diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-0.txt | 7817 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/75142-h.htm | 8038 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 175584 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus1.jpg | bin | 0 -> 228288 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus2.jpg | bin | 0 -> 94845 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus3.jpg | bin | 0 -> 129797 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus4.jpg | bin | 0 -> 104545 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus5.jpg | bin | 0 -> 113949 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus6.jpg | bin | 0 -> 86353 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus7.jpg | bin | 0 -> 124432 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus8.jpg | bin | 0 -> 86621 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75142-h/images/illus9.jpg | bin | 0 -> 102365 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
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 & 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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 Binary files differnew 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) |
