them. But they would not make this brave dash just
+yet, for a great white moon was staring in the sky, and the road was
+running through open fields, where they might easily be seen and hunted
+down.</p>
+
+<p>"We will wait," said Rupert, "till the night weareth late and is dark,
+and the carters are sleepy and forget to watch us. No doubt, too, the
+road will lead presently among trees, where we may hide ourselves. Ay,
+we shall do wisely to wait."</p>
+
+<p>That would have been a very prudent course, but for one thing, on which
+Master Rupert had not counted. Late in the evening, when the moon was
+setting, and the time for escape seemed near at hand, they came to a
+crossway. There they were joined by three more wains, and guarding
+these wains, and ready to guard them, too, was a little squad of
+Roundhead troopers.</p>
+
+<p>While those big, grim men rode alongside the wains, Rupert and
+Merrylips knew that it was useless to think of escape. So they gave up
+hope, and cuddled down amongst the straw, beneath the horse-blanket.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus7.jpg" alt="" id="illus7">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p><span class="smcap">Rupert and Merrylips knew it was useless to think of escape.</span></p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<p>They wondered, in whispers, what they should do next day when they were
+handed over to the thick-set Smith, who served at Ryeborough. Surely,
+they should be known at once as no kinsmen of his! Then perhaps they
+should be judged to be spies, because they had told false stories. And
+spies—were not spies always hanged?</p>
+
+<p>In their fright they thought that they should lie awake till daybreak.
+But they were so tired that they were lulled by the padding of the
+horse-hoofs and the creaking of the wheels. And before they knew it,
+they both fell fast asleep.</p>
+
+<p>When they woke, a cold, wintry light was gleaming all about them. The
+wain in which they sat was just rumbling over a bridge. Beneath the
+bridge ran black water, which all along its banks was fringed with
+crispy ice. At the farther end of the bridge the stone walls of a
+castle stood up grimly against the sky.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis Ryeborough!" whispered Rupert. "And 'tis neck or nothing now! So
+soon as we are set upon the ground, we must run for't!"</p>
+
+<p>They passed through a narrow, arched gateway in the massive wall,
+where sentinels kept watch. They came into a steep street, which ran
+between high houses that shut out the sun. Up one street and down
+another they rumbled.</p>
+
+<p>Everywhere, it seemed to them, they saw soldiers, on foot and on
+horseback, officers and men. They heard, now near, now far, the blare
+of trumpets and the roll of drums. On the footway girls went laughing
+by, and at their breasts they wore knots of orange ribbon, the color of
+the Parliament. Always the great bulk of the castle loomed against the
+sky, and from its highest tower drooped a banner that in the sunlight
+gleamed the hue of orange.</p>
+
+<p>In the very heart of the rebel town, after so many twistings and
+turnings that it was hard to say how they had come there, the wains
+halted in a dirty courtyard, near some gaunt stables. The soldiers of
+the escort swung heavily from their saddles. The carters clambered down
+and began to unhitch the steaming horses.</p>
+
+<p>"Down wi' ye, lads!" sang out Kit Woolgar, cheerily. "Else ye'll be
+cast into the stalls forthwith!"</p>
+
+<p>All a-tremble, Merrylips clambered over the trusses of straw and let
+herself down into Woolgar's arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Nigh frozen, art thou?" the young man said. "Do 'ee but wait, and
+speedily I'll get thee a swig of something hot, my youngster."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, Woolgar took his hand from Merrylips and turned to look to
+his horses. In that moment Rupert caught her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Run!" he whispered. "Quick! 'Tis our one chance."</p>
+
+<p>Like frightened hares they darted toward the entrance of the courtyard.
+They slipped on the frosty cobbles. They stumbled, for they were
+cramped and stiff with lying still so long. Behind them they heard men
+shout, and at that sound they ran the faster.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the gate they dived into a narrow alley. At the farther end was
+a wall, over which they flung themselves. Beyond the wall were squalid
+courts, and frost-nipped gardens, and walls, and more walls.</p>
+
+<p>At last they halted in a damp courtyard. They were too spent to run
+a step farther. They crept into a great empty cask, which lay on its
+side among some rubbish against a blank wall. There they crouched and
+waited, while they listened for the coming of pursuers.</p>
+
+<p>They heard no sound, but long after they had got breath again they
+stayed in their hiding-place. They ate Polly Woolgar's gingerbread,
+and still they were very hungry. They found it cold, too, in that damp
+court. And because they were hungry and cold they could not stay there
+forever. About the middle of the afternoon they crawled out of the
+cask, and with hearts in their mouths stole into the streets of the
+rebel town.</p>
+
+<p>"If we ask questions," said Rupert, "they'll know us for strangers. So
+we'll make as if we knew the way, and stroll about like idle boys, and
+in time we'll hit upon a gate. And then mayhap we can slip through it
+into the open country."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips smiled unsteadily. She felt as if she could not breathe until
+she was outside of the rebel town. She kept tight hold of Rupert's
+hand, and whenever they met a Roundhead soldier, pressed closer to
+Rupert's side.</p>
+
+<p>They had threaded a maze of little lanes that were overhung with dingy
+houses, and now they came into the pale sunlight of an open space. In
+the middle of this space stood a market-cross, and at the right a steep
+street wound upward to the castle.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, here's the centre of things!" Rupert began joyfully. "Now I will
+take my bearings. Cheerly, Merrylips! We'll soon be clear o' this coil."</p>
+
+<p>Right in the middle of his brave words, he stopped, with his lips
+parted and his eyes wide. Merrylips looked up in great fright. There
+by the market-cross, not twenty paces from them, a group of men were
+lounging, and one of them was a tall young fellow in a smock frock.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis Kit Woolgar himself!" whispered Rupert. "Quick, ere he see us!
+Turn in at this door!"</p>
+
+<p>Right beside them, as Rupert's quick eye had noted, a door stood open.
+Over it hung a board, on which was painted a spotted dog, and a bush
+of evergreen, which meant that wine was sold inside. The house was
+a tavern, then, and it was called the Spotted Dog. A rough place it
+seemed, but Rupert and Merrylips were glad of any port in storm.</p>
+
+<p>Hurriedly they turned in at the open door. They went down a flagged
+passage. They stepped into a low-ceiled taproom. There, on benches by
+the fire, lounged a half-dozen burly musketeers, who wore the colors of
+the Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>At the mere sight of the enemy, Merrylips shrank back, but Rupert
+tightened his hold on her hand. He knew that there was no retreat for
+them now. With head up, he marched across the sanded floor, and halted
+at the bar.</p>
+
+<p>"A penny 'orth o' beer, sirrah, and see that thou dost skink it
+handsomely!" he said to the tapster, in his most manlike voice.</p>
+
+<p>Some among the soldiers chuckled, and the tapster grinned, as he handed
+Rupert the can of beer for which he had called. But Rupert bore himself
+manfully. He clanged down the one penny that Polly had given him, and
+then he strode to a bench. There he sat down and made Merrylips sit
+beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink slowly," he bade beneath his breath. "By the time we are done,
+Kit Woolgar haply will be gone, and we can slip forth again in safety."</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips had scarcely taken a sup of the beer, when one of the
+soldiers sauntered toward them.</p>
+
+<p>"By your coat, master, I judge ye are come hither to join our ranks,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>His voice was grave, but his eyes were laughing. Clearly he did not
+think Rupert so much of a man as Merrylips thought him.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert flushed and took a swallow of beer, and Merrylips hung her head,
+but they could not hope to escape by keeping silent. The soldiers were
+idle and ready for sport. So they began to chaff the two children,
+roughly, but not altogether ill-humoredly. Like it or not, Rupert had
+to answer, but after his experience at Polly Woolgar's he was slow to
+make up stories.</p>
+
+<p>"We are come hither to fight, yes," he muttered. "To fight for the
+Parliament."</p>
+
+<p>"Good Parliament men, eh?" struck in one hulking fellow.</p>
+
+<p>All of a sudden he caught Merrylips by the shoulders and stood her on
+her feet. He thrust the can of beer into her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's your civility, bantling?" said he. "Will ye wet your throat,
+and never a pious wish for the cause ye follow? Drink it off, come!
+Heaven speed the Parliament, and down wi' the wicked king!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips had raised the can to her mouth. She was too startled to
+dream of anything, except to obey. But as she heard those last words,
+she stopped and across the rim stared at the man.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus8.jpg" alt="" id="illus8">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p><span class="smcap">She stopped and across the rim stared at the man.</span></p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<p>She had thought that she was going to drink. She feared that Rupert,
+who spoke so glibly of fighting for the Parliament, might think it like
+a girl, if she should refuse. But, in that second, while she faced the
+big musketeer in that dingy taproom, she seemed to stand in her own
+chamber at Larkland, in the fair days before ever Will Lowry came, and
+she seemed to hear Lady Sybil speak:—</p>
+
+<p>"I would have thee more than a man, my Merrylips. I would have thee a
+gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>A gentleman! Surely a gentleman would not deny the cause that he
+served, no, not even to save his life!</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips breathed fast. She felt the heart leaping in her throat, but
+she thought of Lady Sybil.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot drink it, sir! I will not drink!" she cried, and let the can
+fall clattering from her hold.</p>
+
+<p>"Will not?" the fellow shouted.</p>
+
+<p>She felt his grasp tighten on her arm. She knew that he meant to
+strike her. But before the blow had time to fall, Rupert had thrust
+himself in front of her.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not you touch him!" he cried in a quavering voice. "'A is too
+little! Ye shall not touch him."</p>
+
+<p>"Let the brat drink that pledge. 'Tis a good pledge!" cried one.</p>
+
+<p>"Faith, you shall drink it yourself, you pestilence meddler!" said the
+fellow who had first laid hold of Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>He turned from her and caught Rupert by the arm. Some one gave him a
+cup of ale, and he thrust it into Rupert's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Down with it!" he ordered. "Drink! To the devil wi' false King
+Charles!"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert had talked lightly enough of how he should pass himself off for
+a Roundhead. But now that the time had come, he hesitated. Then his
+face turned gray and set, as it had been on the day when Lieutenant
+Digby had bidden him sing.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink!" the Roundhead bade again.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll see you dead first!" Rupert cried. "I am no rebel!"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips threw her arm across her eyes. In very truth she thought
+that Rupert would be killed. She heard men cry out, and she heard them
+laugh. The sound of their laughter seemed to her more terrible than
+any threats.</p>
+
+<p>One shouted, "Make him drink now!"</p>
+
+<p>Then Rupert cried shrilly, "Away wi' thee, Merrylips! Run! The window!"</p>
+
+<p>Right beside Merrylips a casement stood open. She looked toward it, but
+she did not stir. She wondered how Rupert could think that she would
+run away and leave him.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond the casement she saw the sun slanting peacefully upon the
+market-place, and through the sunlight she saw a horseman go ambling.
