{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_964/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_964","id":"gutenberg_964","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/964","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Fantasy","Folklore -- England","Robin Hood (Legendary character) -- Legends"],"text":"Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD\n\nby Howard Pyle\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nFROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER\n\n\nYou who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give\nyourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the\nland of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent\nlaughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you. Clap to the\nleaves and go no farther than this, for I tell you plainly that if you\ngo farther you will be scandalized by seeing good, sober folks of real\nhistory so frisk and caper in gay colors and motley that you would\nnot know them but for the names tagged to them. Here is a stout, lusty\nfellow with a quick temper, yet none so ill for all that, who goes by\nthe name of Henry II. Here is a fair, gentle lady before whom all the\nothers bow and call her Queen Eleanor. Here is a fat rogue of a fellow,\ndressed up in rich robes of a clerical kind, that all the good folk call\nmy Lord Bishop of Hereford. Here is a certain fellow with a sour temper\nand a grim look--the worshipful, the Sheriff of Nottingham. And here,\nabove all, is a great, tall, merry fellow that roams the greenwood and\njoins in homely sports, and sits beside the Sheriff at merry feast,\nwhich same beareth the name of the proudest of the Plantagenets--Richard\nof the Lion's Heart. Beside these are a whole host of knights, priests,\nnobles, burghers, yeomen, pages, ladies, lasses, landlords, beggars,\npeddlers, and what not, all living the merriest of merry lives, and all\nbound by nothing but a few odd strands of certain old ballads (snipped\nand clipped and tied together again in a score of knots) which draw\nthese jocund fellows here and there, singing as they go.\n\nHere you will find a hundred dull, sober, jogging places, all tricked\nout with flowers and what not, till no one would know them in their\nfanciful dress. And here is a country bearing a well-known name, wherein\nno chill mists press upon our spirits, and no rain falls but what rolls\noff our backs like April showers off the backs of sleek drakes; where\nflowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where every fellow\nhath a merry catch as he travels the roads, and ale and beer and wine\n(such as muddle no wits) flow like water in a brook.\n\nThis country is not Fairyland. What is it? 'Tis the land of Fancy, and\nis of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of it--whisk!--you clap\nthe leaves of this book together and 'tis gone, and you are ready for\neveryday life, with no harm done.\n\nAnd now I lift the curtain that hangs between here and No-man's-land.\nWill you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n     CHAPTER                                                PAGE\n\n     I         HOW ROBIN HOOD CAME TO BE AN OUTLAW            1\n     II        ROBIN HOOD AND THE TINKER                     14\n     III       THE SHOOTING MATCH AT NOTTINGHAM TOWN         27\n     IV        WILL STUTELY RESCUED BY HIS COMPANIONS        38\n     V         ROBIN HOOD TURNS BUTCHER                      50\n     VI        LITTLE JOHN GOES TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR           61\n     VII       HOW LITTLE JOHN LIVED AT THE SHERIFF'S        68\n     VIII      LITTLE JOHN AND THE TANNER OF BLYTH           81\n     IX        ROBIN HOOD AND WILL SCARLET                   92\n     X         THE ADVENTURE WITH MIDGE, THE MILLER'S SON   102\n     Xl        ROBIN HOOD AND ALLAN A DALE                  115\n     XII       ROBIN HOOD SEEKS THE CURTAL FRIAR            129\n     XIII      ROBIN HOOD COMPASSES A MARRIAGE              145\n     XIV       ROBIN HOOD AIDS A SORROWFUL KNIGHT           156\n     XV        HOW SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA PAID HIS DEBTS    172\n     XVI       LITTLE JOHN TURNS BAREFOOT FRIAR             186\n     XVII      ROBIN HOOD TURNS BEGGAR                      202\n     XVIII     ROBIN HOOD SHOOTS BEFORE QUEEN ELEANOR       222\n     XIX       THE CHASE OF ROBIN HOOD                      243\n     XX        ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBOURNE              262\n     XXI       KING RICHARD COMES TO SHERWOOD FOREST        281\n     EPILOGUE                                     300\n\n\n\n\n\nHow Robin Hood Came to Be an Outlaw\n\nIN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second\nruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest,\nnear Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No\narcher ever lived that could speed a gray goose shaft with such skill\nand cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore\nmerry men that roamed with him through the greenwood shades. Right\nmerrily they dwelled within the depths of Sherwood Forest, suffering\nneither care nor want, but passing the time in merry games of archery or\nbouts of cudgel play, living upon the King's venison, washed down with\ndraughts of ale of October brewing.\n\nNot only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws and dwelled apart\nfrom other men, yet they were beloved by the country people round about,\nfor no one ever came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went\naway again with an empty fist.\n\nAnd now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood fell afoul of the\nlaw.\n\nWhen Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew and bold of heart,\nthe Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed a shooting match and offered a\nprize of a butt of ale to whosoever should shoot the best shaft in\nNottinghamshire. \"Now,\" quoth Robin, \"will I go too, for fain would I\ndraw a string for the bright eyes of my lass and a butt of good October\nbrewing.\" So up he got and took his good stout yew bow and a score\nor more of broad clothyard arrows, and started off from Locksley Town\nthrough Sherwood Forest to Nottingham.\n\nIt was at the dawn of day in the merry Maytime, when hedgerows are green\nand flowers bedeck the meadows; daisies pied and yellow cuckoo buds and\nfair primroses all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom and\nsweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the throstle cock and cuckoo;\nwhen lads and lasses look upon each other with sweet thoughts; when busy\nhousewives spread their linen to bleach upon the bright green grass.\nSweet was the greenwood as he walked along its paths, and bright the\ngreen and rustling leaves, amid which the little birds sang with might\nand main: and blithely Robin whistled as he trudged along, thinking of\nMaid Marian and her bright eyes, for at such times a youth's thoughts\nare wont to turn pleasantly upon the lass that he loves the best.\n\nAs thus he walked along with a brisk step and a merry whistle, he came\nsuddenly upon some foresters seated beneath a great oak tree. Fifteen\nthere were in all, making themselves merry with feasting and drinking\nas they sat around a huge pasty, to which each man helped himself,\nthrusting his hands into the pie, and washing down that which they ate\nwith great horns of ale which they drew all foaming from a barrel that\nstood nigh. Each man was clad in Lincoln green, and a fine show they\nmade, seated upon the sward beneath that fair, spreading tree. Then one\nof them, with his mouth full, called out to Robin, \"Hulloa, where goest\nthou, little lad, with thy one-penny bow and thy farthing shafts?\"\n\nThen Robin grew angry, for no stripling likes to be taunted with his\ngreen years.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth he, \"my bow and eke mine arrows are as good as shine; and\nmoreover, I go to the shooting match at Nottingham Town, which same has\nbeen proclaimed by our good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire; there I will\nshoot with other stout yeomen, for a prize has been offered of a fine\nbutt of ale.\"\n\nThen one who held a horn of ale in his hand said, \"Ho! listen to the\nlad! Why, boy, thy mother's milk is yet scarce dry upon thy lips, and\nyet thou pratest of standing up with good stout men at Nottingham butts,\nthou who art scarce able to draw one string of a two-stone bow.\"\n\n\"I'll hold the best of you twenty marks,\" quoth bold Robin, \"that I hit\nthe clout at threescore rods, by the good help of Our Lady fair.\"\n\nAt this all laughed aloud, and one said, \"Well boasted, thou fair\ninfant, well boasted! And well thou knowest that no target is nigh to\nmake good thy wager.\"\n\nAnd another cried, \"He will be taking ale with his milk next.\"\n\nAt this Robin grew right mad. \"Hark ye,\" said he, \"yonder, at the\nglade's end, I see a herd of deer, even more than threescore rods\ndistant. I'll hold you twenty marks that, by leave of Our Lady, I cause\nthe best hart among them to die.\"\n\n\"Now done!\" cried he who had spoken first. \"And here are twenty marks. I\nwager that thou causest no beast to die, with or without the aid of Our\nLady.\"\n\nThen Robin took his good yew bow in his hand, and placing the tip at\nhis instep, he strung it right deftly; then he nocked a broad clothyard\narrow and, raising the bow, drew the gray goose feather to his ear; the\nnext moment the bowstring rang and the arrow sped down the glade as a\nsparrowhawk skims in a northern wind. High leaped the noblest hart\nof all the herd, only to fall dead, reddening the green path with his\nheart's blood.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Robin, \"how likest thou that shot, good fellow? I wot the\nwager were mine, an it were three hundred pounds.\"\n\nThen all the foresters were filled with rage, and he who had spoken the\nfirst and had lost the wager was more angry than all.\n\n\"Nay,\" cried he, \"the wager is none of thine, and get thee gone,\nstraightway, or, by all the saints of heaven, I'll baste thy sides\nuntil thou wilt ne'er be able to walk again.\" \"Knowest thou not,\" said\nanother, \"that thou hast killed the King's deer, and, by the laws of\nour gracious lord and sovereign King Harry, thine ears should be shaven\nclose to thy head?\"\n\n\"Catch him!\" cried a third.\n\n\"Nay,\" said a fourth, \"let him e'en go because of his tender years.\"\n\nNever a word said Robin Hood, but he looked at the foresters with a grim\nface; then, turning on his heel, strode away from them down the forest\nglade. But his heart was bitterly angry, for his blood was hot and\nyouthful and prone to boil.\n\nNow, well would it have been for him who had first spoken had he left\nRobin Hood alone; but his anger was hot, both because the youth had\ngotten the better of him and because of the deep draughts of ale that\nhe had been quaffing. So, of a sudden, without any warning, he sprang to\nhis feet, and seized upon his bow and fitted it to a shaft. \"Ay,\" cried\nhe, \"and I'll hurry thee anon.\" And he sent the arrow whistling after\nRobin.\n\nIt was well for Robin Hood that that same forester's head was spinning\nwith ale, or else he would never have taken another step. As it was, the\narrow whistled within three inches of his head. Then he turned around\nand quickly drew his own bow, and sent an arrow back in return.\n\n\"Ye said I was no archer,\" cried he aloud, \"but say so now again!\"\n\nThe shaft flew straight; the archer fell forward with a cry, and lay on\nhis face upon the ground, his arrows rattling about him from out of his\nquiver, the gray goose shaft wet with his; heart's blood. Then, before\nthe others could gather their wits about them, Robin Hood was gone into\nthe depths of the greenwood. Some started after him, but not with much\nheart, for each feared to suffer the death of his fellow; so presently\nthey all came and lifted the dead man up and bore him away to Nottingham\nTown.\n\nMeanwhile Robin Hood ran through the greenwood. Gone was all the joy and\nbrightness from everything, for his heart was sick within him, and it\nwas borne in upon his soul that he had slain a man.\n\n\"Alas!\" cried he, \"thou hast found me an archer that will make thy wife\nto wring! I would that thou hadst ne'er said one word to me, or that\nI had never passed thy way, or e'en that my right forefinger had been\nstricken off ere that this had happened! In haste I smote, but grieve I\nsore at leisure!\" And then, even in his trouble, he remembered the old\nsaw that \"What is done is done; and the egg cracked cannot be cured.\"\n\nAnd so he came to dwell in the greenwood that was to be his home for\nmany a year to come, never again to see the happy days with the lads and\nlasses of sweet Locksley Town; for he was outlawed, not only because he\nhad killed a man, but also because he had poached upon the King's deer,\nand two hundred pounds were set upon his head, as a reward for whoever\nwould bring him to the court of the King.\n\nNow the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would bring this\nknave Robin Hood to justice, and for two reasons: first, because he\nwanted the two hundred pounds, and next, because the forester that Robin\nHood had killed was of kin to him.\n\nBut Robin Hood lay hidden in Sherwood Forest for one year, and in that\ntime there gathered around him many others like himself, cast out from\nother folk for this cause and for that. Some had shot deer in hungry\nwintertime, when they could get no other food, and had been seen in the\nact by the foresters, but had escaped, thus saving their ears; some had\nbeen turned out of their inheritance, that their farms might be added to\nthe King's lands in Sherwood Forest; some had been despoiled by a great\nbaron or a rich abbot or a powerful esquire--all, for one cause or\nanother, had come to Sherwood to escape wrong and oppression.\n\nSo, in all that year, fivescore or more good stout yeomen gathered about\nRobin Hood, and chose him to be their leader and chief. Then they vowed\nthat even as they themselves had been despoiled they would despoil their\noppressors, whether baron, abbot, knight, or squire, and that from each\nthey would take that which had been wrung from the poor by unjust taxes,\nor land rents, or in wrongful fines. But to the poor folk they would\ngive a helping hand in need and trouble, and would return to them that\nwhich had been unjustly taken from them. Besides this, they swore never\nto harm a child nor to wrong a woman, be she maid, wife, or widow; so\nthat, after a while, when the people began to find that no harm was\nmeant to them, but that money or food came in time of want to many a\npoor family, they came to praise Robin and his merry men, and to tell\nmany tales of him and of his doings in Sherwood Forest, for they felt\nhim to be one of themselves.\n\nUp rose Robin Hood one merry morn when all the birds were singing\nblithely among the leaves, and up rose all his merry men, each fellow\nwashing his head and hands in the cold brown brook that leaped laughing\nfrom stone to stone. Then said Robin, \"For fourteen days have we seen no\nsport, so now I will go abroad to seek adventures forthwith. But tarry\nye, my merry men all, here in the greenwood; only see that ye mind well\nmy call. Three blasts upon the bugle horn I will blow in my hour of\nneed; then come quickly, for I shall want your aid.\"\n\nSo saying, he strode away through the leafy forest glades until he\nhad come to the verge of Sherwood. There he wandered for a long time,\nthrough highway and byway, through dingly dell and forest skirts. Now he\nmet a fair buxom lass in a shady lane, and each gave the other a merry\nword and passed their way; now he saw a fair lady upon an ambling pad,\nto whom he doffed his cap, and who bowed sedately in return to the\nfair youth; now he saw a fat monk on a pannier-laden ass; now a gallant\nknight, with spear and shield and armor that flashed brightly in the\nsunlight; now a page clad in crimson; and now a stout burgher from good\nNottingham Town, pacing along with serious footsteps; all these sights\nhe saw, but adventure found he none. At last he took a road by the\nforest skirts, a bypath that dipped toward a broad, pebbly stream\nspanned by a narrow bridge made of a log of wood. As he drew nigh this\nbridge he saw a tall stranger coming from the other side. Thereupon\nRobin quickened his pace, as did the stranger likewise, each thinking to\ncross first.\n\n\"Now stand thou back,\" quoth Robin, \"and let the better man cross\nfirst.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" answered the stranger, \"then stand back shine own self, for the\nbetter man, I wet, am I.\"\n\n\"That will we presently see,\" quoth Robin, \"and meanwhile stand thou\nwhere thou art, or else, by the bright brow of Saint AElfrida, I will\nshow thee right good Nottingham play with a clothyard shaft betwixt thy\nribs.\"\n\n\"Now,\" quoth the stranger, \"I will tan thy hide till it be as many\ncolors as a beggar's cloak, if thou darest so much as touch a string of\nthat same bow that thou holdest in thy hands.\"\n\n\"Thou pratest like an ass,\" said Robin, \"for I could send this shaft\nclean through thy proud heart before a curtal friar could say grace over\na roast goose at Michaelmastide.\"\n\n\"And thou pratest like a coward,\" answered the stranger, \"for thou\nstandest there with a good yew bow to shoot at my heart, while I have\nnought in my hand but a plain blackthorn staff wherewith to meet thee.\"\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Robin, \"by the faith of my heart, never have I had a\ncoward's name in all my life before. I will lay by my trusty bow and\neke my arrows, and if thou darest abide my coming, I will go and cut a\ncudgel to test thy manhood withal.\"\n\n\"Ay, marry, that will I abide thy coming, and joyously, too,\" quoth the\nstranger; whereupon he leaned sturdily upon his staff to await Robin.\n\nThen Robin Hood stepped quickly to the coverside and cut a good staff of\nground oak, straight, without new, and six feet in length, and came back\ntrimming away the tender stems from it, while the stranger waited for\nhim, leaning upon his staff, and whistling as he gazed round about.\nRobin observed him furtively as he trimmed his staff, measuring him from\ntop to toe from out the corner of his eye, and thought that he had never\nseen a lustier or a stouter man. Tall was Robin, but taller was the\nstranger by a head and a neck, for he was seven feet in height. Broad\nwas Robin across the shoulders, but broader was the stranger by twice\nthe breadth of a palm, while he measured at least an ell around the\nwaist.\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said Robin to himself, \"I will baste thy hide right\nmerrily, my good fellow;\" then, aloud, \"Lo, here is my good staff,\nlusty and tough. Now wait my coming, an thou darest, and meet me an thou\nfearest not. Then we will fight until one or the other of us tumble into\nthe stream by dint of blows.\"\n\n\"Marry, that meeteth my whole heart!\" cried the stranger, twirling his\nstaff above his head, betwixt his fingers and thumb, until it whistled\nagain.\n\nNever did the Knights of Arthur's Round Table meet in a stouter fight\nthan did these two. In a moment Robin stepped quickly upon the bridge\nwhere the stranger stood; first he made a feint, and then delivered\na blow at the stranger's head that, had it met its mark, would have\ntumbled him speedily into the water. But the stranger turned the blow\nright deftly and in return gave one as stout, which Robin also turned as\nthe stranger had done. So they stood, each in his place, neither moving\na finger's-breadth back, for one good hour, and many blows were given\nand received by each in that time, till here and there were sore bones\nand bumps, yet neither thought of crying \"Enough,\" nor seemed likely to\nfall from off the bridge. Now and then they stopped to rest, and each\nthought that he never had seen in all his life before such a hand at\nquarterstaff. At last Robin gave the stranger a blow upon the ribs that\nmade his jacket smoke like a damp straw thatch in the sun. So shrewd was\nthe stroke that the stranger came within a hair's-breadth of falling off\nthe bridge, but he regained himself right quickly and, by a dexterous\nblow, gave Robin a crack on the crown that caused the blood to flow.\nThen Robin grew mad with anger and smote with all his might at the\nother. But the stranger warded the blow and once again thwacked Robin,\nand this time so fairly that he fell heels over head into the water, as\nthe queen pin falls in a game of bowls.\n\n\"And where art thou now, my good lad?\" shouted the stranger, roaring\nwith laughter.\n\n\"Oh, in the flood and floating adown with the tide,\" cried Robin, nor\ncould he forbear laughing himself at his sorry plight. Then, gaining his\nfeet, he waded to the bank, the little fish speeding hither and thither,\nall frightened at his splashing.\n\n\"Give me thy hand,\" cried he, when he had reached the bank. \"I must\nneeds own thou art a brave and a sturdy soul and, withal, a good stout\nstroke with the cudgels. By this and by that, my head hummeth like to a\nhive of bees on a hot June day.\"\n\nThen he clapped his horn to his lips and winded a blast that went\nechoing sweetly down the forest paths. \"Ay, marry,\" quoth he again,\n\"thou art a tall lad, and eke a brave one, for ne'er, I bow, is there a\nman betwixt here and Canterbury Town could do the like to me that thou\nhast done.\"\n\n\"And thou,\" quoth the stranger, laughing, \"takest thy cudgeling like a\nbrave heart and a stout yeoman.\"\n\nBut now the distant twigs and branches rustled with the coming of men,\nand suddenly a score or two of good stout yeomen, all clad in Lincoln\ngreen, burst from out the covert, with merry Will Stutely at their head.\n\n\"Good master,\" cried Will, \"how is this? Truly thou art all wet from\nhead to foot, and that to the very skin.\"\n\n\"Why, marry,\" answered jolly Robin, \"yon stout fellow hath tumbled me\nneck and crop into the water and hath given me a drubbing beside.\"\n\n\"Then shall he not go without a ducking and eke a drubbing himself!\"\ncried Will Stutely. \"Have at him, lads!\"\n\nThen Will and a score of yeomen leaped upon the stranger, but though\nthey sprang quickly they found him ready and felt him strike right and\nleft with his stout staff, so that, though he went down with press of\nnumbers, some of them rubbed cracked crowns before he was overcome.\n\n\"Nay, forbear!\" cried Robin, laughing until his sore sides ached again.\n\"He is a right good man and true, and no harm shall befall him. Now\nhark ye, good youth, wilt thou stay with me and be one of my band? Three\nsuits of Lincoln green shalt thou have each year, beside forty marks in\nfee, and share with us whatsoever good shall befall us. Thou shalt eat\nsweet venison and quaff the stoutest ale, and mine own good right-hand\nman shalt thou be, for never did I see such a cudgel player in all my\nlife before. Speak! Wilt thou be one of my good merry men?\"\n\n\"That know I not,\" quoth the stranger surlily, for he was angry at being\nso tumbled about. \"If ye handle yew bow and apple shaft no better than\nye do oaken cudgel, I wot ye are not fit to be called yeomen in my\ncountry; but if there be any man here that can shoot a better shaft than\nI, then will I bethink me of joining with you.\"\n\n\"Now by my faith,\" said Robin, \"thou art a right saucy varlet, sirrah;\nyet I will stoop to thee as I never stooped to man before. Good Stutely,\ncut thou a fair white piece of bark four fingers in breadth, and set it\nfourscore yards distant on yonder oak. Now, stranger, hit that fairly\nwith a gray goose shaft and call thyself an archer.\"\n\n\"Ay, marry, that will I,\" answered he. \"Give me a good stout bow and a\nfair broad arrow, and if I hit it not, strip me and beat me blue with\nbowstrings.\"\n\nThen he chose the stoutest bow among them all, next to Robin's own, and\na straight gray goose shaft, well-feathered and smooth, and stepping\nto the mark--while all the band, sitting or lying upon the greensward,\nwatched to see him shoot--he drew the arrow to his cheek and loosed the\nshaft right deftly, sending it so straight down the path that it clove\nthe mark in the very center. \"Aha!\" cried he, \"mend thou that if thou\ncanst;\" while even the yeomen clapped their hands at so fair a shot.\n\n\"That is a keen shot indeed,\" quoth Robin. \"Mend it I cannot, but mar it\nI may, perhaps.\"\n\nThen taking up his own good stout bow and nocking an arrow with care, he\nshot with his very greatest skill. Straight flew the arrow, and so\ntrue that it lit fairly upon the stranger's shaft and split it into\nsplinters. Then all the yeomen leaped to their feet and shouted for joy\nthat their master had shot so well.\n\n\"Now by the lusty yew bow of good Saint Withold,\" cried the stranger,\n\"that is a shot indeed, and never saw I the like in all my life before!\nNow truly will I be thy man henceforth and for aye. Good Adam Bell(1)\nwas a fair shot, but never shot he so!\"\n\n\n     (1) Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and William of Cloudesly\n     were three noted north-country bowmen whose names have been\n     celebrated in many ballads of the olden time.\n\n\n\"Then have I gained a right good man this day,\" quoth jolly Robin. \"What\nname goest thou by, good fellow?\"\n\n\"Men call me John Little whence I came,\" answered the stranger.\n\nThen Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up. \"Nay, fair little\nstranger,\" said he, \"I like not thy name and fain would I have it\notherwise. Little art thou indeed, and small of bone and sinew,\ntherefore shalt thou be christened Little John, and I will be thy\ngodfather.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood and all his band laughed aloud until the stranger began\nto grow angry.\n\n\"An thou make a jest of me,\" quoth he to Will Stutely, \"thou wilt have\nsore bones and little pay, and that in short season.\"\n\n\"Nay, good friend,\" said Robin Hood, \"bottle thine anger, for the name\nfitteth thee well. Little John shall thou be called henceforth, and\nLittle John shall it be. So come, my merry men, we will prepare a\nchristening feast for this fair infant.\"\n\nSo turning their backs upon the stream, they plunged into the forest\nonce more, through which they traced their steps till they reached the\nspot where they dwelled in the depths of the woodland. There had they\nbuilt huts of bark and branches of trees, and made couches of sweet\nrushes spread over with skins of fallow deer. Here stood a great oak\ntree with branches spreading broadly around, beneath which was a seat of\ngreen moss where Robin Hood was wont to sit at feast and at merrymaking\nwith his stout men about him. Here they found the rest of the band, some\nof whom had come in with a brace of fat does. Then they all built great\nfires and after a time roasted the does and broached a barrel of humming\nale. Then when the feast was ready they all sat down, but Robin placed\nLittle John at his right hand, for he was henceforth to be the second in\nthe band.\n\nThen when the feast was done Will Stutely spoke up. \"It is now time, I\nween, to christen our bonny babe, is it not so, merry boys?\" And \"Aye!\nAye!\" cried all, laughing till the woods echoed with their mirth.\n\n\"Then seven sponsors shall we have,\" quoth Will Stutely, and hunting\namong all the band, he chose the seven stoutest men of them all.\n\n\"Now by Saint Dunstan,\" cried Little John, springing to his feet, \"more\nthan one of you shall rue it an you lay finger upon me.\"\n\nBut without a word they all ran upon him at once, seizing him by his\nlegs and arms and holding him tightly in spite of his struggles, and\nthey bore him forth while all stood around to see the sport. Then one\ncame forward who had been chosen to play the priest because he had a\nbald crown, and in his hand he carried a brimming pot of ale. \"Now, who\nbringeth this babe?\" asked he right soberly.\n\n\"That do I,\" answered Will Stutely.\n\n\"And what name callest thou him?\"\n\n\"Little John call I him.\"\n\n\"Now Little John,\" quoth the mock priest, \"thou hast not lived\nheretofore, but only got thee along through the world, but henceforth\nthou wilt live indeed. When thou livedst not thou wast called John\nLittle, but now that thou dost live indeed, Little John shalt thou be\ncalled, so christen I thee.\" And at these last words he emptied the pot\nof ale upon Little John's head.\n\nThen all shouted with laughter as they saw the good brown ale stream\nover Little John's beard and trickle from his nose and chin, while his\neyes blinked with the smart of it. At first he was of a mind to be angry\nbut found he could not, because the others were so merry; so he, too,\nlaughed with the rest. Then Robin took this sweet, pretty babe, clothed\nhim all anew from top to toe in Lincoln green, and gave him a good stout\nbow, and so made him a member of the merry band.\n\nAnd thus it was that Robin Hood became outlawed; thus a band of merry\ncompanions gathered about him, and thus he gained his right-hand man,\nLittle John; and so the prologue ends. And now I will tell how the\nSheriff of Nottingham three times sought to take Robin Hood, and how he\nfailed each time.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood and the Tinker\n\nNow it was told before how two hundred pounds were set upon Robin Hood's\nhead, and how the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would\nseize Robin, both because he would fain have the two hundred pounds and\nbecause the slain man was a kinsman of his own. Now the Sheriff did not\nyet know what a force Robin had about him in Sherwood, but thought that\nhe might serve a warrant for his arrest as he could upon any other man\nthat had broken the laws; therefore he offered fourscore golden angels\nto anyone who would serve this warrant. But men of Nottingham Town knew\nmore of Robin Hood and his doings than the Sheriff did, and many laughed\nto think of serving a warrant upon the bold outlaw, knowing well that\nall they would get for such service would be cracked crowns; so that no\none came forward to take the matter in hand. Thus a fortnight passed, in\nwhich time none came forward to do the Sheriff's business. Then said he,\n\"A right good reward have I offered to whosoever would serve my warrant\nupon Robin Hood, and I marvel that no one has come to undertake the\ntask.\"\n\nThen one of his men who was near him said, \"Good master, thou wottest\nnot the force that Robin Hood has about him and how little he cares for\nwarrant of king or sheriff. Truly, no one likes to go on this service,\nfor fear of cracked crowns and broken bones.\"\n\n\"Then I hold all Nottingham men to be cowards,\" said the Sheriff. \"And\nlet me see the man in all Nottinghamshire that dare disobey the warrant\nof our sovereign lord King Harry, for, by the shrine of Saint Edmund,\nI will hang him forty cubits high! But if no man in Nottingham dare\nwin fourscore angels, I will send elsewhere, for there should be men of\nmettle somewhere in this land.\"\n\nThen he called up a messenger in whom he placed great trust, and bade\nhim saddle his horse and make ready to go to Lincoln Town to see whether\nhe could find anyone there that would do his bidding and win the reward.\nSo that same morning the messenger started forth upon his errand.\n\nBright shone the sun upon the dusty highway that led from Nottingham\nto Lincoln, stretching away all white over hill and dale. Dusty was the\nhighway and dusty the throat of the messenger, so that his heart was\nglad when he saw before him the Sign of the Blue Boar Inn, when somewhat\nmore than half his journey was done. The inn looked fair to his eyes,\nand the shade of the oak trees that stood around it seemed cool and\npleasant, so he alighted from his horse to rest himself for a time,\ncalling for a pot of ale to refresh his thirsty throat.\n\nThere he saw a party of right jovial fellows seated beneath the\nspreading oak that shaded the greensward in front of the door. There\nwas a tinker, two barefoot friars, and a party of six of the King's\nforesters all clad in Lincoln green, and all of them were quaffing\nhumming ale and singing merry ballads of the good old times. Loud\nlaughed the foresters, as jests were bandied about between the singing,\nand louder laughed the friars, for they were lusty men with beards\nthat curled like the wool of black rams; but loudest of all laughed the\nTinker, and he sang more sweetly than any of the rest. His bag and his\nhammer hung upon a twig of the oak tree, and near by leaned his good\nstout cudgel, as thick as his wrist and knotted at the end.\n\n\"Come,\" cried one of the foresters to the tired messenger, \"come join us\nfor this shot. Ho, landlord! Bring a fresh pot of ale for each man.\"\n\nThe messenger was glad enough to sit down along with the others who were\nthere, for his limbs were weary and the ale was good.\n\n\"Now what news bearest thou so fast?\" quoth one, \"and whither ridest\nthou today?\"\n\nThe messenger was a chatty soul and loved a bit of gossip dearly;\nbesides, the pot of ale warmed his heart; so that, settling himself in\nan easy corner of the inn bench, while the host leaned upon the doorway\nand the hostess stood with her hands beneath her apron, he unfolded his\nbudget of news with great comfort. He told all from the very first:\nhow Robin Hood had slain the forester, and how he had hidden in the\ngreenwood to escape the law; how that he lived therein, all against the\nlaw, God wot, slaying His Majesty's deer and levying toll on fat abbot,\nknight, and esquire, so that none dare travel even on broad Watling\nStreet or the Fosse Way for fear of him; how that the Sheriff had a mind\nto serve the King's warrant upon this same rogue, though little would he\nmind warrant of either king or sheriff, for he was far from being a\nlaw-abiding man. Then he told how none could be found in all Nottingham\nTown to serve this warrant, for fear of cracked pates and broken bones,\nand how that he, the messenger, was now upon his way to Lincoln Town to\nfind of what mettle the Lincoln men might be.\n\n\"Now come I, forsooth, from good Banbury Town,\" said the jolly Tinker,\n\"and no one nigh Nottingham--nor Sherwood either, an that be the\nmark--can hold cudgel with my grip. Why, lads, did I not meet that mad\nwag Simon of Ely, even at the famous fair at Hertford Town, and beat him\nin the ring at that place before Sir Robert of Leslie and his lady? This\nsame Robin Hood, of whom, I wot, I never heard before, is a right merry\nblade, but gin he be strong, am not I stronger? And gin he be sly, am\nnot I slyer? Now by the bright eyes of Nan o' the Mill, and by mine own\nname and that's Wat o' the Crabstaff, and by mine own mother's son,\nand that's myself, will I, even I, Wat o' the Crabstaff, meet this same\nsturdy rogue, and gin he mind not the seal of our glorious sovereign\nKing Harry, and the warrant of the good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire,\nI will so bruise, beat, and bemaul his pate that he shall never move\nfinger or toe again! Hear ye that, bully boys?\"\n\n\"Now art thou the man for my farthing,\" cried the messenger. \"And back\nthou goest with me to Nottingham Town.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Tinker, shaking his head slowly from side to side. \"Go\nI with no man gin it be not with mine own free will.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said the messenger, \"no man is there in Nottinghamshire\ncould make thee go against thy will, thou brave fellow.\"\n\n\"Ay, that be I brave,\" said the Tinker.\n\n\"Ay, marry,\" said the messenger, \"thou art a brave lad; but our good\nSheriff hath offered fourscore angels of bright gold to whosoever shall\nserve the warrant upon Robin Hood; though little good will it do.\"\n\n\"Then I will go with thee, lad. Do but wait till I get my bag and\nhammer, and my cudgel. Ay, let' me but meet this same Robin Hood, and\nlet me see whether he will not mind the King's warrant.\" So, after\nhaving paid their score, the messenger, with the Tinker striding beside\nhis nag, started back to Nottingham again.\n\nOne bright morning soon after this time, Robin Hood started off to\nNottingham Town to find what was a-doing there, walking merrily along\nthe roadside where the grass was sweet with daisies, his eyes wandering\nand his thoughts also. His bugle horn hung at his hip and his bow and\narrows at his back, while in his hand he bore a good stout oaken staff,\nwhich he twirled with his fingers as he strolled along.\n\nAs thus he walked down a shady lane he saw a tinker coming, trolling a\nmerry song as he drew nigh. On his back hung his bag and his hammer, and\nin his hand he carried a right stout crabstaff full six feet long, and\nthus sang he:\n\n     \"_In peascod time, when hound to horn\n     Gives ear till buck be killed,\n     And little lads with pipes of corn\n     Sit keeping beasts afield_--\"\n\n\"Halloa, good friend!\" cried Robin.\n\n\"I WENT TO GATHER STRAWBERRIES--\"\n\n\"Halloa!\" cried Robin again.\n\n\"BY WOODS AND GROVES FULL FAIR--\"\n\n\"Halloa! Art thou deaf, man? Good friend, say I!\"\n\n\"And who art thou dost so boldly check a fair song?\" quoth the Tinker,\nstopping in his singing. \"Halloa, shine own self, whether thou be good\nfriend or no. But let me tell thee, thou stout fellow, gin thou be a\ngood friend it were well for us both; but gin thou be no good friend it\nwere ill for thee.\"\n\n\"And whence comest thou, my lusty blade?\" quoth Robin.\n\n\"I come from Banbury,\" answered the Tinker.\n\n\"Alas!\" quoth Robin, \"I hear there is sad news this merry morn.\"\n\n\"Ha! Is it indeed so?\" cried the Tinker eagerly. \"Prythee tell it\nspeedily, for I am a tinker by trade, as thou seest, and as I am in my\ntrade I am greedy for news, even as a priest is greedy for farthings.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" quoth Robin, \"list thou and I will tell, but bear thyself\nup bravely, for the news is sad, I wot. Thus it is: I hear that two\ntinkers are in the stocks for drinking ale and beer!\"\n\n\"Now a murrain seize thee and thy news, thou scurvy dog,\" quoth the\nTinker, \"for thou speakest but ill of good men. But sad news it is\nindeed, gin there be two stout fellows in the stocks.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Robin, \"thou hast missed the mark and dost but weep for the\nwrong sow. The sadness of the news lieth in that there be but two in the\nstocks, for the others do roam the country at large.\"\n\n\"Now by the pewter platter of Saint Dunstan,\" cried the Tinker, \"I have\na good part of a mind to baste thy hide for thine ill jest. But gin men\nbe put in the stocks for drinking ale and beer, I trow thou wouldst not\nlose thy part.