They sat down at last under a hedge. Rupert pulled off his doublet and folded it about Merrylips, though she begged him keep it for himself. "I am hardier than thou," he said. "And I must care for thee tenderly, since thou art a little maid." "But I'm a boy," Merrylips answered. "Munn bade me be a boy, and so I still must be, unto all save thee, until I come among mine own people. So do not thou fret thyself for me, Rupert, for I am not cold nor am I overweary." They sat side by side and hand in hand while the twilight closed round them. Across the sombre fields they saw the small lights of a village kindle one by one. Then suddenly Rupert slapped his knee. "I've a plan!" he cried. Off he posted, and Merrylips was left alone in the dark. She watched the stars shine out above her, and called them by the names that Lady Sybil had taught her. Then she thought of Lady Sybil and of the joy that would be hers, when she saw her lost nephew. And in that thought she almost forgot that she was cold and hungry. It was late in the evening and the village lights were dimmed, when Rupert came stumbling back across the fields. "Here's bread," he panted, "a huge crusty piece, and a bit o' cold bacon, and two great apples, and I've a ha'penny besides, and one on 'em gave me a sup of ale, but that I might not bear away. Now eat of the bread, Merrylips. Eat all thou wilt, for to-morrow we'll have more." "But how didst thou come by it, Rupert?" she asked. "Honestly, I warrant thee," he said, and then he laughed in a shamefaced manner. "I went unto the village alehouse, and I sang for the greasy clowns were sitting there. At Monksfield the officers said that I was a lusty lad at a catch. So when I sang and spoke up saucily, these rude fellows gave me of their food. So thou seest," he ended, "I've sung for thee at last, Merrylips, though at Monksfield I would not do't for the asking." Rupert joked and laughed about it bravely. But Merrylips knew that, in plain words, he had gone a-begging to get food for them. It was the first time, even in his rough life, that Rupert had had to do a thing that was so hateful to his pride, but it was not the last time. They had to have food, those two poor little travellers, and they had no money with which to buy it. So time after time Rupert did the only thing that he could do. He slipped into a farmyard or a lonely alehouse, and there, with his songs and his pert speeches, he got now a piece of bread, and now a ha'penny, and now, far oftener than he told Merrylips, only cuffs and curses for his pains. While Rupert went on these risky errands, Merrylips hid in the fields. But one afternoon, when she was seated under a straw-stack, she was found by the surly farmer that owned the field. He shook her as soundly as ever a little boy was shaken, and threatened to set his dog upon her. After that Rupert thought it best not to leave her alone, but to take her with him wherever he went.