Meg Merrilies

“ But no one who had been brought into personal contact with gipsy women could ever have presented Meg Merrilies as one of them. In the true Romany chi poetic imagination is combined with a homeliness and a positive love of respectability which are very curious. Not that Meg, noble as she is, is superior to the kind of heroic woman that the Romany race is capable of producing. Indeed, the great speciality of the Romanies is the superiority of the women to the men—a superiority which extends to everything, unless, perhaps, we except that gift of music for which the gipsies are noticeable. ”

“ A young woman, who had been gathering nuts in Warroch wood upon the fatal day, was also strongly of opinion, though she declined to make positive oath, that she had seen Meg Merrilies, at least a woman of her remarkable size and appearance, start suddenly out of a thicket—she said she had called to her by name, but, as the figure turned from her, and made no answer, she was uncertain if it were the gypsy, or her wraith, and was afraid to go nearer to one who was reckoned, in the vulgar phrase, no canny. ”

“ Although novelists, dramatists, and poets are particularly fond of trying to paint the gipsies, it cannot be said that many of them have been successful in their delineations. And this is because the inner and the outer life of a proscribed race must necessarily be unlike each other. Meg Merrilies is no more a gipsy than is Borrow’s delightful Isopel Berners. Among the characteristic traits of the Romany woman, Meg does no doubt exhibit two: a wild poetic imagination and a fearlessness such as women rarely display. ”

“ Yet he never attempted to see her, nor does Miss Linisfarne know that Dr. Merle is the lover of her youth. From his speedy marriage and subsequent retirement to Farbis you can see how feeble is his character. There is not a drop of his blood in the veins of Meg. That true fearless nature must be inherited from her mother. But how could a woman like Meg have married a rat like Merle! ”

“ Meg is not the daughter of Dr. Merle. You must remember how I wondered that so fine a nature, so beautiful a girl, could have for parent so contemptible a specimen of humanity. My wonder was legitimate. She is not Merle's daughter, but the child of Miss Linisfarne and Tinker Tim. There, sir, what do you think of that for a startling piece of news? I am so astonished myself that as yet I can hardly believe it. Nevertheless, it is perfectly true. Here is the story. More wonderful than any yet invented by fiction-mongers. ”

“ Merle gave his consent in a scared sort of way, and did not seem to know what to make of it. He is a poor feeble creature, with a brain sodden with the drug he takes. Notwithstanding my offer to provide for him, he declared his intention of remaining at Farbis, which, after all, I think is the best place for him. He is more fitted for a hermitage than for the world, as his vice has overmastered his brain and mind and has ruined his will and self-control. Every time I see him, I wonder how such a puny creature ever became the father of Meg. ”

“ It's only fun."
Meg's heart was beating. How dared she call Michael "dear"? How dared she intrude herself uninvited upon their simple life? Her beauty, her foolish feminine clothes, angered her. She hated Millicent's fine skin, which was, even in the desert heat, as poreless as a baby's. It was a wonderful skin for a grown person, let alone for a woman of Millicent Mervill's age. Meg thought of the dried mummy's lips. One day that pure soft flesh, which held the tints of a field daisy, would be more revolting to look at if it were unearthed than the skin of the three-thousand-year-old queen. ”

“ These things she made up into a bundle, looking longingly at her own red frock, and her bonnet with green ribbons: but Meg shook her head at herself admonishingly. It never would do to risk an appearance in such gorgeous attire. The very utmost she could venture upon was to put some half-worn shoes on her own feet and Robin's; for shoes were not in fashion for the children of Angel Court, and the unusual sound of their tread would attract quite as much attention as little Meg dare risk. ”

“ She controlled herself with a strong effort, and saluted Meg gaily--
"Well, child, is the tea ready?"
"Quite ready, Miss Linisfarne Are you hungry, Dan?"
"Yes, Miss Merle."
"Miss Merle? Why 'Miss Merle'?"
"By my request, Meg," said Miss Linisfarne, angrily. "You are too old, child, for a gentleman to call you by your Christian name. Give me your arm, sir. I am too weak to walk down the stairs unaided."
Dan walked about with Miss Linisfarne, and Meg, much dismayed at the outburst of her benefactress, lagged in the rear. ”