\"\n\nLoud laughed Robin and cried, \"Now well taken, Tinker, well taken! Why,\nthy wits are like beer, and do froth up most when they grow sour! But\nright art thou, man, for I love ale and beer right well. Therefore come\nstraightway with me hard by to the Sign of the Blue Boar, and if thou\ndrinkest as thou appearest--and I wot thou wilt not belie thy looks--I\nwill drench thy throat with as good homebrewed as ever was tapped in all\nbroad Nottinghamshire.\"\n\n\"Now by my faith,\" said the Tinker, \"thou art a right good fellow in\nspite of thy scurvy jests. I love thee, my sweet chuck, and gin I go not\nwith thee to that same Blue Boar thou mayst call me a heathen.\"\n\n\"Tell me thy news, good friend, I prythee,\" quoth Robin as they trudged\nalong together, \"for tinkers, I ween, are all as full of news as an egg\nof meat.\"\n\n\"Now I love thee as my brother, my bully blade,\" said the Tinker, \"else\nI would not tell thee my news; for sly am I, man, and I have in hand a\ngrave undertaking that doth call for all my wits, for I come to seek\na bold outlaw that men, hereabouts, call Robin Hood. Within my pouch I\nhave a warrant, all fairly written out on parchment, forsooth, with a\ngreat red seal for to make it lawful. Could I but meet this same Robin\nHood I would serve it upon his dainty body, and if he minded it not\nI would beat him till every one of his ribs would cry Amen. But thou\nlivest hereabouts, mayhap thou knowest Robin Hood thyself, good fellow.\"\n\n\"Ay, marry, that I do somewhat,\" quoth Robin, \"and I have seen him this\nvery morn. But, Tinker, men say that he is but a sad, sly thief. Thou\nhadst better watch thy warrant, man, or else he may steal it out of thy\nvery pouch.\"\n\n\"Let him but try!\" cried the Tinker. \"Sly may he be, but sly am I, too.\nI would I had him here now, man to man!\" And he made his heavy cudgel to\nspin again. \"But what manner of man is he, lad?\n\n\"Much like myself,\" said Robin, laughing, \"and in height and build and\nage nigh the same; and he hath blue eyes, too.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Tinker, \"thou art but a green youth. I thought him to\nbe a great bearded man. Nottingham men feared him so.\"\n\n\"Truly, he is not so old nor so stout as thou art,\" said Robin. \"But men\ndo call him a right deft hand at quarterstaff.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" said the Tinker right sturdily, \"but I am more deft than\nhe, for did I not overcome Simon of Ely in a fair bout in the ring at\nHertford Town? But if thou knowest him, my jolly blade, wilt thou go\nwith me and bring me to him? Fourscore bright angels hath the Sheriff\npromised me if I serve the warrant upon the knave's body, and ten of\nthem will I give to thee if thou showest me him.\"\n\n\"Ay, that will I,\" quoth Robin, \"but show me thy warrant, man, until I\nsee whether it be good or no.\"\n\n\"That will I not do, even to mine own brother,\" answered the Tinker. \"No\nman shall see my warrant till I serve it upon yon fellow's own body.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" quoth Robin. \"And thou show it not to me I know not to whom\nthou wilt show it. But here we are at the Sign of the Blue Boar, so let\nus in and taste his brown October.\"\n\nNo sweeter inn could be found in all Nottinghamshire than that of the\nBlue Boar. None had such lovely trees standing around, or was so covered\nwith trailing clematis and sweet woodbine; none had such good beer and\nsuch humming ale; nor, in wintertime, when the north wind howled and\nsnow drifted around the hedges, was there to be found, elsewhere, such\na roaring fire as blazed upon the hearth of the Blue Boar. At such times\nmight be found a goodly company of yeomen or country folk seated around\nthe blazing hearth, bandying merry jests, while roasted crabs(2) bobbed\nin bowls of ale upon the hearthstone. Well known was the inn to Robin\nHood and his band, for there had he and such merry companions as Little\nJohn or Will Stutely or young David of Doncaster often gathered when all\nthe forest was filled with snow. As for mine host, he knew how to keep\na still tongue in his head, and to swallow his words before they passed\nhis teeth, for he knew very well which side of his bread was spread with\nbutter, for Robin and his band were the best of customers and paid their\nscores without having them chalked up behind the door. So now, when\nRobin Hood and the Tinker came thereto and called aloud for two great\npots of ale, none would have known from look or speech that the host had\never set eyes upon the outlaw before.\n\n     (2) Small sour apples.\n\n\"Bide thou here,\" quoth Robin to the Tinker, \"while I go and see that\nmine host draweth ale from the right butt, for he hath good October, I\nknow, and that brewed by Withold of Tamworth.\" So saying, he went within\nand whispered to the host to add a measure of Flemish strong waters to\nthe good English ale; which the latter did and brought it to them.\n\n\"By Our Lady,\" said the Tinker, after a long draught of the ale, \"yon\nsame Withold of Tamworth--a right good Saxon name, too, I would have\nthee know--breweth the most humming ale that e'er passed the lips of Wat\no' the Crabstaff.\"\n\n\"Drink, man, drink,\" cried Robin, only wetting his own lips meanwhile.\n\"Ho, landlord! Bring my friend another pot of the same. And now for a\nsong, my jolly blade.\"\n\n\"Ay, that will I give thee a song, my lovely fellow,\" quoth the Tinker,\n\"for I never tasted such ale in all my days before. By Our Lady, it\ndoth make my head hum even now! Hey, Dame Hostess, come listen, an thou\nwouldst hear a song, and thou too, thou bonny lass, for never sing I so\nwell as when bright eyes do look upon me the while.\"\n\nThen he sang an ancient ballad of the time of good King Arthur, called\n\"The Marriage of Sir Gawaine,\" which you may some time read yourself, in\nstout English of early times; and as he sang, all listened to that noble\ntale of noble knight and his sacrifice to his king. But long before the\nTinker came to the last verse his tongue began to trip and his head to\nspin, because of the strong waters mixed with the ale. First his tongue\ntripped, then it grew thick of sound; then his head wagged from side to\nside, until at last he fell asleep as though he never would waken again.\n\nThen Robin Hood laughed aloud and quickly took the warrant from out the\nTinker's pouch with his deft fingers. \"Sly art thou, Tinker,\" quoth he,\n\"but not yet, I bow, art thou as sly as that same sly thief Robin Hood.\"\n\nThen he called the host to him and said, \"Here, good man, are ten broad\nshillings for the entertainment thou hast given us this day. See that\nthou takest good care of thy fair guest there, and when he wakes thou\nmayst again charge him ten shillings also, and if he hath it not, thou\nmayst take his bag and hammer, and even his coat, in payment. Thus do\nI punish those that come into the greenwood to deal dole to me. As for\nthine own self, never knew I landlord yet that would not charge twice an\nhe could.\"\n\nAt this the host smiled slyly, as though saying to himself the rustic\nsaw, \"Teach a magpie to suck eggs.\"\n\nThe Tinker slept until the afternoon drew to a close and the shadows\ngrew long beside the woodland edge, then he awoke. First he looked up,\nthen he looked down, then he looked east, then he looked west, for he\nwas gathering his wits together, like barley straws blown apart by the\nwind. First he thought of his merry companion, but he was gone. Then he\nthought of his stout crabstaff, and that he had within his hand. Then of\nhis warrant, and of the fourscore angels he was to gain for serving it\nupon Robin Hood. He thrust his hand into his pouch, but not a scrap nor\na farthing was there. Then he sprang to his feet in a rage.\n\n\"Ho, landlord!\" cried he, \"whither hath that knave gone that was with me\nbut now?\"\n\n\"What knave meaneth Your Worship?\" quoth the landlord, calling the\nTinker Worship to soothe him, as a man would pour oil upon angry water.\n\"I saw no knave with Your Worship, for I swear no man would dare call\nthat man knave so nigh to Sherwood Forest. A right stout yeoman I saw\nwith Your Worship, but I thought that Your Worship knew him, for few\nthere be about here that pass him by and know him not.\"\n\n\"Now, how should I, that ne'er have squealed in your sty, know all the\nswine therein? Who was he, then, an thou knowest him so well?\"\n\n\"Why, yon same is a right stout fellow whom men hereabouts do call Robin\nHood, which same--\"\n\n\"Now, by'r Lady!\" cried the Tinker hastily, and in a deep voice like an\nangry bull, \"thou didst see me come into thine inn, I, a staunch, honest\ncraftsman, and never told me who my company was, well knowing thine own\nself who he was. Now, I have a right round piece of a mind to crack thy\nknave's pate for thee!\" Then he took up his cudgel and looked at the\nlandlord as though he would smite him where he stood.\n\n\"Nay,\" cried the host, throwing up his elbow, for he feared the blow,\n\"how knew I that thou knewest him not?\"\n\n\"Well and truly thankful mayst thou be,\" quoth the Tinker, \"that I be\na patient man and so do spare thy bald crown, else wouldst thou ne'er\ncheat customer again. But as for this same knave Robin Hood, I go\nstraightway to seek him, and if I do not score his knave's pate, cut\nmy staff into fagots and call me woman.\" So saying, he gathered himself\ntogether to depart.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the landlord, standing in front of him and holding out his\narms like a gooseherd driving his flock, for money made him bold, \"thou\ngoest not till thou hast paid me my score.\"\n\n\"But did not he pay thee?\"\n\n\"Not so much as one farthing; and ten good shillings' worth of ale have\nye drunk this day. Nay, I say, thou goest not away without paying me,\nelse shall our good Sheriff know of it.\"\n\n\"But nought have I to pay thee with, good fellow,\" quoth the Tinker.\n\n\"'Good fellow' not me,\" said the landlord. \"Good fellow am I not when\nit cometh to lose ten shillings! Pay me that thou owest me in broad\nmoney, or else leave thy coat and bag and hammer; yet, I wot they\nare not worth ten shillings, and I shall lose thereby. Nay, an thou\nstirrest, I have a great dog within and I will loose him upon thee.\nMaken, open thou the door and let forth Brian if this fellow stirs one\nstep.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Tinker--for, by roaming the country, he had learned\nwhat dogs were--\"take thou what thou wilt have, and let me depart in\npeace, and may a murrain go with thee. But oh, landlord! An I catch yon\nscurvy varlet, I swear he shall pay full with usury for that he hath\nhad!\"\n\nSo saying, he strode away toward the forest, talking to himself, while\nthe landlord and his worthy dame and Maken stood looking after him, and\nlaughed when he had fairly gone.\n\n\"Robin and I stripped yon ass of his pack main neatly,\" quoth the\nlandlord.\n\nNow it happened about this time that Robin Hood was going through the\nforest to Fosse Way, to see what was to be seen there, for the moon was\nfull and the night gave promise of being bright. In his hand he carried\nhis stout oaken staff, and at his side hung his bugle horn. As thus he\nwalked up a forest path, whistling, down another path came the Tinker,\nmuttering to himself and shaking his head like an angry bull; and so,\nat a sudden bend, they met sharply face to face. Each stood still for a\ntime, and then Robin spoke:\n\n\"Halloa, my sweet bird,\" said he, laughing merrily, \"how likest thou\nthine ale? Wilt not sing to me another song?\"\n\nThe Tinker said nothing at first but stood looking at Robin with a grim\nface. \"Now,\" quoth he at last, \"I am right glad I have met thee, and if\nI do not rattle thy bones within thy hide this day, I give thee leave to\nput thy foot upon my neck.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" cried merry Robin. \"Rattle my bones, an thou\ncanst.\" So saying, he gripped his staff and threw himself upon his\nguard. Then the Tinker spat upon his hands and, grasping his staff, came\nstraight at the other. He struck two or three blows, but soon found that\nhe had met his match, for Robin warded and parried all of them, and,\nbefore the Tinker thought, he gave him a rap upon the ribs in return. At\nthis Robin laughed aloud, and the Tinker grew more angry than ever, and\nsmote again with all his might and main. Again Robin warded two of the\nstrokes, but at the third, his staff broke beneath the mighty blows of\nthe Tinker. \"Now, ill betide thee, traitor staff,\" cried Robin, as it\nfell from his hands; \"a foul stick art thou to serve me thus in mine\nhour of need.\"\n\n\"Now yield thee,\" quoth the Tinker, \"for thou art my captive; and if\nthou do not, I will beat thy pate to a pudding.\"\n\nTo this Robin Hood made no answer, but, clapping his horn to his lips,\nhe blew three blasts, loud and clear.\n\n\"Ay,\" quoth the Tinker, \"blow thou mayest, but go thou must with me to\nNottingham Town, for the Sheriff would fain see thee there. Now wilt\nthou yield thee, or shall I have to break thy pretty head?\"\n\n\"An I must drink sour ale, I must,\" quoth Robin, \"but never have I\nyielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my\nbody. Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now. Ho, my merry men! Come\nquickly!\"\n\nThen from out the forest leaped Little John and six stout yeomen clad in\nLincoln green.\n\n\"How now, good master,\" cried Little John, \"what need hast thou that\nthou dost wind thy horn so loudly?\"\n\n\"There stands a tinker,\" quoth Robin, \"that would fain take me to\nNottingham, there to hang upon the gallows tree.\"\n\n\"Then shall he himself hang forthwith,\" cried Little John, and he and\nthe others made at the Tinker, to seize him.\n\n\"Nay, touch him not,\" said Robin, \"for a right stout man is he. A metal\nman he is by trade, and a mettled man by nature; moreover, he doth sing\na lovely ballad. Say, good fellow, wilt thou join my merry men all?\nThree suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have a year, besides forty marks\nin fee; thou shalt share all with us and lead a right merry life in\nthe greenwood; for cares have we not, and misfortune cometh not upon\nus within the sweet shades of Sherwood, where we shoot the dun deer and\nfeed upon venison and sweet oaten cakes, and curds and honey. Wilt thou\ncome with me?\"\n\n\"Ay, marry, will I join with you all,\" quoth the Tinker, \"for I love a\nmerry life, and I love thee, good master, though thou didst thwack my\nribs and cheat me into the bargain. Fain am I to own thou art both a\nstouter and a slyer man than I; so I will obey thee and be thine own\ntrue servant.\"\n\nSo all turned their steps to the forest depths, where the Tinker was to\nlive henceforth. For many a day he sang ballads to the band, until the\nfamous Allan a Dale joined them, before whose sweet voice all others\nseemed as harsh as a raven's; but of him we will learn hereafter.\n\n\n\n\nThe Shooting Match at Nottingham Town\n\nTHEN THE SHERIFF was very wroth because of this failure to take jolly\nRobin, for it came to his ears, as ill news always does, that the people\nlaughed at him and made a jest of his thinking to serve a warrant upon\nsuch a one as the bold outlaw. And a man hates nothing so much as\nbeing made a jest of; so he said: \"Our gracious lord and sovereign King\nhimself shall know of this, and how his laws are perverted and despised\nby this band of rebel outlaws. As for yon traitor Tinker, him will\nI hang, if I catch him, upon the very highest gallows tree in all\nNottinghamshire.\"\n\nThen he bade all his servants and retainers to make ready to go to\nLondon Town, to see and speak with the King.\n\nAt this there was bustling at the Sheriff's castle, and men ran hither\nand thither upon this business and upon that, while the forge fires of\nNottingham glowed red far into the night like twinkling stars, for\nall the smiths of the town were busy making or mending armor for the\nSheriff's troop of escort. For two days this labor lasted, then, on\nthe third, all was ready for the journey. So forth they started in the\nbright sunlight, from Nottingham Town to Fosse Way and thence to Watling\nStreet; and so they journeyed for two days, until they saw at last the\nspires and towers of great London Town; and many folks stopped, as\nthey journeyed along, and gazed at the show they made riding along the\nhighways with their flashing armor and gay plumes and trappings.\n\nIn London King Henry and his fair Queen Eleanor held their court, gay\nwith ladies in silks and satins and velvets and cloth of gold, and also\nbrave knights and gallant courtiers.\n\nThither came the Sheriff and was shown into the King's presence.\n\n\"A boon, a boon,\" quoth he, as he knelt upon the ground.\n\n\"Now what wouldst thou have?\" said the King. \"Let us hear what may be\nthy desires.\"\n\n\"O good my Lord and Sovereign,\" spake the Sheriff, \"in Sherwood Forest\nin our own good shire of Nottingham, liveth a bold outlaw whose name is\nRobin Hood.\"\n\n\"In good sooth,\" said the King, \"his doings have reached even our own\nroyal ears. He is a saucy, rebellious varlet, yet, I am fain to own, a\nright merry soul withal.\"\n\n\"But hearken, O my most gracious Sovereign,\" said the Sheriff. \"I sent\na warrant to him with thine own royal seal attached, by a right lusty\nknave, but he beat the messenger and stole the warrant. And he killeth\nthy deer and robbeth thine own liege subjects even upon the great\nhighways.\"\n\n\"Why, how now,\" quoth the King wrathfully. \"What wouldst thou have\nme do? Comest thou not to me with a great array of men-at-arms and\nretainers, and yet art not able to take a single band of lusty knaves\nwithout armor on breast, in thine own county! What wouldst thou have\nme do? Art thou not my Sheriff? Are not my laws in force in\nNottinghamshire? Canst thou not take thine own course against those that\nbreak the laws or do any injury to thee or thine? Go, get thee gone, and\nthink well; devise some plan of thine own, but trouble me no further.\nBut look well to it, Master Sheriff, for I will have my laws obeyed by\nall men within my kingdom, and if thou art not able to enforce them thou\nart no sheriff for me. So look well to thyself, I say, or ill may befall\nthee as well as all the thieving knaves in Nottinghamshire. When the\nflood cometh it sweepeth away grain as well as chaff.\"\n\nThen the Sheriff turned away with a sore and troubled heart, and sadly\nhe rued his fine show of retainers, for he saw that the King was angry\nbecause he had so many men about him and yet could not enforce the\nlaws. So, as they all rode slowly back to Nottingham, the Sheriff was\nthoughtful and full of care. Not a word did he speak to anyone, and no\none of his men spoke to him, but all the time he was busy devising some\nplan to take Robin Hood.\n\n\"Aha!\" cried he suddenly, smiting his hand upon his thigh \"I have it\nnow! Ride on, my merry men all, and let us get back to Nottingham Town\nas speedily as we may. And mark well my words: before a fortnight\nis passed, that evil knave Robin Hood will be safely clapped into\nNottingham gaol.\"\n\nBut what was the Sheriff's plan?\n\nAs a usurer takes each one of a bag of silver angels, feeling each coin\nto find whether it be clipped or not, so the Sheriff, as all rode slowly\nand sadly back toward Nottingham, took up thought after thought in turn,\nfeeling around the edges of each but finding in every one some flaw.\nAt last he thought of the daring soul of jolly Robin and how, as he the\nSheriff knew, he often came even within the walls of Nottingham.\n\n\"Now,\" thought the Sheriff, \"could I but persuade Robin nigh to\nNottingham Town so that I could find him, I warrant I would lay hands\nupon him so stoutly that he would never get away again.\" Then of a\nsudden it came to him like a flash that were he to proclaim a great\nshooting match and offer some grand prize, Robin Hood might be\noverpersuaded by his spirit to come to the butts; and it was this\nthought which caused him to cry \"Aha!\" and smite his palm upon his\nthigh.\n\nSo, as soon as he had returned safely to Nottingham, he sent messengers\nnorth and south, and east and west, to proclaim through town, hamlet,\nand countryside, this grand shooting match, and everyone was bidden that\ncould draw a longbow, and the prize was to be an arrow of pure beaten\ngold.\n\nWhen Robin Hood first heard the news of this he was in Lincoln Town, and\nhastening back to Sherwood Forest he soon called all his merry men about\nhim and spoke to them thus:\n\n\"Now hearken, my merry men all, to the news that I have brought from\nLincoln Town today. Our friend the Sheriff of Nottingham hath proclaimed\na shooting match, and hath sent messengers to tell of it through all the\ncountryside, and the prize is to be a bright golden arrow. Now I fain\nwould have one of us win it, both because of the fairness of the prize\nand because our sweet friend the Sheriff hath offered it. So we will\ntake our bows and shafts and go there to shoot, for I know right well\nthat merriment will be a-going. What say ye, lads?\"\n\nThen young David of Doncaster spoke up and said, \"Now listen, I pray\nthee, good master, unto what I say. I have come straight from our friend\nEadom o' the Blue Boar, and there I heard the full news of this same\nmatch. But, master, I know from him, and he got it from the Sheriff's\nman Ralph o' the Scar, that this same knavish Sheriff hath but laid a\ntrap for thee in this shooting match and wishes nothing so much as to\nsee thee there. So go not, good master, for I know right well he doth\nseek to beguile thee, but stay within the greenwood lest we all meet\ndole and woe.\"\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Robin, \"thou art a wise lad and keepest thine ears open and\nthy mouth shut, as becometh a wise and crafty woodsman. But shall we let\nit be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham did cow bold Robin Hood and\nsevenscore as fair archers as are in all merry England? Nay, good David,\nwhat thou tellest me maketh me to desire the prize even more than I else\nshould do. But what sayeth our good gossip Swanthold? Is it not 'A hasty\nman burneth his mouth, and the fool that keepeth his eyes shut falleth\ninto the pit'? Thus he says, truly, therefore we must meet guile with\nguile. Now some of you clothe yourselves as curtal friars, and some as\nrustic peasants, and some as tinkers, or as beggars, but see that each\nman taketh a good bow or broadsword, in case need should arise. As for\nmyself, I will shoot for this same golden arrow, and should I win it, we\nwill hang it to the branches of our good greenwood tree for the joy of\nall the band. How like you the plan, my merry men all?\"\n\nThen \"Good, good!\" cried all the band right heartily.\n\nA fair sight was Nottingham Town on the day of the shooting match. All\nalong upon the green meadow beneath the town wall stretched a row of\nbenches, one above the other, which were for knight and lady, squire and\ndame, and rich burghers and their wives; for none but those of rank and\nquality were to sit there. At the end of the range, near the target, was\na raised seat bedecked with ribbons and scarfs and garlands of flowers,\nfor the Sheriff of Nottingham and his dame. The range was twoscore\npaces broad. At one end stood the target, at the other a tent of\nstriped canvas, from the pole of which fluttered many-colored flags and\nstreamers. In this booth were casks of ale, free to be broached by any\nof the archers who might wish to quench their thirst.\n\nAcross the range from where the seats for the better folk were raised\nwas a railing to keep the poorer people from crowding in front of the\ntarget. Already, while it was early, the benches were beginning to fill\nwith people of quality, who kept constantly arriving in little carts or\nupon palfreys that curveted gaily to the merry tinkle of silver bells at\nbridle reins. With these came also the poorer folk, who sat or lay upon\nthe green grass near the railing that kept them from off the range.\nIn the great tent the archers were gathering by twos and threes; some\ntalking loudly of the fair shots each man had made in his day; some\nlooking well to their bows, drawing a string betwixt the fingers to see\nthat there was no fray upon it, or inspecting arrows, shutting one eye\nand peering down a shaft to see that it was not warped, but straight and\ntrue, for neither bow nor shaft should fail at such a time and for such\na prize. And never was such a company of yeomen as were gathered at\nNottingham Town that day, for the very best archers of merry England\nhad come to this shooting match. There was Gill o' the Red Cap, the\nSheriff's own head archer, and Diccon Cruikshank of Lincoln Town, and\nAdam o' the Dell, a man of Tamworth, of threescore years and more, yet\nhale and lusty still, who in his time had shot in the famous match\nat Woodstock, and had there beaten that renowned archer, Clym o' the\nClough. And many more famous men of the longbow were there, whose names\nhave been handed down to us in goodly ballads of the olden time.\n\nBut now all the benches were filled with guests, lord and lady, burgher\nand dame, when at last the Sheriff himself came with his lady, he riding\nwith stately mien upon his milk-white horse and she upon her brown\nfilly. Upon his head he wore a purple velvet cap, and purple velvet was\nhis robe, all trimmed about with rich ermine; his jerkin and hose were\nof sea-green silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the pointed toes\nfastened to his garters with golden chains. A golden chain hung about\nhis neck, and at his collar was a great carbuncle set in red gold. His\nlady was dressed in blue velvet, all trimmed with swan's down. So they\nmade a gallant sight as they rode along side by side, and all the people\nshouted from where they crowded across the space from the gentlefolk;\nso the Sheriff and his lady came to their place, where men-at-arms, with\nhauberk and spear, stood about, waiting for them.\n\nThen when the Sheriff and his dame had sat down, he bade his herald\nwind upon his silver horn; who thereupon sounded three blasts that\ncame echoing cheerily back from the gray walls of Nottingham. Then the\narchers stepped forth to their places, while all the folks shouted with\na mighty voice, each man calling upon his favorite yeoman. \"Red Cap!\"\ncried some; \"Cruikshank!\" cried others; \"Hey for William o' Leslie!\"\nshouted others yet again; while ladies waved silken scarfs to urge each\nyeoman to do his best.\n\nThen the herald stood forth and loudly proclaimed the rules of the game\nas follows:\n\n\"Shoot each man from yon mark, which is sevenscore yards and ten from\nthe target. One arrow shooteth each man first, and from all the archers\nshall the ten that shooteth the fairest shafts be chosen for to shoot\nagain. Two arrows shooteth each man of these ten, then shall the three\nthat shoot the fairest shafts be chosen for to shoot again. Three arrows\nshooteth each man of those three, and to him that shooteth the fairest\nshafts shall the prize be given.\"\n\nThen the Sheriff leaned forward, looking keenly among the press of\narchers to find whether Robin Hood was among them; but no one was\nthere clad in Lincoln green, such as was worn by Robin and his band.\n\"Nevertheless,\" said the Sheriff to himself, \"he may still be there, and\nI miss him among the crowd of other men. But let me see when but ten men\nshoot, for I wot he will be among the ten, or I know him not.\"\n\nAnd now the archers shot, each man in turn, and the good folk never saw\nsuch archery as was done that day. Six arrows were within the clout,\nfour within the black, and only two smote the outer ring; so that when\nthe last arrow sped and struck the target, all the people shouted aloud,\nfor it was noble shooting.\n\nAnd now but ten men were left of all those that had shot before, and\nof these ten, six were famous throughout the land, and most of the folk\ngathered there knew them. These six men were Gilbert o' the Red Cap,\nAdam o' the Dell, Diccon Cruikshank, William o' Leslie, Hubert o' Cloud,\nand Swithin o' Hertford. Two others were yeomen of merry Yorkshire,\nanother was a tall stranger in blue, who said he came from London Town,\nand the last was a tattered stranger in scarlet, who wore a patch over\none eye.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth the Sheriff to a man-at-arms who stood near him, \"seest\nthou Robin Hood among those ten?\"\n\n\"Nay, that do I not, Your Worship,\" answered the man. \"Six of them I\nknow right well. Of those Yorkshire yeomen, one is too tall and the\nother too short for that bold knave. Robin's beard is as yellow as gold,\nwhile yon tattered beggar in scarlet hath a beard of brown, besides\nbeing blind of one eye. As for the stranger in blue, Robin's shoulders,\nI ween, are three inches broader than his.\"\n\n\"Then,\" quoth the Sheriff, smiting his thigh angrily, \"yon knave is a\ncoward as well as a rogue, and dares not show his face among good men\nand true.\"\n\nThen, after they had rested a short time, those ten stout men stepped\nforth to shoot again. Each man shot two arrows, and as they shot, not\na word was spoken, but all the crowd watched with scarce a breath of\nsound; but when the last had shot his arrow another great shout arose,\nwhile many cast their caps aloft for joy of such marvelous shooting.\n\n\"Now by our gracious Lady fair,\" quoth old Sir Amyas o' the Dell, who,\nbowed with fourscore years and more, sat near the Sheriff, \"ne'er saw\nI such archery in all my life before, yet have I seen the best hands at\nthe longbow for threescore years and more.\"\n\nAnd now but three men were left of all those that had shot before. One\nwas Gill o' the Red Cap, one the tattered stranger in scarlet, and one\nAdam o' the Dell of Tamworth Town. Then all the people called aloud,\nsome crying, \"Ho for Gilbert o' the Red Cap!\" and some, \"Hey for stout\nAdam o' Tamworth!\" But not a single man in the crowd called upon the\nstranger in scarlet.\n\n\"Now, shoot thou well, Gilbert,\" cried the Sheriff, \"and if thine be the\nbest shaft, fivescore broad silver pennies will I give to thee beside\nthe prize.\"\n\n\"Truly I will do my best,\" quoth Gilbert right sturdily. \"A man cannot\ndo aught but his best, but that will I strive to do this day.\" So\nsaying, he drew forth a fair smooth arrow with a broad feather and\nfitted it deftly to the string, then drawing his bow with care he\nsped the shaft. Straight flew the arrow and lit fairly in the clout, a\nfinger's-breadth from the center. \"A Gilbert, a Gilbert!\" shouted all\nthe crowd; and, \"Now, by my faith,\" cried the Sheriff, smiting his hands\ntogether, \"that is a shrewd shot.\"\n\nThen the tattered stranger stepped forth, and all the people laughed as\nthey saw a yellow patch that showed beneath his arm when he raised his\nelbow to shoot, and also to see him aim with but one eye. He drew the\ngood yew bow quickly, and quickly loosed a shaft; so short was the time\nthat no man could draw a breath betwixt the drawing and the shooting;\nyet his arrow lodged nearer the center than the other by twice the\nlength of a barleycorn.\n\n\"Now by all the saints in Paradise!\" cried the Sheriff, \"that is a\nlovely shaft in very truth!\"\n\nThen Adam o' the Dell shot, carefully and cautiously, and his arrow\nlodged close beside the stranger's. Then after a short space they all\nthree shot again, and once more each arrow lodged within the clout, but\nthis time Adam o' the Dell's was farthest from the center, and again the\ntattered stranger's shot was the best. Then, after another time of rest,\nthey all shot for the third time. This time Gilbert took great heed to\nhis aim, keenly measuring the distance and shooting with shrewdest care.\nStraight flew the arrow, and all shouted till the very flags that\nwaved in the breeze shook with the sound, and the rooks and daws flew\nclamoring about the roofs of the old gray tower, for the shaft had\nlodged close beside the spot that marked the very center.\n\n\"Well done, Gilbert!\" cried the Sheriff right joyously. \"Fain am I\nto believe the prize is thine, and right fairly won. Now, thou ragged\nknave, let me see thee shoot a better shaft than that.\"\n\nNought spake the stranger but took his place, while all was hushed, and\nno one spoke or even seemed to breathe, so great was the silence\nfor wonder what he would do. Meanwhile, also, quite still stood the\nstranger, holding his bow in his hand, while one could count five; then\nhe drew his trusty yew, holding it drawn but a moment, then loosed the\nstring. Straight flew the arrow, and so true that it smote a gray goose\nfeather from off Gilbert's shaft, which fell fluttering through the\nsunlit air as the stranger's arrow lodged close beside his of the Red\nCap, and in the very center. No one spoke a word for a while and no one\nshouted, but each man looked into his neighbor's face amazedly.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth old Adam o' the Dell presently, drawing a long breath\nand shaking his head as he spoke, \"twoscore years and more have I shot\nshaft, and maybe not all times bad, but I shoot no more this day, for\nno man can match with yon stranger, whosoe'er he may be.\" Then he\nthrust his shaft into his quiver, rattling, and unstrung his bow without\nanother word.\n\nThen the Sheriff came down from his dais and drew near, in all his silks\nand velvets, to where the tattered stranger stood leaning upon his\nstout bow, while the good folk crowded around to see the man who shot so\nwondrously well. \"Here, good fellow,\" quoth the Sheriff, \"take thou\nthe prize, and well and fairly hast thou won it, I bow. What may be thy\nname, and whence comest thou?\"\n\n\"Men do call me Jock o' Teviotdale, and thence am I come,\" said the\nstranger.\n\n\"Then, by Our Lady, Jock, thou art the fairest archer that e'er mine\neyes beheld, and if thou wilt join my service I will clothe thee with a\nbetter coat than that thou hast upon thy back; thou shalt eat and drink\nof the best, and at every Christmastide fourscore marks shall be thy\nwage. I trow thou drawest better bow than that same coward knave Robin\nHood, that dared not show his face here this day. Say, good fellow, wilt\nthou join my service?\"\n\n\"Nay, that will I not,\" quoth the stranger roughly. \"I will be mine own,\nand no man in all merry England shall be my master.\"\n\n\"Then get thee gone, and a murrain seize thee!\" cried the Sheriff, and\nhis voice trembled with anger. \"And by my faith and troth, I have a good\npart of a mind to have thee beaten for thine insolence!\" Then he turned\nupon his heel and strode away.\n\nIt was a right motley company that gathered about the noble greenwood\ntree in Sherwood's depths that same day. A score and more of barefoot\nfriars were there, and some that looked like tinkers, and some that\nseemed to be sturdy beggars and rustic hinds; and seated upon a mossy\ncouch was one all clad in tattered scarlet, with a patch over one eye;\nand in his hand he held the golden arrow that was the prize of the great\nshooting match. Then, amidst a noise of talking and laughter, he took\nthe patch from off his eye and stripped away the scarlet rags from off\nhis body and showed himself all clothed in fair Lincoln green; and\nquoth he, \"Easy come these things away, but walnut stain cometh not so\nspeedily from yellow hair.\" Then all laughed louder than before, for it\nwas Robin Hood himself that had won the prize from the Sheriff's very\nhands.\n\nThen all sat down to the woodland feast and talked among themselves\nof the merry jest that had been played upon the Sheriff, and of the\nadventures that had befallen each member of the band in his disguise.\nBut when the feast was done, Robin Hood took Little John apart and said,\n\"Truly am I vexed in my blood, for I heard the Sheriff say today, 'Thou\nshootest better than that coward knave Robin Hood, that dared not show\nhis face here this day.' I would fain let him know who it was who won\nthe golden arrow from out his hand, and also that I am no coward such as\nhe takes me to be.\"\n\nThen Little John said, \"Good master, take thou me and Will Stutely, and\nwe will send yon fat Sheriff news of all this by a messenger such as he\ndoth not expect.\"\n\nThat day the Sheriff sat at meat in the great hall of his house\nat Nottingham Town. Long tables stood down the hall, at which sat\nmen-at-arms and household servants and good stout villains,(1) in all\nfourscore and more. There they talked of the day's shooting as they ate\ntheir meat and quaffed their ale. The Sheriff sat at the head of the\ntable upon a raised seat under a canopy, and beside him sat his dame.\n\n     (1) Bond-servants.\n\n\"By my troth,\" said he, \"I did reckon full roundly that that knave Robin\nHood would be at the game today. I did not think that he was such a\ncoward. But who could that saucy knave be who answered me to my beard\nso bravely? I wonder that I did not have him beaten; but there was\nsomething about him that spoke of other things than rags and tatters.\"\n\nThen, even as he finished speaking, something fell rattling among the\ndishes on the table, while those that sat near started up wondering\nwhat it might be. After a while one of the men-at-arms gathered courage\nenough to pick it up and bring it to the Sheriff. Then everyone saw\nthat it was a blunted gray goose shaft, with a fine scroll, about the\nthickness of a goose quill, tied near to its head. The Sheriff opened\nthe scroll and glanced at it, while the veins upon his forehead swelled\nand his cheeks grew ruddy with rage as he read, for this was what he\nsaw:\n\n     \"_Now Heaven bless Thy Grace this day\n     Say all in sweet Sherwood\n     For thou didst give the prize away\n     To merry Robin Hood_.\"\n\n\"Whence came this?\" cried the Sheriff in a mighty voice.\n\n\"Even through the window, Your Worship,\" quoth the man who had handed\nthe shaft to him.\n\n\n\n\nWill Stutely Rescued by His Companions\n\nNOW WHEN THE SHERIFF found that neither law nor guile could overcome\nRobin Hood, he was much perplexed, and said to himself, \"Fool that I am!\nHad I not told our King of Robin Hood, I would not have gotten myself\ninto such a coil; but now I must either take him captive or have wrath\nvisited upon my head from his most gracious Majesty. I have tried law,\nand I have tried guile, and I have failed in both; so I will try what\nmay be done with might.\"\n\nThus communing within himself, he called his constables together and\ntold them what was in his mind. \"Now take ye each four men, all armed\nin proof,\" said he, \"and get ye gone to the forest, at different points,\nand lie in wait for this same Robin Hood. But if any constable finds\ntoo many men against him, let him sound a horn, and then let each band\nwithin hearing come with all speed and join the party that calls them.