+He wore a bandage round his head, and in the strong light his chestnut
+hair was ruddy, like her brother Munn's.</p>
+
+<p>It all happened in a second. Before the noise of laughter and Rupert's
+shrill cry had ceased, she had leaped on a bench beneath the window
+and cast herself over the sill. She fell upon the cobbles without. She
+sprang up and ran stumbling across the market-place.</p>
+
+<p>As she ran, she screamed. She heard her own voice, thin, like a voice
+in a nightmare:—</p>
+
+<p>"Dick Fowell! Oh, Dick Fowell! Help! Help! Help!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">A FRIEND IN NEED</p>
+
+
+<p>For a long time after, indeed until she was a grown woman, Merrylips
+used to dream of that run across the market-place. She would wake all
+breathless and trembling with fear lest she might not reach Dick Fowell.</p>
+
+<p>Truly it seemed as if she never could make him hear. He was riding with
+his face to the front, headed for the street that led upward to the
+castle, and in the clatter of his horse's hoofs he heard no other sound.</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips screamed with all her might, and the men lounging by the
+market-cross raised their voices too, and some idle boys took up the
+cry. Through the haze that wavered before her eyes, she saw Fowell
+check his horse and turn in the saddle. She reeled forward, and caught
+and clung to his stirrup.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert! Rupert!" she wailed. "They're killing him—yonder at the
+Spotted Dog! Oh, they're killing Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>Somebody snatched her out of harm's way, as Dick Fowell swung his
+horse about. She saw him go galloping across the market-place, and
+she staggered after him. She felt a grasp on her arm, and she saw that
+it was Kit Woolgar who was holding her up. But she was past being
+surprised or frightened at anything.</p>
+
+<p>She did not remember how she had crossed the market-place. She was
+at the door of the Spotted Dog, and beside it she saw Dick Fowell's
+horse, with the saddle empty and a potboy holding the bridle. She was
+stumbling down the flagged passage. She had pitched into the taproom.
+There, on a bench, in the midst of the little group of musketeers, who
+were far from laughing now, sat Dick Fowell, and Rupert leaned against
+his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert was white about the mouth, and he had one sleeve torn from his
+doublet. He was drinking from a cup that Fowell held to his lips, and
+he steadied it with a hand that shook a great deal. Between swallows he
+caught his breath, with a sobbing sound.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips ran to his side and threw her arms about him.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought they would ha' slain thee!" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"They did—no such thing!" answered Rupert, jerkily.</p>
+
+<p>He shifted himself from Dick Fowell's hold and sat up, with his arm
+about her.</p>
+
+<p>"And I blacked—one fellow's eye for him—the scurvy rogue! And I
+didn't—drink for none on 'em! And we're both—king's men!" he ended,
+lifting his face to Dick Fowell. "And you can hang us—if you will! And
+we're not afeard! And God save the king!"</p>
+
+<p>"God save the king!" quavered Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>And then they clung to each other, and wondered what would happen to
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Kit Woolgar began to talk, and the idlers and the tavern folk, who
+had crowded into the room, began to question and exclaim. But Dick
+Fowell bade them be silent, and in the silence he spoke briefly to the
+musketeers. Merrylips hoped that never in her life should she be spoken
+to by any one in a voice like that. When he had said the little that
+was to be said to men that found their sport in bullying children, he
+dismissed them, with a promise to speak further to their captain.</p>
+
+<p>Then Fowell turned to Kit Woolgar and bade him tell his story. And
+Woolgar told how he had taken up the two children at Long Wesselford,
+and how they had slipped from him, and all the false tale with which
+they had cheated him. At that Merrylips remembered how kind Polly and
+Kit had been, and how she and Rupert had deceived them, and she blushed
+and hung her head for shame.</p>
+
+<p>"Truth," said Fowell, when the tale was ended, "I must be that kinsman
+Smith whom these young ones sought in Ryeborough—eh, Tibbott Venner?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're merry, sir," replied Woolgar. "You're no carabineer in my
+lord's troop. You're my lord Caversham's son, and well I know your
+honor."</p>
+
+<p>"In any case," said Fowell, "I'll charge me with the custody of these
+two arrant king's men."</p>
+
+<p>He gave Woolgar money for his pains in bringing the children thither.
+Then he picked Merrylips up in his arms, and bidding Rupert follow,
+walked through the midst of the people and out of the tavern. There in
+the market-place he hailed a mounted trooper who was passing.</p>
+
+<p>"Take this boy up behind you," he said, pointing to Rupert, "and follow
+me unto the castle."</p>
+
+<p>Then he set Merrylips on his own horse and mounted behind her. In
+such fashion they all four headed up the narrow street, beyond the
+market-place, that led to the very heart of the rebel stronghold.</p>
+
+<p>As they went, Fowell asked Merrylips to tell him truly how she came
+there, and she told him everything: how she and Rupert had been sent
+from Monksfield to save their lives on the eve of the last assault; how
+they had failed to get aid at King's Slynton; how they had wandered
+up and down the country; and by what bad luck they had been sent to
+Ryeborough, where of all places in the world they least wished to be.</p>
+
+<p>"And we ha' walked so far, and fared so hard," she ended sorrowfully,
+"and now here we be, prisoners at the last."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, thou dost not think that I would be a harsh jailer unto thee,
+Tibbott?" Fowell asked.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips said "No!" but her voice was not quite steady.</p>
+
+<p>This fine young officer, in his gay coat, with his sword swinging at
+his side, and his horse prancing beneath him, was very different from
+the broken, blood-stained fellow that she had tended in the wash-house
+at Monksfield. She could not be quite sure that he was indeed the same
+man and her friend.</p>
+
+<p>It was useless for Dick Fowell to try to set her at ease. He talked of
+things that he thought might interest her. He told how he had been sent
+to Ryeborough, right after his exchange, to mend his broken head. He
+told her good news of her friends at Monksfield.</p>
+
+<p>For after Colonel Hatcher had assaulted the house for two days, he
+had received unlooked-for orders to make terms with Captain Norris,
+so that he might be free to carry his Roundhead soldiers to another
+place, where they were sorely needed. So although Colonel Hatcher had
+taken the house, he had taken it by treaty, not by assault. And he had
+granted honorable terms to Captain Norris and let him go away with his
+followers into the west. So very likely many of Merrylips' old friends
+had come alive and unharmed from the siege.</p>
+
+<p>But even this good news Merrylips only half listened to. She was gazing
+up at the vast walls under which they rode and the gateways through
+which they passed. She shivered as she thought how like a prison was
+this great castle of Ryeborough.</p>
+
+<p>Dick Fowell drew rein at last in a little gravelled court, in front
+of a great house. It would have been a pleasant dwelling-place, if
+the walls of the castle had not hemmed it round on every side. A
+serving-man came bustling to take the horse, another lifted Merrylips
+to the ground, and as Fowell himself dismounted, a corporal of dragoons
+hurried forward and spoke to him in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely had Fowell heard three sentences when he laughed and glanced
+at Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"Faith," said he, "this falleth pat as a stage-play! You say yonder,
+corporal?"</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded, and pointed to the stone gatehouse by which they had
+entered the court.</p>
+
+<p>"Ten minutes hence, then," bade Fowell, "send him unto me in the long
+parlor."</p>
+
+<p>When he had dismissed the corporal, Fowell took Merrylips by the hand,
+and motioned to Rupert to walk at his side.</p>
+
+<p>"Since you are not afraid of what we may do to you," he said, smiling
+down at Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Neither Rupert nor Merrylips felt much like smiling, but they went
+obediently whither they were led. They entered the great house, and
+found themselves in a dim entrance hall, where one or two lackeys were
+loitering, and a trooper in muddy boots stood waiting on the hearth.
+At the farther end of the hall was a door, and when Fowell had brought
+them to it, he halted them on the threshold.</p>
+
+<p>"Now wait you here like good lads for one minute," he said, "and seek
+not to run away a second time, for I am not Kit Woolgar."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled as he said this, but there was something in his eyes that
+made even Rupert think it would not be well to disobey him.</p>
+
+<p>So Rupert and Merrylips stood waiting, while Dick Fowell went into the
+next room. He left the door ajar behind him, and they could not help
+hearing something of what was said inside.</p>
+
+<p>Almost at once they heard a woman cry indignantly:—</p>
+
+<p>"Art thou stark mad, Dick? To think that I, forsooth, would look upon
+a brace of wretched malignants that thou hast taken prisoner! Why hast
+thou brought such fellows hither? Is thy father's house to be made a
+bridewell?"</p>
+
+<p>Then they caught the murmur of Fowell's words but not their sense, and
+after that they heard a girl's voice say:—</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, Dick must have reason for this that he doth ask."</p>
+
+<p>Then another merry young voice struck in:—</p>
+
+<p>"Are these prisoners of thine very desperate rogues to look on, Dick?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why," said Fowell, slowly, "they've neither of them shaved for some
+days, and they're travel-stained, and ragged thereto, yet I'll go bail
+they will not fright you sorely. Shall I bid them in, good mother?"</p>
+
+<p>A nod of assent must have been given, for next minute, though no word
+had been spoken, Fowell pushed the door wide.</p>
+
+<p>"Come you in, you two desperate malignants!" he said, and his eyes were
+dancing with the jest that he was playing upon his mother.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert and Merrylips stole quietly into the room. It was a long parlor,
+with lozenge-shaped panes in the windows and faded tapestry upon the
+walls. Midway of the room, by a cheery fire, sat a portly, middle-aged
+gentlewoman in a gown of silk tabby. Near her two young girls, with
+chestnut hair, were busy with embroidery frames.</p>
+
+<p>At sight of the two children all three exclaimed aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick, thou varlet!" cried the old gentlewoman.</p>
+
+<p>"Are these your ruffian Cavaliers?" said the elder, and taller, of the
+two girls.</p>
+
+<p>But the younger, a sweet, rosy lass, of much the same age as Merrylips'
+own sister Puss, sprang to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Why," she cried, "'tis surely the little lad whereof Dick told us—the
+child that tended him that black night at Monksfield. Oh, mother! Look
+at his shoes, all worn to rags! Oh, poor little sweetheart!"</p>
+
+<p>She came straight to Merrylips, and bent and would have kissed her,
+but Merrylips threw up her elbow, just like a bad-mannered little boy.
