"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.