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.