+Somehow, before these folk, who were gentlewomen, like her godmother,
+she felt ashamed of her boy's dress, as she had never been among men,
+and she longed to hide her head.</p>
+
+<p>While Merrylips stood shrinking at Rupert's side, she saw that Fowell
+whispered something to the older girl, who laughed aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Verily, thou art a gallant master of revels, Dick!" she cried, and in
+her turn came rustling to Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"If thou wilt kiss me, master," she said, "I will tell thee something
+should please thee mightily. Guess whom thou shalt see this hour—ay,
+this moment! And thank my brother for't."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips peered over her elbow at Dick Fowell.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, surely," she faltered, "'tis never—"</p>
+
+<p>"Did I not tell thee I'd requite thy kindness, Tibbott?" said Dick
+Fowell. "Look yonder, laddie, and tell me have I kept my word?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips saw the door to the parlor swing open. For a moment she dared
+not look. She was afraid that he who entered might not be the one whom
+with all her heart she prayed that she might see.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">TO PUT IT TO THE TOUCH</p>
+
+
+<p>At last Merrylips gathered courage to look. Then she saw that just
+inside the door stood a young man, who blinked as if he had newly come
+from a dark place.</p>
+
+<p>He looked worn and tired. He seemed to have slept in his clothes. His
+coat, an old one, was too big for him, and his hair was dishevelled,
+and his face unshaven. But for all his sorry attire and his altered
+face, Merrylips knew him.</p>
+
+<p>"Munn! Oh, my brother Munn!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>She flew across the room and cast her two arms about the young man, who
+caught her to him and crushed her in a grip that fairly hurt.</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips!" he said in a shaky voice. "'Tis never Merrylips! How
+comest thou here? Why art thou still in that dress—"</p>
+
+<p>"I promised!" Merrylips answered. "I told no one, save only Rupert. I
+kept my promise, indeed I kept it, Munn!"</p>
+
+<p>If Munn had been younger, Merrylips would have thought that there were
+tears in his eyes, as he looked down at her.</p>
+
+<p>"All these days," he said slowly, "among men—and used as a boy—and
+through my blame! Merrylips, thou poor little wench!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come, Venner!" Dick Fowell's voice struck in, as he bent over
+the two. "Sure, man, your days in prison have clouded your wits. Do you
+not know your own brother, Tibbott?"</p>
+
+<p>"Brother?" retorted Munn, in a high tone that sounded like his old
+self. "'Tis you are crazed, sir. This is my young sister, Sybil Venner."</p>
+
+<p>Now if ever a young man who enjoyed surprising other folk, was neatly
+served, that young man was Lieutenant Dick Fowell. He stared at
+Merrylips, and rubbed his forehead, as if he could trust neither his
+eyes nor his ears.</p>
+
+<p>The elder of the two girls broke into laughter and clapped her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Dick, thou shalt never hear the last of this!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>But the other girl looked at Merrylips, and she seemed ready to weep.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little lass!" she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>Then up stood Lady Caversham, in her gown of silk tabby.</p>
+
+<p>"Give that child unto me!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>She came across the room and without asking leave of any one, took
+Merrylips out of Munn's arms.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips found herself sitting in Lady Caversham's lap, in a great
+chair by the hearth. The blaze of the fire winked and blurred through
+the tears that came fast to her eyes—why, she could not tell.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" she said. "I'm glad Munn told you. I'm wearied o' being a boy.
+I'm a little girl—a girl!"</p>
+
+<p>With that she dropped her head on Lady Caversham's kind breast and
+cried as in all her life she had never cried before.</p>
+
+<p>When Merrylips next took note of what went on round her, the younger
+girl was kneeling by her and loosing the broken shoes from her feet.
+The older girl was hovering near with a cup of wine, and as for good
+Lady Caversham, in the pauses of soothing Merrylips as if she were a
+baby, she was scolding Munn. Munn looked puzzled, and Dick Fowell, who
+stood near him, had for once not a single word to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Had you no wit at all?" said Lady Caversham to Munn. "Hush thee,
+precious child!" she spoke in quite a different tone to Merrylips. "To
+set this poor little tender maid in boy's dress and cast her among rude
+men! 'Tis all well now, poor little heart! Whilst you went about your
+riotous pleasures—"</p>
+
+<p>At that Dick Fowell and Munn exchanged nervous grins. Lady Caversham
+was a good woman, but sorely misinformed, if she thought riotous
+pleasures were to be found in a Roundhead prison.</p>
+
+<p>"No man can say what harm might have befallen her," Lady Caversham went
+on. "Cry, if 'twill ease thee, sweeting, but thou hast now no cause to
+weep! If you were son of mine, sirrah, I would cause you to repent this
+piece of stark folly. Come, honey, 'tis rest and quiet thou dost need."</p>
+
+<p>Up got Lady Caversham, with Merrylips still clasped in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me take him, mother," offered Dick Fowell. "Her, I should say."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Caversham waved him aside.</p>
+
+<p>"Methinks she hath been left long enough to the tendance of men," she
+said. "And blind as an owl thou must have been, Son Dick, not to have
+known her for a little maid."</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips was borne away. She would have been glad to speak further
+with her brother Munn, but she felt too tired to ask that favor. She
+let herself be carried to an upper chamber, and there she was undressed
+and bathed and wrapped in fresh linen and laid in a soft bed.</p>
+
+<p>When she was cosey among the pillows, the older girl, Betteris,
+brought her a goblet of warm milk, and the younger girl, Allison, fed
+her with morsels of white bread and of roasted chicken. They would
+scarcely let the waiting-women touch her. It seemed as if they could
+not do enough for the little girl who in pity had helped their brother
+Dick in his time of need.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips felt sure that now all would be well with her, and with
+Rupert, and with Munn. So she fell gently asleep, and when she woke,
+the sunlight was shining in the room.</p>
+
+<p>Allison and Betteris came in to see her soon. When they found her
+awake, Allison brought her bread and honey, and milk to drink. She told
+her, while she ate, that a gown was being made for her from one that
+was her own, and to-morrow, when it was ready, she should rise and
+dress and run about once more.</p>
+
+<p>While Allison was talking, Betteris came into the chamber again, and
+with her was Munn. Only he was now clean and shaven and wore a coat of
+Dick Fowell's and a fresh shirt, so that, for all that his face was
+thinner than it used to be, he looked himself again.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the two young girls stole from the room, and Merrylips and
+Munn were left together. What a talk they had, while he sat upon the
+bed and held her two hands fast, as if he were afraid to let her go!</p>
+
+<p>Munn told Merrylips how he and Stephen Plasket had been made prisoners
+at Loxford, and how troubled he had been for her, when he thought about
+her, there at Monksfield, with never a friend to help her. In the hope
+of getting to her, he and Stephen had tried to escape, when they were
+being taken under guard to London. Stephen had got away, but he himself
+had been retaken. After that he had been closely guarded, and not
+over-tenderly treated, Merrylips guessed, but of that part Munn would
+not speak.</p>
+
+<p>Then he told her how puzzled he had been, when an order came to the
+prison where he had been placed that he should be sent to Ryeborough.
+He confessed that he had been much afraid lest he should be brought
+before Will Lowry, and made to answer for carrying off Merrylips and
+using Herbert so roughly.</p>
+
+<p>In that fear he had passed several unhappy hours, a prisoner in the
+gatehouse of Ryeborough castle. And then he had been ordered into the
+long parlor, and there he had found Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>"A rare fright Lieutenant Fowell set me in, with all this precious
+mystery," Munn grumbled. "But of a truth I owe him too much to grudge
+that he should have his sport. For he is right friendly, thanks to
+his old comradeship with Longkin and the affection that he hath to
+the little lad he thought thee. So he holdeth me here, a prisoner
+on parole, and through my lord Caversham thinketh soon to give me in
+exchange for one of their own officers."</p>
+
+<p>In her turn Merrylips told Munn all her adventures and all the kindness
+that she had met with at Monksfield. She told him everything, except
+the greatest thing of all—that Rupert was nephew to Lady Sybil
+Fernefould.</p>
+
+<p>For when Merrylips spoke Rupert's name, and asked how he fared, and why
+was he not come, too, to speak with her, Munn stiffened a little. In a
+careless voice he said:—</p>
+
+<p>"That little horseboy, Hinkel? Ay, to be sure, he hath served thee
+fairly. A brisk lad, no doubt! Our father will reward him handsomely."</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips said no more about Rupert. But after Munn had left her,
+she thought about him. She wondered, with a sinking heart, if indeed
+Rupert had been in the right, when he had said it would be hard work to
+make the grown folk believe his story.</p>
+
+<p>While she lay wondering, and perhaps dozing a little, in bustled pretty
+Betteris Fowell.</p>
+
+<p>"Art waking, Tibbott-Merrylips?" she cried. "Then art thou well enough
+to rise? Here's my father is fain to have a sight of the little maid
+that footed it, like a little lad, from Monksfield unto Ryeborough."</p>
+
+<p>"But I've no clothes," Merrylips said sadly, for indeed she longed to
+get up.</p>
+
+<p>"And so said my sister Allison and my lady mother," Betteris replied.