\nThus, I think, shall we take this green-clad knave. Furthermore, to him\nthat first meeteth with Robin Hood shall one hundred pounds of silver\nmoney be given, if he be brought to me dead or alive; and to him that\nmeeteth with any of his band shall twoscore pounds be given, if such be\nbrought to me dead or alive. So, be ye bold and be ye crafty.\"\n\nSo thus they went in threescore companies of five to Sherwood Forest, to\ntake Robin Hood, each constable wishing that he might be the one to find\nthe bold outlaw, or at least one of his band. For seven days and nights\nthey hunted through the forest glades, but never saw so much as a single\nman in Lincoln green; for tidings of all this had been brought to Robin\nHood by trusty Eadom o' the Blue Boar.\n\nWhen he first heard the news, Robin said, \"If the Sheriff dare send\nforce to meet force, woe will it be for him and many a better man\nbesides, for blood will flow and there will be great trouble for all.\nBut fain would I shun blood and battle, and fain would I not deal sorrow\nto womenfolk and wives because good stout yeomen lose their lives. Once\nI slew a man, and never do I wish to slay a man again, for it is bitter\nfor the soul to think thereon. So now we will abide silently in Sherwood\nForest, so that it may be well for all, but should we be forced to\ndefend ourselves, or any of our band, then let each man draw bow and\nbrand with might and main.\"\n\nAt this speech many of the band shook their heads, and said to\nthemselves, \"Now the Sheriff will think that we are cowards, and folk\nwill scoff throughout the countryside, saying that we fear to meet these\nmen.\" But they said nothing aloud, swallowing their words and doing as\nRobin bade them.\n\nThus they hid in the depths of Sherwood Forest for seven days and seven\nnights and never showed their faces abroad in all that time; but early\nin the morning of the eighth day Robin Hood called the band together and\nsaid, \"Now who will go and find what the Sheriff's men are at by this\ntime? For I know right well they will not bide forever within Sherwood\nshades.\"\n\nAt this a great shout arose, and each man waved his bow aloft and cried\nthat he might be the one to go. Then Robin Hood's heart was proud when\nhe looked around on his stout, brave fellows, and he said, \"Brave and\ntrue are ye all, my merry men, and a right stout band of good fellows\nare ye, but ye cannot all go, so I will choose one from among you, and\nit shall be good Will Stutely, for he is as sly as e'er an old dog fox\nin Sherwood Forest.\"\n\nThen Will Stutely leaped high aloft and laughed loudly, clapping his\nhands for pure joy that he should have been chosen from among them all.\n\"Now thanks, good master,\" quoth he, \"and if I bring not news of those\nknaves to thee, call me no more thy sly Will Stutely.\"\n\nThen he clad himself in a friar's gown, and underneath the robe he hung\na good broadsword in such a place that he could easily lay hands upon\nit. Thus clad, he set forth upon his quest, until he came to the verge\nof the forest, and so to the highway. He saw two bands of the Sheriff's\nmen, yet he turned neither to the right nor the left, but only drew his\ncowl the closer over his face, folding his hands as if in meditation.\nSo at last he came to the Sign of the Blue Boar. \"For,\" quoth he to\nhimself, \"our good friend Eadom will tell me all the news.\"\n\nAt the Sign of the Blue Boar he found a band of the Sheriffs men\ndrinking right lustily; so, without speaking to anyone, he sat down upon\na distant bench, his staff in his hand, and his head bowed forward as\nthough he were meditating. Thus he sat waiting until he might see the\nlandlord apart, and Eadom did not know him, but thought him to be some\npoor tired friar, so he let him sit without saying a word to him or\nmolesting him, though he liked not the cloth. \"For,\" said he to himself,\n\"it is a hard heart that kicks the lame dog from off the sill.\" As\nStutely sat thus, there came a great house cat and rubbed against his\nknee, raising his robe a palm's-breadth high. Stutely pushed his robe\nquickly down again, but the constable who commanded the Sheriffs men\nsaw what had passed, and saw also fair Lincoln green beneath the friar's\nrobe. He said nothing at the time, but communed within himself in this\nwise: \"Yon is no friar of orders gray, and also, I wot, no honest yeoman\ngoeth about in priest's garb, nor doth a thief go so for nought. Now I\nthink in good sooth that is one of Robin Hood's own men.\" So, presently,\nhe said aloud, \"O holy father, wilt thou not take a good pot of March\nbeer to slake thy thirsty soul withal?\"\n\nBut Stutely shook his head silently, for he said to himself, \"Maybe\nthere be those here who know my voice.\"\n\nThen the constable said again, \"Whither goest thou, holy friar, upon\nthis hot summer's day?\"\n\n\"I go a pilgrim to Canterbury Town,\" answered Will Stutely, speaking\ngruffly, so that none might know his voice.\n\nThen the constable said, for the third time, \"Now tell me, holy father,\ndo pilgrims to Canterbury wear good Lincoln green beneath their robes?\nHa! By my faith, I take thee to be some lusty thief, and perhaps one of\nRobin Hood's own band! Now, by Our Lady's grace, if thou movest hand or\nfoot, I will run thee through the body with my sword!\"\n\nThen he flashed forth his bright sword and leaped upon Will Stutely,\nthinking he would take him unaware; but Stutely had his own sword\ntightly held in his hand, beneath his robe, so he drew it forth before\nthe constable came upon him. Then the stout constable struck a mighty\nblow; but he struck no more in all that fight, for Stutely, parrying the\nblow right deftly, smote the constable back again with all his might.\nThen he would have escaped, but could not, for the other, all dizzy with\nthe wound and with the flowing blood, seized him by the knees with his\narms even as he reeled and fell. Then the others rushed upon him, and\nStutely struck again at another of the Sheriff's men, but the steel\ncap glanced the blow, and though the blade bit deep, it did not kill.\nMeanwhile, the constable, fainting as he was, drew Stutely downward, and\nthe others, seeing the yeoman hampered so, rushed upon him again, and\none smote him a blow upon the crown so that the blood ran down his face\nand blinded him. Then, staggering, he fell, and all sprang upon him,\nthough he struggled so manfully that they could hardly hold him fast.\nThen they bound him with stout hempen cords so that he could not move\neither hand or foot, and thus they overcame him.\n\nRobin Hood stood under the greenwood tree, thinking of Will Stutely and\nhow he might be faring, when suddenly he saw two of his stout yeomen\ncome running down the forest path, and betwixt them ran buxom Maken\nof the Blue Boar. Then Robin's heart fell, for he knew they were the\nbearers of ill tidings.\n\n\"Will Stutely hath been taken,\" cried they, when they had come to where\nhe stood.\n\n\"And is it thou that hast brought such doleful news?\" said Robin to the\nlass.\n\n\"Ay, marry, for I saw it all,\" cried she, panting as the hare pants when\nit has escaped the hounds, \"and I fear he is wounded sore, for one smote\nhim main shrewdly i' the crown. They have bound him and taken him to\nNottingham Town, and ere I left the Blue Boar I heard that he should be\nhanged tomorrow day.\"\n\n\"He shall not be hanged tomorrow day,\" cried Robin; \"or, if he be,\nfull many a one shall gnaw the sod, and many shall have cause to cry\nAlack-a-day!\"\n\nThen he clapped his horn to his lips and blew three blasts right loudly,\nand presently his good yeomen came running through the greenwood until\nsevenscore bold blades were gathered around him.\n\n\"Now hark you all!\" cried Robin. \"Our dear companion Will Stutely hath\nbeen taken by that vile Sheriff's men, therefore doth it behoove us to\ntake bow and brand in hand to bring him off again; for I wot that we\nought to risk life and limb for him, as he hath risked life and limb for\nus. Is it not so, my merry men all?\" Then all cried, \"Ay!\" with a great\nvoice.\n\nSo the next day they all wended their way from Sherwood Forest, but by\ndifferent paths, for it behooved them to be very crafty; so the band\nseparated into parties of twos and threes, which were all to meet again\nin a tangled dell that lay near to Nottingham Town. Then, when they had\nall gathered together at the place of meeting, Robin spoke to them thus:\n\n\"Now we will lie here in ambush until we can get news, for it doth\nbehoove us to be cunning and wary if we would bring our friend Will\nStutely off from the Sheriff's clutches.\"\n\nSo they lay hidden a long time, until the sun stood high in the sky. The\nday was warm and the dusty road was bare of travelers, except an aged\npalmer who walked slowly along the highroad that led close beside\nthe gray castle wall of Nottingham Town. When Robin saw that no other\nwayfarer was within sight, he called young David of Doncaster, who was\na shrewd man for his years, and said to him, \"Now get thee forth, young\nDavid, and speak to yonder palmer that walks beside the town wall, for\nhe hath come but now from Nottingham Town, and may tell thee news of\ngood Stutely, perchance.\"\n\nSo David strode forth, and when he came up to the pilgrim, he saluted\nhim and said, \"Good morrow, holy father, and canst thou tell me when\nWill Stutely will be hanged upon the gallows tree? I fain would not miss\nthe sight, for I have come from afar to see so sturdy a rogue hanged.\"\n\n\"Now, out upon thee, young man,\" cried the Palmer, \"that thou shouldst\nspeak so when a good stout man is to be hanged for nothing but guarding\nhis own life!\" And he struck his staff upon the ground in anger. \"Alas,\nsay I, that this thing should be! For even this day, toward evening,\nwhen the sun falleth low, he shall be hanged, fourscore rods from the\ngreat town gate of Nottingham, where three roads meet; for there\nthe Sheriff sweareth he shall die as a warning to all outlaws in\nNottinghamshire. But yet, I say again, Alas! For, though Robin Hood and\nhis band may be outlaws, yet he taketh only from the rich and the strong\nand the dishonest man, while there is not a poor widow nor a peasant\nwith many children, nigh to Sherwood, but has barley flour enough all\nthe year long through him. It grieves my heart to see one as gallant as\nthis Stutely die, for I have been a good Saxon yeoman in my day, ere\nI turned palmer, and well I know a stout hand and one that smiteth\nshrewdly at a cruel Norman or a proud abbot with fat moneybags. Had good\nStutely's master but known how his man was compassed about with perils,\nperchance he might send succor to bring him out of the hand of his\nenemies.\n\n\"Ay, marry, that is true,\" cried the young man. \"If Robin and his men\nbe nigh this place, I wot right well they will strive to bring him forth\nfrom his peril. But fare thee well, thou good old man, and believe me,\nif Will Stutely die, he shall be right well avenged.\"\n\nThen he turned and strode rapidly away; but the Palmer looked after him,\nmuttering, \"I wot that youth is no country hind that hath come to see\na good man die. Well, well, perchance Robin Hood is not so far away\nbut that there will be stout doings this day.\" So he went upon his way,\nmuttering to himself.\n\nWhen David of Doncaster told Robin Hood what the Palmer had said to him,\nRobin called the band around him and spoke to them thus:\n\n\"Now let us get straightway into Nottingham Town and mix ourselves with\nthe people there; but keep ye one another in sight, pressing as near\nthe prisoner and his guards as ye can, when they come outside the walls.\nStrike no man without need, for I would fain avoid bloodshed, but if ye\ndo strike, strike hard, and see that there be no need to strike again.\nThen keep all together until we come again to Sherwood, and let no man\nleave his fellows.\"\n\nThe sun was low in the western sky when a bugle note sounded from the\ncastle wall. Then all was bustle in Nottingham Town and crowds filled\nthe streets, for all knew that the famous Will Stutely was to be hanged\nthat day. Presently the castle gates opened wide and a great array of\nmen-at-arms came forth with noise and clatter, the Sheriff, all clad in\nshining mail of linked chain, riding at their head. In the midst of all\nthe guard, in a cart, with a halter about his neck, rode Will Stutely.\nHis face was pale with his wound and with loss of blood, like the moon\nin broad daylight, and his fair hair was clotted in points upon his\nforehead, where the blood had hardened. When he came forth from the\ncastle he looked up and he looked down, but though he saw some faces\nthat showed pity and some that showed friendliness, he saw none that\nhe knew. Then his heart sank within him like a plummet of lead, but\nnevertheless he spoke up boldly.\n\n\"Give a sword into my hand, Sir Sheriff,\" said he, \"and wounded man\nthough I be, I will fight thee and all thy men till life and strength be\ngone.\"\n\n\"Nay, thou naughty varlet,\" quoth the Sheriff, turning his head and\nlooking right grimly upon Will Stutely, \"thou shalt have no sword but\nshall die a mean death, as beseemeth a vile thief like thee.\"\n\n\"Then do but untie my hands and I will fight thee and thy men with no\nweapon but only my naked fists. I crave no weapon, but let me not be\nmeanly hanged this day.\"\n\nThen the Sheriff laughed aloud. \"Why, how now,\" quoth he, \"is thy proud\nstomach quailing? Shrive thyself, thou vile knave, for I mean that thou\nshalt hang this day, and that where three roads meet, so that all men\nshall see thee hang, for carrion crows and daws to peck at.\"\n\n\"O thou dastard heart!\" cried Will Stutely, gnashing his teeth at the\nSheriff. \"Thou coward hind! If ever my good master meet thee thou shalt\npay dearly for this day's work! He doth scorn thee, and so do all brave\nhearts. Knowest thou not that thou and thy name are jests upon the lips\nof every brave yeoman? Such a one as thou art, thou wretched craven,\nwill never be able to subdue bold Robin Hood.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried the Sheriff in a rage, \"is it even so? Am I a jest with thy\nmaster, as thou callest him? Now I will make a jest of thee and a sorry\njest withal, for I will quarter thee limb from limb, after thou art\nhanged.\" Then he spurred his horse forward and said no more to Stutely.\n\nAt last they came to the great town gate, through which Stutely saw the\nfair country beyond, with hills and dales all clothed in verdure, and\nfar away the dusky line of Sherwood's skirts. Then when he saw the\nslanting sunlight lying on field and fallow, shining redly here and\nthere on cot and farmhouse, and when he heard the sweet birds singing\ntheir vespers, and the sheep bleating upon the hillside, and beheld the\nswallows flying in the bright air, there came a great fullness to his\nheart so that all things blurred to his sight through salt tears, and he\nbowed his head lest the folk should think him unmanly when they saw\nthe tears in his eyes. Thus he kept his head bowed till they had passed\nthrough the gate and were outside the walls of the town. But when he\nlooked up again he felt his heart leap within him and then stand still\nfor pure joy, for he saw the face of one of his own dear companions of\nmerry Sherwood; then glancing quickly around he saw well-known faces\nupon all sides of him, crowding closely upon the men-at-arms who were\nguarding him. Then of a sudden the blood sprang to his cheeks, for he\nsaw for a moment his own good master in the press and, seeing him, knew\nthat Robin Hood and all his band were there. Yet betwixt him and them\nwas a line of men-at-arms.\n\n\"Now, stand back!\" cried the Sheriff in a mighty voice, for the crowd\npressed around on all sides. \"What mean ye, varlets, that ye push upon\nus so? Stand back, I say!\"\n\nThen came a bustle and a noise, and one strove to push between the\nmen-at-arms so as to reach the cart, and Stutely saw that it was Little\nJohn that made all that stir.\n\n\"Now stand thou back!\" cried one of the men-at-arms whom Little John\npushed with his elbows.\n\n\"Now stand thou back thine own self,\" quoth Little John, and straightway\nsmote the man a buffet beside his head that felled him as a butcher\nfells an ox, and then he leaped to the cart where Stutely sat.\n\n\"I pray thee take leave of thy friends ere thou diest, Will,\" quoth he,\n\"or maybe I will die with thee if thou must die, for I could never have\nbetter company.\" Then with one stroke he cut the bonds that bound the\nother's arms and legs, and Stutely leaped straightway from the cart.\n\n\"Now as I live,\" cried the Sheriff, \"yon varlet I know right well is a\nsturdy rebel! Take him, I bid you all, and let him not go!\"\n\nSo saying, he spurred his horse upon Little John, and rising in his\nstirrups smote with might and main, but Little John ducked quickly\nunderneath the horse's belly and the blow whistled harmlessly over his\nhead.\n\n\"Nay, good Sir Sheriff,\" cried he, leaping up again when the blow had\npassed, \"I must e'en borrow thy most worshipful sword.\" Thereupon he\ntwitched the weapon deftly from out the Sheriff's hand, \"Here, Stutely,\"\nhe cried, \"the Sheriff hath lent thee his sword! Back to back with me,\nman, and defend thyself, for help is nigh!\"\n\n\"Down with them!\" bellowed the Sheriff in a voice like an angry bull;\nand he spurred his horse upon the two who now stood back to back,\nforgetting in his rage that he had no weapon with which to defend\nhimself.\n\n\"Stand back, Sheriff!\" cried Little John; and even as he spoke, a bugle\nhorn sounded shrilly and a clothyard shaft whistled within an inch of\nthe Sheriff's head. Then came a swaying hither and thither, and oaths,\ncries, and groans, and clashing of steel, and swords flashed in the\nsetting sun, and a score of arrows whistled through the air. And some\ncried, \"Help, help!\" and some, \"A rescue, a rescue!\"\n\n\"Treason!\" cried the Sheriff in a loud voice. \"Bear back! Bear back!\nElse we be all dead men!\" Thereupon he reined his horse backward through\nthe thickest of the crowd.\n\nNow Robin Hood and his band might have slain half of the Sheriff's men\nhad they desired to do so, but they let them push out of the press and\nget them gone, only sending a bunch of arrows after them to hurry them\nin their flight.\n\n\"Oh stay!\" shouted Will Stutely after the Sheriff. \"Thou wilt never\ncatch bold Robin Hood if thou dost not stand to meet him face to face.\"\nBut the Sheriff, bowing along his horse's back, made no answer but only\nspurred the faster.\n\nThen Will Stutely turned to Little John and looked him in the face till\nthe tears ran down from his eyes and he wept aloud; and kissing his\nfriend's cheeks, \"O Little John!\" quoth he, \"mine own true friend, and\nhe that I love better than man or woman in all the world beside!\nLittle did I reckon to see thy face this day, or to meet thee this side\nParadise.\" Little John could make no answer, but wept also.\n\nThen Robin Hood gathered his band together in a close rank, with Will\nStutely in the midst, and thus they moved slowly away toward Sherwood,\nand were gone, as a storm cloud moves away from the spot where a tempest\nhas swept the land. But they left ten of the Sheriff's men lying along\nthe ground wounded--some more, some less--yet no one knew who smote them\ndown.\n\nThus the Sheriff of Nottingham tried thrice to take Robin Hood and\nfailed each time; and the last time he was frightened, for he felt how\nnear he had come to losing his life; so he said, \"These men fear neither\nGod nor man, nor king nor king's officers. I would sooner lose mine\noffice than my life, so I will trouble them no more.\" So he kept close\nwithin his castle for many a day and dared not show his face outside of\nhis own household, and all the time he was gloomy and would speak to no\none, for he was ashamed of what had happened that day.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood Turns Butcher\n\nNOW AFTER all these things had happened, and it became known to Robin\nHood how the Sheriff had tried three times to make him captive, he said\nto himself, \"If I have the chance, I will make our worshipful Sheriff\npay right well for that which he hath done to me. Maybe I may bring him\nsome time into Sherwood Forest and have him to a right merry feast with\nus.\" For when Robin Hood caught a baron or a squire, or a fat abbot or\nbishop, he brought them to the greenwood tree and feasted them before he\nlightened their purses.\n\nBut in the meantime Robin Hood and his band lived quietly in Sherwood\nForest, without showing their faces abroad, for Robin knew that it would\nnot be wise for him to be seen in the neighborhood of Nottingham, those\nin authority being very wroth with him. But though they did not go\nabroad, they lived a merry life within the woodlands, spending the days\nin shooting at garlands hung upon a willow wand at the end of the glade,\nthe leafy aisles ringing with merry jests and laughter: for whoever\nmissed the garland was given a sound buffet, which, if delivered by\nLittle John, never failed to topple over the unfortunate yeoman. Then\nthey had bouts of wrestling and of cudgel play, so that every day they\ngained in skill and strength.\n\nThus they dwelled for nearly a year, and in that time Robin Hood often\nturned over in his mind many means of making an even score with the\nSheriff. At last he began to fret at his confinement; so one day he took\nup his stout cudgel and set forth to seek adventure, strolling blithely\nalong until he came to the edge of Sherwood. There, as he rambled along\nthe sunlit road, he met a lusty young butcher driving a fine mare and\nriding in a stout new cart, all hung about with meat. Merrily whistled\nthe Butcher as he jogged along, for he was going to the market, and the\nday was fresh and sweet, making his heart blithe within him.\n\n\"Good morrow to thee, jolly fellow,\" quoth Robin, \"thou seemest happy\nthis merry morn.\"\n\n\"Ay, that am I,\" quoth the jolly Butcher, \"and why should I not be so?\nAm I not hale in wind and limb? Have I not the bonniest lass in all\nNottinghamshire? And lastly, am I not to be married to her on Thursday\nnext in sweet Locksley Town?\"\n\n\"Ha,\" said Robin, \"comest thou from Locksley Town? Well do I know that\nfair place for miles about, and well do I know each hedgerow and gentle\npebbly stream, and even all the bright little fishes therein, for\nthere I was born and bred. Now, where goest thou with thy meat, my fair\nfriend?\"\n\n\"I go to the market at Nottingham Town to sell my beef and my mutton,\"\nanswered the Butcher. \"But who art thou that comest from Locksley Town?\"\n\n\"A yeoman am I, and men do call me Robin Hood.\"\n\n\"Now, by Our Lady's grace,\" cried the Butcher, \"well do I know thy name,\nand many a time have I heard thy deeds both sung and spoken of. But\nHeaven forbid that thou shouldst take aught of me! An honest man am I,\nand have wronged neither man nor maid; so trouble me not, good master,\nas I have never troubled thee.\"\n\n\"Nay, Heaven forbid, indeed,\" quoth Robin, \"that I should take from such\nas thee, jolly fellow! Not so much as one farthing would I take\nfrom thee, for I love a fair Saxon face like thine right well--more\nespecially when it cometh from Locksley Town, and most especially when\nthe man that owneth it is to marry a bonny lass on Thursday next. But\ncome, tell me for what price thou wilt sell me all of thy meat and thy\nhorse and cart.\"\n\n\"At four marks do I value meat, cart, and mare,\" quoth the Butcher, \"but\nif I do not sell all my meat I will not have four marks in value.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood plucked the purse from his girdle, and quoth he, \"Here\nin this purse are six marks. Now, I would fain be a butcher for the day\nand sell my meat in Nottingham Town. Wilt thou close a bargain with me\nand take six marks for thine outfit?\"\n\n\"Now may the blessings of all the saints fall on thine honest head!\"\ncried the Butcher right joyfully, as he leaped down from his cart and\ntook the purse that Robin held out to him.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, laughing loudly, \"many do like me and wish me well,\nbut few call me honest. Now get thee gone back to thy lass, and give her\na sweet kiss from me.\" So saying, he donned the Butcher's apron, and,\nclimbing into the cart, he took the reins in his hand and drove off\nthrough the forest to Nottingham Town.\n\nWhen he came to Nottingham, he entered that part of the market where\nbutchers stood, and took up his inn(2) in the best place he could find.\nNext, he opened his stall and spread his meat upon the bench, then,\ntaking his cleaver and steel and clattering them together, he trolled\naloud in merry tones:\n\n     (2) Stand for selling.\n\n     \"Now come, ye lasses, and eke ye dames,\n     And buy your meat from me;\n     For three pennyworths of meat I sell\n     For the charge of one penny.\n\n     \"Lamb have I that hath fed upon nought\n     But the dainty dames pied,\n     And the violet sweet, and the daffodil\n     That grow fair streams beside.\n\n     \"And beef have I from the heathery words,\n     And mutton from dales all green,\n     And veal as white as a maiden's brow,\n     With its mother's milk, I ween.\n\n     \"Then come, ye lasses, and eke ye dames,\n     Come, buy your meat from me,\n     For three pennyworths of meat I sell\n     For the charge of one penny.\"\n\nThus he sang blithely, while all who stood near listened amazedly. Then,\nwhen he had finished, he clattered the steel and cleaver still more\nloudly, shouting lustily, \"Now, who'll buy? Who'll buy? Four fixed\nprices have I. Three pennyworths of meat I sell to a fat friar or priest\nfor sixpence, for I want not their custom; stout aldermen I charge\nthreepence, for it doth not matter to me whether they buy or not; to\nbuxom dames I sell three pennyworths of meat for one penny for I like\ntheir custom well; but to the bonny lass that hath a liking for a good\ntight butcher I charge nought but one fair kiss, for I like her custom\nthe best of all.\"\n\nThen all began to stare and wonder and crowd around, laughing, for never\nwas such selling heard of in all Nottingham Town; but when they came to\nbuy they found it as he had said, for he gave goodwife or dame as much\nmeat for one penny as they could buy elsewhere for three, and when a\nwidow or a poor woman came to him, he gave her flesh for nothing; but\nwhen a merry lass came and gave him a kiss, he charged not one penny for\nhis meat; and many such came to his stall, for his eyes were as blue as\nthe skies of June, and he laughed merrily, giving to each full measure.\nThus he sold his meat so fast that no butcher that stood near him could\nsell anything.\n\nThen they began to talk among themselves, and some said, \"This must be\nsome thief who has stolen cart, horse, and meat;\" but others said, \"Nay,\nwhen did ye ever see a thief who parted with his goods so freely and\nmerrily? This must be some prodigal who hath sold his father's land, and\nwould fain live merrily while the money lasts.\" And these latter being\nthe greater number, the others came round, one by one to their way of\nthinking.\n\nThen some of the butchers came to him to make his acquaintance. \"Come,\nbrother,\" quoth one who was the head of them all, \"we be all of one\ntrade, so wilt thou go dine with us? For this day the Sheriff hath asked\nall the Butcher Guild to feast with him at the Guild Hall. There will\nbe stout fare and much to drink, and that thou likest, or I much mistake\nthee.\"\n\n\"Now, beshrew his heart,\" quoth jolly Robin, \"that would deny a butcher.\nAnd, moreover, I will go dine with you all, my sweet lads, and that as\nfast as I can hie.\" Whereupon, having sold all his meat, he closed his\nstall and went with them to the great Guild Hall.\n\nThere the Sheriff had already come in state, and with him many butchers.\nWhen Robin and those that were with him came in, all laughing at some\nmerry jest he had been telling them, those that were near the Sheriff\nwhispered to him, \"Yon is a right mad blade, for he hath sold more meat\nfor one penny this day than we could sell for three, and to whatsoever\nmerry lass gave him a kiss he gave meat for nought.\" And others said,\n\"He is some prodigal that hath sold his land for silver and gold, and\nmeaneth to spend all right merrily.\"\n\nThen the Sheriff called Robin to him, not knowing him in his butcher's\ndress, and made him sit close to him on his right hand; for he loved a\nrich young prodigal--especially when he thought that he might lighten\nthat prodigal's pockets into his own most worshipful purse. So he made\nmuch of Robin, and laughed and talked with him more than with any of the\nothers.\n\nAt last the dinner was ready to be served and the Sheriff bade Robin say\ngrace, so Robin stood up and said, \"Now Heaven bless us all and eke good\nmeat and good sack within this house, and may all butchers be and remain\nas honest men as I am.\"\n\nAt this all laughed, the Sheriff loudest of all, for he said to himself,\n\"Surely this is indeed some prodigal, and perchance I may empty his\npurse of some of the money that the fool throweth about so freely.\" Then\nhe spake aloud to Robin, saying, \"Thou art a jolly young blade, and I\nlove thee mightily;\" and he smote Robin upon the shoulder.\n\nThen Robin laughed loudly too. \"Yea,\" quoth he, \"I know thou dost love\na jolly blade, for didst thou not have jolly Robin Hood at thy shooting\nmatch and didst thou not gladly give him a bright golden arrow for his\nown?\"\n\nAt this the Sheriff looked grave and all the guild of butchers too, so\nthat none laughed but Robin, only some winked slyly at each other.\n\n\"Come, fill us some sack!\" cried Robin. \"Let us e'er be merry while we\nmay, for man is but dust, and he hath but a span to live here till the\nworm getteth him, as our good gossip Swanthold sayeth; so let life be\nmerry while it lasts, say I. Nay, never look down i' the mouth, Sir\nSheriff. Who knowest but that thou mayest catch Robin Hood yet, if thou\ndrinkest less good sack and Malmsey, and bringest down the fat about thy\npaunch and the dust from out thy brain. Be merry, man.\"\n\nThen the Sheriff laughed again, but not as though he liked the jest,\nwhile the butchers said, one to another, \"Before Heaven, never have\nwe seen such a mad rollicking blade. Mayhap, though, he will make the\nSheriff mad.\"\n\n\"How now, brothers,\" cried Robin, \"be merry! nay, never count over your\nfarthings, for by this and by that I will pay this shot myself, e'en\nthough it cost two hundred pounds. So let no man draw up his lip, nor\nthrust his forefinger into his purse, for I swear that neither butcher\nnor Sheriff shall pay one penny for this feast.\"\n\n\"Now thou art a right merry soul,\" quoth the Sheriff, \"and I wot thou\nmust have many a head of horned beasts and many an acre of land, that\nthou dost spend thy money so freely.\"\n\n\"Ay, that have I,\" quoth Robin, laughing loudly again, \"five hundred and\nmore horned beasts have I and my brothers, and none of them have we been\nable to sell, else I might not have turned butcher. As for my land, I\nhave never asked my steward how many acres I have.\"\n\nAt this the Sheriff's eyes twinkled, and he chuckled to himself. \"Nay,\ngood youth,\" quoth he, \"if thou canst not sell thy cattle, it may be I\nwill find a man that will lift them from thy hands; perhaps that man may\nbe myself, for I love a merry youth and would help such a one along the\npath of life. Now how much dost thou want for thy horned cattle?\"\n\n\"Well,\" quoth Robin, \"they are worth at least five hundred pounds.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" answered the Sheriff slowly, and as if he were thinking within\nhimself, \"well do I love thee, and fain would I help thee along, but\nfive hundred pounds in money is a good round sum; besides I have it not\nby me. Yet I will give thee three hundred pounds for them all, and that\nin good hard silver and gold.\"\n\n\"Now thou old miser!\" quoth Robin, \"well thou knowest that so many\nhorned cattle are worth seven hundred pounds and more, and even that is\nbut small for them, and yet thou, with thy gray hairs and one foot in\nthe grave, wouldst trade upon the folly of a wild youth.\"\n\nAt this the Sheriff looked grimly at Robin. \"Nay,\" quoth Robin, \"look\nnot on me as though thou hadst sour beer in thy mouth, man. I will take\nthine offer, for I and my brothers do need the money. We lead a merry\nlife, and no one leads a merry life for a farthing, so I will close\nthe bargain with thee. But mind that thou bringest a good three hundred\npounds with thee, for I trust not one that driveth so shrewd a bargain.\"\n\n\"I will bring the money,\" said the Sheriff. \"But what is thy name, good\nyouth?\"\n\n\"Men call me Robert o' Locksley,\" quoth bold Robin.\n\n\"Then, good Robert o' Locksley,\" quoth the Sheriff, \"I will come this\nday to see thy horned beasts. But first my clerk shall draw up a paper\nin which thou shalt be bound to the sale, for thou gettest not my money\nwithout I get thy beasts in return.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood laughed again. \"So be it,\" he said, smiting his palm\nupon the Sheriff's hand. \"Truly my brothers will be thankful to thee for\nthy money.\"\n\nThus the bargain was closed, but many of the butchers talked among\nthemselves of the Sheriff, saying that it was but a scurvy trick to\nbeguile a poor spendthrift youth in this way.\n\nThe afternoon had come when the Sheriff mounted his horse and joined\nRobin Hood, who stood outside the gateway of the paved court waiting for\nhim, for he had sold his horse and cart to a trader for two marks. Then\nthey set forth upon their way, the Sheriff riding upon his horse and\nRobin running beside him. Thus they left Nottingham Town and traveled\nforward along the dusty highway, laughing and jesting together as though\nthey had been old friends. But all the time the Sheriff said within\nhimself, \"Thy jest to me of Robin Hood shall cost thee dear, good\nfellow, even four hundred pounds, thou fool.\" For he thought he would\nmake at least that much by his bargain.\n\nSo they journeyed onward till they came within the verge of Sherwood\nForest, when presently the Sheriff looked up and down and to the right\nand to the left of him, and then grew quiet and ceased his laughter.\n\"Now,\" quoth he, \"may Heaven and its saints preserve us this day from a\nrogue men call Robin Hood.\"\n\nThen Robin laughed aloud. \"Nay,\" said he, \"thou mayst set thy mind at\nrest, for well do I know Robin Hood and well do I know that thou art in\nno more danger from him this day than thou art from me.\"\n\nAt this the Sheriff looked askance at Robin, saying to himself, \"I like\nnot that thou seemest so well acquainted with this bold outlaw, and I\nwish that I were well out of Sherwood Forest.\"\n\nBut still they traveled deeper into the forest shades, and the deeper\nthey went, the more quiet grew the Sheriff. At last they came to where\nthe road took a sudden bend, and before them a herd of dun deer went\ntripping across the path. Then Robin Hood came close to the Sheriff and\npointing his finger, he said, \"These are my horned beasts, good Master\nSheriff. How dost thou like them? Are they not fat and fair to see?\"\n\nAt this the Sheriff drew rein quickly. \"Now fellow,\" quoth he, \"I would\nI were well out of this forest, for I like not thy company. Go thou\nthine own path, good friend, and let me but go mine.\"\n\nBut Robin only laughed and caught the Sheriff's bridle rein. \"Nay,\"\ncried he, \"stay awhile, for I would thou shouldst see my brothers, who\nown these fair horned beasts with me.\" So saying, he clapped his bugle\nto his mouth and winded three merry notes, and presently up the path\ncame leaping fivescore good stout yeomen with Little John at their head.\n\n\"What wouldst thou have, good master?\" quoth Little John.\n\n\"Why,\" answered Robin, \"dost thou not see that I have brought goodly\ncompany to feast with us today? Fye, for shame! Do you not see our good\nand worshipful master, the Sheriff of Nottingham? Take thou his bridle,\nLittle John, for he has honored us today by coming to feast with us.\"\n\nThen all doffed their hats humbly, without smiling or seeming to be in\njest, while Little John took the bridle rein and led the palfrey still\ndeeper into the forest, all marching in order, with Robin Hood walking\nbeside the Sheriff, hat in hand.\n\nAll this time the Sheriff said never a word but only looked about him\nlike one suddenly awakened from sleep; but when he found himself going\nwithin the very depths of Sherwood his heart sank within him, for he\nthought, \"Surely my three hundred pounds will be taken from me, even\nif they take not my life itself, for I have plotted against their lives\nmore than once.\" But all seemed humble and meek and not a word was said\nof danger, either to life or money.\n\nSo at last they came to that part of Sherwood Forest where a noble oak\nspread its branches wide, and beneath it was a seat all made of moss, on\nwhich Robin sat down, placing the Sheriff at his right hand. \"Now busk\nye, my merry men all,\" quoth he, \"and bring forth the best we have,\nboth of meat and wine, for his worship the Sheriff hath feasted me in\nNottingham Guild Hall today, and I would not have him go back empty.\"\n\nAll this time nothing had been said of the Sheriff's money, so presently\nhe began to pluck up heart. \"For,\" said he to himself, \"maybe Robin Hood\nhath forgotten all about it.\"\n\nThen, while beyond in the forest bright fires crackled and savory smells\nof sweetly roasting venison and fat capons filled the glade, and brown\npasties warmed beside the blaze, did Robin Hood entertain the Sheriff\nright royally. First, several couples stood forth at quarterstaff, and\nso shrewd were they at the game, and so quickly did they give stroke\nand parry, that the Sheriff, who loved to watch all lusty sports of\nthe kind, clapped his hands, forgetting where he was, and crying aloud,\n\"Well struck! Well struck, thou fellow with the black beard!\" little\nknowing that the man he called upon was the Tinker that tried to serve\nhis warrant upon Robin Hood.\n\nThen several yeomen came forward and spread cloths upon the green grass,\nand placed a royal feast; while others still broached barrels of sack\nand Malmsey and good stout ale, and set them in jars upon the cloth,\nwith drinking horns about them. Then all sat down and feasted and drank\nmerrily together until the sun was low and the half-moon glimmered with\na pale light betwixt the leaves of the trees overhead.