“ The hit went home; the girl had claws.
"We are only as young as we look, are we not? These few weeks have ragged you to pieces."
"I don't mind," said Meg. "It's been well worth it. You may as well get ten years into ten weeks as ten weeks into ten years. I've been gobbling up life, years and years of new experiences and sensations in these last few weeks." Meg meant no more than her words would have conveyed to any sweet-minded woman, but Millicent Mervill put her own interpretation on them. Margaret was no mean fencer ”

“ Malloy threw her head back and laughed, and her laugh was as pleasant as it was rare.
Meg looked at her in a pleased manner. Then Mrs. Malloy said: “What a spunky little girl you are! It’s regular red-headed spunk, though of course your hair is not red. My dear, it’s a blessing you are so independent, having no one to do your fighting for you.”
The wistful look came back into Meg’s eyes as she answered: “It has never seemed just right that I didn’t have a father, or mother, or even a big brother to take care of me. Sometimes,—” there was a little catch in her voice,—“oh, dear Mrs. ”

“ They looked into each other’s eyes, the two women who loved him. Soul recognized soul, and Meg, throwing her arms around his mother, whispered, “God give you strength to bear it.”
For reply, Mrs. Malloy clasped her close a moment and said so low that Mrs. Weston could not hear, though she strained her ears. “If I find I cannot bear it alone, and send for you, will you come?”
Meg could only nod. A moment more, and she was gone. Meg stood staring after her till her aunt’s rasping voice broke the spell: “Do you want the neighbors to say that you are dying of love for that young man? No? ”

“ Contrary to her promise, Meg had not been near the dell, so Dan supposed that she had told her father of the invitation, and had been forbidden to accept it. When he saw Dr. Merle, this idea was dispelled. No one had less influence over his daughter than her surviving parent. ”

“ Every one knows her. I should be sorry for the man who insulted Meg. She can hold her own. Why do you laugh?"
"It seems such a strange up-bringing for a young lady."
"True, true!" muttered the little doctor, with a frown; "but what can I do? I am very poor. I make barely enough to live. I can do nothing--nothing."
"But Miss Linisfarne might; she is a rich old maid with no relatives."
"Miss Linisfarne!" said Merle, in tones of deep sorrow.
"Yes, she might adopt her."
Dan said the words carelessly enough, and was quite unprepared for their effect on his host. Merle sprang out of his seat. ”

“ But will the grown folk believe me—thy godmother, and thy father, and thy brothers? Oh, Merrylips, dost think in truth that they will believe that I am son to Captain Lucas?"
For one instant Merrylips hesitated. They were strange folk indeed, the grown folk. Even dear Lady Sybil had thought Claus and Rupert spies when they came, sick and weary, to Larkland. Even her brother Munn had looked on and smiled at the distress of the poor people at Storringham. They did not always believe and pity so quickly as did she, who was young and foolish. ”

“ Meg opened her eyes wide. “But you are not!” she protested. “I am centuries older than you. I am a relic of the dark ages, while you,—Auntie, I really believe you are the youngest woman I know.”
A smile encompassed Mrs. Weston’s entire face at what she considered a compliment, and in the exuberance of her sudden good-humor, she said, “How would you like to invite Mr. Spencer, his sister and nephew to come to dinner to-morrow night?”
“Oh, Auntie, can we really do it?” Meg cried ecstatically.
“Yes,” answered her aunt; “I’ll go and interview Delia about it. ”

“ My good Roger!" said a broken voice, which, Merrylips felt, could only in a dream be Lady Sybil's voice. "What shall I do? What can I do? This child—my little lass! She hath fallen ill. I cannot take her with me in my flight. Yet I cannot leave her."
Old Roger answered in a voice that rang through the dream.
"'Tis a sweet little lady and winsome,—ay, and dear unto mine old heart, your Ladyship! But the king's cause is dearer than any child unto us, who are your father's poor servants. Your Ladyship, 'tis to save your wealth for the good cause you go. 'Tis for the king you ride to-night!" ”

“ Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?
Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona, act iii. sc. 1 (1594) .
Merrilees (Meg) , a half-crazy woman, part sibyl and part gypsy. She is the ruler and terror of the gypsy race. Meg Merrilees was the nurse of Harry Bertram.—Sir W. Scott, Gay Mannering (time, George II.) .
In the dramatized version of Scott’s novel, Miss Cushman [1845-9] made “Meg Merrilees” her own. She showed therein indisputably the attributes of genius. ”

“ So she followed the path till it pitched down a sunken stairway which led to an oaken door beneath the still-house. At the foot of the stairs lay the ball, and she had just bent to pick it up, when the door opened, right upon her, and a man stepped out.
At her first glance Merrylips saw only that he was a rough fellow, in a smock frock and frieze breeches, and coarse brogues, and that he wore a patch upon one eye. So little did she like his looks that she turned to run up the steps, faster than she had come down, but just then she heard her name spoken:—
"Tibbott Venner!" ”

“ But when she was set down with a needle, to be taught all manner of stitches by her mother's waiting-woman, or bidden to strum a lute, under sister Puss's instruction, she fairly cried with rage and rebellion.
For down in her little heart, so secret that none had suspected, Merrylips kept the hope that she might grow up a boy. To be a boy meant to run and play, with no hindering petticoats to catch the heels and trip the toes. It meant to go away to school or to camp. It meant to be a soldier and have adventures, such as her father had had when he was a captain in the Low Countries. ”

“ We'll guard them for the king."
"God save him!" whispered Merrylips.
"And at Winchester," Lady Sybil went on, "there'll be trusty men to meet us. I have written unto them. And whom dost thou think to see commanding them?"
Merrylips caught her breath.
"Not—not—" she faltered.
"Ay, thine own dear brother, Longkin. Thy father will send some of his troop to guard us, and they will take us—where thinkest thou?"
"Oh!" cried Merrylips. "To Walsover! To Walsover! Sweet godmother, we're going home at last to Walsover!" ”

“ He could not finish his sentence, but stroked Meg's hair with his large hand, and she felt some hot tears fall from his eyes upon her forehead.
'Don't cry, father,' she said, lifting her small feeble hand to his face. 'God took care of us, and baby too, though she's dead. There's nothink now that He hasn't done. He's done everythink I asked Him.'
'Did you ask Him to make me a good father?' said Fleming.
'Why, you're always good to us, father,' answered Meg, in a tone of loving surprise. 'You never beat us much when you get drunk. But Robin and me always say, "Pray God, bless father." ”

“ Merrylips said then, and as she thought of her last hours in the garrison, she spoke in a happy voice.
"You're rejoiced, eh?" Rupert answered harshly. "Truth, I'm not! The best friend I have I left yonder, old Claus! And I'll not be near him now, in the last fight."
"Last fight—" echoed Merrylips.
"Dost thou not understand, little fool?" whispered Rupert. "The rebels will attack to-morrow, and we're now so weak that it well may be—Dost thou not see? 'Tis to save thy life the captain sendeth thee away, and for that thou art glad to leave him, Tibbott Venner, thou little coward!" ”

“ But dearer to Merrylips even than Roger, the butler, or Goody Trot, the old nurse, or even Mawkin, her own kind maid from Walsover, was her godmother, Lady Sybil. For Lady Sybil, dwelling in that forgotten corner of Sussex, with only her few servants, was, as she had said, a lonely woman. She had a heartful of love to give to Merrylips, and it was a love that had wisdom to find the way to lead the little maid to what was for her good. So Merrylips, to her own surprise, found herself presently sewing seams and making tarts and toiling over lessons. ”

“ The dream of the steep hill was only a dream. In time it ended, and Merrylips found herself, such a weak little shadow of a Merrylips, lying in her chamber at Larkland. Round her bed moved her own maid, Mawkin, and other people whom she did not know. There were strange serving-women, and a doctor dressed in black, and a tall, pale woman, with hands that were dry and cold. ”

“ 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. ”