+"But my father said surely thy boy's dress was seemly to-day as it was
+yesterday, and vowed he'd see thee in that same attire. So up with
+thee, and be a lad again!"</p>
+
+<p>Now that she was well rested, Merrylips thought it would be sport to be
+a boy once more, for a little while. She scrambled laughing from the
+bed, and as if it were a masking frolic, she dressed, with Betteris to
+help her. She put on a little clean smock and stockings, and the ruddy
+brown doublet and breeches. They had been neatly brushed, so that they
+did not look so much like the clothes of a beggar child. Last of all,
+she put on her warlike little leather jerkin, and then she felt herself
+a lad again.</p>
+
+<p>Quite gallantly, Merrylips left the chamber at Betteris's side, but on
+the staircase she paused.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Rupert?" she said. "For 'twas Rupert brought us hither. He
+found the way, and won us food, and was brave when the soldiers did
+affright us. Surely, my lord, your father, is more eager to see Rupert
+than to look on me."</p>
+
+<p>At first Betteris seemed likely to laugh and say nay, but when she
+looked at Merrylips' earnest little face, she changed her mind.</p>
+
+<p>"It shall be as thou wilt," she said, and bent and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>So they waited in the hall, while a servant fetched Rupert from the
+kitchen. He came almost at once, and he was clean and brushed and had
+new shoes, but he was shyer and more sullen than Merrylips remembered
+him. He did not even offer to take her hand.</p>
+
+<p>Betteris led them to an open door. Beyond it stood a screen of carved
+wood.</p>
+
+<p>"My father sitteth yonder at dinner," she said. "Come thy ways in,
+Merrylips, and fear not, for he is a kind soul."</p>
+
+<p>And then she added, in a little different tone, to Rupert:—</p>
+
+<p>"Come you, too, boy!"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert hung back.</p>
+
+<p>"My lord doth not wish to see me," he muttered. "Let me be gone whence
+I came."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, go, an thou wilt, sirrah," said Betteris, lightly.</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips caught Rupert's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" she cried. "Rupert, 'tis as well now as any time, since she
+doth say my lord is kind. Oh, Rupert, come with me, and we will tell
+him who thou art, and haply he will believe us."</p>
+
+<p>"Dost thou dare?" said Rupert, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>In Merrylips' eyes he saw that indeed she did dare. So he too lifted
+his head, and they walked bravely into Lord Caversham's presence.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">AT LORD CAVERSHAM'S TABLE</p>
+
+
+<p>As soon as Merrylips had passed beyond the carved screen, she was sorry
+for her rash promise. She did not wish to tell Rupert's story, then and
+there. For she found herself in a great vaulted room, where serving-men
+moved softly to and fro, and at a long table, in the middle of the
+room, was seated what seemed to her a great company.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Caversham was there, and Allison, and Dick Fowell, and a young man
+so like him that he must be a brother, and Munn, and a gentleman in a
+chaplain's dress, and two other gentlemen, who seemed rebel officers.
+But though Merrylips was startled by the sight of all these people, she
+forgot them in a second, when she looked at the head of the table, for
+there sat the man who she knew must be Lord Caversham.</p>
+
+<p>His Lordship, the Roundhead governor of Ryeborough, was not at all the
+lank, close-cropped churl that Merrylips' friends at Monksfield would
+have made her believe. He was a burly, broad-shouldered gentleman, with
+iron-gray hair, which he wore as long as any Cavalier, and warlike
+mustachios. His doublet was of murry-colored velvet, and his linen of
+the finest. Indeed, he looked like any great English gentleman, as he
+sat at his ample table, with his family and his friends about him.</p>
+
+<p>While Merrylips noted all this and dared to hope that his Lordship
+might indeed prove kind, Betteris spoke aloud:—</p>
+
+<p>"An't like you, sir, here is a young gentleman who is much at your
+service."</p>
+
+<p>It was she that was spoken of, Merrylips knew. She saw that all were
+looking at her. She did not think it proper to courtesy, while she wore
+those clothes, so she stood up straight and saluted, as she had done at
+Monksfield.</p>
+
+<p>She saw the men at table smile, and heard Lady Caversham murmur, "Dear
+heart!"</p>
+
+<p>She saw, too, that Munn was watching her with a warning look to make
+sure that she bore herself as became a little sister of his. So she
+remembered to be neither too bold nor too timid, but like a little
+gentleman went to Lord Caversham, when he called her, and let him draw
+her to his side.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed thou art a little one!" said the Roundhead lord. "And thou hast
+walked that weary distance from Monksfield unto this town?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, my lord," she said.</p>
+
+<p>She was a little startled to find that all sat silent and listened to
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"But indeed," she hastened to add, "'twas Rupert planned all for us
+both, and was right brave, and kind unto me."</p>
+
+<p>"So! 'Twas Rupert, eh?" His Lordship smiled upon her. "And this is
+Rupert, I take it. Come here, lad!"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert came as he was bidden, but he came unwillingly. He halted at
+Merrylips' elbow, and kept his eyes cast down, while he plucked at
+the hem of his worn doublet. Merrylips knew that he waited for her to
+speak, and with Munn looking on, she wondered if she dared.</p>
+
+<p>"You're yourself but a young one," said Lord Caversham, in a kindly,
+careless voice. "A son to one of the troopers in the Monksfield
+garrison, they tell me."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert looked up.</p>
+
+<p>"No, my lord," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Then he dared say no more, but with his eyes asked help of Merrylips.
+And she gave it. Even if twenty Munns had sat there, she would have
+given help in answer to such a look.</p>
+
+<p>"Please you, my lord," she spoke out bravely, and took Rupert's hand
+in hers, "he is no common trooper's lad. His true name is called Robert
+Lucas, and he is son to an English gentleman, one Captain Edward Lucas
+that died long since in camp in High Germany."</p>
+
+<p>She had to stop then to draw breath, and she heard Munn cry sharply:—</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips! Good faith, where got you that crack-brained story?"</p>
+
+<p>Then Munn added, more calmly:—</p>
+
+<p>"Believe me, my lord Caversham, that boy yonder is a son or nephew or
+the like to one of mine own troopers, a Saxon fellow named Hinkel, and
+known as such to all the Monksfield garrison."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but indeed thou art mistaken, Munn," pleaded Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>She could not keep her voice from shaking. For all those faces that had
+looked so kindly on her had now grown doubtful and impatient, and she
+was half afraid. But still she went on:—</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert is truly son to Captain Lucas and to Lady Venetia that was my
+godmother's sister, and he hath a ring—"</p>
+
+<p>"So you say, boy, those were your parents' names?" Lord Caversham asked
+sternly.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert now was facing him steadily enough.</p>
+
+<p>"My lord—" he began.</p>
+
+<p>Then for a moment he hesitated. Indeed he would have been glad to claim
+the kindred that Merrylips had said was surely his! But he had to speak
+the truth, and he did it bravely.</p>
+
+<p>"I know not the name of my father nor my mother," he said. "But my
+nurse said my father's name was Lucas, and he was a captain, and the
+rest—Merrylips knew the rest and told it unto me."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, this is rare!" cried Dick Fowell, and he seemed angrier even than
+Munn himself. "Here's a complete trickster for so young a lad! So, you,
+sirrah, you've drained that little girl dry, and from her prattle have
+patched up this story of your great kin with which to cozen us."</p>
+
+<p>The chaplain said that Rupert were best confess at once that he was
+telling a false story. Dick Fowell's brother swore that such a young
+liar deserved a whipping. Munn Venner, who was as loud as any, vowed
+that such a tale, of a lost child of Lady Venetia's, was too strange
+for belief. And all the time Merrylips and Rupert held each other fast
+by the hand and wondered what they should say next.</p>
+
+<p>But in the midst of this clamor, Lord Caversham himself spoke out.</p>
+
+<p>"When you lads are older," said he,—and even in her distress,
+Merrylips wondered to hear Dick Fowell and her brother Munn called
+"lads,"—"you'll know that the stranger a story sound, the likelier it
+is to be the truth."</p>
+
+<p>While Lord Caversham spoke, he put his arm about Rupert and drew him
+down to sit upon his knee. At this treatment Rupert stiffened and grew
+red, for he was not pleased at being handled like a little boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Put back the shirt from your shoulder," my lord bade.</p>
+
+<p>There was something in his tone that made Rupert obey in haste. He put
+back his shirt, with shaking fingers. Merrylips stood near enough to
+see that on his bared chest was a red mark like a fresh cut. And yet
+she knew that Rupert had not recently been hurt.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+  <img src="images/illus9.jpg" alt="" id="illus9">
+    <div class="caption">
+    <p><span class="smcap">On his bared chest was a red mark like a fresh cut.</span></p>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+
+<p>"Enough!" said Lord Caversham. "And you can sit quiet, my boy, for I've
+held you in my arms before this day, my godson, Robert Lucas."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">NEWS FROM LONDON</p>
+
+
+<p>You may be sure that the rest of the dinner went that day untasted from
+Lord Caversham's table. For all who sat at the board forgot to eat,
+while they listened to the story, a strange one indeed, that my lord
+told, with his arm about Rupert's shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Thirteen years ago come Eastertide," said my lord Caversham, "I
+was sent upon an embassy by the Elector Palatine, whose fortunes
+I followed, unto the Emperor Ferdinand. The country all was sore
+distressed with war. Armies of both parties, of the Emperor and of the
+Protestant princes, were marching to and fro. I was myself stayed, for
+want of fitting escort, at a town called Rodersheim, upon the borders
+of Bohemia.</p>
+
+<p>"While I lay there, a battle was fought beneath the very walls of the
+town, wherein the Emperor's troops got the upper hand, but suffered
+heavy loss. Their wounded men were brought in sorry state into our
+town, which speedily was filled to overflowing. A piteous sight it
+was to see those poor fellows dying, more than one, for mere lack of
+tendance!</p>
+
+<p>"Now when night was falling on the groaning town, there halted at my
+door a rude country cart, in which lay a man who seemed near unto
+death, and a fair woman, who held his head on her knees and wept as
+one distraught. She made shift to tell me that she was born Venetia
+Fernefould, daughter to his Grace of Barrisden, and that the man she
+tended was her husband, Edward Lucas, a captain in the Emperor's
+service.</p>
+
+<p>"She had been with him on this expedition, and when the battle was
+over, she had sought and found him amid the slain. She had given all
+that she had to some country folk to fetch him in that poor cart unto
+the town. But now that she had brought him thither, she could find
+neither roof to shelter him, nor surgeon to dress his hurt. So she had
+sought me, as a fellow-countryman, and she prayed me, in the name of
+our common English blood, to give her husband succor.</p>
+
+<p>"Thus Captain Lucas and Lady Venetia, his wife, found harborage in
+my quarters. He was sore wounded indeed, with a great sword slash in
+the breast and shoulder, yet against all expectation he made a happy
+recovery. This was thanks partly to his own great vigor, and more,
+perhaps, to the loving care that his wife spent upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"While Lucas lay upon his bed of sickness, his son was born, there in
+my quarters. I myself, as nearest friend to the poor parents, had him
+christened and called him Robert, and stood sponsor for him. 'Twas in
+those days I saw the red mark on his breast and shoulder—the seal
+that his birth had set upon the lad, as it seemeth now, for his later
+happiness.</p>
+
+<p>"Now when my godson was a month old, Captain Lucas was well
+recovered. He went his way with his wife and child, and I went mine
+upon my embassy, and never again did I set eyes on any of the three
+until this hour. For though much kindness had been between us and
+affection,—for Lucas was a gallant fellow, and his wife was one to win
+all hearts,—yet so distracted was the country that there was little
+sending of letters, or hope that friend might hear from friend.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas only through roundabout channels that I learned, near two years
+later, that Lucas and his sweet lady, who was ever at his side, had
+perished months before of a fever that had swept their camp. And I made
+no doubt but that their little child had died with them."</p>
+
+<p>By this time, if Merrylips had been any but a sweet-tempered little
+girl, she would have been almost jealous of Rupert. For her own
+adventures had quite paled beside this story of Captain Lucas's son,
+who had been so many years lost and was now so strangely found. She
+stood almost unheeded by Lord Caversham's chair, while the men asked
+Rupert questions, as if they were ready to believe him, at last.</p>
+
+<p>Thus encouraged, Rupert told Lord Caversham all that he had told
+Merrylips, on that bleak day among the willows, and showed the ring
+that had been his mother's. And then Merrylips was bidden show her
+ring, and tell all that she had learned of the Lady Venetia's story.</p>
+
+<p>"Mark it well," said Lord Caversham, when all had been told. "The
+lady's English kinsfolk knew only of two children of hers, that were
+dead in infancy. They had been told no word of the birth of this third
+child. No doubt letters were sent, and in the chances of war were lost.
