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.