\n\nThen the Sheriff arose and said, \"I thank you all, good yeomen, for the\nmerry entertainment ye have given me this day. Right courteously have ye\nused me, showing therein that ye have much respect for our glorious King\nand his deputy in brave Nottinghamshire. But the shadows grow long,\nand I must away before darkness comes, lest I lose myself within the\nforest.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood and all his merry men arose also, and Robin said to the\nSheriff, \"If thou must go, worshipful sir, go thou must; but thou hast\nforgotten one thing.\"\n\n\"Nay, I forgot nought,\" said the Sheriff; yet all the same his heart\nsank within him.\n\n\"But I say thou hast forgot something,\" quoth Robin. \"We keep a merry\ninn here in the greenwood, but whoever becometh our guest must pay his\nreckoning.\"\n\nThen the Sheriff laughed, but the laugh was hollow. \"Well, jolly boys,\"\nquoth he, \"we have had a merry time together today, and even if ye had\nnot asked me, I would have given you a score of pounds for the sweet\nentertainment I have had.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin seriously, \"it would ill beseem us to treat Your\nWorship so meanly. By my faith, Sir Sheriff, I would be ashamed to show\nmy face if I did not reckon the King's deputy at three hundred pounds.\nIs it not so, my merry men all?\"\n\nThen \"Ay!\" cried all, in a loud voice.\n\n\"Three hundred devils!\" roared the Sheriff. \"Think ye that your beggarly\nfeast was worth three pounds, let alone three hundred?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin gravely. \"Speak not so roundly, Your Worship. I\ndo love thee for the sweet feast thou hast given me this day in merry\nNottingham Town; but there be those here who love thee not so much. If\nthou wilt look down the cloth thou wilt see Will Stutely, in whose eyes\nthou hast no great favor; then two other stout fellows are there here\nthat thou knowest not, that were wounded in a brawl nigh Nottingham\nTown, some time ago--thou wottest when; one of them was sore hurt in one\narm, yet he hath got the use of it again. Good Sheriff, be advised by\nme; pay thy score without more ado, or maybe it may fare ill with thee.\"\n\nAs he spoke the Sheriff's ruddy cheeks grew pale, and he said nothing\nmore but looked upon the ground and gnawed his nether lip. Then slowly\nhe drew forth his fat purse and threw it upon the cloth in front of him.\n\n\"Now take the purse, Little John,\" quoth Robin Hood, \"and see that the\nreckoning be right. We would not doubt our Sheriff, but he might not\nlike it if he should find he had not paid his full score.\"\n\nThen Little John counted the money and found that the bag held three\nhundred pounds in silver and gold. But to the Sheriff it seemed as if\nevery clink of the bright money was a drop of blood from his veins. And\nwhen he saw it all counted out in a heap of silver and gold, filling a\nwooden platter, he turned away and silently mounted his horse.\n\n\"Never have we had so worshipful a guest before!\" quoth Robin, \"and, as\nthe day waxeth late, I will send one of my young men to guide thee out\nof the forest depths.\"\n\n\"Nay, Heaven forbid!\" cried the Sheriff hastily. \"I can find mine own\nway, good man, without aid.\"\n\n\"Then I will put thee on the right track mine own self,\" quoth Robin,\nand, taking the Sheriff's horse by the bridle rein, he led him into the\nmain forest path. Then, before he let him go, he said, \"Now, fare thee\nwell, good Sheriff, and when next thou thinkest to despoil some poor\nprodigal, remember thy feast in Sherwood Forest. 'Ne'er buy a horse,\ngood friend, without first looking into its mouth,' as our good gaffer\nSwanthold says. And so, once more, fare thee well.\" Then he clapped\nhis hand to the horse's back, and off went nag and Sheriff through the\nforest glades.\n\nThen bitterly the Sheriff rued the day that first he meddled with Robin\nHood, for all men laughed at him and many ballads were sung by folk\nthroughout the country, of how the Sheriff went to shear and came home\nshorn to the very quick. For thus men sometimes overreach themselves\nthrough greed and guile.\n\n\n\n\nLittle John Goes to Nottingham Fair\n\nSPRING HAD GONE since the Sheriff's feast in Sherwood, and summer also,\nand the mellow month of October had come. All the air was cool and\nfresh; the harvests were gathered home, the young birds were full\nfledged, the hops were plucked, and apples were ripe. But though time\nhad so smoothed things over that men no longer talked of the horned\nbeasts that the Sheriff wished to buy, he was still sore about the\nmatter and could not bear to hear Robin Hood's name spoken in his\npresence.\n\nWith October had come the time for holding the great Fair which was\ncelebrated every five years at Nottingham Town, to which folk came from\nfar and near throughout the country. At such times archery was always\nthe main sport of the day, for the Nottinghamshire yeomen were the best\nhand at the longbow in all merry England, but this year the Sheriff\nhesitated a long time before he issued proclamation of the Fair, fearing\nlest Robin Hood and his band might come to it. At first he had a great\npart of a mind not to proclaim the Fair, but second thought told him\nthat men would laugh at him and say among themselves that he was afraid\nof Robin Hood, so he put that thought by. At last he fixed in his mind\nthat he would offer such a prize as they would not care to shoot for.\nAt such times it had been the custom to offer a half score of marks or\na tun of ale, so this year he proclaimed that a prize of two fat steers\nshould be given to the best bowman.\n\nWhen Robin Hood heard what had been proclaimed he was vexed, and said,\n\"Now beshrew this Sheriff that he should offer such a prize that none\nbut shepherd hinds will care to shoot for it! I would have loved nothing\nbetter than to have had another bout at merry Nottingham Town, but if I\nshould win this prize nought would it pleasure or profit me.\"\n\nThen up spoke Little John: \"Nay, but hearken, good master,\" said he,\n\"only today Will Stutely, young David of Doncaster, and I were at the\nSign of the Blue Boar, and there we heard all the news of this merry\nFair, and also that the Sheriff hath offered this prize, that we of\nSherwood might not care to come to the Fair; so, good master, if thou\nwilt, I would fain go and strive to win even this poor thing among the\nstout yeomen who will shoot at Nottingham Town.\"\n\n\"Nay, Little John,\" quoth Robin, \"thou art a sound stout fellow, yet\nthou lackest the cunning that good Stutely hath, and I would not have\nharm befall thee for all Nottinghamshire. Nevertheless, if thou wilt go,\ntake some disguise lest there be those there who may know thee.\"\n\n\"So be it, good master,\" quoth Little John, \"yet all the disguise that I\nwish is a good suit of scarlet instead of this of Lincoln green. I will\ndraw the cowl of my jacket about my head so that it will hide my brown\nhair and beard, and then, I trust, no one will know me.\"\n\n\"It is much against my will,\" said Robin Hood, \"ne'ertheless, if thou\ndost wish it, get thee gone, but bear thyself seemingly, Little John,\nfor thou art mine own right-hand man and I could ill bear to have harm\nbefall thee.\"\n\nSo Little John clad himself all in scarlet and started off to the Fair\nat Nottingham Town.\n\nRight merry were these Fair days at Nottingham, when the green before\nthe great town gate was dotted with booths standing in rows, with\ntents of many-colored canvas, hung about with streamers and garlands\nof flowers, and the folk came from all the countryside, both gentle\nand common. In some booths there was dancing to merry music, in others\nflowed ale and beer, and in others yet again sweet cakes and barley\nsugar were sold; and sport was going outside the booths also, where some\nminstrel sang ballads of the olden time, playing a second upon the harp,\nor where the wrestlers struggled with one another within the sawdust\nring, but the people gathered most of all around a raised platform where\nstout fellows played at quarterstaff.\n\nSo Little John came to the Fair. All scarlet were his hose and jerkin,\nand scarlet was his cowled cap, with a scarlet feather stuck in the side\nof it. Over his shoulders was slung a stout bow of yew, and across his\nback hung a quiver of good round arrows. Many turned to look after such\na stout, tall fellow, for his shoulders were broader by a palm's-breadth\nthan any that were there, and he stood a head taller than all the other\nmen. The lasses, also, looked at him askance, thinking they had never\nseen a lustier youth.\n\nFirst of all he went to the booth where stout ale was sold and, standing\naloft on a bench, he called to all that were near to come and drink\nwith him. \"Hey, sweet lads!\" cried he \"who will drink ale with a stout\nyeoman? Come, all! Come, all! Let us be merry, for the day is sweet and\nthe ale is tingling. Come hither, good yeoman, and thou, and thou;\nfor not a farthing shall one of you pay. Nay, turn hither, thou lusty\nbeggar, and thou jolly tinker, for all shall be merry with me.\"\n\nThus he shouted, and all crowded around, laughing, while the brown ale\nflowed; and they called Little John a brave fellow, each swearing that\nhe loved him as his own brother; for when one has entertainment with\nnothing to pay, one loves the man that gives it to one.\n\nThen he strolled to the platform where they were at cudgel play, for he\nloved a bout at quarterstaff as he loved meat and drink; and here befell\nan adventure that was sung in ballads throughout the mid-country for\nmany a day.\n\nOne fellow there was that cracked crowns of everyone who threw cap into\nthe ring. This was Eric o' Lincoln, of great renown, whose name had been\nsung in ballads throughout the countryside. When Little John reached the\nstand he found none fighting, but only bold Eric walking up and down the\nplatform, swinging his staff and shouting lustily, \"Now, who will\ncome and strike a stroke for the lass he loves the best, with a good\nLincolnshire yeoman? How now, lads? Step up! Step up! Or else the\nlasses' eyes are not bright hereabouts, or the blood of Nottingham youth\nis sluggish and cold. Lincoln against Nottingham, say I! For no one hath\nput foot upon the boards this day such as we of Lincoln call a cudgel\nplayer.\"\n\nAt this, one would nudge another with his elbow, saying, \"Go thou,\nNed!\" or \"Go thou, Thomas!\" but no lad cared to gain a cracked crown for\nnothing.\n\nPresently Eric saw where Little John stood among the others, a head and\nshoulders above them all, and he called to him loudly, \"Halloa, thou\nlong-legged fellow in scarlet! Broad are thy shoulders and thick thy\nhead; is not thy lass fair enough for thee to take cudgel in hand for\nher sake? In truth, I believe that Nottingham men do turn to bone and\nsinew, for neither heart nor courage have they! Now, thou great lout,\nwilt thou not twirl staff for Nottingham?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" quoth Little John, \"had I but mine own good staff here, it would\npleasure me hugely to crack thy knave's pate, thou saucy braggart! I wot\nit would be well for thee an thy cock's comb were cut!\" Thus he spoke,\nslowly at first, for he was slow to move; but his wrath gathered headway\nlike a great stone rolling down a hill, so that at the end he was full\nof anger.\n\nThen Eric o' Lincoln laughed aloud. \"Well spoken for one who fears to\nmeet me fairly, man to man,\" said he. \"Saucy art thou thine own self,\nand if thou puttest foot upon these boards, I will make thy saucy tongue\nrattle within thy teeth!\"\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Little John, \"is there never a man here that will lend me\na good stout staff till I try the mettle of yon fellow?\" At this, half a\nscore reached him their staves, and he took the stoutest and heaviest of\nthem all. Then, looking up and down the cudgel, he said, \"Now, I have in\nmy hand but a splint of wood--a barley straw, as it were--yet I trow it\nwill have to serve me, so here goeth.\" Thereupon he cast the cudgel\nupon the stand and, leaping lightly after it, snatched it up in his hand\nagain.\n\nThen each man stood in his place and measured the other with fell looks\nuntil he that directed the sport cried, \"Play!\" At this they stepped\nforth, each grasping his staff tightly in the middle. Then those that\nstood around saw the stoutest game of quarterstaff that e'er Nottingham\nTown beheld. At first Eric o' Lincoln thought that he would gain an easy\nadvantage, so he came forth as if he would say, \"Watch, good people, how\nthat I carve you this cockerel right speedily;\" but he presently found\nit to be no such speedy matter. Right deftly he struck, and with great\nskill of fence, but he had found his match in Little John. Once, twice,\nthrice, he struck, and three times Little John turned the blows to the\nleft hand and to the right. Then quickly and with a dainty backhanded\nblow, he rapped Eric beneath his guard so shrewdly that it made his head\nring again. Then Eric stepped back to gather his wits, while a great\nshout went up and all were glad that Nottingham had cracked Lincoln's\ncrown; and thus ended the first bout of the game.\n\nThen presently the director of the sport cried, \"Play!\" and they came\ntogether again; but now Eric played warily, for he found his man was of\nright good mettle, and also he had no sweet memory of the blow that he\nhad got; so this bout neither Little John nor the Lincoln man caught\na stroke within his guard. Then, after a while, they parted again, and\nthis made the second bout.\n\nThen for the third time they came together, and at first Eric strove to\nbe wary, as he had been before; but, growing mad at finding himself so\nfoiled, he lost his wits and began to rain blows so fiercely and so fast\nthat they rattled like hail on penthouse roof; but, in spite of all, he\ndid not reach within Little John's guard. Then at last Little John saw\nhis chance and seized it right cleverly. Once more, with a quick blow,\nhe rapped Eric beside the head, and ere he could regain himself, Little\nJohn slipped his right hand down to his left and, with a swinging blow,\nsmote the other so sorely upon the crown that down he fell as though he\nwould never move again.\n\nThen the people shouted so loud that folk came running from all about to\nsee what was the ado; while Little John leaped down from the stand and\ngave the staff back to him that had lent it to him. And thus ended the\nfamous bout between Little John and Eric o' Lincoln of great renown.\n\nBut now the time had come when those who were to shoot with the longbow\nwere to take their places, so the people began flocking to the butts\nwhere the shooting was to be. Near the target, in a good place, sat the\nSheriff upon a raised dais, with many gentlefolk around him. When the\narchers had taken their places, the herald came forward and proclaimed\nthe rules of the game, and how each should shoot three shots, and to him\nthat should shoot the best the prize of two fat steers was to belong.\nA score of brave shots were gathered there, and among them some of the\nkeenest hands at the longbow in Lincoln and Nottinghamshire; and among\nthem Little John stood taller than all the rest. \"Who is yon stranger\nclad all in scarlet?\" said some, and others answered, \"It is he that\nhath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric o' Lincoln.\" Thus\nthe people talked among themselves, until at last it reached even the\nSheriff's ears.\n\nAnd now each man stepped forward and shot in turn; but though each shot\nwell, Little John was the best of all, for three times he struck the\nclout, and once only the length of a barleycorn from the center. \"Hey\nfor the tall archer!\" shouted the crowd, and some among them shouted,\n\"Hey for Reynold Greenleaf!\" for this was the name that Little John had\ncalled himself that day.\n\nThen the Sheriff stepped down from the raised seat and came to where\nthe archers stood, while all doffed their caps that saw him coming. He\nlooked keenly at Little John but did not know him, though he said, after\na while, \"How now, good fellow, methinks there is that about thy face\nthat I have seen erewhile.\"\n\n\"Mayhap it may be so,\" quoth Little John, \"for often have I seen Your\nWorship.\" And, as he spoke, he looked steadily into the Sheriff's eyes\nso that the latter did not suspect who he was.\n\n\"A brave blade art thou, good friend,\" said the Sheriff, \"and I hear\nthat thou hast well upheld the skill of Nottinghamshire against that of\nLincoln this day. What may be thy name, good fellow?\"\n\n\"Men do call me Reynold Greenleaf, Your Worship,\" said Little John; and\nthe old ballad that tells of this, adds, \"So, in truth, was he a green\nleaf, but of what manner of tree the Sheriff wotted not.\"\n\n\"Now, Reynold Greenleaf,\" quoth the Sheriff, \"thou art the fairest hand\nat the longbow that mine eyes ever beheld, next to that false knave,\nRobin Hood, from whose wiles Heaven forfend me! Wilt thou join my\nservice, good fellow? Thou shalt be paid right well, for three suits of\nclothes shalt thou have a year, with good food and as much ale as\nthou canst drink; and, besides this, I will pay thee forty marks each\nMichaelmastide.\"\n\n\"Then here stand I a free man, and right gladly will I enter thy\nhousehold,\" said Little John, for he thought he might find some merry\njest, should he enter the Sheriff's service.\n\n\"Fairly hast thou won the fat steers,\" said the Sheriff, \"and hereunto\nI will add a butt of good March beer, for joy of having gotten such a\nman; for, I wot, thou shootest as fair a shaft as Robin Hood himself.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Little John, \"for joy of having gotten myself into thy\nservice, I will give fat steers and brown ale to all these good folk, to\nmake them merry withal.\" At this arose a great shout, many casting their\ncaps aloft, for joy of the gift.\n\nThen some built great fires and roasted the steers, and others broached\nthe butt of ale, with which all made themselves merry. Then, when they\nhad eaten and drunk as much as they could, and when the day faded and\nthe great moon arose, all red and round, over the spires and towers of\nNottingham Town, they joined hands and danced around the fires, to the\nmusic of bagpipes and harps. But long before this merrymaking had begun,\nthe Sheriff and his new servant Reynold Greenleaf were in the Castle of\nNottingham.\n\n\n\n\nHow Little John Lived at the Sheriff's\n\nTHUS LITTLE JOHN entered into the Sheriff's service and found the life\nhe led there easy enough, for the Sheriff made him his right-hand man\nand held him in great favor. He sat nigh the Sheriff at meat, and he ran\nbeside his horse when he went a-hunting; so that, what with hunting and\nhawking a little, and eating rich dishes and drinking good sack, and\nsleeping until late hours in the morning, he grew as fat as a stall-fed\nox. Thus things floated easily along with the tide, until one day when\nthe Sheriff went a-hunting, there happened that which broke the smooth\nsurface of things.\n\nThis morning the Sheriff and many of his men set forth to meet certain\nlords, to go a-hunting. He looked all about him for his good man,\nReynold Greenleaf, but, not finding him, was vexed, for he wished to\nshow Little John's skill to his noble friends. As for Little John, he\nlay abed, snoring lustily, till the sun was high in the heavens. At\nlast he opened his eyes and looked about him but did not move to arise.\nBrightly shone the sun in at the window, and all the air was sweet with\nthe scent of woodbine that hung in sprays about the wall without, for\nthe cold winter was past and spring was come again, and Little John lay\nstill, thinking how sweet was everything on this fair morn. Just then he\nheard, faint and far away, a distant bugle note sounding thin and clear.\nThe sound was small, but, like a little pebble dropped into a glassy\nfountain, it broke all the smooth surface of his thoughts, until his\nwhole soul was filled with disturbance. His spirit seemed to awaken\nfrom its sluggishness, and his memory brought back to him all the merry\ngreenwood life--how the birds were singing blithely there this bright\nmorning, and how his loved companions and friends were feasting and\nmaking merry, or perhaps talking of him with sober speech; for when\nhe first entered the Sheriff's service he did so in jest; but the\nhearthstone was warm during the winter, and the fare was full, and so\nhe had abided, putting off from day to day his going back to Sherwood,\nuntil six long months had passed. But now he thought of his good master\nand of Will Stutely, whom he loved better than anyone in all the world,\nand of young David of Doncaster, whom he had trained so well in all\nmanly sports, till there came over his heart a great and bitter longing\nfor them all, so that his eyes filled with tears. Then he said aloud,\n\"Here I grow fat like a stall-fed ox and all my manliness departeth from\nme while I become a sluggard and dolt. But I will arouse me and go back\nto mine own dear friends once more, and never will I leave them again\ntill life doth leave my lips.\" So saying, he leaped from bed, for he\nhated his sluggishness now.\n\nWhen he came downstairs he saw the Steward standing near the pantry\ndoor--a great, fat man, with a huge bundle of keys hanging to his\ngirdle. Then Little John said, \"Ho, Master Steward, a hungry man am I,\nfor nought have I had for all this blessed morn. Therefore, give me to\neat.\"\n\nThen the Steward looked grimly at him and rattled the keys in his\ngirdle, for he hated Little John because he had found favor with the\nSheriff. \"So, Master Reynold Greenleaf, thou art anhungered, art thou?\"\nquoth he. \"But, fair youth, if thou livest long enough, thou wilt find\nthat he who getteth overmuch sleep for an idle head goeth with an empty\nstomach. For what sayeth the old saw, Master Greenleaf? Is it not 'The\nlate fowl findeth but ill faring'?\"\n\n\"Now, thou great purse of fat!\" cried Little John, \"I ask thee not for\nfool's wisdom, but for bread and meat. Who art thou, that thou shouldst\ndeny me to eat? By Saint Dunstan, thou hadst best tell me where my\nbreakfast is, if thou wouldst save broken bones!\"\n\n\"Thy breakfast, Master Fireblaze, is in the pantry,\" answered the\nSteward.\n\n\"Then fetch it hither!\" cried Little John, who waxed angry by this time.\n\n\"Go thou and fetch it thine own self,\" quoth the Steward. \"Am I thy\nslave, to fetch and carry for thee?\"\n\n\"I say, go thou, bring it me!\"\n\n\"I say, go thou, fetch it for thyself!\"\n\n\"Ay, marry, that will I, right quickly!\" quoth Little John in a rage.\nAnd, so saying, he strode to the pantry and tried to open the door but\nfound it locked, whereat the Steward laughed and rattled his keys. Then\nthe wrath of Little John boiled over, and, lifting his clenched fist, he\nsmote the pantry door, bursting out three panels and making so large an\nopening that he could easily stoop and walk through it.\n\nWhen the Steward saw what was done, he waxed mad with rage; and, as\nLittle John stooped to look within the pantry, he seized him from behind\nby the nape of the neck, pinching him sorely and smiting him over the\nhead with his keys till the yeoman's ears rang again. At this Little\nJohn turned upon the Steward and smote him such a buffet that the fat\nman fell to the floor and lay there as though he would never move again.\n\"There,\" quoth Little John, \"think well of that stroke and never keep a\ngood breakfast from a hungry man again.\"\n\nSo saying, he crept into the pantry and looked about him to see if he\ncould find something to appease his hunger. He saw a great venison pasty\nand two roasted capons, beside which was a platter of plover's eggs;\nmoreover, there was a flask of sack and one of canary--a sweet sight\nto a hungry man. These he took down from the shelves and placed upon a\nsideboard, and prepared to make himself merry.\n\nNow the Cook, in the kitchen across the courtyard, heard the loud\ntalking between Little John and the Steward, and also the blow that\nLittle John struck the other, so he came running across the court and up\nthe stairway to where the Steward's pantry was, bearing in his hands the\nspit with the roast still upon it. Meanwhile the Steward had gathered\nhis wits about him and risen to his feet, so that when the Cook came\nto the Steward's pantry he saw him glowering through the broken door at\nLittle John, who was making ready for a good repast, as one dog glowers\nat another that has a bone. When the Steward saw the Cook, he came to\nhim, and, putting one arm over his shoulder, \"Alas, sweet friend!\" quoth\nhe--for the Cook was a tall, stout man--\"seest thou what that vile knave\nReynold Greenleaf hath done? He hath broken in upon our master's goods,\nand hath smitten me a buffet upon the ear, so that I thought I was dead.\nGood Cook, I love thee well, and thou shalt have a good pottle of our\nmaster's best wine every day, for thou art an old and faithful servant.\nAlso, good Cook, I have ten shillings that I mean to give as a gift\nto thee. But hatest thou not to see a vile upstart like this Reynold\nGreenleaf taking it upon him so bravely?\"\n\n\"Ay, marry, that do I,\" quoth the Cook boldly, for he liked the Steward\nbecause of his talk of the wine and of the ten shillings. \"Get thee gone\nstraightway to thy room, and I will bring out this knave by his ears.\"\nSo saying, he laid aside his spit and drew the sword that hung by his\nside; whereupon the Steward left as quickly as he could, for he hated\nthe sight of naked steel.\n\nThen the Cook walked straightway to the broken pantry door, through\nwhich he saw Little John tucking a napkin beneath his chin and preparing\nto make himself merry.\n\n\"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf?\" said the Cook, \"thou art no better\nthan a thief, I wot. Come thou straight forth, man, or I will carve thee\nas I would carve a sucking pig.\"\n\n\"Nay, good Cook, bear thou thyself more seemingly, or else I will come\nforth to thy dole. At most times I am as a yearling lamb, but when one\ncometh between me and my meat, I am a raging lion, as it were.\"\n\n\"Lion or no lion,\" quoth the valorous Cook, \"come thou straight forth,\nelse thou art a coward heart as well as a knavish thief.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Little John, \"coward's name have I never had; so, look to\nthyself, good Cook, for I come forth straight, the roaring lion I did\nspeak of but now.\"\n\nThen he, too, drew his sword and came out of the pantry; then, putting\nthemselves into position, they came slowly together, with grim and angry\nlooks; but suddenly Little John lowered his point. \"Hold, good Cook!\"\nsaid he. \"Now, I bethink me it were ill of us to fight with good\nvictuals standing so nigh, and such a feast as would befit two stout\nfellows such as we are. Marry, good friend, I think we should enjoy this\nfair feast ere we fight. What sayest thou, jolly Cook?\"\n\nAt this speech the Cook looked up and down, scratching his head in\ndoubt, for he loved good feasting. At last he drew a long breath and\nsaid to Little John, \"Well, good friend, I like thy plan right well; so,\npretty boy, say I, let us feast, with all my heart, for one of us may\nsup in Paradise before nightfall.\"\n\nSo each thrust his sword back into the scabbard and entered the pantry.\nThen, after they had seated themselves, Little John drew his dagger and\nthrust it into the pie. \"A hungry man must be fed,\" quoth he, \"so,\nsweet chuck, I help myself without leave.\" But the Cook did not lag far\nbehind, for straightway his hands also were deeply thrust within the\ngoodly pasty. After this, neither of them spoke further, but used their\nteeth to better purpose. But though neither spoke, they looked at one\nanother, each thinking within himself that he had never seen a more\nlusty fellow than the one across the board.\n\nAt last, after a long time had passed, the Cook drew a full, deep\nbreath, as though of much regret, and wiped his hands upon the napkin,\nfor he could eat no more. Little John, also, had enough, for he pushed\nthe pasty aside, as though he would say, \"I want thee by me no more,\ngood friend.\" Then he took the pottle of sack, and said he, \"Now,\ngood fellow, I swear by all that is bright, that thou art the stoutest\ncompanion at eating that ever I had. Lo! I drink thy health.\" So saying,\nhe clapped the flask to his lips and cast his eyes aloft, while the good\nwine flooded his throat. Then he passed the pottle to the Cook, who also\nsaid, \"Lo, I drink thy health, sweet fellow!\" Nor was he behind Little\nJohn in drinking any more than in eating.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Little John, \"thy voice is right round and sweet, jolly\nlad. I doubt not thou canst sing a ballad most blithely; canst thou\nnot?\"\n\n\"Truly, I have trolled one now and then,\" quoth the Cook, \"yet I would\nnot sing alone.\"\n\n\"Nay, truly,\" said Little John, \"that were but ill courtesy. Strike up\nthy ditty, and I will afterward sing one to match it, if I can.\n\n\"So be it, pretty boy,\" quoth the Cook. \"And hast thou e'er heard the\nsong of the Deserted Shepherdess?\"\n\n\"Truly, I know not,\" answered Little John, \"but sing thou and let me\nhear.\"\n\nThen the Cook took another draught from the pottle, and, clearing his\nthroat, sang right sweetly:\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE DESERTED SHEPHERDESS\n\n     \"_In Lententime, when leaves wax green,\n     And pretty birds begin to mate,\n     When lark cloth sing, and thrush, I ween,\n     And stockdove cooeth soon and late,\n     Fair Phillis sat beside a stone,\n     And thus I heard her make her moan:\n     'O willow, willow, willow, willow!\n     I'll take me of thy branches fair\n     And twine a wreath to deck my hair.\n\n     \"'The thrush hath taken him a she,\n     The robin, too, and eke the dove;\n     My Robin hath deserted me,\n     And left me for another love.\n     So here, by brookside, all alone,\n     I sit me down and make my moan.\n     O willow, willow, willow, willow!\n     I'll take me of thy branches fair\n     And twine a wreath to deck my hair.'\n\n     \"But ne'er came herring from the sea,\n     But good as he were in the tide;\n     Young Corydon came o'er the lea,\n     And sat him Phillis down beside.\n     So, presently, she changed her tone,\n     And 'gan to cease her from her moan,\n     'O willow, willow, willow, willow!\n     Thou mayst e'en keep thy garlands fair,\n     I want them not to deck my hair_.'\"\n\n\"Now, by my faith,\" cried Little John, \"that same is a right good song,\nand hath truth in it, also.\"\n\n\"Glad am I thou likest it, sweet lad,\" said the Cook. \"Now sing thou one\nalso, for ne'er should a man be merry alone, or sing and list not.\"\n\n\"Then I will sing thee a song of a right good knight of Arthur's court,\nand how he cured his heart's wound without running upon the dart again,\nas did thy Phillis; for I wot she did but cure one smart by giving\nherself another. So, list thou while I sing:\"\n\n\nTHE GOOD KNIGHT AND HIS LOVE\n\n     \"_When Arthur, King, did rule this land,\n     A goodly king was he,\n     And had he of stout knights a band\n     Of merry company.\n\n     \"Among them all, both great and small,\n     A good stout knight was there,\n     A lusty childe, and eke a tall,\n     That loved a lady fair.\n\n     \"But nought would she to do with he,\n     But turned her face away;\n     So gat he gone to far countrye,\n     And left that lady gay.\n\n     \"There all alone he made his moan,\n     And eke did sob and sigh,\n     And weep till it would move a stone,\n     And he was like to die.\n\n     \"But still his heart did feel the smart,\n     And eke the dire distress,\n     And rather grew his pain more sharp\n     As grew his body less.\n\n     \"Then gat he back where was good sack\n     And merry com panye,\n     And soon did cease to cry 'Alack!'\n     When blithe and gay was he.\n\n     \"From which I hold, and feel full bold\n     To say, and eke believe,\n     That gin the belly go not cold\n     The heart will cease to grieve_.\"\n\n\"Now, by my faith,\" cried the Cook, as he rattled the pottle against\nthe sideboard, \"I like that same song hugely, and eke the motive of it,\nwhich lieth like a sweet kernel in a hazelnut.\"\n\n\"Now thou art a man of shrewd opinions,\" quoth Little John, \"and I love\nthee truly as thou wert my brother.\"\n\n\"And I love thee, too. But the day draweth on, and I have my cooking to\ndo ere our master cometh home; so let us e'en go and settle this brave\nfight we have in hand.\"\n\n\"Ay, marry,\" quoth Little John, \"and that right speedily. Never have I\nbeen more laggard in fighting than in eating and drinking. So come thou\nstraight forth into the passageway, where there is good room to swing a\nsword, and I will try to serve thee.\"\n\nThen they both stepped forth into the broad passage that led to the\nSteward's pantry, where each man drew his sword again and without more\nado fell upon the other as though he would hew his fellow limb from\nlimb. Then their swords clashed upon one another with great din, and\nsparks flew from each blow in showers. So they fought up and down the\nhall for an hour and more, neither striking the other a blow, though\nthey strove their best to do so; for both were skillful at the fence;\nso nothing came of all their labor. Ever and anon they rested, panting;\nthen, after getting their wind, at it they would go again more fiercely\nthan ever. At last Little John cried aloud, \"Hold, good Cook!\" whereupon\neach rested upon his sword, panting.\n\n\"Now will I make my vow,\" quoth Little John, \"thou art the very best\nswordsman that ever mine eyes beheld. Truly, I had thought to carve thee\nere now.\"\n\n\"And I had thought to do the same by thee,\" quoth the Cook, \"but I have\nmissed the mark somehow.\"\n\n\"Now I have been thinking within myself,\" quoth Little John, \"what we\nare fighting for; but albeit I do not rightly know.\"\n\n\"Why, no more do I,\" said the Cook. \"I bear no love for that pursy\nSteward, but I thought that we had engaged to fight with one another and\nthat it must be done.\"\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Little John, \"it doth seem to me that instead of striving\nto cut one another's throats, it were better for us to be boon\ncompanions. What sayst thou, jolly Cook, wilt thou go with me to\nSherwood Forest and join with Robin Hood's band? Thou shalt live a merry\nlife within the woodlands, and sevenscore good companions shalt thou\nhave, one of whom is mine own self. Thou shalt have three suits of\nLincoln green each year, and forty marks in pay.\"\n\n\"Now, thou art a man after mine own heart!\" cried the Cook right\nheartily, \"and, as thou speakest of it, that is the very service for\nme. I will go with thee, and that right gladly. Give me thy palm, sweet\nfellow, and I will be thine own companion from henceforth. What may be\nthy name, lad?\"\n\n\"Men do call me Little John, good fellow.\"\n\n\"How? And art thou indeed Little John, and Robin Hood's own right-hand\nman? Many a time and oft I heard of thee, but never did I hope to set\neyes upon thee. And thou art indeed the famous Little John!\" And the\nCook seemed lost in amazement, and looked upon his companion with open\neyes.\n\n\"I am Little John, indeed, and I will bring to Robin Hood this day a\nright stout fellow to join his merry band. But ere we go, good friend,\nit seemeth to me to be a vast pity that, as we have had so much of the\nSheriff's food, we should not also carry off some of his silver plate to\nRobin Hood, as a present from his worship.\"\n\n\"Ay, marry is it,\" said the Cook. And so they began hunting about, and\ntook as much silver as they could lay hands upon, clapping it into\na bag, and when they had filled the sack they set forth to Sherwood\nForest.\n\nPlunging into the woods, they came at last to the greenwood tree, where\nthey found Robin Hood and threescore of his merry men lying upon the\nfresh green grass. When Robin and his men saw who it was that came, they\nleaped to their feet. \"Now welcome!\" cried Robin Hood. \"Now welcome,\nLittle John! For long hath it been since we have heard from thee, though\nwe all knew that thou hadst joined the Sheriff's service. And how hast\nthou fared all these long days?\"\n\n\"Right merrily have I lived at the Lord Sheriff's,\" answered Little\nJohn, \"and I have come straight thence. See, good master! I have brought\nthee his cook, and even his silver plate.\" Thereupon he told Robin Hood\nand his merry men that were there, all that had befallen him since he\nhad left them to go to the Fair at Nottingham Town. Then all shouted\nwith laughter, except Robin Hood; but he looked grave.\n\n\"Nay, Little John,\" said he, \"thou art a brave blade and a trusty\nfellow. I am glad thou hast brought thyself back to us, and with such a\ngood companion as the Cook, whom we all welcome to Sherwood. But I like\nnot so well that thou hast stolen the Sheriff's plate like some paltry\nthief. The Sheriff hath been punished by us, and hath lost three hundred\npounds, even as he sought to despoil another; but he hath done nought\nthat we should steal his household plate from him.\"\n\nThough Little John was vexed with this, he strove to pass it off with a\njest. \"Nay, good master,\" quoth he, \"if thou thinkest the Sheriff gave\nus not the plate, I will fetch him, that he may tell us with his own\nlips he giveth it all to us.\" So saying he leaped to his feet, and was\ngone before Robin could call him back.\n\nLittle John ran for full five miles till he came to where the Sheriff of\nNottingham and a gay company were hunting near the forest. When Little\nJohn came to the Sheriff he doffed his cap and bent his knee. \"God save\nthee, good master,\" quoth he.\n\n\"Why, Reynold Greenleaf!\" cried the Sheriff, \"whence comest thou and\nwhere hast thou been?\"\n\n\"I have been in the forest,\" answered Little John, speaking amazedly,\n\"and there I saw a sight such as ne'er before man's eyes beheld! Yonder\nI saw a young hart all in green from top to toe, and about him was a\nherd of threescore deer, and they, too, were all of green from head to\nfoot. Yet I dared not shoot, good master, for fear lest they should slay\nme.\"\n\n\"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf,\" cried the Sheriff, \"art thou dreaming\nor art thou mad, that thou dost bring me such, a tale?\"\n\n\"Nay, I am not dreaming nor am I mad,\" said Little John, \"and if thou\nwilt come with me, I will show thee this fair sight, for I have seen\nit with mine own eyes. But thou must come alone, good master, lest the\nothers frighten them and they get away.\"\n\nSo the party all rode forward, and Little John led them downward into\nthe forest.\n\n\"Now, good master,\" quoth he at last, \"we are nigh where I saw this\nherd.