+So there was none to seek and find this little waif, when his parents
+were taken from him.</p>
+
+<p>"And when he came into England, a mere child, with no friend to help
+him save a thick-witted trooper who could scarce speak the English
+tongue, small wonder there was none to listen to him! Of a truth,
+godson," he ended, "'twas a happy wind that blew thee unto Ryeborough!
+I mistrust I am the only man in England,—nay, in all the world,
+perchance,—that could piece together thy story and say with certainty
+that thou art thy father's son."</p>
+
+<p>Then at last Lord Caversham let Rupert rise from his knee, but he still
+kept his hand upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art a good lad of thine inches, Robert," said he, and then his
+eyes began to laugh, with just the trick that Dick Fowell's eyes had.</p>
+
+<p>"Look you," he spoke, "now that my Dick is grown, I need a young lad
+to sit at my table and ride at my bridle-hand. What sayst thou, wife?
+Shall we keep this godson of mine and make a good Parliament man of
+him?"</p>
+
+<p>Oh, but at that Rupert backed away quickly from my lord, and grew red
+to the roots of his hair!</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but, my lord," he said, "I am a king's man, like Merrylips and
+like Cornet Venner."</p>
+
+<p>For the first time Munn's heart seemed to warm toward Rupert at those
+words.</p>
+
+<p>"I do beseech you, my lord," Munn said, "let the boy go unto the Lady
+Sybil Fernefould, who is now dwelling in my father's house at Walsover.
+She is blood-kin to the lad, his own aunt, and will make him welcome
+unto her, I dare undertake."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, and make an arrant Cavalier of him, like all you Venners," my lord
+answered. "And if I refuse, no doubt, Cornet Venner, you will steal him
+away from under my face and eyes, as you did your young sister here
+from Mr. Lowry's keeping."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Munn did not know that so much of Merrylips' story had been
+told to Dick Fowell and his sisters, and through them had reached
+Lord Caversham. He grew quite red and flustered, and made no more
+suggestions.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Merrylips was quite alarmed. She thought that now that
+their only champion was silenced, Rupert would indeed be kept forever
+at Ryeborough castle. But she found that, after the fashion of grown
+folk, Lord Caversham was only jesting.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick," he was saying next instant, quite soberly, "what sayst thou to
+a month's leave of absence? 'Twere well perhaps that thou shouldst go
+down into the west with these three lads."</p>
+
+<p>Once more Merrylips was astonished to hear Munn thus lumped with her
+and Rupert, as if he were but a boy!</p>
+
+<p>"Thou shalt lay open all the matter," went on Lord Caversham, "touching
+this boy's birth and kinship, to Sir Thomas Venner, and to Lady Sybil,
+even as I would do, could I myself go thither. And haply among the
+men that survived the assault of Monksfield they may find the trooper
+Hinkel, to tell his part in the story. For though this youngster might
+find it hard to prove his claim to the name of Lucas in a court of
+law, 'tis his in right and justice, and so I will maintain. And for Ned
+Lucas's sake, I would fain see the child acknowledged by his kinsfolk."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do my best endeavor, sir," Dick Fowell promised. "So soon as you
+can get us safe conducts and arrange for Cornet Venner's exchange,
+we'll be off for Walsover."</p>
+
+<p>At that Merrylips longed to cry "Hurrah!" as Tibbott Venner would have
+done. Indeed her face broke into smiles, as she looked at Rupert, and
+then at Lord Caversham. She would gladly have said that she was much
+beholden to him, but she feared to be too forward, with Munn looking on.</p>
+
+<p>But Lord Caversham caught her eye. He was just asking kindly, "Wouldst
+thou say aught unto me, lad?" when a serving-fellow came to his side,
+and bent and whispered, and laid a packet in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"A messenger post-haste from London, eh?" said Lord Caversham.</p>
+
+<p>With a grave face of business, such as he had not yet shown, he said,
+"By your leaves!" and opened and looked upon the letters that lay
+within the packet.</p>
+
+<p>When he glanced up, he was smiling in a dry fashion, as if he were but
+one part mirthful and the other part vexed. He tossed the letters on
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's like to be a merry meeting among kindred!" he cried. "Cornet
+Venner, you'll be blithe to know that your cousin, Will Lowry of
+Larkland, is riding hither, as fast as horse can bear him."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">WESTWARD HO!</p>
+
+
+<p>At the mere name of Will Lowry, Merrylips forgot the dress that she
+wore and forgot that she must be brave like a boy. She ran to her
+brother Munn, and creeping into the space between his seat and Dick
+Fowell's, clasped her arms tight about his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, thou'lt never let them give me back to Mr. Lowry, Munn dear!"
+she begged. "For now 'twill be worse than ever at Larkland and they
+said when I was grown, I must marry Herbert, and I am fain to marry no
+one, never, and least of all Herbert, that is a mean coward. Oh, <i>best</i>
+Munn, prithee say that Mr. Lowry shall not take me! Say it, Munn!"</p>
+
+<p>Poor Munn! He would have been more than glad to have said it, and to
+have made his promise good. But in a moment Merrylips herself realized
+that he was powerless to help her. He had no sword to wear like the
+other gentlemen. Even as herself he was a prisoner and helpless in Lord
+Caversham's hands.</p>
+
+<p>She looked beseechingly at Lord Caversham. But my lord sat fingering
+the London letter, and Dick Fowell waited in silence on his father's
+pleasure. They wasted time, while she was sure that next moment Will
+Lowry would come marching in and carry her back to Larkland.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Munn! Canst thou do naught to help me?" she cried in a
+heart-broken voice, and hid her face against his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Then for the second time that portly Lady Caversham took charge of
+Merrylips' affairs. She rose from her seat, and came and laid one hand
+on Merrylips' head and the other on Munn's shoulder. Now that she saw
+how troubled he was for his little sister, she seemed ready to forgive
+him, both for having used the child so carelessly and for having
+himself fought upon the king's side.</p>
+
+<p>"Have no fear, Merrylips," she said. "For thou shalt go unto thy kin at
+Walsover, ay, though twenty Lowrys were fain to stay thee. I promise
+it, and there's an end on't."</p>
+
+<p>Munn caught my lady's hand and kissed it, and Merrylips clung to her.
+Between laughing and crying she tried to say how glad she was, how
+grateful she should always be!</p>
+
+<p>"Come, little heart, and we will hit upon some plan!" bade Lady
+Caversham, and led her from the room.</p>
+
+<p>As Merrylips went with her, she heard Lord Caversham say: "Nay, if thou
+hast undertaken it, my wife, the plan is already as good as found, I
+warrant me!" and he laughed as he said it.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, matters went fast in the next hours, under Lady Caversham's
+rule. Merrylips lay in bed and rested, against a long journey.
