When Merrylips found that she had taken Rupert's place, she remembered how she herself had felt when Herbert Lowry came to Larkland, where for such a long time she had been the only child. With all her heart she was sorry for Rupert, and she wondered how she could make up to him for the wrong that innocently she had done him.
While Merrylips was wondering, something happened so dreadful that she feared it could never be put right.
Late one afternoon she was trudging across the great court at Lieutenant Digby's side. She was good friends with Lieutenant Digby, for all that Munn had thought him apt to bully. He had been teaching her to handle a quarter-staff, and had given her some hard knocks, too. But a little boy must not mind hard knocks! Merrylips quite swaggered at the lieutenant's side, and as she went whistled—or thought that she whistled!—most boyishly.
But, to her surprise, the lieutenant cried:—
"Name o' Heaven, what tune is it thou dost so mangle, lad? Is it The Buff-coat hath no Fellow thou dost hit at? Yonder's a knave can sing it like a blackbird, and shall put thee right."
Then, before Merrylips had guessed what he meant to do, he shouted:—
"Rupert! Ay, thou, young Hinkel! Come hither!"
Rupert was at the well in the middle of the courtyard, where he was drawing a bucket of water for the cooks. He must have heard the lieutenant, for he looked up; but when he saw that Merrylips was with him, he dropped his eyes and did not stir.
Then Lieutenant Digby called a second time, and now his face was stern. So Rupert came unwillingly. He slouched across the court, coatless, with his sleeves turned up, and halted by the porch where the lieutenant and Merrylips were standing.
"Quicken thy steps next time," said Lieutenant Digby, "else they'll be quickened for thee. And now thou'rt here, off with these sullens and sing The Buff-coat for Master Venner."