\"\n\nThen the Sheriff descended from his horse and bade them wait for him\nuntil he should return; and Little John led him forward through a close\ncopse until suddenly they came to a great open glade, at the end of\nwhich Robin Hood sat beneath the shade of the great oak tree, with his\nmerry men all about him. \"See, good Master Sheriff,\" quoth Little John,\n\"yonder is the hart of which I spake to thee.\"\n\nAt this the Sheriff turned to Little John and said bitterly, \"Long ago\nI thought I remembered thy face, but now I know thee. Woe betide thee,\nLittle John, for thou hast betrayed me this day.\"\n\nIn the meantime Robin Hood had come to them. \"Now welcome, Master\nSheriff,\" said he. \"Hast thou come today to take another feast with me?\"\n\n\"Nay, Heaven forbid!\" said the Sheriff in tones of deep earnest. \"I care\nfor no feast and have no hunger today.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" quoth Robin, \"if thou hast no hunger, maybe thou hast\nthirst, and well I know thou wilt take a cup of sack with me. But I am\ngrieved that thou wilt not feast with me, for thou couldst have victuals\nto thy liking, for there stands thy Cook.\"\n\nThen he led the Sheriff, willy-nilly, to the seat he knew so well\nbeneath the greenwood tree.\n\n\"Ho, lads!\" cried Robin, \"fill our good friend the Sheriff a right\nbrimming cup of sack and fetch it hither, for he is faint and weary.\"\n\nThen one of the band brought the Sheriff a cup of sack, bowing low as he\nhanded it to him; but the Sheriff could not touch the wine, for he saw\nit served in one of his own silver flagons, on one of his own silver\nplates.\n\n\"How now,\" quoth Robin, \"dost thou not like our new silver service? We\nhave gotten a bag of it this day.\" So saying, he held up the sack of\nsilver that Little John and the Cook had brought with them.\n\nThen the Sheriff's heart was bitter within him; but, not daring to say\nanything, he only gazed upon the ground. Robin looked keenly at him for\na time before he spoke again. Then said he, \"Now, Master Sheriff, the\nlast time thou camest to Sherwood Forest thou didst come seeking to\ndespoil a poor spendthrift, and thou wert despoiled thine own self;\nbut now thou comest seeking to do no harm, nor do I know that thou hast\ndespoiled any man. I take my tithes from fat priests and lordly squires,\nto help those that they despoil and to raise up those that they bow\ndown; but I know not that thou hast tenants of thine own whom thou hast\nwronged in any way. Therefore, take thou thine own again, nor will I\ndispossess thee today of so much as one farthing. Come with me, and I\nwill lead thee from the forest back to thine own party again.\"\n\nThen, slinging the bag upon his shoulder, he turned away, the Sheriff\nfollowing him, all too perplexed in mind to speak. So they went forward\nuntil they came to within a furlong of the spot where the Sheriff's\ncompanions were waiting for him. Then Robin Hood gave the sack of silver\nback to the Sheriff. \"Take thou thine own again,\" he said, \"and hearken\nto me, good Sheriff, take thou a piece of advice with it. Try thy\nservants well ere thou dost engage them again so readily.\" Then,\nturning, he left the other standing bewildered, with the sack in his\nhands.\n\nThe company that waited for the Sheriff were all amazed to see him come\nout of the forest bearing a heavy sack upon his shoulders; but though\nthey questioned him, he answered never a word, acting like one who walks\nin a dream. Without a word, he placed the bag across his nag's back and\nthen, mounting, rode away, all following him; but all the time there\nwas a great turmoil of thoughts within his head, tumbling one over the\nother. And thus ends the merry tale of Little John and how he entered\nthe Sheriff's service.\n\n\n\n\nLittle John and the Tanner of Blyth\n\nONE FINE DAY, not long after Little John had left abiding with the\nSheriff and had come back, with his worship's cook, to the merry\ngreenwood, as has just been told, Robin Hood and a few chosen fellows of\nhis band lay upon the soft sward beneath the greenwood tree where they\ndwelled. The day was warm and sultry, so that while most of the band\nwere scattered through the forest upon this mission and upon that, these\nfew stout fellows lay lazily beneath the shade of the tree, in the soft\nafternoon, passing jests among themselves and telling merry stories,\nwith laughter and mirth.\n\nAll the air was laden with the bitter fragrance of the May, and all\nthe bosky shades of the woodlands beyond rang with the sweet song of\nbirds--the throstle cock, the cuckoo, and the wood pigeon--and with the\nsong of birds mingled the cool sound of the gurgling brook that leaped\nout of the forest shades, and ran fretting amid its rough, gray stones\nacross the sunlit open glade before the trysting tree. And a fair sight\nwas that halfscore of tall, stout yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green,\nlying beneath the broad-spreading branches of the great oak tree, amid\nthe quivering leaves of which the sunlight shivered and fell in dancing\npatches upon the grass.\n\nSuddenly Robin Hood smote his knee.\n\n\"By Saint Dunstan,\" quoth he, \"I had nigh forgot that quarter-day cometh\non apace, and yet no cloth of Lincoln green in all our store. It must be\nlooked to, and that in quick season. Come, busk thee, Little John! Stir\nthose lazy bones of thine, for thou must get thee straightway to our\ngood gossip, the draper Hugh Longshanks of Ancaster. Bid him send us\nstraightway twenty-score yards of fair cloth of Lincoln green; and mayhap\nthe journey may take some of the fat from off thy bones, that thou hast\ngotten from lazy living at our dear Sheriff's.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" muttered Little John (for he had heard so much upon this score\nthat he was sore upon the point), \"nay, truly, mayhap I have more flesh\nupon my joints than I once had, yet, flesh or no flesh, I doubt not that\nI could still hold my place and footing upon a narrow bridge against\ne'er a yeoman in Sherwood, or Nottinghamshire, for the matter of that,\neven though he had no more fat about his bones than thou hast, good\nmaster.\"\n\nAt this reply a great shout of laughter went up, and all looked at Robin\nHood, for each man knew that Little John spake of a certain fight that\nhappened between their master and himself, through which they first\nbecame acquainted.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin Hood, laughing louder than all. \"Heaven forbid that\nI should doubt thee, for I care for no taste of thy staff myself, Little\nJohn. I must needs own that there are those of my band can handle a\nseven-foot staff more deftly than I; yet no man in all Nottinghamshire\ncan draw gray goose shaft with my fingers. Nevertheless, a journey to\nAncaster may not be ill for thee; so go thou, as I bid, and thou hadst\nbest go this very evening, for since thou hast abided at the Sheriff's\nmany know thy face, and if thou goest in broad daylight, thou mayst get\nthyself into a coil with some of his worship's men-at-arms. Bide thou\nhere till I bring thee money to pay our good Hugh. I warrant he hath no\nbetter customers in all Nottinghamshire than we.\" So saying, Robin left\nthem and entered the forest.\n\nNot far from the trysting tree was a great rock in which a chamber\nhad been hewn, the entrance being barred by a massive oaken door two\npalms'-breadth in thickness, studded about with spikes, and fastened\nwith a great padlock. This was the treasure house of the band, and\nthither Robin Hood went and, unlocking the door, entered the chamber,\nfrom which he brought forth a bag of gold which he gave to Little John,\nto pay Hugh Longshanks withal, for the cloth of Lincoln green.\n\nThen up got Little John, and, taking the bag of gold, which he thrust\ninto his bosom, he strapped a girdle about his loins, took a stout\npikestaff full seven feet long in his hand, and set forth upon his\njourney.\n\nSo he strode whistling along the leafy forest path that led to Fosse\nWay, turning neither to the right hand nor the left, until at last he\ncame to where the path branched, leading on the one hand onward to Fosse\nWay, and on the other, as well Little John knew, to the merry Blue\nBoar Inn. Here Little John suddenly ceased whistling and stopped in\nthe middle of the path. First he looked up and then he looked down, and\nthen, tilting his cap over one eye, he slowly scratched the back part of\nhis head. For thus it was: at the sight of these two roads, two voices\nbegan to alarum within him, the one crying, \"There lies the road to\nthe Blue Boar Inn, a can of brown October, and a merry night with sweet\ncompanions such as thou mayst find there;\" the other, \"There lies the\nway to Ancaster and the duty thou art sent upon.\" Now the first of these\ntwo voices was far the louder, for Little John had grown passing fond\nof good living through abiding at the Sheriff's house; so, presently,\nlooking up into the blue sky, across which bright clouds were sailing\nlike silver boats, and swallows skimming in circling flight, quoth he,\n\"I fear me it will rain this evening, so I'll e'en stop at the Blue Boar\ntill it passes by, for I know my good master would not have me wet to\nthe skin.\" So, without more ado, off he strode down the path that lay\nthe way of his likings. Now there was no sign of any foul weather, but\nwhen one wishes to do a thing, as Little John did, one finds no lack of\nreasons for the doing.\n\nFour merry wags were at the Blue Boar Inn; a butcher, a beggar, and two\nbarefoot friars. Little John heard them singing from afar, as he walked\nthrough the hush of the mellow twilight that was now falling over hill\nand dale. Right glad were they to welcome such a merry blade as Little\nJohn. Fresh cans of ale were brought, and with jest and song and merry\ntales the hours slipped away on fleeting wings. None thought of time or\ntide till the night was so far gone that Little John put by the thought\nof setting forth upon his journey again that night, and so bided at the\nBlue Boar Inn until the morrow.\n\nNow it was an ill piece of luck for Little John that he left his duty\nfor his pleasure, and he paid a great score for it, as we are all apt to\ndo in the same case, as you shall see.\n\nUp he rose at the dawn of the next day, and, taking his stout pikestaff\nin his hand, he set forth upon his journey once more, as though he would\nmake up for lost time.\n\nIn the good town of Blyth there lived a stout tanner, celebrated far\nand near for feats of strength and many tough bouts at wrestling and the\nquarterstaff. For five years he had held the mid-country champion belt\nfor wrestling, till the great Adam o' Lincoln cast him in the ring and\nbroke one of his ribs; but at quarterstaff he had never yet met his\nmatch in all the country about. Besides all this, he dearly loved the\nlongbow, and a sly jaunt in the forest when the moon was full and the\ndun deer in season; so that the King's rangers kept a shrewd eye upon\nhim and his doings, for Arthur a Bland's house was apt to have aplenty\nof meat in it that was more like venison than the law allowed.\n\nNow Arthur had been to Nottingham Town the day before Little John set\nforth on his errand, there to sell a halfscore of tanned cowhides. At\nthe dawn of the same day that Little John left the inn, he started from\nNottingham, homeward for Blyth. His way led, all in the dewy morn, past\nthe verge of Sherwood Forest, where the birds were welcoming the lovely\nday with a great and merry jubilee. Across the Tanner's shoulders was\nslung his stout quarterstaff, ever near enough to him to be gripped\nquickly, and on his head was a cap of doubled cowhide, so tough that it\ncould hardly be cloven even by a broadsword.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Arthur a Bland to himself, when he had come to that part of\nthe road that cut through a corner of the forest, \"no doubt at this time\nof year the dun deer are coming from the forest depths nigher to the\nopen meadow lands. Mayhap I may chance to catch a sight of the dainty\nbrown darlings thus early in the morn.\" For there was nothing he loved\nbetter than to look upon a tripping herd of deer, even when he could\nnot tickle their ribs with a clothyard shaft. Accordingly, quitting the\npath, he went peeping this way and that through the underbrush, spying\nnow here and now there, with all the wiles of a master of woodcraft, and\nof one who had more than once donned a doublet of Lincoln green.\n\nNow as Little John stepped blithely along, thinking of nothing but of\nsuch things as the sweetness of the hawthorn buds that bedecked the\nhedgerows, or gazing upward at the lark, that, springing from the dewy\ngrass, hung aloft on quivering wings in the yellow sunlight, pouring\nforth its song that fell like a falling star from the sky, his luck led\nhim away from the highway, not far from the spot where Arthur a Bland\nwas peeping this way and that through the leaves of the thickets.\nHearing a rustling of the branches, Little John stopped and presently\ncaught sight of the brown cowhide cap of the Tanner moving among the\nbushes.\n\n\"I do much wonder,\" quoth Little John to himself, \"what yon knave is\nafter, that he should go thus peeping and peering about I verily believe\nthat yon scurvy varlet is no better than a thief, and cometh here after\nour own and the good King's dun deer.\" For by much roving in the forest,\nLittle John had come to look upon all the deer in Sherwood as belonging\nto Robin Hood and his band as much as to good King Harry. \"Nay,\" quoth\nhe again, after a time, \"this matter must e'en be looked into.\" So,\nquitting the highroad, he also entered the thickets, and began spying\naround after stout Arthur a Bland.\n\nSo for a long time they both of them went hunting about, Little John\nafter the Tanner, and the Tanner after the deer. At last Little John\ntrod upon a stick, which snapped under his foot, whereupon, hearing the\nnoise, the Tanner turned quickly and caught sight of the yeoman. Seeing\nthat the Tanner had spied him out, Little John put a bold face upon the\nmatter.\n\n\"Hilloa,\" quoth he, \"what art thou doing here, thou naughty fellow? Who\nart thou that comest ranging Sherwood's paths? In very sooth thou hast\nan evil cast of countenance, and I do think, truly, that thou art no\nbetter than a thief, and comest after our good King's deer.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Tanner boldly--for, though taken by surprise, he was\nnot a man to be frightened by big words--\"thou liest in thy teeth. I am\nno thief, but an honest craftsman. As for my countenance, it is what\nit is; and, for the matter of that, thine own is none too pretty, thou\nsaucy fellow.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" quoth Little John in a great loud voice, \"wouldst thou give me\nbacktalk? Now I have a great part of a mind to crack thy pate for thee.\nI would have thee know, fellow, that I am, as it were, one of the King's\nforesters. Leastwise,\" muttered he to himself, \"I and my friends do take\ngood care of our good sovereign's deer.\"\n\n\"I care not who thou art,\" answered the bold Tanner, \"and unless thou\nhast many more of thy kind by thee, thou canst never make Arthur a Bland\ncry 'A mercy.'\"\n\n\"Is it so?\" cried Little John in a rage. \"Now, by my faith, thou saucy\nrogue, thy tongue hath led thee into a pit thou wilt have a sorry time\ngetting out of; for I will give thee such a drubbing as ne'er hast thou\nhad in all thy life before. Take thy staff in thy hand, fellow, for I\nwill not smite an unarmed man.\n\n\"Marry come up with a murrain!\" cried the Tanner, for he, too, had\ntalked himself into a fume. \"Big words ne'er killed so much as a mouse.\nWho art thou that talkest so freely of cracking the head of Arthur a\nBland? If I do not tan thy hide this day as ne'er I tanned a calf's hide\nin all my life before, split my staff into skewers for lamb's flesh and\ncall me no more brave man! Now look to thyself, fellow!\"\n\n\"Stay!\" said Little John. \"Let us first measure our cudgels. I do reckon\nmy staff longer than thine, and I would not take vantage of thee by even\nso much as an inch.\"\n\n\"Nay, I pass not for length,\" answered the Tanner. \"My staff is long\nenough to knock down a calf; so look to thyself, fellow, I say again.\"\n\nSo, without more ado, each gripped his staff in the middle, and, with\nfell and angry looks, they came slowly together.\n\n\nNow news had been brought to Robin Hood how that Little John, instead of\ndoing his bidding, had passed by duty for pleasure, and so had stopped\novernight with merry company at the Blue Boar Inn, instead of going\nstraight to Ancaster. So, being vexed to his heart by this, he set forth\nat dawn of day to seek Little John at the Blue Boar, or at least to\nmeet the yeoman on the way, and ease his heart of what he thought of the\nmatter. As thus he strode along in anger, putting together the words he\nwould use to chide Little John, he heard, of a sudden, loud and angry\nvoices, as of men in a rage, passing fell words back and forth from one\nto the other. At this, Robin Hood stopped and listened. \"Surely,\" quoth\nhe to himself, \"that is Little John's voice, and he is talking in anger\nalso. Methinks the other is strange to my ears. Now Heaven forfend that\nmy good trusty Little John should have fallen into the hands of the\nKing's rangers. I must see to this matter, and that quickly.\"\n\nThus spoke Robin Hood to himself, all his anger passing away like a\nbreath from the windowpane, at the thought that perhaps his trusty\nright-hand man was in some danger of his life. So cautiously he made his\nway through the thickets whence the voices came, and, pushing aside the\nleaves, peeped into the little open space where the two men, staff in\nhand, were coming slowly together.\n\n\"Ha!\" quoth Robin to himself, \"here is merry sport afoot. Now I would\ngive three golden angels from my own pocket if yon stout fellow would\ngive Little John a right sound drubbing! It would please me to see him\nwell thumped for having failed in my bidding. I fear me, though, there\nis but poor chance of my seeing such a pleasant sight.\" So saying, he\nstretched himself at length upon the ground, that he might not only see\nthe sport the better, but that he might enjoy the merry sight at his\nease.\n\nAs you may have seen two dogs that think to fight, walking slowly round\nand round each other, neither cur wishing to begin the combat, so those\ntwo stout yeomen moved slowly around, each watching for a chance to take\nthe other unaware, and so get in the first blow. At last Little John\nstruck like a flash, and--\"rap!\"--the Tanner met the blow and turned it\naside, and then smote back at Little John, who also turned the blow; and\nso this mighty battle began. Then up and down and back and forth they\ntrod, the blows falling so thick and fast that, at a distance, one would\nhave thought that half a score of men were fighting. Thus they fought\nfor nigh a half an hour, until the ground was all plowed up with the\ndigging of their heels, and their breathing grew labored like the ox in\nthe furrow. But Little John suffered the most, for he had become unused\nto such stiff labor, and his joints were not as supple as they had been\nbefore he went to dwell with the Sheriff.\n\nAll this time Robin Hood lay beneath the bush, rejoicing at such a\ncomely bout of quarterstaff. \"By my faith!\" quoth he to himself, \"never\nhad I thought to see Little John so evenly matched in all my life.\nBelike, though, he would have overcome yon fellow before this had he\nbeen in his former trim.\"\n\nAt last Little John saw his chance, and, throwing all the strength\nhe felt going from him into one blow that might have felled an ox,\nhe struck at the Tanner with might and main. And now did the Tanner's\ncowhide cap stand him in good stead, and but for it he might never have\nheld staff in hand again. As it was, the blow he caught beside the head\nwas so shrewd that it sent him staggering across the little glade, so\nthat, if Little John had had the strength to follow up his vantage, it\nwould have been ill for stout Arthur. But he regained himself quickly\nand, at arm's length, struck back a blow at Little John, and this time\nthe stroke reached its mark, and down went Little John at full length,\nhis cudgel flying from his hand as he fell. Then, raising his staff,\nstout Arthur dealt him another blow upon the ribs.\n\n\"Hold!\" roared Little John. \"Wouldst thou strike a man when he is down?\"\n\n\"Ay, marry would I,\" quoth the Tanner, giving him another thwack with\nhis staff.\n\n\"Stop!\" roared Little John. \"Help! Hold, I say! I yield me! I yield me,\nI say, good fellow!\"\n\n\"Hast thou had enough?\" asked the Tanner grimly, holding his staff\naloft.\n\n\"Ay, marry, and more than enough.\"\n\n\"And thou dost own that I am the better man of the two?\"\n\n\"Yea, truly, and a murrain seize thee!\" said Little John, the first\naloud and the last to his beard.\n\n\"Then thou mayst go thy ways; and thank thy patron saint that I am a\nmerciful man,\" said the Tanner.\n\n\"A plague o' such mercy as thine!\" said Little John, sitting up and\nfeeling his ribs where the Tanner had cudgeled him. \"I make my vow, my\nribs feel as though every one of them were broken in twain. I tell thee,\ngood fellow, I did think there was never a man in all Nottinghamshire\ncould do to me what thou hast done this day.\"\n\n\"And so thought I, also,\" cried Robin Hood, bursting out of the thicket\nand shouting with laughter till the tears ran down his cheeks. \"O man,\nman!\" said he, as well as he could for his mirth, \"'a didst go over\nlike a bottle knocked from a wall. I did see the whole merry bout, and\nnever did I think to see thee yield thyself so, hand and foot, to any\nman in all merry England. I was seeking thee, to chide thee for leaving\nmy bidding undone; but thou hast been paid all I owed thee, full\nmeasure, pressed down and overflowing, by this good fellow. Marry, 'a\ndid reach out his arm full length while thou stood gaping at him, and,\nwith a pretty rap, tumbled thee over as never have I seen one tumbled\nbefore.\" So spoke bold Robin, and all the time Little John sat upon the\nground, looking as though he had sour curds in his mouth. \"What may be\nthy name, good fellow?\" said Robin, next, turning to the Tanner.\n\n\"Men do call me Arthur a Bland,\" spoke up the Tanner boldly, \"and now\nwhat may be thy name?\"\n\n\"Ha, Arthur a Bland!\" quoth Robin, \"I have heard thy name before, good\nfellow. Thou didst break the crown of a friend of mine at the fair at\nEly last October. The folk there call him Jock o' Nottingham; we call\nhim Will Scathelock. This poor fellow whom thou hast so belabored is\ncounted the best hand at the quarterstaff in all merry England. His name\nis Little John, and mine Robin Hood.\"\n\n\"How!\" cried the Tanner, \"art thou indeed the great Robin Hood, and is\nthis the famous Little John? Marry, had I known who thou art, I would\nnever have been so bold as to lift my hand against thee. Let me help\nthee to thy feet, good Master Little John, and let me brush the dust\nfrom off thy coat.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Little John testily, at the same time rising carefully,\nas though his bones had been made of glass, \"I can help myself, good\nfellow, without thy aid; and let me tell thee, had it not been for that\nvile cowskin cap of thine, it would have been ill for thee this day.\"\n\nAt this Robin laughed again, and, turning to the Tanner, he said, \"Wilt\nthou join my band, good Arthur? For I make my vow thou art one of the\nstoutest men that ever mine eyes beheld.\"\n\n\"Will I join thy band?\" cried the Tanner joyfully. \"Ay, marry, will I!\nHey for a merry life!\" cried he, leaping aloft and snapping his fingers,\n\"and hey for the life I love! Away with tanbark and filthy vats and foul\ncowhides! I will follow thee to the ends of the earth, good master, and\nnot a herd of dun deer in all the forest but shall know the sound of the\ntwang of my bowstring.\"\n\n\"As for thee, Little John,\" said Robin, turning to him and laughing,\n\"thou wilt start once more for Ancaster, and we will go part way with\nthee, for I will not have thee turn again to either the right hand or\nthe left till thou hast fairly gotten away from Sherwood. There are\nother inns that thou knowest yet, hereabouts.\" Thereupon, leaving the\nthickets, they took once more to the highway and departed upon their\nbusiness.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood and Will Scarlet\n\nTHUS THEY traveled along the sunny road, three stout fellows such as you\ncould hardly match anywhere else in all merry England. Many stopped to\ngaze after them as they strode along, so broad were their shoulders and\nso sturdy their gait.\n\nQuoth Robin Hood to Little John, \"Why didst thou not go straight to\nAncaster, yesterday, as I told thee? Thou hadst not gotten thyself into\nsuch a coil hadst thou done as I ordered.\"\n\n\"I feared the rain that threatened,\" said Little John in a sullen tone,\nfor he was vexed at being so chaffed by Robin with what had happened to\nhim.\n\n\"The rain!\" cried Robin, stopping of a sudden in the middle of the road,\nand looking at Little John in wonder. \"Why, thou great oaf! not a drop\nof rain has fallen these three days, neither has any threatened, nor\nhath there been a sign of foul weather in earth or sky or water.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" growled Little John, \"the holy Saint Swithin holdeth the\nwaters of the heavens in his pewter pot, and he could have poured them\nout, had he chosen, even from a clear sky; and wouldst thou have had me\nwet to the skin?\"\n\nAt this Robin Hood burst into a roar of laughter. \"O Little John!\" said\nhe, \"what butter wits hast thou in that head of thine! Who could hold\nanger against such a one as thou art?\"\n\nSo saying, they all stepped out once more, with the right foot foremost,\nas the saying is.\n\nAfter they had traveled some distance, the day being warm and the road\ndusty, Robin Hood waxed thirsty; so, there being a fountain of water as\ncold as ice, just behind the hedgerow, they crossed the stile and came\nto where the water bubbled up from beneath a mossy stone. Here, kneeling\nand making cups of the palms of their hands, they drank their fill,\nand then, the spot being cool and shady, they stretched their limbs and\nrested them for a space.\n\nIn front of them, over beyond the hedge, the dusty road stretched away\nacross the plain; behind them the meadow lands and bright green fields\nof tender young corn lay broadly in the sun, and overhead spread the\nshade of the cool, rustling leaves of the beechen tree. Pleasantly to\ntheir nostrils came the tender fragrance of the purple violets and\nwild thyme that grew within the dewy moisture of the edge of the little\nfountain, and pleasantly came the soft gurgle of the water. All was so\npleasant and so full of the gentle joy of the bright Maytime, that for a\nlong time no one of the three cared to speak, but each lay on his back,\ngazing up through the trembling leaves of the trees to the bright\nsky overhead. At last, Robin, whose thoughts were not quite so busy\nwool-gathering as those of the others, and who had been gazing around\nhim now and then, broke the silence.\n\n\"Heyday!\" quoth he, \"yon is a gaily feathered bird, I take my vow.\"\n\nThe others looked and saw a young man walking slowly down the highway.\nGay was he, indeed, as Robin had said, and a fine figure he cut, for\nhis doublet was of scarlet silk and his stockings also; a handsome sword\nhung by his side, the embossed leathern scabbard being picked out with\nfine threads of gold; his cap was of scarlet velvet, and a broad feather\nhung down behind and back of one ear. His hair was long and yellow and\ncurled upon his shoulders, and in his hand he bore an early rose, which\nhe smelled at daintily now and then.\n\n\"By my life!\" quoth Robin Hood, laughing, \"saw ye e'er such a pretty,\nmincing fellow?\"\n\n\"Truly, his clothes have overmuch prettiness for my taste,\" quoth Arthur\na Bland, \"but, ne'ertheless, his shoulders are broad and his loins are\nnarrow, and seest thou, good master, how that his arms hang from his\nbody? They dangle not down like spindles, but hang stiff and bend at\nthe elbow. I take my vow, there be no bread and milk limbs in those fine\nclothes, but stiff joints and tough thews.\"\n\n\"Methinks thou art right, friend Arthur,\" said Little John. \"I do verily\nthink that yon is no such roseleaf and whipped-cream gallant as he would\nhave one take him to be.\"\n\n\"Pah!\" quoth Robin Hood, \"the sight of such a fellow doth put a nasty\ntaste into my mouth! Look how he doth hold that fair flower betwixt his\nthumb and finger, as he would say, 'Good rose, I like thee not so ill\nbut I can bear thy odor for a little while.' I take it ye are both\nwrong, and verily believe that were a furious mouse to run across his\npath, he would cry, 'La!' or 'Alack-a-day!' and fall straightway into a\nswoon. I wonder who he may be.\"\n\n\"Some great baron's son, I doubt not,\" answered Little John, \"with good\nand true men's money lining his purse.\"\n\n\"Ay, marry, that is true, I make no doubt,\" quoth Robin. \"What a pity\nthat such men as he, that have no thought but to go abroad in gay\nclothes, should have good fellows, whose shoes they are not fit to tie,\ndancing at their bidding. By Saint Dunstan, Saint Alfred, Saint Withold,\nand all the good men in the Saxon calendar, it doth make me mad to see\nsuch gay lordlings from over the sea go stepping on the necks of good\nSaxons who owned this land before ever their great-grandsires chewed\nrind of brawn! By the bright bow of Heaven, I will have their ill-gotten\ngains from them, even though I hang for it as high as e'er a forest tree\nin Sherwood!\"\n\n\"Why, how now, master,\" quoth Little John, \"what heat is this? Thou\ndost set thy pot a-boiling, and mayhap no bacon to cook! Methinks yon\nfellow's hair is overlight for Norman locks. He may be a good man and\ntrue for aught thou knowest.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Robin, \"my head against a leaden farthing, he is what I say.\nSo, lie ye both here, I say, till I show you how I drub this fellow.\"\nSo saying, Robin Hood stepped forth from the shade of the beech tree,\ncrossed the stile, and stood in the middle of the road, with his hands\non his hips, in the stranger's path.\n\nMeantime the stranger, who had been walking so slowly that all this\ntalk was held before he came opposite the place where they were, neither\nquickened his pace nor seemed to see that such a man as Robin Hood was\nin the world. So Robin stood in the middle of the road, waiting while\nthe other walked slowly forward, smelling his rose, and looking this way\nand that, and everywhere except at Robin.\n\n\"Hold!\" cried Robin, when at last the other had come close to him.\n\"Hold! Stand where thou art!\"\n\n\"Wherefore should I hold, good fellow?\" said the stranger in soft and\ngentle voice. \"And wherefore should I stand where I am? Ne'ertheless, as\nthou dost desire that I should stay, I will abide for a short time, that\nI may hear what thou mayst have to say to me.\"\n\n\"Then,\" quoth Robin, \"as thou dost so fairly do as I tell thee, and dost\ngive me such soft speech, I will also treat thee with all due courtesy.\nI would have thee know, fair friend, that I am, as it were, a votary at\nthe shrine of Saint Wilfred who, thou mayst know, took, willy-nilly,\nall their gold from the heathen, and melted it up into candlesticks.\nWherefore, upon such as come hereabouts, I levy a certain toll, which\nI use for a better purpose, I hope, than to make candlesticks withal.\nTherefore, sweet chuck, I would have thee deliver to me thy purse, that\nI may look into it, and judge, to the best of my poor powers, whether\nthou hast more wealth about thee than our law allows. For, as our good\nGaffer Swanthold sayeth, 'He who is fat from overliving must needs lose\nblood.'\"\n\nAll this time the youth had been sniffing at the rose that he held\nbetwixt his thumb and finger. \"Nay,\" said he with a gentle smile, when\nRobin Hood had done, \"I do love to hear thee talk, thou pretty fellow,\nand if, haply, thou art not yet done, finish, I beseech thee. I have yet\nsome little time to stay.\"\n\n\"I have said all,\" quoth Robin, \"and now, if thou wilt give me thy\npurse, I will let thee go thy way without let or hindrance so soon as I\nshall see what it may hold. I will take none from thee if thou hast but\nlittle.\"\n\n\"Alas! It doth grieve me much,\" said the other, \"that I cannot do\nas thou dost wish. I have nothing to give thee. Let me go my way, I\nprythee. I have done thee no harm.\"\n\n\"Nay, thou goest not,\" quoth Robin, \"till thou hast shown me thy purse.\"\n\n\"Good friend,\" said the other gently, \"I have business elsewhere. I\nhave given thee much time and have heard thee patiently. Prythee, let me\ndepart in peace.\"\n\n\"I have spoken to thee, friend,\" said Robin sternly, \"and I now tell\nthee again, that thou goest not one step forward till thou hast done as\nI bid thee.\" So saying, he raised his quarterstaff above his head in a\nthreatening way.\n\n\"Alas!\" said the stranger sadly, \"it doth grieve me that this thing must\nbe. I fear much that I must slay thee, thou poor fellow!\" So saying, he\ndrew his sword.\n\n\"Put by thy weapon,\" quoth Robin. \"I would take no vantage of thee. Thy\nsword cannot stand against an oaken staff such as mine. I could snap\nit like a barley straw. Yonder is a good oaken thicket by the roadside;\ntake thee a cudgel thence and defend thyself fairly, if thou hast a\ntaste for a sound drubbing.\"\n\nFirst the stranger measured Robin with his eye, and then he measured the\noaken staff. \"Thou art right, good fellow,\" said he presently, \"truly,\nmy sword is no match for that cudgel of thine. Bide thee awhile till\nI get me a staff.\" So saying, he threw aside the rose that he had been\nholding all this time, thrust his sword back into the scabbard, and,\nwith a more hasty step than he had yet used, stepped to the roadside\nwhere grew the little clump of ground oaks Robin had spoken of. Choosing\namong them, he presently found a sapling to his liking. He did not cut\nit, but, rolling up his sleeves a little way, he laid hold of it, placed\nhis heel against the ground, and, with one mighty pull, plucked the\nyoung tree up by the roots from out the very earth. Then he came back,\ntrimming away the roots and tender stems with his sword as quietly as if\nhe had done nought to speak of.\n\nLittle John and the Tanner had been watching all that passed, but when\nthey saw the stranger drag the sapling up from the earth, and heard the\nrending and snapping of its roots, the Tanner pursed his lips together,\ndrawing his breath between them in a long inward whistle.\n\n\"By the breath of my body!\" said Little John, as soon as he could gather\nhis wits from their wonder, \"sawest thou that, Arthur? Marry, I think\nour poor master will stand but an ill chance with yon fellow. By Our\nLady, he plucked up yon green tree as it were a barley straw.\"\n\nWhatever Robin Hood thought, he stood his ground, and now he and the\nstranger in scarlet stood face to face.\n\nWell did Robin Hood hold his own that day as a mid-country yeoman. This\nway and that they fought, and back and forth, Robin's skill against the\nstranger's strength. The dust of the highway rose up around them like\na cloud, so that at times Little John and the Tanner could see nothing,\nbut only hear the rattle of the staves against one another. Thrice Robin\nHood struck the stranger; once upon the arm and twice upon the ribs, and\nyet had he warded all the other's blows, only one of which, had it met\nits mark, would have laid stout Robin lower in the dust than he had ever\ngone before. At last the stranger struck Robin's cudgel so fairly in the\nmiddle that he could hardly hold his staff in his hand; again he struck,\nand Robin bent beneath the blow; a third time he struck, and now not\nonly fairly beat down Robin's guard, but gave him such a rap, also, that\ndown he tumbled into the dusty road.\n\n\"Hold!\" cried Robin Hood, when he saw the stranger raising his staff\nonce more. \"I yield me!\"\n\n\"Hold!\" cried Little John, bursting from his cover, with the Tanner at\nhis heels. \"Hold! give over, I say!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" answered the stranger quietly, \"if there be two more of you,\nand each as stout as this good fellow, I am like to have my hands full.\nNevertheless, come on, and I will strive my best to serve you all.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" cried Robin Hood, \"we will fight no more. I take my vow, this\nis an ill day for thee and me, Little John. I do verily believe that\nmy wrist, and eke my arm, are palsied by the jar of the blow that this\nstranger struck me.\"\n\nThen Little John turned to Robin Hood. \"Why, how now, good master,\" said\nhe. \"Alas! Thou art in an ill plight. Marry, thy jerkin is all befouled\nwith the dust of the road. Let me help thee to arise.\"\n\n\"A plague on thy aid!\" cried Robin angrily. \"I can get to my feet\nwithout thy help, good fellow.\"\n\n\"Nay, but let me at least dust thy coat for thee. I fear thy poor bones\nare mightily sore,\" quoth Little John soberly, but with a sly twinkle in\nhis eyes.\n\n\"Give over, I say!\" quoth Robin in a fume. \"My coat hath been dusted\nenough already, without aid of thine.\" Then, turning to the stranger, he\nsaid, \"What may be thy name, good fellow?\"\n\n\"My name is Gamwell,\" answered the other.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Robin, \"is it even so? I have near kin of that name. Whence\ncamest thou, fair friend?\"\n\n\"From Maxfield Town I come,\" answered the stranger. \"There was I born\nand bred, and thence I come to seek my mother's young brother, whom men\ncall Robin Hood. So, if perchance thou mayst direct me--\"\n\n\"Ha! Will Gamwell!\" cried Robin, placing both hands upon the other's\nshoulders and holding him off at arm's length. \"Surely, it can be none\nother! I might have known thee by that pretty maiden air of thine--that\ndainty, finicking manner of gait. Dost thou not know me, lad? Look upon\nme well.\"\n\n\"Now, by the breath of my body!\" cried the other, \"I do believe from my\nheart that thou art mine own Uncle Robin. Nay, certain it is so!\" And\neach flung his arms around the other, kissing him upon the cheek.\n\nThen once more Robin held his kinsman off at arm's length and scanned\nhim keenly from top to toe. \"Why, how now,\" quoth he, \"what change is\nhere? Verily, some eight or ten years ago I left thee a stripling lad,\nwith great joints and ill-hung limbs, and lo! here thou art, as tight a\nfellow as e'er I set mine eyes upon. Dost thou not remember, lad, how I\nshowed thee the proper way to nip the goose feather betwixt thy fingers\nand throw out thy bow arm steadily? Thou gayest great promise of being a\nkeen archer. And dost thou not mind how I taught thee to fend and parry\nwith the cudgel?