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.