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.