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said young Gamwell, \"and I did so look up to thee, and thought\nthee so above all other men that, I make my vow, had I known who thou\nwert, I would never have dared to lift hand against thee this day. I\ntrust I did thee no great harm.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" quoth Robin hastily, and looking sideways at Little John,\n\"thou didst not harm me. But say no more of that, I prythee. Yet I will\nsay, lad, that I hope I may never feel again such a blow as thou didst\ngive me. By'r Lady, my arm doth tingle yet from fingernail to elbow.\nTruly, I thought that I was palsied for life. I tell thee, coz, that\nthou art the strongest man that ever I laid mine eyes upon. I take my\nvow, I felt my stomach quake when I beheld thee pluck up yon green tree\nas thou didst. But tell me, how camest thou to leave Sir Edward and thy\nmother?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" answered young Gamwell, \"it is an ill story, uncle, that I\nhave to tell thee. My father's steward, who came to us after old Giles\nCrookleg died, was ever a saucy varlet, and I know not why my father\nkept him, saving that he did oversee with great judgment. It used to\ngall me to hear him speak up so boldly to my father, who, thou knowest,\nwas ever a patient man to those about him, and slow to anger and harsh\nwords. Well, one day--and an ill day it was for that saucy fellow--he\nsought to berate my father, I standing by. I could stand it no\nlonger, good uncle, so, stepping forth, I gave him a box o' the ear,\nand--wouldst thou believe it?--the fellow straightway died o't. I think\nthey said I broke his neck, or something o' the like. So off they packed\nme to seek thee and escape the law. I was on my way when thou sawest me,\nand here I am.\"\n\n\"Well, by the faith of my heart,\" quoth Robin Hood, \"for anyone escaping\nthe law, thou wast taking it the most easily that ever I beheld in all\nmy life. Whenever did anyone in all the world see one who had slain a\nman, and was escaping because of it, tripping along the highway like a\ndainty court damsel, sniffing at a rose the while?\"\n\n\"Nay, uncle,\" answered Will Gamwell, \"overhaste never churned good\nbutter, as the old saying hath it. Moreover, I do verily believe that\nthis overstrength of my body hath taken the nimbleness out of my heels.\nWhy, thou didst but just now rap me thrice, and I thee never a once,\nsave by overbearing thee by my strength.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, \"let us say no more on that score. I am right glad\nto see thee, Will, and thou wilt add great honor and credit to my band\nof merry fellows. But thou must change thy name, for warrants will be\nout presently against thee; so, because of thy gay clothes, thou shalt\nhenceforth and for aye be called Will Scarlet.\"\n\n\"Will Scarlet,\" quoth Little John, stepping forward and reaching out his\ngreat palm, which the other took, \"Will Scarlet, the name fitteth thee\nwell. Right glad am I to welcome thee among us. I am called Little John;\nand this is a new member who has just joined us, a stout tanner named\nArthur a Bland. Thou art like to achieve fame, Will, let me tell thee,\nfor there will be many a merry ballad sung about the country, and many\na merry story told in Sherwood of how Robin Hood taught Little John and\nArthur a Bland the proper way to use the quarterstaff; likewise, as\nit were, how our good master bit off so large a piece of cake that he\nchoked on it.\"\n\n\"Nay, good Little John,\" quoth Robin gently, for he liked ill to have\nsuch a jest told of him. \"Why should we speak of this little matter?\nPrythee, let us keep this day's doings among ourselves.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" quoth Little John. \"But, good master, I thought\nthat thou didst love a merry story, because thou hast so often made a\njest about a certain increase of fatness on my joints, of flesh gathered\nby my abiding with the Sheriff of--\"\n\n\"Nay, good Little John,\" said Robin hastily, \"I do bethink me I have\nsaid full enough on that score.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" quoth Little John, \"for in truth I myself have tired of\nit somewhat. But now I bethink me, thou didst also seem minded to make a\njest of the rain that threatened last night; so--\"\n\n\"Nay, then,\" said Robin Hood testily, \"I was mistaken. I remember me now\nit did seem to threaten rain.\"\n\n\"Truly, I did think so myself,\" quoth Little John, \"therefore, no doubt,\nthou dost think it was wise of me to abide all night at the Blue Boar\nInn, instead of venturing forth in such stormy weather; dost thou not?\"\n\n\"A plague of thee and thy doings!\" cried Robin Hood. \"If thou wilt have\nit so, thou wert right to abide wherever thou didst choose.\"\n\n\"Once more, it is well,\" quoth Little John. \"As for myself, I have been\nblind this day. I did not see thee drubbed; I did not see thee tumbled\nheels over head in the dust; and if any man says that thou wert, I can\nwith a clear conscience rattle his lying tongue betwixt his teeth.\"\n\n\"Come,\" cried Robin, biting his nether lip, while the others could\nnot forbear laughing. \"We will go no farther today, but will return to\nSherwood, and thou shalt go to Ancaster another time, Little John.\"\n\nSo said Robin, for now that his bones were sore, he felt as though a\nlong journey would be an ill thing for him. So, turning their backs,\nthey retraced their steps whence they came.\n\n\n\n\nThe Adventure with Midge the Miller's Son\n\nWHEN THE four yeomen had traveled for a long time toward Sherwood again,\nhigh noontide being past, they began to wax hungry. Quoth Robin Hood, \"I\nwould that I had somewhat to eat. Methinks a good loaf of white bread,\nwith a piece of snow-white cheese, washed down with a draught of humming\nale, were a feast for a king.\"\n\n\"Since thou speakest of it,\" said Will Scarlet, \"methinks it would not\nbe amiss myself. There is that within me crieth out, 'Victuals, good\nfriend, victuals!'\"\n\n\"I know a house near by,\" said Arthur a Bland, \"and, had I but the\nmoney, I would bring ye that ye speak of; to wit, a sweet loaf of bread,\na fair cheese, and a skin of brown ale.\"\n\n\"For the matter of that, thou knowest I have money by me, good master,\"\nquoth Little John.\n\n\"Why, so thou hast, Little John,\" said Robin. \"How much money will it\ntake, good Arthur, to buy us meat and drink?\"\n\n\"I think that six broad pennies will buy food enow for a dozen men,\"\nsaid the Tanner.\n\n\"Then give him six pennies, Little John,\" quoth Robin, \"for methinks\nfood for three men will about fit my need. Now get thee gone, Arthur,\nwith the money, and bring the food here, for there is a sweet shade in\nthat thicket yonder, beside the road, and there will we eat our meal.\"\n\nSo Little John gave Arthur the money, and the others stepped to the\nthicket, there to await the return of the Tanner.\n\nAfter a time he came back, bearing with him a great brown loaf of bread,\nand a fair, round cheese, and a goatskin full of stout March beer, slung\nover his shoulders. Then Will Scarlet took his sword and divided\nthe loaf and the cheese into four fair portions, and each man helped\nhimself. Then Robin Hood took a deep pull at the beer. \"Aha!\" said he,\ndrawing in his breath, \"never have I tasted sweeter drink than this.\"\n\nAfter this no man spake more, but each munched away at his bread and\ncheese lustily, with ever and anon a pull at the beer.\n\nAt last Will Scarlet looked at a small piece of bread he still held in\nhis hand, and quoth he, \"Methinks I will give this to the sparrows.\" So,\nthrowing it from him, he brushed the crumbs from his jerkin.\n\n\"I, too,\" quoth Robin, \"have had enough, I think.\" As for Little John\nand the Tanner, they had by this time eaten every crumb of their bread\nand cheese.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Robin, \"I do feel myself another man, and would fain enjoy\nsomething pleasant before going farther upon our journey. I do bethink\nme, Will, that thou didst use to have a pretty voice, and one that tuned\nsweetly upon a song. Prythee, give us one ere we journey farther.\"\n\n\"Truly, I do not mind turning a tune,\" answered Will Scarlet, \"but I\nwould not sing alone.\"\n\n\"Nay, others will follow. Strike up, lad,\" quoth Robin.\n\n\"In that case, 'tis well,\" said Will Scarlet. \"I do call to mind a song\nthat a certain minstrel used to sing in my father's hall, upon occasion.\nI know no name for it and so can give you none; but thus it is.\" Then,\nclearing his throat, he sang:\n\n     \"_In the merry blossom time,\n     When love longings food the breast,\n     When the flower is on the lime,\n     When the small fowl builds her nest,\n     Sweetly sings the nightingale\n     And the throstle cock so bold;\n     Cuckoo in the dewy dale\n     And the turtle in the word.\n     But the robin I love dear,\n     For he singeth through the year.\n     Robin! Robin!\n     Merry Robin!\n     So I'd have my true love be:\n     Not to fly\n     At the nigh\n     Sign of cold adversity_.\n\n     \"_When the spring brings sweet delights,\n     When aloft the lark doth rise,\n     Lovers woo o' mellow nights,\n     And youths peep in maidens' eyes,\n     That time blooms the eglantine,\n     Daisies pied upon the hill,\n     Cowslips fair and columbine,\n     Dusky violets by the rill.\n     But the ivy green cloth grow\n     When the north wind bringeth snow.\n     Ivy! Ivy!\n     Stanch and true!\n     Thus I'd have her love to be:\n     Not to die\n     At the nigh\n     Breath of cold adversity_.\"\n\n\"'Tis well sung,\" quoth Robin, \"but, cousin, I tell thee plain, I would\nrather hear a stout fellow like thee sing some lusty ballad than a\nfinicking song of flowers and birds, and what not. Yet, thou didst sing\nit fair, and 'tis none so bad a snatch of a song, for the matter of\nthat. Now, Tanner, it is thy turn.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" quoth Arthur, smiling, with his head on one side, like a\nbudding lass that is asked to dance, \"I know not that I can match our\nsweet friend's song; moreover, I do verily think that I have caught a\ncold and have a certain tickling and huskiness in the windpipe.\"\n\n\"Nay, sing up, friend,\" quoth Little John, who sat next to him, patting\nhim upon the shoulder. \"Thou hast a fair, round, mellow voice; let us\nhave a touch of it.\"\n\n\"Nay, an ye will ha' a poor thing,\" said Arthur, \"I will do my best.\nHave ye ever heard of the wooing of Sir Keith, the stout young Cornish\nknight, in good King Arthur's time?\"\n\n\"Methinks I have heard somewhat of it,\" said Robin; \"but ne'ertheless\nstrike up thy ditty and let us hear it, for, as I do remember me, it is\na gallant song; so out with it, good fellow.\"\n\nThereupon, clearing his throat, the Tanner, without more ado, began to\nsing:\n\n\nTHE WOOING OF SIR KEITH\n\n     \"_King Arthur sat in his royal hall,\n     And about on either hand\n     Was many a noble lordling tall,\n     The greatest in the land.\n\n     \"Sat  Lancelot with raven locks,\n     Gawaine with golden hair,\n     Sir Tristram, Kay who kept the locks,\n     And many another there.\n\n     \"And through the stained windows bright,\n     From o'er the red-tiled eaves,\n     The sunlight blazed with colored light\n     On golden helms and greaves.\n\n     \"But suddenly a silence came\n     About the Table Round,\n     For up the hall there walked a dame\n     Bent nigh unto the ground.\n\n     \"Her nose was hooked, her eyes were bleared,\n     Her locks were lank and white;\n     Upon her chin there grew a beard;\n     She was a gruesome sight.\n\n     \"And so with crawling step she came\n     And kneeled at Arthur's feet;\n     Quoth Kay, 'She is the foulest dame\n     That e'er my sight did greet.'\n\n     \"'O mighty King! of thee I crave\n     A boon on bended knee';\n     'Twas thus she spoke. 'What wouldst thou have.'\n     Quoth Arthur, King, 'of me_?'\n\n     \"_Quoth she, 'I have a foul disease\n     Doth gnaw my very heart,\n     And but one thing can bring me ease\n     Or cure my bitter smart.\n\n     \"'There is no rest, no ease for me\n     North, east, or west, or south,\n     Till Christian knight will willingly\n     Thrice kiss me on the mouth.\n\n     \"'Nor wedded may this childe have been\n     That giveth ease to me;\n     Nor may he be constrained, I ween,\n     But kiss me willingly.\n\n     \"'So is there here one Christian knight\n     Of such a noble strain\n     That he will give a tortured wight\n     Sweet ease of mortal pain?'\n\n     \"'A wedded man,' quoth Arthur, King,\n     'A wedded man I be\n     Else would I deem it noble thing\n     To kiss thee willingly.\n\n     \"'Now, Lancelot, in all men's sight\n     Thou art the head and chief\n     Of chivalry. Come, noble knight,\n     And give her quick relief.'\n\n     \"But Lancelot he turned aside\n     And looked upon the ground,\n     For it did sting his haughty pride\n     To hear them laugh around.\n\n     \"'Come thou, Sir Tristram,' quoth the King.\n     Quoth he, 'It cannot be,\n     For ne'er can I my stomach bring\n     To do it willingly.'\n\n     \"'Wilt thou, Sir Kay, thou scornful wight?'\n     Quoth Kay, 'Nay, by my troth!\n     What noble dame would kiss a knight\n     That kissed so foul a mouth_?'\n\n     \"'_Wilt thou, Gawaine?' 'I cannot, King.'\n     'Sir Geraint?' 'Nay, not I;\n     My kisses no relief could bring,\n     For sooner would I die.'\n\n     \"Then up and spake the youngest man\n     Of all about the board,\n     'Now such relief as Christian can\n     I'll give to her, my lord.'\n\n     \"It was Sir Keith, a youthful knight,\n     Yet strong of limb and bold,\n     With beard upon his chin as light\n     As finest threads of gold.\n\n     \"Quoth Kay, 'He hath no mistress yet\n     That he may call his own,\n     But here is one that's quick to get,\n     As she herself has shown.'\n\n     \"He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,\n     He kissed her three times o'er,\n     A wondrous change came in a trice,\n     And she was foul no more.\n\n     \"Her cheeks grew red as any rose,\n     Her brow as white as lawn,\n     Her bosom like the winter snows,\n     Her eyes like those of fawn.\n\n     \"Her breath grew sweet as summer breeze\n     That blows the meadows o'er;\n     Her voice grew soft as rustling trees,\n     And cracked and harsh no more.\n\n     \"Her hair grew glittering, like the gold,\n     Her hands as white as milk;\n     Her filthy rags, so foul and old,\n     Were changed to robes of silk.\n\n     \"In great amaze the knights did stare.\n     Quoth Kay, 'I make my vow\n     If it will please thee, lady fair,\n     I'll gladly kiss thee now_.'\n\n     \"_But young Sir Keith kneeled on one knee\n     And kissed her robes so fair.\n     'O let me be thy slave,' said he,\n     'For none to thee compare.'\n\n     \"She bent her down, she kissed his brow,\n     She kissed his lips and eyes.\n     Quoth she, 'Thou art my master now,\n     My lord, my love, arise!\n\n     \"'And all the wealth that is mine own,\n     My lands, I give to thee,\n     For never knight hath lady shown\n     Such noble courtesy.\n\n     \"'Bewitched was I, in bitter pain,\n     But thou hast set me free,\n     So now I am myself again,\n     I give myself to thee_.'\"\n\n\n\"Yea, truly,\" quoth Robin Hood, when the Tanner had made an end of\nsinging, \"it is as I remember it, a fair ditty, and a ballad with a\npleasing tune of a song.\"\n\n\"It hath oftentimes seemed to me,\" said Will Scarlet, \"that it hath a\ncertain motive in it, e'en such as this: That a duty which seemeth to us\nsometimes ugly and harsh, when we do kiss it fairly upon the mouth, so\nto speak, is no such foul thing after all.\"\n\n\"Methinks thou art right,\" quoth Robin, \"and, contrariwise, that when we\nkiss a pleasure that appeareth gay it turneth foul to us; is it not so,\nLittle John? Truly such a thing hath brought thee sore thumps this day.\nNay, man, never look down in the mouth. Clear thy pipes and sing us a\nditty.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Little John, \"I have none as fair as that merry Arthur has\ntrolled. They are all poor things that I know. Moreover, my voice is\nnot in tune today, and I would not spoil even a tolerable song by ill\nsinging.\"\n\nUpon this all pressed Little John to sing, so that when he had denied\nthem a proper length of time, such as is seemly in one that is asked\nto sing, he presently yielded. Quoth he, 'Well, an ye will ha' it so,\nI will give you what I can. Like to fair Will, I have no title to my\nditty, but thus it runs:\n\n     \"_O Lady mine, the spring is here,\n     With a hey nonny nonny;\n     The sweet love season of the year,\n     With a ninny ninny nonny;\n     Now lad and lass\n     Lie in the grass\n     That groweth green\n     With flowers between.\n     The buck doth rest\n     The leaves do start,\n     The cock doth crow,\n     The breeze doth blow,\n     And all things laugh in_--\"\n\n\"Who may yon fellow be coming along the road?\" said Robin, breaking into\nthe song.\n\n\"I know not,\" quoth Little John in a surly voice. \"But this I do know,\nthat it is an ill thing to do to check the flow of a good song.\"\n\n\"Nay, Little John,\" said Robin, \"be not vexed, I prythee; but I have\nbeen watching him coming along, bent beneath that great bag over his\nshoulder, ever since thou didst begin thy song. Look, Little John, I\npray, and see if thou knowest him.\"\n\nLittle John looked whither Robin Hood pointed. \"Truly,\" quoth he, after\na time, \"I think yon fellow is a certain young miller I have seen now\nand then around the edge of Sherwood; a poor wight, methinks, to spoil a\ngood song about.\"\n\n\"Now thou speakest of him,\" quoth Robin Hood, \"methinks I myself have\nseen him now and then. Hath he not a mill over beyond Nottingham Town,\nnigh to the Salisbury road?\"\n\n\"Thou art right; that is the man,\" said Little John.\n\n\"A good stout fellow,\" quoth Robin. \"I saw him crack Ned o' Bradford's\ncrown about a fortnight since, and never saw I hair lifted more neatly\nin all my life before.\"\n\nBy this time the young miller had come so near that they could see\nhim clearly. His clothes were dusted with flour, and over his back he\ncarried a great sack of meal, bending so as to bring the whole weight\nupon his shoulders, and across the sack was a thick quarterstaff. His\nlimbs were stout and strong, and he strode along the dusty road right\nsturdily with the heavy sack across his shoulders. His cheeks were ruddy\nas a winter hip, his hair was flaxen in color, and on his chin was a\ndowny growth of flaxen beard.\n\n\"A good honest fellow,\" quoth Robin Hood, \"and such an one as is a\ncredit to English yeomanrie. Now let us have a merry jest with him. We\nwill forth as though we were common thieves and pretend to rob him of\nhis honest gains. Then will we take him into the forest and give him\na feast such as his stomach never held in all his life before. We will\nflood his throat with good canary and send him home with crowns in his\npurse for every penny he hath. What say ye, lads?\"\n\n\"Truly, it is a merry thought,\" said Will Scarlet.\n\n\"It is well planned,\" quoth Little John, \"but all the saints preserve us\nfrom any more drubbings this day! Marry, my poor bones ache so that I--\"\n\n\"Prythee peace, Little John,\" quoth Robin. \"Thy foolish tongue will get\nus both well laughed at yet.\"\n\n\"My foolish tongue, forsooth,\" growled Little John to Arthur a Bland.\n\"I would it could keep our master from getting us into another coil this\nday.\"\n\nBut now the Miller, plodding along the road, had come opposite to\nwhere the yeomen lay hidden, whereupon all four of them ran at him and\nsurrounded him.\n\n\"Hold, friend!\" cried Robin to the Miller; whereupon he turned slowly,\nwith the weight of the bag upon his shoulder, and looked at each in turn\nall bewildered, for though a good stout man his wits did not skip like\nroasting chestnuts.\n\n\"Who bids me stay?\" said the Miller in a voice deep and gruff, like the\ngrowl of a great dog.\n\n\"Marry, that do I,\" quoth Robin; \"and let me tell thee, friend, thou\nhadst best mind my bidding.\"\n\n\"And who art thou, good friend?\" said the Miller, throwing the great\nsack of meal from his shoulder to the ground, \"and who are those with\nthee?\"\n\n\"We be four good Christian men,\" quoth Robin, \"and would fain help thee\nby carrying part of thy heavy load.\"\n\n\"I give you all thanks,\" said the Miller, \"but my bag is none that heavy\nthat I cannot carry it e'en by myself.\"\n\n\"Nay, thou dost mistake,\" quoth Robin, \"I meant that thou mightest\nperhaps have some heavy farthings or pence about thee, not to speak\nof silver and gold. Our good Gaffer Swanthold sayeth that gold is an\noverheavy burden for a two-legged ass to carry; so we would e'en lift\nsome of this load from thee.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" cried the Miller, \"what would ye do to me? I have not about me\nso much as a clipped groat. Do me no harm, I pray you, but let me\ndepart in peace. Moreover, let me tell you that ye are upon Robin Hood's\nground, and should he find you seeking to rob an honest craftsman, he\nwill clip your ears to your heads and scourge you even to the walls of\nNottingham.\n\n\"In truth I fear Robin Hood no more than I do myself,\" quoth jolly\nRobin. \"Thou must this day give up to me every penny thou hast about\nthee. Nay, if thou dost budge an inch I will rattle this staff about\nthine ears.\"\n\n\"Nay, smite me not!\" cried the Miller, throwing up his elbow as though\nhe feared the blow. \"Thou mayst search me if thou wilt, but thou wilt\nfind nothing upon me, pouch, pocket, or skin.\"\n\n\"Is it so?\" quoth Robin Hood, looking keenly upon him. \"Now I believe\nthat what thou tellest is no true tale. If I am not much mistook thou\nhast somewhat in the bottom of that fat sack of meal. Good Arthur, empty\nthe bag upon the ground; I warrant thou wilt find a shilling or two in\nthe flour.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" cried the Miller, falling upon his knees, \"spoil not all my good\nmeal! It can better you not, and will ruin me. Spare it, and I will give\nup the money in the bag.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" quoth Robin, nudging Will Scarlet. \"Is it so? And have I found\nwhere thy money lies? Marry, I have a wondrous nose for the blessed\nimage of good King Harry. I thought that I smelled gold and silver\nbeneath the barley meal. Bring it straight forth, Miller.\"\n\nThen slowly the Miller arose to his feet, and slowly and unwillingly he\nuntied the mouth of the bag, and slowly thrust his hands into the meal\nand began fumbling about with his arms buried to the elbows in the\nbarley flour. The others gathered round him, their heads together,\nlooking and wondering what he would bring forth.\n\nSo they stood, all with their heads close together gazing down into the\nsack. But while he pretended to be searching for the money, the Miller\ngathered two great handfuls of meal. \"Ha,\" quoth he, \"here they are, the\nbeauties.\" Then, as the others leaned still more forward to see what he\nhad, he suddenly cast the meal into their faces, filling their eyes and\nnoses and mouths with the flour, blinding and half choking them. Arthur\na Bland was worse off than any, for his mouth was open, agape with\nwonder of what was to come, so that a great cloud of flour flew down his\nthroat, setting him a-coughing till he could scarcely stand.\n\nThen, while all four stumbled about, roaring with the smart of the meal\nin their eyeballs, and while they rubbed their eyes till the tears\nmade great channels on their faces through the meal, the Miller seized\nanother handful of flour and another and another, throwing it in their\nfaces, so that even had they had a glimmering of light before they were\nnow as blind as ever a beggar in Nottinghamshire, while their hair and\nbeards and clothes were as white as snow.\n\nThen catching up his great crabstaff, the Miller began laying about him\nas though he were clean gone mad. This way and that skipped the four,\nlike peas on a drumhead, but they could see neither to defend themselves\nnor to run away. Thwack! thwack! went the Miller's cudgel across their\nbacks, and at every blow great white clouds of flour rose in the air\nfrom their jackets and went drifting down the breeze.\n\n\"Stop!\" roared Robin at last. \"Give over, good friend, I am Robin Hood!\"\n\n\"Thou liest, thou knave,\" cried the Miller, giving him a rap on the ribs\nthat sent up a great cloud of flour like a puff of smoke. \"Stout Robin\nnever robbed an honest tradesman. Ha! thou wouldst have my money,\nwouldst thou?\" And he gave him another blow. \"Nay, thou art not getting\nthy share, thou long-legged knave. Share and share alike.\" And he smote\nLittle John across the shoulders so that he sent him skipping half\nacross the road. \"Nay, fear not, it is thy turn now, black beard.\" And\nhe gave the Tanner a crack that made him roar for all his coughing. \"How\nnow, red coat, let me brush the dust from thee!\" cried he, smiting Will\nScarlet. And so he gave them merry words and blows until they could\nscarcely stand, and whenever he saw one like to clear his eyes he threw\nmore flour in his face. At last Robin Hood found his horn and clapping\nit to his lips, blew three loud blasts upon it.\n\nNow it chanced that Will Stutely and a party of Robin's men were in the\nglade not far from where this merry sport was going forward. Hearing the\nhubbub of voices, and blows that sounded like the noise of a flail in\nthe barn in wintertime, they stopped, listening and wondering what was\ntoward. Quoth Will Stutely, \"Now if I mistake not there is some stout\nbattle with cudgels going forward not far hence. I would fain see this\npretty sight.\" So saying, he and the whole party turned their steps\nwhence the noise came. When they had come near where all the tumult\nsounded they heard the three blasts of Robin's bugle horn.\n\n\"Quick!\" cried young David of Doncaster. \"Our master is in sore need!\"\nSo, without stopping a moment, they dashed forward with might and main\nand burst forth from the covert into the highroad.\n\nBut what a sight was that which they saw! The road was all white with\nmeal, and five men stood there also white with meal from top to toe, for\nmuch of the barley flour had fallen back upon the Miller.\n\n\"What is thy need, master?\" cried Will Stutely. \"And what doth all this\nmean?\"\n\n\"Why,\" quoth Robin in a mighty passion, \"yon traitor felt low hath come\nas nigh slaying me as e'er a man in all the world. Hadst thou not come\nquickly, good Stutely, thy master had been dead.\"\n\nHereupon, while he and the three others rubbed the meal from their eyes,\nand Will Stutely and his men brushed their clothes clean, he told them\nall; how that he had meant to pass a jest upon the Miller, which same\nhad turned so grievously upon them.\n\n\"Quick, men, seize the vile Miller!\" cried Stutely, who was nigh choking\nwith laughter as were the rest; whereupon several ran upon the stout\nfellow and seizing him, bound his arms behind his back with bowstrings.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Robin, when they brought the trembling Miller to him. \"Thou\nwouldst murder me, wouldst thou? By my faith,\"--Here he stopped and stood\nglaring upon the Miller grimly. But Robin's anger could not hold, so\nfirst his eyes twinkled, and then in spite of all he broke into a laugh.\n\nNow when they saw their master laugh, the yeomen who stood around could\ncontain themselves no longer, and a mighty shout of laughter went up\nfrom all. Many could not stand, but rolled upon the ground from pure\nmerriment.\n\n\"What is thy name, good fellow?\" said Robin at last to the Miller, who\nstood gaping and as though he were in amaze.\n\n\"Alas, sir, I am Midge, the Miller's son,\" said he in a frightened\nvoice.\n\n\"I make my vow,\" quoth merry Robin, smiting him upon the shoulder, \"thou\nart the mightiest Midge that e'er mine eyes beheld. Now wilt thou leave\nthy dusty mill and come and join my band? By my faith, thou art too\nstout a man to spend thy days betwixt the hopper and the till.\"\n\n\"Then truly, if thou dost forgive me for the blows I struck, not knowing\nwho thou wast, I will join with thee right merrily,\" said the Miller.\n\n\"Then have I gained this day,\" quoth Robin, \"the three stoutest yeomen\nin all Nottinghamshire. We will get us away to the greenwood tree, and\nthere hold a merry feast in honor of our new friends, and mayhap a cup\nor two of good sack and canary may mellow the soreness of my poor joints\nand bones, though I warrant it will be many a day before I am again the\nman I was.\" So saying, he turned and led the way, the rest following,\nand so they entered the forest once more and were lost to sight.\n\nSo that night all was ablaze with crackling fires in the woodlands,\nfor though Robin and those others spoken of, only excepting Midge, the\nMiller's son, had many a sore bump and bruise here and there on their\nbodies, they were still not so sore in the joints that they could not\nenjoy a jolly feast given all in welcome to the new members of the band.\nThus with songs and jesting and laughter that echoed through the deeper\nand more silent nooks of the forest, the night passed quickly along, as\nsuch merry times are wont to do, until at last each man sought his couch\nand silence fell on all things and all things seemed to sleep.\n\nBut Little John's tongue was ever one that was not easy of guidance,\nso that, inch by inch, the whole story of his fight with the Tanner and\nRobin's fight with Will Scarlet leaked out. And so I have told it that\nyou may laugh at the merry tale along with me.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood and Allan a Dale\n\nIT HAS just been told how three unlucky adventures fell upon Robin Hood\nand Little John all in one day bringing them sore ribs and aching bones.\nSo next we will tell how they made up for those ill happenings by a good\naction that came about not without some small pain to Robin.\n\nTwo days had passed by, and somewhat of the soreness had passed away\nfrom Robin Hood's joints, yet still, when he moved of a sudden and\nwithout thinking, pain here and there would, as it were, jog him,\ncrying, \"Thou hast had a drubbing, good fellow.\"\n\nThe day was bright and jocund, and the morning dew still lay upon the\ngrass. Under the greenwood tree sat Robin Hood; on one side was Will\nScarlet, lying at full length upon his back, gazing up into the clear\nsky, with hands clasped behind his head; upon the other side sat Little\nJohn, fashioning a cudgel out of a stout crab-tree limb; elsewhere upon\nthe grass sat or lay many others of the band.\n\n\"By the faith of my heart,\" quoth merry Robin, \"I do bethink me that we\nhave had no one to dine with us for this long time. Our money groweth\nlow in the purse, for no one hath come to pay a reckoning for many a\nday. Now busk thee, good Stutely, and choose thee six men, and get thee\ngone to Fosse Way or thereabouts, and see that thou bringest someone to\neat with us this evening. Meantime we will prepare a grand feast to do\nwhosoever may come the greater honor. And stay, good Stutely. I would\nhave thee take Will Scarlet with thee, for it is meet that he should\nbecome acquaint with the ways of the forest.\"\n\n\"Now do I thank thee, good master,\" quoth Stutely, springing to his\nfeet, \"that thou hast chosen me for this adventure. Truly, my limbs\ndo grow slack through abiding idly here. As for two of my six, I will\nchoose Midge the Miller and Arthur a Bland, for, as well thou knowest,\ngood master, they are stout fists at the quarterstaff. Is it not so,\nLittle John?\"\n\nAt this all laughed but Little John and Robin, who twisted up his face.\n\"I can speak for Midge,\" said he, \"and likewise for my cousin Scarlet.\nThis very blessed morn I looked at my ribs and found them as many colors\nas a beggar's cloak.\"\n\nSo, having chosen four more stout fellows, Will Stutely and his band set\nforth to Fosse Way, to find whether they might not come across some rich\nguest to feast that day in Sherwood with Robin and his band.\n\nFor all the livelong day they abided near this highway. Each man had\nbrought with him a good store of cold meat and a bottle of stout March\nbeer to stay his stomach till the homecoming. So when high noontide\nhad come they sat them down upon the soft grass, beneath a green and\nwide-spreading hawthorn bush, and held a hearty and jovial feast. After\nthis, one kept watch while the others napped, for it was a still and\nsultry day.\n\nThus they passed the time pleasantly enow, but no guest such as they\ndesired showed his face in all the time that they lay hidden there. Many\npassed along the dusty road in the glare of the sun: now it was a bevy\nof chattering damsels merrily tripping along; now it was a plodding\ntinker; now a merry shepherd lad; now a sturdy farmer; all gazing ahead\nalong the road, unconscious of the seven stout fellows that lay hidden\nso near them. Such were the travelers along the way; but fat abbot, rich\nesquire, or money-laden usurer came there none.\n\nAt last the sun began to sink low in the heavens; the light grew red\nand the shadows long. The air grew full of silence, the birds twittered\nsleepily, and from afar came, faint and clear, the musical song of the\nmilkmaid calling the kine home to the milking.\n\nThen Stutely arose from where he was lying. \"A plague of such ill luck!\"\nquoth he. \"Here have we abided all day, and no bird worth the shooting,\nso to speak, hath come within reach of our bolt. Had I gone forth on\nan innocent errand, I had met a dozen stout priests or a score of pursy\nmoney-lenders. But it is ever thus: the dun deer are never so scarce\nas when one has a gray goose feather nipped betwixt the fingers. Come,\nlads, let us pack up and home again, say I.\"\n\nAccordingly, the others arose, and, coming forth from out the thicket,\nthey all turned their toes back again to Sherwood. After they had gone\nsome distance, Will Stutely, who headed the party, suddenly stopped.\n\"Hist!\" quoth he, for his ears were as sharp as those of a five-year-old\nfox. \"Hark, lads! Methinks I hear a sound.\" At this all stopped and\nlistened with bated breath, albeit for a time they could hear nothing,\ntheir ears being duller than Stutely's. At length they heard a faint and\nmelancholy sound, like someone in lamentation.\n\n\"Ha!\" quoth Will Scarlet, \"this must be looked into. There is someone in\ndistress nigh to us here.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" quoth Will Stutely, shaking his head doubtfully, \"our\nmaster is ever rash about thrusting his finger into a boiling pot; but,\nfor my part, I see no use in getting ourselves into mischievous coils.\nYon is a man's voice, if I mistake not, and a man should be always ready\nto get himself out from his own pothers.\"\n\nThen out spake Will Scarlet boldly. \"Now out upon thee, to talk in that\nmanner, Stutely! Stay, if thou dost list. I go to see what may be the\ntrouble of this poor creature.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Stutely, \"thou dost leap so quickly, thou'lt tumble into\nthe ditch. Who said I would not go? Come along, say I.\" Thus saying,\nhe led the way, the others following, till, after they had gone a short\ndistance, they came to a little opening in the woodland, whence a brook,\nafter gurgling out from under the tangle of overhanging bushes, spread\nout into a broad and glassy-pebbled pool. By the side of this pool, and\nbeneath the branches of a willow, lay a youth upon his face, weeping\naloud, the sound of which had first caught the quick ears of Stutely.\nHis golden locks were tangled, his clothes were all awry, and everything\nabout him betokened sorrow and woe. Over his head, from the branches of\nthe osier, hung a beautiful harp of polished wood inlaid with gold and\nsilver in fantastic devices. Beside him lay a stout ashen bow and half a\nscore of fair, smooth arrows.\n\n\"Halloa!\" shouted Will Stutely, when they had come out from the forest\ninto the little open spot. \"Who art thou, fellow, that liest there\nkilling all the green grass with salt water?\"\n\nHearing the voice, the stranger sprang to his feet and; snatching up\nhis bow and fitting a shaft, held himself in readiness for whatever ill\nmight befall him.\n\n\"Truly,\" said one of the yeomen, when they had seen the young stranger's\nface, \"I do know that lad right well. He is a certain minstrel that I\nhave seen hereabouts more than once. It was only a week ago I saw him\nskipping across the hill like a yearling doe. A fine sight he was then,\nwith a flower at his ear and a cock's plume stuck in his cap; but now,\nmethinks, our cockerel is shorn of his gay feathers.\"\n\n\"Pah!\" cried Will Stutely, coming up to the stranger, \"wipe thine eyes,\nman! I do hate to see a tall, stout fellow so sniveling like a girl\nof fourteen over a dead tomtit. Put down thy bow, man! We mean thee no\nharm.\"\n\nBut Will Scarlet, seeing how the stranger, who had a young and boyish\nlook, was stung by the words that Stutely had spoken, came to him and\nput his hand upon the youth's shoulder. \"Nay, thou art in trouble, poor\nboy!\" said he kindly. \"Mind not what these fellows have said. They are\nrough, but they mean thee well. Mayhap they do not understand a lad like\nthee. Thou shalt come with us, and perchance we may find a certain one\nthat can aid thee in thy perplexities, whatsoever they may be.\"\n\n\"Yea, truly, come along,\" said Will Stutely gruffly. \"I meant thee no\nharm, and may mean thee some good. Take down thy singing tool from off\nthis fair tree, and away with us.\"\n\nThe youth did as he was bidden and, with bowed head and sorrowful step,\naccompanied the others, walking beside Will Scarlet. So they wended\ntheir way through the forest. The bright light faded from the sky and\na glimmering gray fell over all things. From the deeper recesses of the\nforest the strange whispering sounds of night-time came to the ear; all\nelse was silent, saving only for the rattling of their footsteps amid\nthe crisp, dry leaves of the last winter. At last a ruddy glow shone\nbefore them here and there through the trees; a little farther and they\ncame to the open glade, now bathed in the pale moonlight. In the center\nof the open crackled a great fire, throwing a red glow on all around. At\nthe fire were roasting juicy steaks of venison, pheasants, capons, and\nfresh fish from the river. All the air was filled with the sweet smell\nof good things cooking.