+Meantime, Allison and Betteris flew in and out, and brought her
+tidings, and sweetmeats, and little clothes, which they tried upon her,
+and then snipped and stitched to suit her figure. But all the little
+clothes were boy's clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"And am I never to be a girl again?" asked Merrylips, rather anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>Betteris laughed and would have teased her. But gentle Allison made
+haste to tell her why the grown folk wished her still to wear her boy's
+dress and keep her boy's name.</p>
+
+<p>"My father and Mr. Lowry, though not friends, are yet hand and glove
+in much business that pertaineth to the cause of the Parliament," said
+Allison. "So 'twere most unhappy, for divers reasons, if a breach were
+made between them, as there surely would be, were Mr. Lowry to find
+that his little ward was helped hence by my father's aid.</p>
+
+<p>"So all our household are pledged to silence, touching the fact that
+Tibbott Venner is in truth the little maid Sybil. And my father truly
+can say that he never saw thee, save in boy's dress and bearing a boy's
+name. And in that name thy safe conduct will be made out, and thou
+shalt ride hence Cornet Venner's young brother, upon whom Mr. Lowry
+hath no claim."</p>
+
+<p>"But surely when he seeth me, he will know me, whatever dress I wear,"
+urged Merrylips. "And he is coming hither to seek me."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay," cried Betteris, "'tis not to seek thy little self that Lowry
+is posting hither. He cometh on Parliament business. Perchance thou
+mightst even bide here, and he not spy thee, but 'tis too perilous for
+us to venture that. So to-morrow morn, when Mr. Lowry will ride in at
+the east gate, as his letter gave my father to know, thou shalt ride
+out at the west gate, and little Robert Lucas, and my brother, and
+thine own brother shall ride with thee. For my father will strain a
+point and set thy brother free on his own promise not to bear arms till
+an exchange may duly be arranged for him."</p>
+
+<p>But for all that was said, Merrylips could not believe that it was true
+that next morning she should set out for Walsover. She let herself be
+fitted with the brave new clothes, which had been made for the young
+son of one of my lord's officers. The doublet and breeches were of
+peacock blue, with silver buttons, and the cloak was lined with pale
+blue silk. She chatted with Dick's sisters, and ate and drank what was
+brought her. But all the time she felt as if she were moving in a dream.</p>
+
+<p>It was like a dream, too, when she woke in the chill, black morning.
+She dressed by candlelight in the brave new clothes. She had boot-hose,
+and a plumed hat, and gloves of soft leather, all complete. Then she
+went down the long stair, at Allison's side, into the shadowy hall, and
+there she met with dim shapes, cloaked and booted, that she knew for
+her comrades. Here were Dick Fowell, and Munn, and Rupert. At first she
+scarcely knew Rupert, for he was a gallant little figure, all in fine
+new clothes of a deep crimson hue.</p>
+
+<p>She drank a cup of steaming posset. She said farewell to Lady
+Caversham, and to Allison, and to Betteris. Lord Caversham she did not
+see again, for prudently he had no more speech with the sham Tibbott
+Venner.</p>
+
+<p>Then she trudged forth with her companions, and was mounted on a horse,
+a little horse of her own, and away they rode from Ryeborough castle.
+And as she felt the brisk air upon her face and saw the wintry dawn
+break round her, Merrylips came broad awake. At last she knew that it
+was no dream, but that indeed she was riding home to Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>Not till mid-morning, when Ryeborough and Will Lowry were miles behind
+them, did Dick Fowell give the word to draw rein at a village inn.
+There they rested and broke their fast. While Dick and Munn saw that
+the horses were well cared for, Merrylips and Rupert sat by the fire in
+the common room, and talked together.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas my godfather gave me these clothes," said Rupert. "And he bade
+me, if I was not made welcome amongst mine own kin, come unto him
+again. He is right kind. I be sorry now for the hard things I have said
+of all rebels, since he himself is one."</p>
+
+<p>Then he sat silent and smoothed the silken lining of his doublet till
+he saw that Merrylips was watching him. He reddened, as if he were
+vexed with her and with himself that she should see how proud he was of
+his clothes, but next moment he said honestly:—</p>
+
+<p>"Thou seest, these be the first garments ever I have worn were like
+a gentleman's. And oh! Merrylips—" he cast down his eyes and spoke
+fast—"thou art the only one in the world I would ask it of, but wilt
+thou not mark me, and when we are alone tell me whatever I have done
+amiss? For when I watch thee and thy brother, there's such a weary deal
+for me to learn! And for one thing," he ended, "maybe I should not
+'thou' you, Merrylips."</p>
+
+<p>She was sorry for Rupert, for she had never seen him in this humble
+mood. She could not be quick enough to cheer him.</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure, I shall be right vexed with thee," she cried, "if thou
+dost call me 'you' so cold and formal. For we say 'thou' to those that
+we love, and thou and I, Rupert, are a'most kinsmen, and good comrades
+surely."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled at her.</p>
+
+<p>"That we are! And always shall be!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"And for the other matter," Merrylips added hastily, for she heard Dick
+and Munn coming down the passage, "I'll aid thee if I may in that, as
+in all else. But indeed they are but little things thou hast to learn,
+Rupert, and will come unto thee quickly."</p>
+
+<p>So Merrylips did her best to teach Rupert to bear himself as became
+Captain Lucas's son, and Rupert, who was a quick-witted lad, learned
+when to pluck off his hat and bow, and how to walk into a room without
+blushing, and he stopped using some of the words that he had picked up
+in the camps.</p>
+
+<p>When Dick and Munn saw what the children were about, they helped Rupert
+in many quiet ways. For as soon as Munn had grasped the fact that
+Rupert was not a little impostor, he was grateful to him for the care
+that he had taken of Merrylips. So he was almost as kind as if Rupert
+had been his own young brother.</p>
+
+<p>Like good comrades, then, the four went riding westward. They went in
+brave state, with a trumpeter and four men to attend them. They put up
+at snug inns, where they slept soft and ate and drank of the best,—how
+different from the last journey that Rupert and Merrylips had made!
+Sometimes they lay at fortified places, at first of the Roundheads and
+later of the Cavaliers, for they bore safe conducts and rode beneath a
+flag of truce.</p>
+
+<p>They made short stages, for Rupert and Merrylips were but young riders.
+Sometimes, in cold or stormy weather, they lay by for a day or two.
+Thus it happened that it was hard December weather and almost Christmas
+time, when they came at last to the end of their journey.</p>
+
+<p>All that afternoon they had ridden briskly. In rising excitement Munn
+and Merrylips had pointed out to each other the landmarks that they
+remembered. Merrylips was grieved to see that a farm-house by the road,
+where Mawkin's father had lived, was burned to the ground. She could
+scarcely believe Munn when he said that the Roundheads had done this.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time she realized that the war had swept close to her own
+dear home. And she tried to fancy what Walsover would seem like. For
+she knew that she should find it fortified with walls and ditches, just
+as Monksfield had been, and garrisoned with troops of soldiers.</p>
+
+<p>While she thought about this change, they rode up the long slope of
+some downs, in the bleak yellow sunset light. On the road before them
+they saw the black bulk of a horseman against the sky. He had paused to
+watch them, and presently, as if he had seen their white flag, he rode
+to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>Then Munn, who had ridden foremost all that day, raised a shout:—</p>
+
+<p>"Crashaw! 'Truth, 'tis never Eustace Crashaw!"</p>
+
+<p>He put his horse to the gallop, and when Merrylips and the others came
+up with him, they found him shaking hands and asking questions and
+giving answers, all in one breath, with the stammering lieutenant from
+the Monksfield garrison.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a r-rare meeting!" said Crashaw, and stammered more than ever.
+"R-renounce me, if ye have not l-little Tibbott with you! Now on my
+word, l-lad, Captain Norris will b-be blithe to see thee s-sound and
+well."</p>
+
+<p>"And is Captain Norris here at Walsover, sir?" Merrylips asked in great
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, that he is," Crashaw answered, "or will b-be with the dawning.
+For after M-Monksfield fell, we were shuffled off into the w-west, and
+now at the l-last are joined to the Walsover garrison. Captain Brooke
+l-led one troop hither but this d-day, and t'other one is hard at our
+heels. So speedily your old friends will be here to w-welcome you."</p>
+
+<p>"So!" said Dick Fowell, dryly, as they rode on once more. "Then I shall
+be fortuned to speak again with Lieutenant Digby?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips' heart beat fast to hear him say this. She waited
+breathlessly for Crashaw's answer.</p>
+
+<p>But Crashaw, who was a Romanist, crossed himself. Said he:—</p>
+
+<p>"God r-rest him for a brave soldier! There is now no m-more to say of
+him."</p>
+
+<p>Then Merrylips knew that Miles Digby had fallen in the fight at
+Monksfield. From the top of the down, which they now had gained, she
+could see the dear roofs of Walsover and faint lights gleaming through
+the dusk, but she saw them misted over with her tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" she thought, "I would that I had shaken hands wi' him, since he
+did wish it, and 'tis now too late!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">JOURNEY'S END</p>
+
+
+<p>But by the time that they had ridden down the long slope in the
+twilight, and reached the outermost of the barriers that now were built
+round Walsover, Merrylips' heart was light again. For she had before
+her a great happiness. Indeed, it was no small matter to come home at
+last, after two full years of absence.</p>
+
+<p>They laid a plot in whispers, she and Munn, as they rode past the
+sentinels. Munn should present her to her father as a little boy,
+and see if he would recognize her. Then they should have sport in
+presenting her to each one of her kinsfolk in turn. Last of all, they
+should tell Lieutenant Crashaw that she was no boy, but a little girl.</p>
+
+<p>"For 'tis clear he is so newly come to Walsover that he hath not yet
+had time to learn of our father which child of his was lost from
+Monksfield," Munn concluded.</p>
+
+<p>He chuckled at the thought of the laugh that he should have at Crashaw.
+And truly it was a beautiful plot! But Dick Fowell could have warned
+the plotters that such surprises sometimes turn out unexpectedly for
+their inventors. And so it proved with Munn and Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>Soon they had come into Sir Thomas Venner's presence. He stood, tall
+and martial, on the hearth in the great hall, ready to receive the
+envoy that had been sent to him under the white flag. And Munn played
+his part well. He greeted his father, with all respect and affection,
+and presented to him Lieutenant Fowell, as one to whom he was much
+bound in gratitude. Then he began soberly:—</p>
+
+<p>"And, sir, I would further bespeak your kindness for this young lad—"</p>
+
+<p>But there Merrylips spoiled everything. For as she gazed at her father,
+who was so big and strong and splendid in his officer's dress, she
+remembered that sad day, months ago, when she had parted from him. She
+felt that she could not bear it, even for a moment and by way of jest,
+to have him look at her as if she were a stranger.</p>
+
+<p>So when Sir Thomas turned to look at the little boy of whom Munn had
+spoken, Merrylips ran to him and caught his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Daddy! Mine own daddy! Do you not know me, then?" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>Well, for an instant he truly did not, and he was the more perplexed
+when Crashaw said kindly:—</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, 'tis your s-son Tibbott."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis the first time ever I heard that I had such a son," Sir Thomas
+answered.</p>
+
+<p>The way in which he said it was so like him that Merrylips laughed,
+only to hear him. And then, as he looked on her laughing face, a great
+light seemed to break upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips!" he shouted. "Good faith! And is it thou, brave little
+wench?"</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips never heard what Lieutenant Crashaw said in the next few
+minutes to Munn, now that he knew the secret and how he and all
+Monksfield had been befooled. For she was swept up bodily into her big
+father's arms, and when next she was stood upon her feet, it was in the
+west parlor that she remembered.</p>
+
+<p>It was the very room where long ago her mother had told her the
+dreadful news that she was to be sent to her unknown godmother at
+Larkland. The parlor had been green that day with the shadows of the
+vines, but now it was cheery with candles and with firelight. A group
+of gentlewomen in silken gowns were seated there, and a stout handmaid
+was in attendance on them.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Thomas stood Merrylips upon a great chair in the middle of the room.</p>
+
+<p>"And who is there here that knoweth this lad?" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>Before Merrylips could be quite sure of the presence in which she
+found herself, a slender gentlewoman rose from her seat by the fire.
