Merrylips found herself lifted to the ground, where she stood looking about her. She was not quite sure what she should do. She would have chosen to stick close to Munn's heels, but she feared that would not be like a boy. So she stood where she was left, and anxiously watched Munn, as he went a little aside and spoke with Lieutenant Crashaw. While the two young men were talking together, a little girl ran out from the group of village folk and halted before them. She was about Merrylips' own age, with a shock of tawny hair and chapped little hands. Her gown was old and patched. She wore no stockings, and her little apron, which she kept twisting between her hands, was all soiled with dirt. "Kind gentlemen," she said, in a scared voice, "will ye not be good to give back our cow--the spotted one yonder with the crumpled horn. For there's Granny, and Popkin, and Hodge, and Polly, and me, and we've naught but the cush-cow to keep us--sweet gentlemen!" "R-run away with thee, little rebel!" said Crashaw, not unkindly, but much as he would have spoken to a little dog that was troublesome. And Merrylips' own brother Munn, that was so good to her, said carelessly:-- "If you'll believe these folk, every cow in the herd is the only maintenance of seven souls at least." The little girl turned away, with her grimy apron twisted tight in her hands, and so sorry for her did Merrylips feel that she started after her. "Little maid!" she said, and fumbled in her pocket. In that pocket, when she had changed into Herbert's clothes, she had remembered to put her own whittle and three half-pence that Mr. Lowry had given her. She pulled out the half-pence now, and said she:-- "Prithee, take these, and I would they were more, and I be main sorry for thy cush-cow." But the little girl with the tawny hair turned upon her like a little fury. "I do hate thee for one of 'em!" she cried. "I'd fain see thee dead, thou wicked boy!" As she spoke, smack! she struck Merrylips a sounding blow right across the face. "Hey! Hey!" said Lieutenant Crashaw, laughing. "C-close with her, young Venner! Strike for the k-king!" Merrylips blinked and swallowed hard, for the blow had not been a light one. "I am--a gentleman," she answered jerkily. "I may not strike--a girl." She turned away and sat down on a bench by the tavern door. Presently she picked up a bit of stick and marked with it in the dirt at her feet. In this fashion she was busied, when she heard a step beside her. She looked up, and found the lieutenant standing over her. She saw, too, that Munn was gone, and Stephen with him, and she felt afraid, but she tried not to show it. "So thou art too good a g-gentleman to strike a g-girl, eh?" said Lieutenant Crashaw. Merrylips stood up civilly when he spoke. "Ay, sir," she said, and looked him full in the face. "And too young a g-gentleman yet to k-kiss a girl, I take it?" the lieutenant laughed, and then he looked sober and half-ashamed.