\n\nThe little band made its way across the glade, many yeomen turning with\ncurious looks and gazing after them, but none speaking or questioning\nthem. So, with Will Scarlet upon one side and Will Stutely upon the\nother, the stranger came to where Robin Hood sat on a seat of moss under\nthe greenwood tree, with Little John standing beside him.\n\n\"Good even, fair friend,\" said Robin Hood, rising as the other drew\nnear. \"And hast thou come to feast with me this day?\"\n\n\"Alas! I know not,\" said the lad, looking around him with dazed eyes,\nfor he was bewildered with all that he saw. \"Truly, I know not whether I\nbe in a dream,\" said he to himself in a low voice.\n\n\"Nay, marry,\" quoth Robin, laughing, \"thou art awake, as thou wilt\npresently find, for a fine feast is a-cooking for thee. Thou art our\nhonored guest this day.\"\n\nStill the young stranger looked about him, as though in a dream.\nPresently he turned to Robin. \"Methinks,\" said he, \"I know now where I\nam and what hath befallen me. Art not thou the great Robin Hood?\"\n\n\"Thou hast hit the bull's eye,\" quoth Robin, clapping him upon the\nshoulder. \"Men hereabouts do call me by that name. Sin' thou knowest me,\nthou knowest also that he who feasteth with me must pay his reckoning. I\ntrust thou hast a full purse with thee, fair stranger.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the stranger, \"I have no purse nor no money either, saving\nonly the half of a sixpence, the other half of which mine own dear\nlove doth carry in her bosom, hung about her neck by a strand of silken\nthread.\"\n\nAt this speech a great shout of laughter went up from those around,\nwhereat the poor boy looked as he would die of shame; but Robin Hood\nturned sharply to Will Stutely. \"Why, how now,\" quoth he, \"is this the\nguest that thou hast brought us to fill our purse? Methinks thou hast\nbrought but a lean cock to the market.\"\n\n\"Nay, good master,\" answered Will Stutely, grinning, \"he is no guest of\nmine; it was Will Scarlet that brought him thither.\"\n\nThen up spoke Will Scarlet, and told how they had found the lad in\nsorrow, and how he had brought him to Robin, thinking that he might\nperchance aid him in his trouble. Then Robin Hood turned to the youth,\nand, placing his hand upon the other's shoulder, held him off at arm's\nlength, scanning his face closely.\n\n\"A young face,\" quoth he in a low voice, half to himself, \"a kind face,\na good face. 'Tis like a maiden's for purity, and, withal, the fairest\nthat e'er mine eyes did see; but, if I may judge fairly by thy looks,\ngrief cometh to young as well as to old.\" At these words, spoken so\nkindly, the poor lad's eyes brimmed up with tears. \"Nay, nay,\" said\nRobin hastily, \"cheer up, lad; I warrant thy case is not so bad that it\ncannot be mended. What may be thy name?\"\n\n\"Allen a Dale is my name, good master.\"\n\n\"Allen a Dale,\" repeated Robin, musing. \"Allen a Dale. It doth seem to\nme that the name is not altogether strange to mine ears. Yea, surely\nthou art the minstrel of whom we have been hearing lately, whose voice\nso charmeth all men. Dost thou not come from the Dale of Rotherstream,\nover beyond Stavely?\"\n\n\"Yea, truly,\" answered Allan, \"I do come thence.\"\n\n\"How old art thou, Allan?\" said Robin.\n\n\"I am but twenty years of age.\"\n\n\"Methinks thou art overyoung to be perplexed with trouble,\" quoth Robin\nkindly; then, turning to the others, he cried, \"Come, lads, busk ye and\nget our feast ready; only thou, Will Scarlet, and thou, Little John,\nstay here with me.\"\n\nThen, when the others had gone, each man about his business, Robin\nturned once more to the youth. \"Now, lad,\" said he, \"tell us thy\ntroubles, and speak freely. A flow of words doth ever ease the heart\nof sorrows; it is like opening the waste weir when the mill dam is\noverfull. Come, sit thou here beside me, and speak at thine ease.\"\n\nThen straightway the youth told the three yeomen all that was in his\nheart; at first in broken words and phrases, then freely and with\ngreater ease when he saw that all listened closely to what he said.\nSo he told them how he had come from York to the sweet vale of Rother,\ntraveling the country through as a minstrel, stopping now at castle, now\nat hall, and now at farmhouse; how he had spent one sweet evening in a\ncertain broad, low farmhouse, where he sang before a stout franklin and\na maiden as pure and lovely as the first snowdrop of spring; how he had\nplayed and sung to her, and how sweet Ellen o' the Dale had listened to\nhim and had loved him. Then, in a low, sweet voice, scarcely louder than\na whisper, he told how he had watched for her and met her now and then\nwhen she went abroad, but was all too afraid in her sweet presence to\nspeak to her, until at last, beside the banks of Rother, he had spoken\nof his love, and she had whispered that which had made his heartstrings\nquiver for joy. Then they broke a sixpence between them, and vowed to be\ntrue to one another forever.\n\nNext he told how her father had discovered what was a-doing, and had\ntaken her away from him so that he never saw her again, and his heart\nwas sometimes like to break; how this morn, only one short month and a\nhalf from the time that he had seen her last, he had heard and knew\nit to be so, that she was to marry old Sir Stephen of Trent, two days\nhence, for Ellen's father thought it would be a grand thing to have his\ndaughter marry so high, albeit she wished it not; nor was it wonder\nthat a knight should wish to marry his own sweet love, who was the most\nbeautiful maiden in all the world.\n\nTo all this the yeomen listened in silence, the clatter of many voices,\njesting and laughing, sounding around them, and the red light of the\nfire shining on their faces and in their eyes. So simple were the\npoor boy's words, and so deep his sorrow, that even Little John felt a\ncertain knotty lump rise in his throat.\n\n\"I wonder not,\" said Robin, after a moment's silence, \"that thy true\nlove loved thee, for thou hast surely a silver cross beneath thy tongue,\neven like good Saint Francis, that could charm the birds of the air by\nhis speech.\"\n\n\"By the breath of my body,\" burst forth Little John, seeking to cover\nhis feelings with angry words, \"I have a great part of a mind to go\nstraightway and cudgel the nasty life out of the body of that same vile\nSir Stephen. Marry, come up, say I--what a plague--does an old weazen\nthink that tender lasses are to be bought like pullets o' a market day?\nOut upon him!--I--but no matter, only let him look to himself.\"\n\nThen up spoke Will Scarlet. \"Methinks it seemeth but ill done of\nthe lass that she should so quickly change at others' bidding, more\nespecially when it cometh to the marrying of a man as old as this same\nSir Stephen. I like it not in her, Allan.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Allan hotly, \"thou dost wrong her. She is as soft and gentle\nas a stockdove. I know her better than anyone in all the world. She may\ndo her father's bidding, but if she marries Sir Stephen, her heart will\nbreak and she will die. My own sweet dear, I--\" He stopped and shook his\nhead, for he could say nothing further.\n\nWhile the others were speaking, Robin Hood had been sunk in thought.\n\"Methinks I have a plan might fit thy case, Allan,\" said he. \"But tell\nme first, thinkest thou, lad, that thy true love hath spirit enough\nto marry thee were ye together in church, the banns published, and the\npriest found, even were her father to say her nay?\"\n\n\"Ay, marry would she,\" cried Allan eagerly.\n\n\"Then, if her father be the man that I take him to be, I will undertake\nthat he shall give you both his blessing as wedded man and wife, in the\nplace of old Sir Stephen, and upon his wedding morn. But stay, now I\nbethink me, there is one thing reckoned not upon--the priest. Truly,\nthose of the cloth do not love me overmuch, and when it comes to\ndoing as I desire in such a matter, they are as like as not to prove\nstiff-necked. As to the lesser clergy, they fear to do me a favor\nbecause of abbot or bishop.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Will Scarlet, laughing, \"so far as that goeth, I know of a\ncertain friar that, couldst thou but get on the soft side of him, would\ndo thy business even though Pope Joan herself stood forth to ban him. He\nis known as the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey, and dwelleth in Fountain\nDale.\"\n\n\"But,\" quoth Robin, \"Fountain Abbey is a good hundred miles from here.\nAn we would help this lad, we have no time to go thither and back before\nhis true love will be married. Nought is to be gained there, coz.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth Will Scarlet, laughing again, \"but this Fountain Abbey is\nnot so far away as the one of which thou speakest, uncle. The Fountain\nAbbey of which I speak is no such rich and proud place as the other,\nbut a simple little cell; yet, withal, as cosy a spot as ever stout\nanchorite dwelled within. I know the place well, and can guide thee\nthither, for, though it is a goodly distance, yet methinks a stout pair\nof legs could carry a man there and back in one day.\"\n\n\"Then give me thy hand, Allan,\" cried Robin, \"and let me tell thee, I\nswear by the bright hair of Saint AElfrida that this time two days hence\nEllen a Dale shall be thy wife. I will seek this same Friar of Fountain\nAbbey tomorrow day, and I warrant I will get upon the soft side of him,\neven if I have to drub one soft.\"\n\nAt this Will Scarlet laughed again. \"Be not too sure of that, good\nuncle,\" quoth he, \"nevertheless, from what I know of him, I think this\nCurtal Friar will gladly join two such fair lovers, more especially if\nthere be good eating and drinking afoot thereafter.\"\n\nBut now one of the band came to say that the feast was spread upon\nthe grass; so, Robin leading the way, the others followed to where\nthe goodly feast was spread. Merry was the meal. Jest and story passed\nfreely, and all laughed till the forest rang again. Allan laughed with\nthe rest, for his cheeks were flushed with the hope that Robin Hood had\ngiven him.\n\nAt last the feast was done, and Robin Hood turned to Allan, who sat\nbeside him. \"Now, Allan,\" quoth he, \"so much has been said of thy\nsinging that we would fain have a taste of thy skill ourselves. Canst\nthou not give us something?\"\n\n\"Surely,\" answered Allan readily; for he was no third-rate songster\nthat must be asked again and again, but said \"yes\" or \"no\" at the first\nbidding; so, taking up his harp, he ran his fingers lightly over the\nsweetly sounding strings, and all was hushed about the cloth. Then,\nbacking his voice with sweet music on his harp, he sang:\n\n\nMAY ELLEN'S WEDDING\n\n(Giving an account of how she was beloved by a fairy prince, who took\nher to his own home.)\n\n     \"_May Ellen sat beneath a thorn\n     And in a shower around\n     The blossoms fell at every breeze\n     Like snow upon the ground,\n     And in a lime tree near was heard\n     The sweet song of a strange, wild bird.\n\n     \"O sweet, sweet, sweet, O piercing sweet,\n     O lingering sweet the strain!\n     May Ellen's heart within her breast\n     Stood still with blissful pain:\n     And so, with listening, upturned face,\n     She sat as dead in that fair place.\n\n     \"'Come down from out the blossoms, bird!\n     Come down from out the tree,\n     And on my heart I'll let thee lie,\n     And love thee tenderly!'\n     Thus cried May Ellen, soft and low,\n     From where the hawthorn shed its snow.\n\n     \"Down dropped the bird on quivering wing,\n     From out the blossoming tree,\n     And nestled in her snowy breast.\n     'My love! my love!' cried she;\n     Then straightway home, 'mid sun and flower,\n     She bare him to her own sweet bower.\n\n     \"The day hath passed to mellow night,\n     The moon floats o'er the lea,\n     And in its solemn, pallid light\n     A youth stands silently:\n     A youth of beauty strange and rare,\n     Within May Ellen's bower there.\n\n     \"He stood where o'er the pavement cold\n     The glimmering moonbeams lay.\n     May Ellen gazed with wide, scared eyes,\n     Nor could she turn away,\n     For, as in mystic dreams we see\n     A spirit, stood he silently.\n\n     \"All in a low and breathless voice,\n     'Whence comest thou?' said she;\n     'Art thou the creature of a dream,\n     Or a vision that I see?'\n     Then soft spake he, as night winds shiver\n     Through straining reeds beside the river.\n\n     \"'I came, a bird on feathered wing,\n     From distant Faeryland\n     Where murmuring waters softly sing\n     Upon the golden strand,\n     Where sweet trees are forever green;\n     And there my mother is the queen.'\n\n     \"No more May Ellen leaves her bower\n     To grace the blossoms fair;\n     But in the hushed and midnight hour\n     They hear her talking there,\n     Or, when the moon is shining white,\n     They hear her singing through the night.\n\n     \"'Oh, don thy silks and jewels fine,'\n     May Ellen's mother said,\n     'For hither comes the Lord of Lyne\n     And thou this lord must wed.'\n     May Ellen said, 'It may not be.\n     He ne'er shall find his wife in me.'\n\n     \"Up spoke her brother, dark and grim:\n     'Now by the bright blue sky,\n     E'er yet a day hath gone for him\n     Thy wicked bird shall die!\n     For he hath wrought thee bitter harm,\n     By some strange art or cunning charm.'\n\n     \"Then, with a sad and mournful song,\n     Away the bird did fly,\n     And o'er the castle eaves, and through\n     The gray and windy sky.\n     'Come forth!' then cried the brother grim,\n     'Why dost thou gaze so after him?'\n\n     \"It is May Ellen's wedding day,\n     The sky is blue and fair,\n     And many a lord and lady gay\n     In church are gathered there.\n     The bridegroom was Sir Hugh the Bold,\n     All clad in silk and cloth of gold.\n\n     \"In came the bride in samite white\n     With a white wreath on her head;\n     Her eyes were fixed with a glassy look,\n     Her face was as the dead,\n     And when she stood among the throng,\n     She sang a wild and wondrous song.\n\n     \"Then came a strange and rushing sound\n     Like the coming wind doth bring,\n     And in the open windows shot\n     Nine swans on whistling wing,\n     And high above the heads they flew,\n     In gleaming fight the darkness through.\n\n     \"Around May Ellen's head they flew\n     In wide and windy fight,\n     And three times round the circle drew.\n     The guests shrank in affright,\n     And the priest beside the altar there,\n     Did cross himself with muttered prayer.\n\n     \"But the third time they flew around,\n     Fair Ellen straight was gone,\n     And in her place, upon the ground,\n     There stood a snow-white swan.\n     Then, with a wild and lovely song,\n     It joined the swift and winged throng.\n\n     \"There's ancient men at weddings been,\n     For sixty years and more,\n     But such a wondrous wedding day,\n     They never saw before.\n     But none could check and none could stay,\n     The swans that bore the bride away_.\"\n\nNot a sound broke the stillness when Allan a Dale had done, but all sat\ngazing at the handsome singer, for so sweet was his voice and the music\nthat each man sat with bated breath, lest one drop more should come and\nhe should lose it.\n\n\"By my faith and my troth,\" quoth Robin at last, drawing a deep breath,\n\"lad, thou art--Thou must not leave our company, Allan! Wilt thou not\nstay with us here in the sweet green forest? Truly, I do feel my heart\ngo out toward thee with great love.\"\n\nThen Allan took Robin's hand and kissed it. \"I will stay with thee\nalways, dear master,\" said he, \"for never have I known such kindness as\nthou hast shown me this day.\"\n\nThen Will Scarlet stretched forth his hand and shook Allan's in token\nof fellowship, as did Little John likewise. And thus the famous Allan a\nDale became one of Robin Hood's band.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood Seeks the Curtal Friar\n\nTHE STOUT YEOMEN of Sherwood Forest were ever early risers of a morn,\nmore especially when the summertime had come, for then in the freshness\nof the dawn the dew was always the brightest, and the song of the small\nbirds the sweetest.\n\nQuoth Robin, \"Now will I go to seek this same Friar of Fountain Abbey of\nwhom we spake yesternight, and I will take with me four of my good men,\nand these four shall be Little John, Will Scarlet, David of Doncaster,\nand Arthur a Bland. Bide the rest of you here, and Will Stutely shall be\nyour chief while I am gone.\" Then straightway Robin Hood donned a fine\nsteel coat of chain mail, over which he put on a light jacket of Lincoln\ngreen. Upon his head he clapped a steel cap, and this he covered by one\nof soft white leather, in which stood a nodding cock's plume. By his\nside he hung a good broadsword of tempered steel, the bluish blade\nmarked all over with strange figures of dragons, winged women, and what\nnot. A gallant sight was Robin so arrayed, I wot, the glint of steel\nshowing here and there as the sunlight caught brightly the links of\npolished mail that showed beneath his green coat.\n\nSo, having arrayed himself, he and the four yeomen set forth upon their\nway, Will Scarlet taking the lead, for he knew better than the others\nwhither to go. Thus, mile after mile, they strode along, now across a\nbrawling stream, now along a sunlit road, now adown some sweet forest\npath, over which the trees met in green and rustling canopy, and at the\nend of which a herd of startled deer dashed away, with rattle of leaves\nand crackle of branches. Onward they walked with song and jest and\nlaughter till noontide was passed, when at last they came to the banks\nof a wide, glassy, and lily-padded stream. Here a broad, beaten path\nstretched along beside the banks, on which path labored the horses that\ntugged at the slow-moving barges, laden with barley meal or what not,\nfrom the countryside to the many-towered town. But now, in the hot\nsilence of the midday, no horse was seen nor any man besides themselves.\nBehind them and before them stretched the river, its placid bosom\nruffled here and there by the purple dusk of a small breeze.\n\n\"Now, good uncle,\" quoth Will Scarlet at last, when they had walked for\na long time beside this sweet, bright river, \"just beyond yon bend ahead\nof us is a shallow ford which in no place is deeper than thy mid-thigh,\nand upon the other side of the stream is a certain little hermitage\nhidden amidst the bosky tangle of the thickets wherein dwelleth the\nFriar of Fountain Dale. Thither will I lead thee, for I know the way;\nalbeit it is not overhard to find.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth jolly Robin, stopping suddenly, \"had I thought that I\nshould have had to wade water, even were it so crystal a stream as this,\nI had donned other clothes than I have upon me. But no matter now, for\nafter all a wetting will not wash the skin away, and what must be, must.\nBut bide ye here, lads, for I would enjoy this merry adventure alone.\nNevertheless, listen well, and if ye hear me sound upon my bugle horn,\ncome quickly.\" So saying, he turned and left them, striding onward\nalone.\n\nRobin had walked no farther than where the bend of the road hid his\ngood men from his view, when he stopped suddenly, for he thought that\nhe heard voices. He stood still and listened, and presently heard words\npassed back and forth betwixt what seemed to be two men, and yet the two\nvoices were wondrously alike. The sound came from over behind the bank,\nthat here was steep and high, dropping from the edge of the road a half\na score of feet to the sedgy verge of the river.\n\n\"'Tis strange,\" muttered Robin to himself after a space, when the voices\nhad ceased their talking, \"surely there be two people that spoke the one\nto the other, and yet methinks their voices are mightily alike. I make\nmy vow that never have I heard the like in all my life before. Truly, if\nthis twain are to be judged by their voices, no two peas were ever more\nalike. I will look into this matter.\" So saying, he came softly to the\nriver bank and laying him down upon the grass, peered over the edge and\ndown below.\n\nAll was cool and shady beneath the bank. A stout osier grew, not\nstraight upward, but leaning across the water, shadowing the spot with\nits soft foliage. All around grew a mass of feathery ferns such as hide\nand nestle in cool places, and up to Robin's nostrils came the tender\nodor of the wild thyme, that loves the moist verges of running streams.\nHere, with his broad back against the rugged trunk of the willow tree,\nand half hidden by the soft ferns around him, sat a stout, brawny\nfellow, but no other man was there. His head was as round as a ball, and\ncovered with a mat of close-clipped, curly black hair that grew low down\non his forehead. But his crown was shorn as smooth as the palm of one's\nhand, which, together with his loose robe, cowl, and string of beads,\nshowed that which his looks never would have done, that he was a friar.\nHis cheeks were as red and shining as a winter crab, albeit they were\nnearly covered over with a close curly black beard, as were his chin\nand upper lip likewise. His neck was thick like that of a north country\nbull, and his round head closely set upon shoulders e'en a match for\nthose of Little John himself. Beneath his bushy black brows danced a\npair of little gray eyes that could not stand still for very drollery\nof humor. No man could look into his face and not feel his heartstrings\ntickled by the merriment of their look. By his side lay a steel cap,\nwhich he had laid off for the sake of the coolness to his crown. His\nlegs were stretched wide apart, and betwixt his knees he held a great\npasty compounded of juicy meats of divers kinds made savory with tender\nyoung onions, both meat and onions being mingled with a good rich gravy.\nIn his right fist he held a great piece of brown crust at which he\nmunched sturdily, and every now and then he thrust his left hand into\nthe pie and drew it forth full of meat; anon he would take a mighty pull\nat a great bottle of Malmsey that lay beside him.\n\n\"By my faith,\" quoth Robin to himself, \"I do verily believe that this\nis the merriest feast, the merriest wight, the merriest place, and the\nmerriest sight in all merry England. Methought there was another here,\nbut it must have been this holy man talking to himself.\"\n\nSo Robin lay watching the Friar, and the Friar, all unknowing that he\nwas so overlooked, ate his meal placidly. At last he was done, and,\nhaving first wiped his greasy hands upon the ferns and wild thyme (and\nsweeter napkin ne'er had king in all the world), he took up his\nflask and began talking to himself as though he were another man, and\nanswering himself as though he were somebody else.\n\n\"Dear lad, thou art the sweetest fellow in all the world, I do love thee\nas a lover loveth his lass. La, thou dost make me shamed to speak so to\nme in this solitary place, no one being by, and yet if thou wilt have me\nsay so, I do love thee as thou lovest me. Nay then, wilt thou not take a\ndrink of good Malmsey? After thee, lad, after thee. Nay, I beseech thee,\nsweeten the draught with thy lips (here he passed the flask from his\nright hand to his left). An thou wilt force it on me so, I must needs\ndo thy bidding, yet with the more pleasure do I so as I drink thy very\ngreat health (here he took a long, deep draught). And now, sweet lad,\n'tis thy turn next (here he passed the bottle from his left hand back\nagain to his right). I take it, sweet chuck, and here's wishing thee as\nmuch good as thou wishest me.\" Saying this, he took another draught, and\ntruly he drank enough for two.\n\nAll this time merry Robin lay upon the bank and listened, while his\nstomach so quaked with laughter that he was forced to press his palm\nacross his mouth to keep it from bursting forth; for, truly, he would\nnot have spoiled such a goodly jest for the half of Nottinghamshire.\n\nHaving gotten his breath from his last draught, the Friar began talking\nagain in this wise: \"Now, sweet lad, canst thou not sing me a song? La,\nI know not, I am but in an ill voice this day; prythee ask me not; dost\nthou not hear how I croak like a frog? Nay, nay, thy voice is as sweet\nas any bullfinch; come, sing, I prythee, I would rather hear thee sing\nthan eat a fair feast. Alas, I would fain not sing before one that\ncan pipe so well and hath heard so many goodly songs and ballads,\nne'ertheless, an thou wilt have it so, I will do my best. But now\nmethinks that thou and I might sing some fair song together; dost thou\nnot know a certain dainty little catch called 'The Loving Youth and the\nScornful Maid'? Why, truly, methinks I have heard it ere now. Then dost\nthou not think that thou couldst take the lass's part if I take the\nlad's? I know not but I will try; begin thou with the lad and I will\nfollow with the lass.\"\n\nThen, singing first with a voice deep and gruff, and anon in one high\nand squeaking, he blithely trolled the merry catch of\n\n\nTHE LOVING YOUTH AND THE SCORNFUL MAID\n\n     \"_Ah, it's wilt thou come with me, my love?\n     And it's wilt thou, love, be mine?\n     For I will give unto thee, my love,\n     Gay knots and ribbons so fine.\n     I'll woo thee, love, on my bended knee,\n     And I'll pipe sweet songs to none but thee.\n     Then it's hark! hark! hark!\n     To the winged lark\n     And it's hark to the cooing dove!\n     And the bright daffodil\n     Groweth down by the rill,\n     So come thou and be my love.\n\n     SHE\n     \"Now get thee away, young man so fine;\n     Now get thee away, I say;\n     For my true love shall never be thine,\n     And so thou hadst better not stay.\n     Thou art not a fine enough lad for me,\n     So I'll wait till a better young man I see.\n     For it's hark! hark! hark!\n     To the winged lark,\n     And it's hark to the cooing dove!\n     And the bright daffodil\n     Groweth down by the rill,\n     Yet never I'll be thy love.\n\n     HE\n     \"Then straight will I seek for another fair she,\n     For many a maid can be found,\n     And as thou wilt never have aught of me,\n     By thee will I never be bound.\n     For never is a blossom in the field so rare,\n     But others are found that are just as fair.\n     So it's hark! hark! hark!\n     To the joyous lark\n     And it's hark to the cooing dove!\n     And the bright daffodil\n     Groweth down by the rill,\n     And I'll seek me another dear love.\n\n     SHE\n     \"Young man, turn not so very quick away\n     Another fair lass to find.\n     Methinks I have spoken in haste today,\n     Nor have I made up my mind,\n\n     And if thou only wilt stay with me,\n     I'll love no other, sweet lad, but thee_.\"\n\nHere Robin could contain himself no longer but burst forth into a mighty\nroar of laughter; then, the holy Friar keeping on with the song, he\njoined in the chorus, and together they sang, or, as one might say,\nbellowed:\n\n     \"_So it's hark! hark! hark!\n     To the joyous lark\n     And it's hark to the cooing dove!\n     For the bright daffodil\n     Groweth down by the rill\n     And I'll be thine own true love_.\"\n\nSo they sang together, for the stout Friar did not seem to have heard\nRobin's laughter, neither did he seem to know that the yeoman had joined\nin with the song, but, with eyes half closed, looking straight before\nhim and wagging his round head from side to side in time to the music,\nhe kept on bravely to the end, he and Robin finishing up with a mighty\nroar that might have been heard a mile. But no sooner had the last word\nbeen sung than the holy man seized his steel cap, clapped it on his\nhead, and springing to his feet, cried in a great voice, \"What spy have\nwe here? Come forth, thou limb of evil, and I will carve thee into\nas fine pudding meat as e'er a wife in Yorkshire cooked of a Sunday.\"\nHereupon he drew from beneath his robes a great broadsword full as stout\nas was Robin's.\n\n\"Nay, put up thy pinking iron, friend,\" quoth Robin, standing up with\nthe tears of laughter still on his cheeks. \"Folk who have sung so\nsweetly together should not fight thereafter.\" Hereupon he leaped down\nthe bank to where the other stood. \"I tell thee, friend,\" said he, \"my\nthroat is as parched with that song as e'er a barley stubble in October.\nHast thou haply any Malmsey left in that stout pottle?\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said the Friar in a glum voice, \"thou dost ask thyself freely\nwhere thou art not bidden. Yet I trust I am too good a Christian to\nrefuse any man drink that is athirst. Such as there is o't thou art\nwelcome to a drink of the same.\" And he held the pottle out to Robin.\n\nRobin took it without more ado and putting it to his lips, tilted his\nhead back, while that which was within said \"glug!\" \"lug! glug!\" for more\nthan three winks, I wot. The stout Friar watched Robin anxiously the\nwhile, and when he was done took the pottle quickly. He shook it, held\nit betwixt his eyes and the light, looked reproachfully at the yeoman,\nand straightway placed it at his own lips. When it came away again there\nwas nought within it.\n\n\"Doss thou know the country hereabouts, thou good and holy man?\" asked\nRobin, laughing.\n\n\"Yea, somewhat,\" answered the other dryly.\n\n\"And dost thou know of a certain spot called Fountain Abbey?\"\n\n\"Yea, somewhat.\"\n\n\"Then perchance thou knowest also of a certain one who goeth by the name\nof the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey.\"\n\n\"Yea, somewhat.\"\n\n\"Well then, good fellow, holy father, or whatever thou art,\" quoth\nRobin, \"I would know whether this same Friar is to be found upon this\nside of the river or the other.\"\n\n\"That,\" quoth the Friar, \"is a practical question upon which the cunning\nrules appertaining to logic touch not. I do advise thee to find that out\nby the aid of thine own five senses; sight, feeling, and what not.\"\n\n\"I do wish much,\" quoth Robin, looking thoughtfully at the stout priest,\n\"to cross yon ford and strive to find this same good Friar.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said the other piously, \"it is a goodly wish on the part of one\nso young. Far be it from me to check thee in so holy a quest. Friend,\nthe river is free to all.\"\n\n\"Yea, good father,\" said Robin, \"but thou seest that my clothes are of\nthe finest and I fain would not get them wet. Methinks thy shoulders\nare stout and broad; couldst thou not find it in thy heart to carry me\nacross?\"\n\n\"Now, by the white hand of the holy Lady of the Fountain!\" burst forth\nthe Friar in a mighty rage, \"dost thou, thou poor puny stripling, thou\nkiss-my-lady-la poppenjay; thou--thou What shall I call thee? Dost thou\nask me, the holy Tuck, to carry thee? Now I swear--\" Here he paused\nsuddenly, then slowly the anger passed from his face, and his little\neyes twinkled once more. \"But why should I not?\" quoth he piously.\n\n\"Did not the holy Saint Christopher ever carry the stranger across the\nriver? And should I, poor sinner that I am, be ashamed to do likewise?\nCome with me, stranger, and I will do thy bidding in an humble frame of\nmind.\" So saying, he clambered up the bank, closely followed by Robin,\nand led the way to the shallow pebbly ford, chuckling to himself the\nwhile as though he were enjoying some goodly jest within himself.\n\nHaving come to the ford, he girded up his robes about his loins, tucked\nhis good broadsword beneath his arm, and stooped his back to take Robin\nupon it. Suddenly he straightened up. \"Methinks,\" quoth he, \"thou'lt get\nthy weapon wet. Let me tuck it beneath mine arm along with mine own.\"\n\n\"Nay, good father,\" said Robin, \"I would not burden thee with aught of\nmine but myself.\"\n\n\"Dost thou think,\" said the Friar mildly, \"that the good Saint\nChristopher would ha' sought his own ease so? Nay, give me thy tool as I\nbid thee, for I would carry it as a penance to my pride.\"\n\nUpon this, without more ado, Robin Hood unbuckled his sword from his\nside and handed it to the other, who thrust it with his own beneath his\narm. Then once more the Friar bent his back, and, Robin having mounted\nupon it, he stepped sturdily into the water and so strode onward,\nsplashing in the shoal, and breaking all the smooth surface into\never-widening rings. At last he reached the other side and Robin leaped\nlightly from his back.\n\n\"Many thanks, good father,\" quoth he. \"Thou art indeed a good and holy\nman. Prythee give me my sword and let me away, for I am in haste.\"\n\nAt this the stout Friar looked upon Robin for a long time, his head\non one side, and with a most waggish twist to his face; then he slowly\nwinked his right eye. \"Nay, good youth,\" said he gently, \"I doubt not\nthat thou art in haste with thine affairs, yet thou dost think nothing\nof mine. Thine are of a carnal nature; mine are of a spiritual nature,\na holy work, so to speak; moreover, mine affairs do lie upon the other\nside of this stream. I see by thy quest of this same holy recluse that\nthou art a good young man and most reverent to the cloth. I did get wet\ncoming hither, and am sadly afraid that should I wade the water again\nI might get certain cricks and pains i' the joints that would mar my\ndevotions for many a day to come. I know that since I have so humbly\ndone thy bidding thou wilt carry me back again. Thou seest how Saint\nGodrick, that holy hermit whose natal day this is, hath placed in my\nhands two swords and in thine never a one. Therefore be persuaded, good\nyouth, and carry me back again.\"\n\nRobin Hood looked up and he looked down, biting his nether lip. Quoth\nhe, \"Thou cunning Friar, thou hast me fair and fast enow. Let me tell\nthee that not one of thy cloth hath so hoodwinked me in all my life\nbefore. I might have known from thy looks that thou wert no such holy\nman as thou didst pretend to be.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" interrupted the Friar, \"I bid thee speak not so scurrilously\nneither, lest thou mayst perchance feel the prick of an inch or so of\nblue steel.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut,\" said Robin, \"speak not so, Friar; the loser hath ever the\nright to use his tongue as he doth list. Give me my sword; I do promise\nto carry thee back straightway. Nay, I will not lift the weapon against\nthee.\"\n\n\"Marry, come up,\" quoth the Friar, \"I fear thee not, fellow. Here is thy\nskewer; and get thyself presently ready, for I would hasten back.\"\n\nSo Robin took his sword again and buckled it at his side; then he bent\nhis stout back and took the Friar upon it.\n\nNow I wot Robin Hood had a heavier load to carry in the Friar than\nthe Friar had in him. Moreover he did not know the ford, so he went\nstumbling among the stones, now stepping into a deep hole, and now\nnearly tripping over a boulder, while the sweat ran down his face in\nbeads from the hardness of his journey and the heaviness of his load.\nMeantime, the Friar kept digging his heels into Robin's sides and\nbidding him hasten, calling him many ill names the while. To all this\nRobin answered never a word, but, having softly felt around till he\nfound the buckle of the belt that held the Friar's sword, he worked\nslyly at the fastenings, seeking to loosen them. Thus it came about\nthat, by the time he had reached the other bank with his load, the\nFriar's sword belt was loose albeit he knew it not; so when Robin stood\non dry land and the Friar leaped from his back, the yeoman gripped hold\nof the sword so that blade, sheath, and strap came away from the holy\nman, leaving him without a weapon.\n\n\"Now then,\" quoth merry Robin, panting as he spake and wiping the sweat\nfrom his brow, \"I have thee, fellow. This time that same saint of whom\nthou didst speak but now hath delivered two swords into my hand and hath\nstripped thine away from thee. Now if thou dost not carry me back, and\nthat speedily, I swear I will prick thy skin till it is as full of holes\nas a slashed doublet.\"\n\nThe good Friar said not a word for a while, but he looked at Robin with\na grim look. \"Now,\" said he at last, \"I did think that thy wits were of\nthe heavy sort and knew not that thou wert so cunning. Truly, thou hast\nme upon the hip. Give me my sword, and I promise not to draw it against\nthee save in self-defense; also, I promise to do thy bidding and take\nthee upon my back and carry thee.\"\n\nSo jolly Robin gave him his sword again, which the Friar buckled to\nhis side, and this time looked to it that it was more secure in its\nfastenings; then tucking up his robes once more, he took Robin Hood upon\nhis back and without a word stepped into the water, and so waded on in\nsilence while Robin sat laughing upon his back. At last he reached the\nmiddle of the ford where the water was deepest. Here he stopped for\na moment, and then, with a sudden lift of his hand and heave of his\nshoulders, fairly shot Robin over his head as though he were a sack of\ngrain.\n\nDown went Robin into the water with a mighty splash. \"There,\" quoth the\nholy man, calmly turning back again to the shore, \"let that cool thy hot\nspirit, if it may.\"\n\nMeantime, after much splashing, Robin had gotten to his feet and stood\ngazing about him all bewildered, the water running from him in pretty\nlittle rills. At last he shot the water out of his ears and spat some\nout of his mouth, and, gathering his scattered wits together, saw the\nstout Friar standing on the bank and laughing. Then, I wot, was Robin\nHood a mad man. \"Stay, thou villain!\" roared he, \"I am after thee\nstraight, and if I do not carve thy brawn for thee this day, may I never\nlift finger again!\" So saying, he dashed, splashing, to the bank.\n\n\"Thou needst not hasten thyself unduly,\" quoth the stout Friar. \"Fear\nnot; I will abide here, and if thou dost not cry 'Alack-a-day' ere long\ntime is gone, may I never more peep through the brake at a fallow deer.\"\n\nAnd now Robin, having reached the bank, began, without more ado, to roll\nup his sleeves above his wrists. The Friar, also, tucked his robes more\nabout him, showing a great, stout arm on which the muscles stood out\nlike humps of an aged tree. Then Robin saw, what he had not wotted of\nbefore, that the Friar had also a coat of chain mail beneath his gown.\n\n\"Look to thyself,\" cried Robin, drawing his good sword.\n\n\"Ay, marry,\" quoth the Friar, who held his already in his hand. So,\nwithout more ado, they came together, and thereupon began a fierce and\nmighty battle. Right and left, and up and down and back and forth they\nfought. The swords flashed in the sun and then met with a clash that\nsounded far and near. I wot this was no playful bout at quarterstaff,\nbut a grim and serious fight of real earnest. Thus they strove for an\nhour or more, pausing every now and then to rest, at which times each\nlooked at the other with wonder, and thought that never had he seen so\nstout a fellow; then once again they would go at it more fiercely than\never. Yet in all this time neither had harmed the other nor caused his\nblood to flow. At last merry Robin cried, \"Hold thy hand, good friend!