+Her brown hair was thickly streaked with gray, and she had the kindest
+smile in the world.</p>
+
+<p>"Merrylips! My little Merrylips!" she said in a breathless voice, and
+stretched out her arms.</p>
+
+<p>Thus Merrylips and Lady Sybil found each other again. They were
+laughing and crying and asking questions long before the others in the
+parlor had taken breath. But soon Merrylips found them all thronging
+round her.</p>
+
+<p>Here was her mother, grave and careful as ever, who was glad to see
+her, but not over-pleased at her dress. And indeed, for a little girl
+who had been sent away to receive such nurture as became a maid,
+Merrylips had come home in strange attire.</p>
+
+<p>Here was sister Puss, who was a tall young gentlewoman now, and fairer
+even than Betteris or Allison Fowell. Here was Pug, who was rosier and
+rounder than ever. If you will believe it, she was hemming a napkin,
+just as Merrylips remembered her, for all the world as if she had come
+out of <i>A Garland of Virtuous Dames</i>!</p>
+
+<p>And here, too, was Merrylips' own maid, Mawkin, who was waiting upon
+the gentlewomen. She hugged Merrylips harder than any, and blubbered
+aloud with joy that she had come safe home at last.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had the women begun exclaiming over Merrylips, when in came
+more company. Her brother, Longkin, came in his lieutenant's dress. He
+was grown such a fine young gallant that Merrylips found it hard to
+believe that he had ever done such an undignified thing as to romp with
+his brothers on the terrace. After Longkin, Flip came running. He was
+all legs and arms, and he squeezed Merrylips as if she were a bear or
+another boy.</p>
+
+<p>"And oh! Flip," she heard her own voice saying, "I ha' been to the
+wars, for all I am but a wench! I ha' been in a siege, and fired
+upon a many times, and chased by the enemy, and a prisoner among the
+Roundheads. And thou, what battles hast thou been fighting, Flip?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a gentleman volunteer!" cried Flip, very red and angry. "If father
+would let me ride into battle, I'd speedily show thee what mettle I am
+made of."</p>
+
+<p>Now that she had begun squabbling with Flip, Merrylips felt that she
+had indeed come home. So it seemed quite a matter of course, when
+presently she found herself seated by the fire, with her hand in Lady
+Sybil's hand, and telling all her strange adventures.</p>
+
+<p>While she was speaking, Sir Thomas Venner remembered the courtesy that
+he owed Lord Caversham's envoy. He went from the room, and Longkin,
+too, when he heard that the envoy was his old college mate, Dick
+Fowell, hurried out to speak with him. Merrylips wondered if this were
+the hour when her father would hear Rupert's story. While she wondered,
+she rambled in her talk and grew silent. Then her godmother vowed that
+she must be weary and sleepy and were best in bed.</p>
+
+<p>"All the rest thou shalt tell us on the morrow, heart's dearest," she
+said.</p>
+
+<p>So Lady Sybil led Merrylips to her own chamber and helped her to her
+own bed. In the pale candlelight, when they two were alone, they said
+many things that they would not say downstairs. And Merrylips told how
+often she had thought about her godmother, and had tried to do what
+would please her, both as a girl and as a little boy.</p>
+
+<p>They were talking thus together, while Merrylips sat up in bed, with
+her head on Lady Sybil's shoulder, just as she had sat in twilight
+talks at Larkland, when there came a tap at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, your Ladyship!" cried Mawkin's voice. "Sir Thomas doth pray you,
+of your courtesy, come unto his study."</p>
+
+<p>Then Merrylips guessed that Lady Sybil was to hear the great news about
+Rupert, and she cried:—</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, godmother, prithee go quickly! 'Tis such rare news!"</p>
+
+<p>But as she saw Lady Sybil rise from beside her bed, she felt a sharp
+little stab of fear, and perhaps of jealousy. She caught at her
+godmother's gown with one hand.</p>
+
+<p>"But pray you, kiss me first," she said. "For it may be, presently, you
+will not have so much love to give unto me."</p>
+
+<p>"Thou silly child!" whispered Lady Sybil, and kissed her, and went her
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips knew that she was silly. But she was very tired, now that the
+day was ended, and she could not help having sad thoughts. As she lay
+alone in the quiet chamber, she pictured how Lady Sybil, at that very
+moment, was opening her arms to a child that was blood-kin to her. Her
+heart grew heavy. How did she know that Rupert would not take her place
+in Lady Sybil's love?</p>
+
+<p>In that foolish fear Merrylips had fallen asleep. When she woke, it was
+dark, but she found herself clasped tight in two arms, and she heard
+Lady Sybil speak:—</p>
+
+<p>"And thou couldst think I had not love enough for two—oh! thou little
+silly one! Merrylips! Little true heart, that didst believe in my poor
+lad, even when I myself distrusted him! Oh, child, how can I ever love
+thee enough—thou, through whom, under God, my dead sister's son hath
+this hour been given unto me!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="ph2">THE PASSING OF TIBBOTT VENNER</p>
+
+
+<p>When Merrylips woke next morning, she thought at first that she was
+back at Monksfield. She could hear the sounds that she loved—the
+clatter of horses ridden over flagged pavements, and the note of a
+trumpet that bade the men dismount and unsaddle. Then she guessed
+that Captain Norris and his troop had come to Walsover, as Lieutenant
+Crashaw had said they would.</p>
+
+<p>She was all eagerness to see her old friends. So she sprang up and
+started to dress. But when she looked for her shirt and her blue
+breeches, they were not on the form where she had laid them. In their
+place was a girl's long smock and a little gown of gray that Pug had
+outgrown.</p>
+
+<p>She was sitting on her bed, looking at the gray gown and winking fast,
+when Lady Sybil came softly into the chamber. Lady Sybil understood.
+She did not ask questions, nor did she pretend that this was a slight
+thing that Merrylips must do.</p>
+
+<p>"Little lass!" she said with a world of meaning. "My little lass!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," Merrylips answered. "I am a lass, when all's said. I must put on
+this gown, no doubt, and oh! a petticoat is such a pestilence thing in
+which to climb!"</p>
+
+<p>Then she stood up, but before she dressed she asked:</p>
+
+<p>"Where hath my mother hid my clothes—my Tibbott clothes?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Sybil smiled, a little sadly, to see how quick Merrylips was to
+guess that it was Lady Venner who had ordered her back into her fit
+attire. But she told Merrylips where the little blue suit lay, in a
+chest in a far chamber. And as soon as Merrylips had flung on the
+girl's frock, she ran and fetched her boy's suit, even the gloves and
+the hat, and hung them in Lady Sybil's great wardrobe.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm fain to have them where I may look upon them," she said. "And
+maybe, for sport, I'll don them again, only for an hour."</p>
+
+<p>She looked to see if Lady Sybil would forbid, but Lady Sybil said never
+a word.</p>
+
+<p>"On Christmas Day," said Merrylips, then. "Shall we say Christmas Day?
+I'll go a-masking in them."</p>
+
+<p>So every night, when she laid off her girl's frock, she looked at her
+blue doublet and breeches that hung in the wardrobe, and fingered
+them, and said to herself:—</p>
+
+<p>"Six days more—" or five, or four, as it might be—"and 'twill be
+Christmas, and godmother doth not forbid, and I shall wear my boy's
+dress once again."</p>
+
+<p>The days before Christmas went fast in that great, busy garrison house
+of Walsover, and they went fast indeed for Merrylips. So much she had
+to tell and hear! So many friends she had to greet again!</p>
+
+<p>She found old Roger that had been butler at Larkland. He was carrying a
+halberd once more in the Walsover garrison, and he was as eager as any
+young man of them all to fight the rebels. She found Stephen Plasket,
+who came limping in, the day before Christmas. And a long story he had
+to tell of the adventures he had met with in making his escape through
+the Roundhead country! Best of all, for Rupert's sake, she found Claus
+Hinkel, who had been one of those that had lived through the assault of
+Monksfield.</p>
+
+<p>Claus took it all as a matter of course that Rupert was at last
+restored to his kinsfolk. Ja, wohl, 'twas bound to happen some day, he
+told her. And now, in time, Rupert would be a captain like his father
+before him, and he, Claus, would ride in his troop.</p>
+
+<p>"For that I can do, gracious fräulein," the dull-witted fellow said.
