One of the stable boys laughed, and with that laughter in her ears, Merrylips felt herself lifted bodily into the big carrier's arms and set down on her feet in the courtyard. The world was all against her, she thought, and it was a world of rain and darkness in which she felt small and weak and lonely. In sudden terror she caught at the carrier's sleeve. "Oh, master, take me back to London!" she cried. "I'll give ye my new silver shilling. I cannot bide here--indeed, you know not! I like not your Sussex--and I be feared of mine old godmother. Oh, master, take me back wi' you to my daddy in London town!" Then, while she pleaded, Merrylips felt two hands, eager hands but gentle, laid on her shoulders. "Little lass!" said a woman's voice. "Thou art cold and shivering. Do thou come in out of the storm." "I'm fain to go back!" cried Merrylips. She turned toward this stranger who was friendly, but saw her all blurred through a mist of rain and of tears. "All in good time!" the kind voice went on. "If thou art fain to be gone, thou shalt go, but for now--come in from the storm." Merrylips went obediently, with her hand in the hand that was held out to her. Too tired to question or to wonder, she found herself in a snug, warm chamber where candles burned on the table and a fire snapped on the hearth. She found herself seated in a great cushioned chair, with the shoes slipped from her numbed feet and the wet cloak drawn from her shoulders. She found herself drinking new milk and eating wheaten bread, that tasted good after the sweets on which she had feasted, and always she found her new friend with the kind voice moving to and fro and ministering to her. Shyly Merrylips looked upon the stranger. She saw that she was a very old woman, no doubt, for her soft brown hair was touched with gray, but she had fresh cheeks and bright eyes and the kindest smile in the world. Then she saw the kind face mistily, and knew that she had nodded with sleepiness. A little later she found herself laid in a soft bed, between fair sheets of linen, and she was glad to see that the stranger, her friend, was seated by the bedside. "Oh, mistress!" said Merrylips, and stretched forth her hand. "Did you mean it in sober truth--that you will aid me to go back to London--away from mine old godmother?" Then the gentlewoman laughed, with eyes and lips. "Oh, my little lass!" she said, and knelt and put her arms about Merrylips where she lay. "Hast thou not guessed that I am that poor old godmother thou wouldst run from? I pray thee, dear child, stay with me but a little, for I am sadly lonely." All in a moment, as she looked into the face that bent above her, Merrylips grew sorry that she had thrown the poor doll on the floor and kicked it too. She felt almost as if she had struck a blow at this kind soul who had come to befriend her when she had felt so tired and lost.