+"My lord, your high-born father, would have made me a corporal, and
+more, perchance. But I said 'No! no!' Here I am well placed, and can
+do my part. But if I were set higher, I should be but what you call a
+laughing-stock."</p>
+
+<p>Many and many another of the old Monksfield garrison were missing,
+besides Lieutenant Digby. But Lieutenant Crashaw, and Captain Norris,
+and Captain Brooke, with his arm in a sling, and Nick Slanning, who
+limped with a newly healed wound, were all at Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips talked with them, but she was shy, almost as if they were
+new acquaintances. And they themselves seemed somehow shy of her. Once
+Slanning started to tousle her hair, as he had used to do, and craved
+her pardon for it. Captain Brooke and Captain Norris were too busy to
+speak with a little girl. And since she was no longer a little boy, she
+could not run about the courts and stables at their heels.</p>
+
+<p>So she found herself passing many hours with her mother and her
+godmother and her sisters. She did not like Pug, for Pug said that Dick
+Fowell was a wicked rebel, and would not speak a word to him. But she
+liked tall, pretty Puss. For Puss was always asking questions about
+Dick, and often and often she spoke with him. Indeed, Dick seemed to
+spend more time with Puss than with Longkin, for whose sake it was
+that he said that he was staying to keep Christmas at Walsover.</p>
+
+<p>It was Puss too that told Merrylips about Lady Sybil. After she left
+Larkland Lady Sybil had gone among great folk in foreign lands, and
+borrowed money for the king. It was difficult, delicate work, such as
+few might be trusted with. Then she had brought the money over seas
+with her, through dangers of storm and of pursuit by the enemy's ships
+that might have daunted the courage even of a man. And when she had
+done this task, she had gone to the king's headquarters at Oxford, and
+there, with her skill in nursing, she had tended the wounded soldiers,
+and thus had come by an illness that had been almost mortal.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips pondered all this. She had always seen Lady Sybil gracious
+and gentle and quiet. She had not guessed that she had courage and
+constancy equal to that of a soldier. She had not dreamed that women
+could have such courage.</p>
+
+<p>But Merrylips was not always with the women, for Rupert and Flip were
+near enough of her age to make her a comrade. Flip would have been a
+little scornful, perhaps. He could not forgive Merrylips for having had
+such adventures, while he sat tamely at home and got his lessons.</p>
+
+<p>But Rupert would have her with them in every sport and study in which
+she could bear a part. He liked her in her girl's dress, and told her
+so.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art fairer than any girl or woman in all the world," he said,
+"except it be my aunt Sybil."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert was very proud of the beautiful kinswoman that had taken him for
+her own. At first he was half ashamed to show his pride and love, but
+very soon, of his own will, he imitated Merrylips, as he did in many
+things, and would come with her to sit by Lady Sybil in the twilight
+and ask questions and talk of what was near his heart.</p>
+
+<p>One evening, the eve of Christmas, as it chanced, they three were
+together. They sat in the great oriel window of the long gallery.
+Merrylips was at Lady Sybil's side, where she could look out and see
+the frosty stars, and Rupert was on a cushion at her feet. They had
+been speaking, as they sometimes did, of how, when Rupert had had
+lessons for a couple of years, as was fitting for such a young boy, he
+should have a commission as an officer of the king, and of all the fine
+things that he should have and do in years to come.</p>
+
+<p>Then after a silence Rupert spoke, in the darkness:—</p>
+
+<p>"Good Aunt Sybil, I ha' been thinking, if 'twere not for what Merrylips
+did and I did mock her for, I should never ha' been more than a
+horseboy all my life."</p>
+
+<p>And he went on, with his head against Lady Sybil's knee:—</p>
+
+<p>"For if she had not had the heart to pity Dick Fowell, why, then, she
+had never known him. And so, at Ryeborough, he had been but as any
+rebel officer, and she had never dared call on him for help. And," he
+said truthfully, "I know not what would ha' happened me then, there
+at the Spotted Dog. But surely we should never have come into Lord
+Caversham's presence, and there would 'a' been none to say with surety
+that I was my father's son. So 'tis all thanks to Merrylips that I am
+here, because she had pity on Dick Fowell. Had you thought on that,
+good aunt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, indeed, I may have thought it, Robin, lad," said Lady Sybil, and
+in the darkness Merrylips felt her cheeks burn hot.</p>
+
+<p>Now the next day was Christmas, and when Merrylips woke, she went to
+the wardrobe to take down her Tibbott clothes. But just then Lady Sybil
+came into the chamber, and with her came Mawkin. Across her arm Mawkin
+bore a little gown of russet velvet. It had puffed sleeves and a short
+bodice, and the square neck and short sleeves were edged with deep lace.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Merrylips. "'Tis for a little girl. Is it for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"For thee. A fairing that I brought thee out of France," said Lady
+Sybil.</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips looked up from the dainty gown and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed," she said, "I fear you are bribing me, godmother, not to wear
+my Tibbott clothes."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay," said her godmother, "don them this day, at whatever hour liketh
+thee best. Thy mother hath given her free consent."</p>
+
+<p>Merrylips looked at the blue doublet and breeches, and she looked at
+the gown of russet velvet. She hesitated, for indeed she wished to do
+as she had planned. But the russet gown was pretty, and she did not
+like to slight her godmother's gift. Besides she had all day in which
+to wear her boy's dress.</p>
+
+<p>So she let herself be clad in the velvet gown. There went with it a
+fine wrought smock, and silken stockings, and dainty shoes of soft
+brown leather. Last of all Lady Sybil fastened round her neck a slender
+chain of silver, with a tiny heart-shaped pendant.</p>
+
+<p>"Wear this, dear, in the place of the ring that thou hast worn so
+long," she said. "And that I will lay by for now, with our Robin's
+ring—" for so she called Rupert—"until such time as thy finger is big
+enough to fit it snugly, and then thou shalt have it for thine own."</p>
+
+<p>In the velvet dress, it seemed to Merrylips, when she glanced into
+the mirror, that she looked taller and older. So she bore herself more
+shyly and quietly than ever she had done. She would make up for it, she
+thought, and romp with the noisiest, when she had put on the Tibbott
+clothes.</p>
+
+<p>But she was glad that she had put on the girl's dress first. For that
+Christmas morning there was dancing in the long east parlor. And
+Merrylips danced a minuet with Munn. She was much afraid lest she had
+forgotten Lady Sybil's teachings and should make false steps and vex
+him. But she found that she could dance fairly, and Munn was very
+gallant to her. Then Flip would dance with her too. And Merrylips found
+it no less pleasant to be treated courteously by her brothers than to
+go to fisticuffs with them.</p>
+
+<p>Of course there was great feasting that day in the hall at Walsover.
+But at last the candles were lit, and the women rose and left Sir
+Thomas and his officers to drink their wine. But before they left the
+room Sir Thomas stood up in his place and proposed a health to Lady
+Sybil Fernefould. All those who were present must have known of her
+courage and her devotion to the cause they served, for they drank
+her health, every man of them, with full honors and cheers that made
+Merrylips' heart beat quicker.</p>
+
+<p>When Lady Sybil had thanked them, sweetly and fairly, Captain Norris
+leaned across the table and spoke in a low voice to Sir Thomas. Sir
+Thomas smiled and called Merrylips to him.</p>
+
+<p>She went gravely, in her girl's frock. Under so many eyes she was
+glad that it was a girl's frock. Her father helped her to stand upon
+the stool beside him. Then Captain Norris, who she thought had quite
+forgotten her, spoke respectfully, as if he spoke of a grown woman, and
+bade them drink a health to Mistress Sybil Venner, a brave and loyal
+servant of the king!</p>
+
+<p>She could not believe that it was for her that the cups were drained,
+and the swords flashed out, and the cheers given. She looked at all the
+faces that were turned toward her—Captain Norris, and Captain Brooke,
+and Crashaw, and Slanning, and Dick Fowell, and her brothers, and all
+her father's officers, kinsmen and friends whom from of old she knew.
+She pressed her two hands to her throat, and for an instant she wanted
+to cry.</p>
+
+<p>She could not speak as Lady Sybil had spoken to thank them. She put out
+her two hands uncertainly, and then, for it was Christmas, when men's
+hearts are tender to little children, they came to her, one by one,
+those tall officers, and kissed her hand, with all courtesy.</p>
+
+<p>Well, it was over, all but a memory that she should never lose! She
+was out of the hall, and up in her chamber. There presently Lady Sybil
+sought her, and found her on her knees, by a chest that stood beneath
+the window. She was folding away the little suit that Tibbott Venner
+had worn.</p>
+
+<p>"Little—lass?" said Lady Sybil, and stroked her hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Merrylips.</p>
+
+<p>Her face was still rosy, and her eyes sparkled with the thought of what
+had happened in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"For since I cannot be a boy," she hurried on, "I will not play at
+being a boy. Besides, there be some things that a truly boy must do and
+bear and see—Oh, godmother! There at Monksfield, that day when I found
+Dick—I knew then that I was fain to be a girl.</p>
+
+<p>"And some things too," she added, in a lower voice, "a girl may have
+perchance that belong not to a boy. Oh, godmother, is't strange and
+wicked that I should think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, not strange," said Lady Sybil, "nor all wicked, perchance. Only
+see to it that thou still art brave and true, even as a lad."</p>
+
+<p>"Or as you are, sweet godmother," whispered Merrylips. "Surely you
+are as brave and loyal, every whit, as if you were a soldier like my
+father. And I'll try to be such a gentlewoman as you—indeed I'll try!"</p>
+
+<p>So speaking, Merrylips shut the lid of the chest. She smiled, but she
+gave a little sigh, too, as she said:—</p>
+
+<p>"Fare thee well! I'm a lass—godmother's lass—henceforth! Fare thee
+well, Tibbott Venner, forever and ever!"</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="ph3">Printed in the United States of America.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="ph3">Books by BEULAH MARIE DIX</p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Merrylips.</span></p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Little Captive Lad, A.</span> Ill. by Will Grefe.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Soldier Rigdale.</span> Ill. by Reginald Birch.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Blithe McBride.</span> Ill. by J. Henry.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Hugh Gwyeth: A Roundhead Cavalier.</span> Ill. by James Daugherty.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Turned-About Girls, The.</span> Ill. by Blanche Greer.</p>
+
+
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75142 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/75142-h/images/cover.jpg b/75142-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7bf71cf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus1.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca8e904
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus1.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus2.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus2.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3d9183d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus2.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus3.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus3.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..544f93e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus3.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus4.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus4.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..daae879
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus4.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus5.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus5.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2eae559
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus5.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus6.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus6.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..02e49b7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus6.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus7.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus7.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..45f4502
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus7.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus8.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus8.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab95982
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus8.jpg
diff --git a/75142-h/images/illus9.jpg b/75142-h/images/illus9.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..03a1978
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75142-h/images/illus9.jpg
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c2a4ea3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #75142 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75142)