\"\nwhereupon both lowered their swords.\n\n\"Now I crave a boon ere we begin again,\" quoth Robin, wiping the sweat\nfrom his brow; for they had striven so long that he began to think that\nit would be an ill-done thing either to be smitten himself or to smite\nso stout and brave a fellow.\n\n\"What wouldst thou have of me?\" asked the Friar.\n\n\"Only this,\" quoth Robin; \"that thou wilt let me blow thrice upon my\nbugle horn.\"\n\nThe Friar bent his brows and looked shrewdly at Robin Hood. \"Now I\ndo verily think that thou hast some cunning trick in this,\" quoth\nhe. \"Ne'ertheless, I fear thee not, and will let thee have thy wish,\nproviding thou wilt also let me blow thrice upon this little whistle.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" quoth Robin, \"so, here goes for one.\" So saying,\nhe raised his silver horn to his lips and blew thrice upon it, clear and\nhigh.\n\nMeantime, the Friar stood watching keenly for what might come to pass,\nholding in his fingers the while a pretty silver whistle, such as\nknights use for calling their hawks back to their wrists, which whistle\nalways hung at his girdle along with his rosary.\n\nScarcely had the echo of the last note of Robin's bugle come winding\nback from across the river, when four tall men in Lincoln green came\nrunning around the bend of the road, each with a bow in his hand and an\narrow ready nocked upon the string.\n\n\"Ha! Is it thus, thou traitor knave!\" cried the Friar. \"Then, marry,\nlook to thyself!\" So saying, he straightway clapped the hawk's whistle\nto his lips and blew a blast that was both loud and shrill. And now\nthere came a crackling of the bushes that lined the other side of the\nroad, and presently forth from the covert burst four great, shaggy\nhounds. \"At 'em, Sweet Lips! At 'em, Bell Throat! At 'em, Beauty! At\n'em, Fangs!\" cried the Friar, pointing at Robin.\n\nAnd now it was well for that yeoman that a tree stood nigh him beside\nthe road, else had he had an ill chance of it. Ere one could say \"Gaffer\nDownthedale\" the hounds were upon him, and he had only time to drop his\nsword and leap lightly into the tree, around which the hounds gathered,\nlooking up at him as though he were a cat on the eaves. But the Friar\nquickly called off his dogs. \"At 'em!\" cried he, pointing down the road\nto where the yeomen were standing stock still with wonder of what they\nsaw. As the hawk darts down upon its quarry, so sped the four dogs at\nthe yeomen; but when the four men saw the hounds so coming, all with one\naccord, saving only Will Scarlet, drew each man his goose feather to his\near and let fly his shaft.\n\nAnd now the old ballad telleth of a wondrous thing that happened, for\nthus it says, that each dog so shot at leaped lightly aside, and as the\narrow passed him whistling, caught it in his mouth and bit it in twain.\nNow it would have been an ill day for these four good fellows had not\nWill Scarlet stepped before the others and met the hounds as they came\nrushing. \"Why, how now, Fangs!\" cried he sternly. \"Down, Beauty! Down,\nsirrah! What means this?\"\n\nAt the sound of his voice each dog shrank back quickly and then\nstraightway came to him and licked his hands and fawned upon him, as\nis the wont of dogs that meet one they know. Then the four yeomen came\nforward, the hounds leaping around Will Scarlet joyously. \"Why, how\nnow!\" cried the stout Friar, \"what means this? Art thou wizard to turn\nthose wolves into lambs? Ha!\" cried he, when they had come still nearer,\n\"can I trust mine eyes? What means it that I see young Master William\nGamwell in such company?\"\n\n\"Nay, Tuck,\" said the young man, as the four came forward to where Robin\nwas now clambering down from the tree in which he had been roosting, he\nhaving seen that all danger was over for the time; \"nay, Tuck, my name\nis no longer Will Gamwell, but Will Scarlet; and this is my good uncle,\nRobin Hood, with whom I am abiding just now.\"\n\n\"Truly, good master,\" said the Friar, looking somewhat abashed and\nreaching out his great palm to Robin, \"I ha' oft heard thy name both\nsung and spoken of, but I never thought to meet thee in battle. I crave\nthy forgiveness, and do wonder not that I found so stout a man against\nme.\"\n\n\"Truly, most holy father,\" said Little John, \"I am more thankful than\ne'er I was in all my life before that our good friend Scarlet knew thee\nand thy dogs. I tell thee seriously that I felt my heart crumble away\nfrom me when I saw my shaft so miss its aim, and those great beasts of\nthine coming straight at me.\"\n\n\"Thou mayst indeed be thankful, friend,\" said the Friar gravely. \"But,\nMaster Will, how cometh it that thou dost now abide in Sherwood?\"\n\n\"Why, Tuck, dost thou not know of my ill happening with my father's\nsteward?\" answered Scarlet.\n\n\"Yea, truly, yet I knew not that thou wert in hiding because of it.\nMarry, the times are all awry when a gentleman must lie hidden for so\nsmall a thing.\"\n\n\"But we are losing time,\" quoth Robin, \"and I have yet to find that same\nCurtal Friar.\"\n\n\"Why, uncle, thou hast not far to go,\" said Will Scarlet, pointing to\nthe Friar, \"for there he stands beside thee.\"\n\n\"How?\" quoth Robin, \"art thou the man that I have been at such pains to\nseek all day, and have got such a ducking for?\"\n\n\"Why, truly,\" said the Friar demurely, \"some do call me the Curtal Friar\nof Fountain Dale; others again call me in jest the Abbot of Fountain\nAbbey; others still again call me simple Friar Tuck.\"\n\n\"I like the last name best,\" quoth Robin, \"for it doth slip more glibly\noff the tongue. But why didst thou not tell me thou wert he I sought,\ninstead of sending me searching for black moonbeams?\"\n\n\"Why, truly, thou didst not ask me, good master,\" quoth stout Tuck; \"but\nwhat didst thou desire of me?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, \"the day groweth late, and we cannot stand longer\ntalking here. Come back with us to Sherwood, and I will unfold all to\nthee as we travel along.\"\n\nSo, without tarrying longer, they all departed, with the stout dogs at\ntheir heels, and wended their way back to Sherwood again; but it was\nlong past nightfall ere they reached the greenwood tree.\n\nNow listen, for next I will tell how Robin Hood compassed the happiness\nof two young lovers, aided by the merry Friar Tuck of Fountain Dale.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood Compasses a Marriage\n\nAND NOW had come the morning when fair Ellen was to be married, and on\nwhich merry Robin had sworn that Allan a Dale should, as it were, eat\nout of the platter that had been filled for Sir Stephen of Trent. Up\nrose Robin Hood, blithe and gay, up rose his merry men one and all, and\nup rose last of all stout Friar Tuck, winking the smart of sleep from\nout his eyes. Then, while the air seemed to brim over with the song of\nmany birds, all blended together and all joying in the misty morn, each\nman raved face and hands in the leaping brook, and so the day began.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Robin, when they had broken their fast, and each man had\neaten his fill, \"it is time for us to set forth upon the undertaking\nthat we have in hand for today. I will choose me one score of my good\nmen to go with me, for I may need aid; and thou, Will Scarlet, wilt\nabide here and be the chief while I am gone.\" Then searching through\nall the band, each man of whom crowded forward eager to be chosen, Robin\ncalled such as he wished by name, until he had a score of stout fellows,\nthe very flower of his yeomanrie. Besides Little John and Will Stutely\nwere nigh all those famous lads of whom I have already told you. Then,\nwhile those so chosen ran leaping, full of joy, to arm themselves with\nbow and shaft and broadsword, Robin Hood stepped aside into the covert,\nand there donned a gay, beribboned coat such as might have been worn\nby some strolling minstrel, and slung a harp across his shoulder, the\nbetter to carry out that part.\n\nAll the band stared and many laughed, for never had they seen their\nmaster in such a fantastic guise before.\n\n\"Truly,\" quoth Robin, holding up his arms and looking down at himself,\n\"I do think it be somewhat of a gay, gaudy, grasshopper dress; but it\nis a pretty thing for all that, and doth not ill befit the turn of my\nlooks, albeit I wear it but for the nonce. But stay, Little John, here\nare two bags that I would have thee carry in thy pouch for the sake of\nsafekeeping. I can ill care for them myself beneath this motley.\"\n\n\"Why, master,\" quoth Little John, taking the bags and weighing them in\nhis hand, \"here is the chink of gold.\"\n\n\"Well, what an there be,\" said Robin, \"it is mine own coin and the band\nis none the worse for what is there. Come, busk ye, lads,\" and he turned\nquickly away. \"Get ye ready straightway.\" Then gathering the score\ntogether in a close rank, in the midst of which were Allan a Dale and\nFriar Tuck, he led them forth upon their way from the forest shades.\n\nSo they walked on for a long time till they had come out of Sherwood and\nto the vale of Rotherstream. Here were different sights from what one\nsaw in the forest; hedgerows, broad fields of barley corn, pasture lands\nrolling upward till they met the sky and all dotted over with flocks of\nwhite sheep, hayfields whence came the odor of new-mown hay that lay in\nsmooth swathes over which skimmed the swifts in rapid flight; such they\nsaw, and different was it, I wot, from the tangled depths of the sweet\nwoodlands, but full as fair. Thus Robin led his band, walking blithely\nwith chest thrown out and head thrown back, snuffing the odors of the\ngentle breeze that came drifting from over the hayfields.\n\n\"Truly,\" quoth he, \"the dear world is as fair here as in the woodland\nshades. Who calls it a vale of tears? Methinks it is but the darkness in\nour minds that bringeth gloom to the world. For what sayeth that merry\nsong thou singest, Little John? Is it not thus?\n\n     \"_For when my love's eyes do thine, do thine,\n     And when her lips smile so rare,\n     The day it is jocund and fine, so fine,\n     Though let it be wet or be fair\n     And when the stout ale is all flowing so fast,\n     Our sorrows and troubles are things of the past_.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Friar Tuck piously, \"ye do think of profane things and of\nnought else; yet, truly, there be better safeguards against care and woe\nthan ale drinking and bright eyes, to wit, fasting and meditation. Look\nupon me, have I the likeness of a sorrowful man?\"\n\nAt this a great shout of laughter went up from all around, for the night\nbefore the stout Friar had emptied twice as many canakins of ale as any\none of all the merry men.\n\n\"Truly,\" quoth Robin, when he could speak for laughter, \"I should say\nthat thy sorrows were about equal to thy goodliness.\"\n\nSo they stepped along, talking, singing, jesting, and laughing, until\nthey had come to a certain little church that belonged to the great\nestates owned by the rich Priory of Emmet. Here it was that fair Ellen\nwas to be married on that morn, and here was the spot toward which the\nyeomen had pointed their toes. On the other side of the road from where\nthe church stood with waving fields of barley around, ran a stone wall\nalong the roadside. Over the wall from the highway was a fringe of young\ntrees and bushes, and here and there the wall itself was covered by a\nmass of blossoming woodbine that filled all the warm air far and near\nwith its sweet summer odor. Then straightway the yeomen leaped over the\nwall, alighting on the tall soft grass upon the other side, frightening\na flock of sheep that lay there in the shade so that they scampered away\nin all directions. Here was a sweet cool shadow both from the wall and\nfrom the fair young trees and bushes, and here sat the yeomen down, and\nglad enough they were to rest after their long tramp of the morning.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Robin, \"I would have one of you watch and tell me when he\nsees anyone coming to the church, and the one I choose shall be young\nDavid of Doncaster. So get thee upon the wall, David, and hide beneath\nthe woodbine so as to keep watch.\"\n\nAccordingly young David did as he was bidden, the others stretching\nthemselves at length upon the grass, some talking together and others\nsleeping. Then all was quiet save only for the low voices of those that\ntalked together, and for Allan's restless footsteps pacing up and down,\nfor his soul was so full of disturbance that he could not stand still,\nand saving, also, for the mellow snoring of Friar Tuck, who enjoyed his\nsleep with a noise as of one sawing soft wood very slowly. Robin lay\nupon his back and gazed aloft into the leaves of the trees, his thought\nleagues away, and so a long time passed.\n\nThen up spoke Robin, \"Now tell us, young David of Doncaster, what dost\nthou see?\"\n\nThen David answered, \"I see the white clouds floating and I feel the\nwind a-blowing and three black crows are flying over the wold; but\nnought else do I see, good master.\"\n\nSo silence fell again and another time passed, broken only as I have\nsaid, till Robin, growing impatient, spake again. \"Now tell me, young\nDavid, what dost thou see by this?\"\n\nAnd David answered, \"I see the windmills swinging and three tall poplar\ntrees swaying against the sky, and a flock of fieldfares are flying over\nthe hill; but nought else do I see, good master.\"\n\nSo another time passed, till at last Robin asked young David once more\nwhat he saw; and David said, \"I hear the cuckoo singing, and I see how\nthe wind makes waves in the barley field; and now over the hill to the\nchurch cometh an old friar, and in his hands he carries a great bunch of\nkeys; and lo! Now he cometh to the church door.\"\n\nThen up rose Robin Hood and shook Friar Tuck by the shoulder. \"Come,\nrouse thee, holy man!\" cried he; whereupon, with much grunting, the\nstout Tuck got to his feet. \"Marry, bestir thyself,\" quoth Robin, \"for\nyonder, in the church door, is one of thy cloth. Go thou and talk to\nhim, and so get thyself into the church, that thou mayst be there when\nthou art wanted; meantime, Little John, Will Stutely, and I will follow\nthee anon.\"\n\nSo Friar Tuck clambered over the wall, crossed the road, and came to the\nchurch, where the old friar was still laboring with the great key, the\nlock being somewhat rusty and he somewhat old and feeble.\n\n\"Hilloa, brother,\" quoth Tuck, \"let me aid thee.\" So saying, he took the\nkey from the other's hand and quickly opened the door with a turn of it.\n\n\"Who art thou, good brother?\" asked the old friar, in a high, wheezing\nvoice. \"Whence comest thou, and whither art thou going?\" And he winked\nand blinked at stout Friar Tuck like an owl at the sun.\n\n\"Thus do I answer thy questions, brother,\" said the other. \"My name is\nTuck, and I go no farther than this spot, if thou wilt haply but let me\nstay while this same wedding is going forward. I come from Fountain Dale\nand, in truth, am a certain poor hermit, as one may say, for I live in a\ncell beside the fountain blessed by that holy Saint Ethelrada. But, if\nI understand aught, there is to be a gay wedding here today; so, if thou\nmindest not, I would fain rest me in the cool shade within, for I would\nlike to see this fine sight.\"\n\n\"Truly, thou art welcome, brother,\" said the old man, leading the way\nwithin. Meantime, Robin Hood, in his guise of harper, together with\nLittle John and Will Stutely, had come to the church. Robin sat him down\non a bench beside the door, but Little John, carrying the two bags of\ngold, went within, as did Will Stutely.\n\nSo Robin sat by the door, looking up the road and down the road to see\nwho might come, till, after a time, he saw six horsemen come riding\nsedately and slowly, as became them, for they were churchmen in high\norders. Then, when they had come nearer, Robin saw who they were, and\nknew them. The first was the Bishop of Hereford, and a fine figure he\ncut, I wot. His vestments were of the richest silk, and around his neck\nwas a fair chain of beaten gold. The cap that hid his tonsure was\nof black velvet, and around the edges of it were rows of jewels that\nflashed in the sunlight, each stone being set in gold. His hose were\nof flame-colored silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the long, pointed\ntoes being turned up and fastened to his knees, and on either instep was\nembroidered a cross in gold thread. Beside the Bishop rode the Prior of\nEmmet upon a mincing palfrey. Rich were his clothes also, but not so gay\nas the stout Bishop's. Behind these were two of the higher brethren of\nEmmet, and behind these again two retainers belonging to the Bishop; for\nthe Lord Bishop of Hereford strove to be as like the great barons as was\nin the power of one in holy orders.\n\nWhen Robin saw this train drawing near, with flash of jewels and silk\nand jingle of silver bells on the trappings of the nags, he looked\nsourly upon them. Quoth he to himself, \"Yon Bishop is overgaudy for\na holy man. I do wonder whether his patron, who, methinks, was Saint\nThomas, was given to wearing golden chains about his neck, silk clothing\nupon his body, and pointed shoes upon his feet; the money for all of\nwhich, God wot, hath been wrung from the sweat of poor tenants. Bishop,\nBishop, thy pride may have a fall ere thou wottest of it.\"\n\nSo the holy men came to the church; the Bishop and the Prior jesting and\nlaughing between themselves about certain fair dames, their words more\nbefitting the lips of laymen, methinks, than holy clerks. Then they\ndismounted, and the Bishop, looking around, presently caught sight of\nRobin standing in the doorway. \"Hilloa, good fellow,\" quoth he in a\njovial voice, \"who art thou that struttest in such gay feathers?\"\n\n\"A harper am I from the north country,\" quoth Robin, \"and I can touch\nthe strings, I wot, as never another man in all merry England can do.\nTruly, good Lord Bishop, many a knight and burgher, clerk and layman,\nhave danced to my music, willy-nilly, and most times greatly against\ntheir will; such is the magic of my harping. Now this day, my Lord\nBishop, if I may play at this wedding, I do promise that I will cause\nthe fair bride to love the man she marries with a love that shall last\nas long as that twain shall live together.\"\n\n\"Ha! is it so?\" cried the Bishop. \"Meanest thou this in sooth?\" And he\nlooked keenly at Robin, who gazed boldly back again into his eyes. \"Now,\nif thou wilt cause this maiden (who hath verily bewitched my poor cousin\nStephen) thus to love the man she is to marry, as thou sayst thou canst,\nI will give thee whatsoever thou wilt ask me in due measure. Let me have\na taste of thy skill, fellow.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, \"my music cometh not without I choose, even at a\nlord bishop's bidding. In sooth, I will not play until the bride and\nbridegroom come.\"\n\n\"Now, thou art a saucy varlet to speak so to my crest,\" quoth the\nBishop, frowning on Robin. \"Yet, I must needs bear with thee. Look,\nPrior, hither cometh our cousin Sir Stephen, and his ladylove.\"\n\nAnd now, around the bend of the highroad, came others, riding upon\nhorses. The first of all was a tall, thin man, of knightly bearing,\ndressed all in black silk, with a black velvet cap upon his head,\nturned up with scarlet. Robin looked, and had no doubt that this was Sir\nStephen, both because of his knightly carriage and of his gray hairs.\nBeside him rode a stout Saxon franklin, Ellen's father, Edward of\nDeirwold; behind those two came a litter borne by two horses, and\ntherein was a maiden whom Robin knew must be Ellen. Behind this litter\nrode six men-at-arms, the sunlight flashing on their steel caps as they\ncame jingling up the dusty road.\n\nSo these also came to the church, and there Sir Stephen leaped from his\nhorse and, coming to the litter, handed fair Ellen out therefrom. Then\nRobin Hood looked at her, and could wonder no longer how it came about\nthat so proud a knight as Sir Stephen of Trent wished to marry a common\nfranklin's daughter; nor did he wonder that no ado was made about the\nmatter, for she was the fairest maiden that ever he had beheld. Now,\nhowever, she was all pale and drooping, like a fair white lily snapped\nat the stem; and so, with bent head and sorrowful look, she went within\nthe church, Sir Stephen leading her by the hand.\n\n\"Why dost thou not play, fellow?\" quoth the Bishop, looking sternly at\nRobin.\n\n\"Marry,\" said Robin calmly, \"I will play in greater wise than Your\nLordship thinks, but not till the right time hath come.\"\n\nSaid the Bishop to himself, while he looked grimly at Robin, \"When this\nwedding is gone by I will have this fellow well whipped for his saucy\ntongue and bold speech.\"\n\nAnd now fair Ellen and Sir Stephen stood before the altar, and the\nBishop himself came in his robes and opened his book, whereat fair Ellen\nlooked up and about her in bitter despair, like the fawn that finds the\nhounds on her haunch. Then, in all his fluttering tags and ribbons of\nred and yellow, Robin Hood strode forward. Three steps he took from the\npillar whereby he leaned, and stood between the bride and bridegroom.\n\n\"Let me look upon this lass,\" he said in a loud voice. \"Why, how now!\nWhat have we here? Here be lilies in the cheeks, and not roses such as\nbefit a bonny bride. This is no fit wedding. Thou, Sir Knight, so old,\nand she so young, and thou thinkest to make her thy wife? I tell thee it\nmay not be, for thou art not her own true love.\"\n\nAt this all stood amazed, and knew not where to look nor what to think\nor say, for they were all bewildered with the happening; so, while\neveryone looked at Robin as though they had been changed to stone, he\nclapped his bugle horn to his lips and blew three blasts so loud and\nclear, they echoed from floor to rafter as though they were sounded by\nthe trump of doom. Then straightway Little John and Will Stutely came\nleaping and stood upon either side of Robin Hood, and quickly drew their\nbroadswords, the while a mighty voice rolled over the heads of all,\n\"Here be I, good master, when thou wantest me;\" for it was Friar Tuck\nthat so called from the organ loft.\n\nAnd now all was hubbub and noise. Stout Edward strode forward raging,\nand would have seized his daughter to drag her away, but Little John\nstepped between and thrust him back. \"Stand back, old man,\" said he,\n\"thou art a hobbled horse this day.\"\n\n\"Down with the villains!\" cried Sir Stephen, and felt for his sword, but\nit hung not beside him on his wedding day.\n\nThen the men-at-arms drew their swords, and it seemed like that blood\nwould wet the stones; but suddenly came a bustle at the door and loud\nvoices, steel flashed in the light, and the crash of blows sounded.\nThe men-at-arms fell back, and up the aisle came leaping eighteen stout\nyeomen all clad in Lincoln green, with Allan a Dale at their head. In\nhis hand he bore Robin Hood's good stout trusty bow of yew, and this he\ngave to him, kneeling the while upon one knee.\n\nThen up spake Edward of Deirwold in a deep voice of anger, \"Is it thou,\nAllan a Dale, that hath bred all this coil in a church?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth merry Robin, \"that have I done, and I care not who knoweth\nit, for my name is Robin Hood.\"\n\nAt this name a sudden silence fell. The Prior of Emmet and those that\nbelonged to him gathered together like a flock of frightened sheep when\nthe scent of the wolf is nigh, while the Bishop of Hereford, laying\naside his book, crossed himself devoutly. \"Now Heaven keep us this day,\"\nsaid he, \"from that evil man!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, \"I mean you no harm; but here is fair Ellen's\nbetrothed husband, and she shall marry him or pain will be bred to some\nof you.\"\n\nThen up spake stout Edward in a loud and angry voice, \"Now I say nay! I\nam her father, and she shall marry Sir Stephen and none other.\"\n\nNow all this time, while everything was in turmoil about him, Sir\nStephen had been standing in proud and scornful silence. \"Nay, fellow,\"\nsaid he coldly, \"thou mayst take thy daughter back again; I would\nnot marry her after this day's doings could I gain all merry England\nthereby. I tell thee plainly, I loved thy daughter, old as I am, and\nwould have taken her up like a jewel from the sty, yet, truly, I knew\nnot that she did love this fellow, and was beloved by him. Maiden, if\nthou dost rather choose a beggarly minstrel than a high-born knight,\ntake thy choice. I do feel it shame that I should thus stand talking\namid this herd, and so I will leave you.\" Thus saying, he turned and,\ngathering his men about him, walked proudly down the aisle. Then all the\nyeomen were silenced by the scorn of his words. Only Friar Tuck leaned\nover the edge of the choir loft and called out to him ere he had gone,\n\"Good den, Sir Knight. Thou wottest old bones must alway make room for\nyoung blood.\" Sir Stephen neither answered nor looked up, but passed out\nfrom the church as though he had heard nought, his men following him.\n\nThen the Bishop of Hereford spoke hastily, \"I, too, have no business\nhere, and so will depart.\" And he made as though he would go. But Robin\nHood laid hold of his clothes and held him. \"Stay, my Lord Bishop,\" said\nhe, \"I have yet somewhat to say to thee.\" The Bishop's face fell, but he\nstayed as Robin bade him, for he saw he could not go.\n\nThen Robin Hood turned to stout Edward of Deirwold, and said he, \"Give\nthy blessing on thy daughter's marriage to this yeoman, and all will be\nwell. Little John, give me the bags of gold. Look, farmer. Here are two\nhundred bright golden angels; give thy blessing, as I say, and I will\ncount them out to thee as thy daughter's dower. Give not thy blessing,\nand she shall be married all the same, but not so much as a cracked\nfarthing shall cross thy palm. Choose.\"\n\nThen Edward looked upon the ground with bent brows, turning the matter\nover and over in his mind; but he was a shrewd man and one, withal, that\nmade the best use of a cracked pipkin; so at last he looked up and said,\nbut in no joyous tone, \"If the wench will go her own gait, let her go. I\nhad thought to make a lady of her; yet if she chooses to be what she is\nlike to be, I have nought to do with her henceforth. Ne'ertheless I will\ngive her my blessing when she is duly wedded.\"\n\n\"It may not be,\" spake up one of those of Emmet. \"The banns have not\nbeen duly published, neither is there any priest here to marry them.\"\n\n\"How sayst thou?\" roared Tuck from the choir loft. \"No priest? Marry,\nhere stands as holy a man as thou art, any day of the week, a clerk in\norders, I would have thee know. As for the question of banns, stumble\nnot over that straw, brother, for I will publish them.\" So saying, he\ncalled the banns; and, says the old ballad, lest three times should not\nbe enough, he published them nine times o'er. Then straightway he came\ndown from the loft and forthwith performed the marriage service; and so\nAllan and Ellen were duly wedded.\n\nAnd now Robin counted out two hundred golden angels to Edward of\nDeirwold, and he, upon his part, gave his blessing, yet not, I wot,\nas though he meant it with overmuch good will. Then the stout yeomen\ncrowded around and grasped Allan's palm, and he, holding Ellen's hand\nwithin his own, looked about him all dizzy with his happiness.\n\nThen at last jolly Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford, who had been\nlooking on at all that passed with a grim look. \"My Lord Bishop,\" quoth\nhe, \"thou mayst bring to thy mind that thou didst promise me that did I\nplay in such wise as to cause this fair lass to love her husband, thou\nwouldst give me whatsoever I asked in reason. I have played my play, and\nshe loveth her husband, which she would not have done but for me; so\nnow fulfill thy promise. Thou hast upon thee that which, methinks, thou\nwouldst be the better without; therefore, I prythee, give me that golden\nchain that hangeth about thy neck as a wedding present for this fair\nbride.\"\n\nThen the Bishop's cheeks grew red with rage and his eyes flashed. He\nlooked at Robin with a fell look, but saw that in the yeoman's face\nwhich bade him pause. Then slowly he took the chain from about his neck\nand handed it to Robin, who flung it over Ellen's head so that it hung\nglittering about her shoulders. Then said merry Robin, \"I thank thee, on\nthe bride's part, for thy handsome gift, and truly thou thyself art more\nseemly without it. Now, shouldst thou ever come nigh to Sherwood I much\nhope that I shall give thee there such a feast as thou hast ne'er had in\nall thy life before.\"\n\n\"May Heaven forfend!\" cried the Bishop earnestly; for he knew right well\nwhat manner of feast it was that Robin Hood gave his guests in Sherwood\nForest.\n\nBut now Robin Hood gathered his men together, and, with Allan and his\nyoung bride in their midst, they all turned their footsteps toward the\nwoodlands. On the way thither Friar Tuck came close to Robin and plucked\nhim by the sleeve. \"Thou dost lead a merry life, good master,\" quoth he,\n\"but dost thou not think that it would be for the welfare of all your\nsouls to have a good stout chaplain, such as I, to oversee holy matters?\nTruly, I do love this life mightily.\" At this merry Robin Hood laughed\namain, and bade him stay and become one of their band if he wished.\n\nThat night there was such a feast held in the greenwood as\nNottinghamshire never saw before. To that feast you and I were not\nbidden, and pity it is that we were not; so, lest we should both feel\nthe matter the more keenly, I will say no more about it.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood Aids a Sorrowful Knight\n\nSO PASSED the gentle springtime away in budding beauty; its silver\nshowers and sunshine, its green meadows and its flowers. So, likewise,\npassed the summer with its yellow sunlight, its quivering heat and deep,\nbosky foliage, its long twilights and its mellow nights, through which\nthe frogs croaked and fairy folk were said to be out on the hillsides.\nAll this had passed and the time of fall had come, bringing with it its\nown pleasures and joyousness; for now, when the harvest was gathered\nhome, merry bands of gleaners roamed the country about, singing along\nthe roads in the daytime, and sleeping beneath the hedgerows and the\nhay-ricks at night. Now the hips burned red in the tangled thickets and\nthe hews waxed black in the hedgerows, the stubble lay all crisp and\nnaked to the sky, and the green leaves were fast turning russet and\nbrown. Also, at this merry season, good things of the year are gathered\nin in great store. Brown ale lies ripening in the cellar, hams and\nbacon hang in the smoke-shed, and crabs are stowed away in the straw for\nroasting in the wintertime, when the north wind piles the snow in drifts\naround the gables and the fire crackles warm upon the hearth.\n\nSo passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in\ntime to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and\nare soon forgotten.\n\n\nQuoth Robin Hood, snuffing the air, \"Here is a fair day, Little John,\nand one that we can ill waste in idleness. Choose such men as thou dost\nneed, and go thou east while I will wend to the west, and see that\neach of us bringeth back some goodly guest to dine this day beneath the\ngreenwood tree.\"\n\n\"Marry,\" cried Little John, clapping his palms together for joy, \"thy\nbidding fitteth my liking like heft to blade. I'll bring thee back a\nguest this day, or come not back mine own self.\"\n\nThen they each chose such of the band as they wished, and so went forth\nby different paths from the forest.\n\nNow, you and I cannot go two ways at the same time while we join in\nthese merry doings; so we will e'en let Little John follow his own path\nwhile we tuck up our skirts and trudge after Robin Hood. And here\nis good company, too; Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, Will\nScathelock, Midge, the Miller's son, and others. A score or more of\nstout fellows had abided in the forest, with Friar Tuck, to make ready\nfor the homecoming, but all the rest were gone either with Robin Hood or\nLittle John.\n\nThey traveled onward, Robin following his fancy and the others following\nRobin. Now they wended their way through an open dale with cottage and\nfarm lying therein, and now again they entered woodlands once more.\nPassing by fair Mansfield Town, with its towers and battlements and\nspires all smiling in the sun, they came at last out of the forest\nlands. Onward they journeyed, through highway and byway, through\nvillages where goodwives and merry lasses peeped through the casements\nat the fine show of young men, until at last they came over beyond\nAlverton in Derbyshire. By this time high noontide had come, yet they\nhad met no guest such as was worth their while to take back to Sherwood;\nso, coming at last to a certain spot where a shrine stood at the\ncrossing of two roads, Robin called upon them to stop, for here on\neither side was shelter of high hedgerows, behind which was good hiding,\nwhence they could watch the roads at their ease, while they ate their\nmidday meal. Quoth merry Robin, \"Here, methinks, is good lodging, where\npeaceful folk, such as we be, can eat in quietness; therefore we will\nrest here, and see what may, perchance, fall into our luck-pot.\" So they\ncrossed a stile and came behind a hedgerow where the mellow sunlight was\nbright and warm, and where the grass was soft, and there sat them down.\nThen each man drew from the pouch that hung beside him that which he\nhad brought to eat, for a merry walk such as this had been sharpens\nthe appetite till it is as keen as a March wind. So no more words were\nspoken, but each man saved his teeth for better use--munching at brown\ncrust and cold meat right lustily.\n\nIn front of them, one of the highroads crawled up the steep hill and\nthen dipped suddenly over its crest, sharp-cut with hedgerow and shaggy\ngrass against the sky. Over the top of the windy hill peeped the eaves\nof a few houses of the village that fell back into the valley behind;\nthere, also, showed the top of a windmill, the sails slowly rising and\ndipping from behind the hill against the clear blue sky, as the light\nwind moved them with creaking and labored swing.\n\nSo the yeomen lay behind the hedge and finished their midday meal; but\nstill the time slipped along and no one came. At last, a man came slowly\nriding over the hill and down the stony road toward the spot where Robin\nand his band lay hidden. He was a good stout knight, but sorrowful of\nface and downcast of mien. His clothes were plain and rich, but no chain\nof gold, such as folk of his stand in life wore at most times, hung\naround his neck, and no jewel was about him; yet no one could mistake\nhim for aught but one of proud and noble blood. His head was bowed upon\nhis breast and his hands drooped limp on either side; and so he came\nslowly riding, as though sunk in sad thoughts, while even his good\nhorse, the reins loose upon his neck, walked with hanging head, as\nthough he shared his master's grief.\n\nQuoth Robin Hood, \"Yon is verily a sorry-looking gallant, and doth seem\nto have donned ill-content with his jerkin this morning; nevertheless,\nI will out and talk with him, for there may be some pickings here for\na hungry daw. Methinks his dress is rich, though he himself is so\ndowncast. Bide ye here till I look into this matter.\" So saying, he\narose and left them, crossed the road to the shrine, and there stood,\nwaiting for the sorrowful knight to come near him. So, presently, when\nthe knight came riding slowly along, jolly Robin stepped forward and\nlaid his hand upon the bridle rein. \"Hold, Sir Knight,\" quoth he. \"I\nprythee tarry for a short time, for I have a few words to say to thee.\"\n\n\"What art thou, friend, who dost stop a traveler in this manner upon his\nmost gracious Majesty's highway?\" said the Knight.\n\n\"Marry,\" quoth Robin, \"that is a question hard to answer. One man\ncalleth me kind, another calleth me cruel; this one calleth me good\nhonest fellow, and that one, vile thief. Truly, the world hath as many\neyes to look upon a man withal as there are spots on a toad; so, with\nwhat pair of eyes thou regardest me lieth entirely with thine own self.\nMy name is Robin Hood.\"\n\n\"Truly, good Robin,\" said the Knight, a smile twitching at the corners\nof his mouth, \"thou hast a quaint conceit. As for the pair of eyes with\nwhich I regard thee, I would say that they are as favorable as may be,\nfor I hear much good of thee and little ill. What is thy will of me?\"\n\n\"Now, I make my vow, Sir Knight,\" quoth Robin, \"thou hast surely learned\nthy wisdom of good Gaffer Swanthold, for he sayeth, 'Fair words are as\neasy spoke as foul, and bring good will in the stead of blows.' Now I\nwill show thee the truth of this saying; for, if thou wilt go with me\nthis day to Sherwood Forest, I will give thee as merry a feast as ever\nthou hadst in all thy life.\"\n\n\"Thou art indeed kind,\" said the Knight, \"but methinks thou wilt find me\nbut an ill-seeming and sorrowful guest. Thou hadst best let me pass on\nmy way in peace.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, \"thou mightst go thine own way but for one thing,\nand that I will tell thee. We keep an inn, as it were, in the very\ndepths of Sherwood, but so far from highroads and beaten paths that\nguests do not often come nigh us; so I and my friends set off merrily\nand seek them when we grow dull of ourselves. Thus the matter stands,\nSir Knight; yet I will furthermore tell thee that we count upon our\nguests paying a reckoning.\"\n\n\"I take thy meaning, friend,\" said the Knight gravely, \"but I am not thy\nman, for I have no money by me.\"\n\n\"Is it sooth?\" said Robin, looking at the Knight keenly. \"I can scarce\nchoose but believe thee; yet, Sir Knight, there be those of thy order\nwhose word is not to be trusted as much as they would have others\nbelieve. Thou wilt think no ill if I look for myself in this matter.\"\nThen, still holding the horse by the bridle rein, he put his fingers\nto his lips and blew a shrill whistle, whereupon fourscore yeomen came\nleaping over the stile and ran to where the Knight and Robin stood.\n\"These,\" said Robin, looking upon them proudly, \"are some of my merry\nmen. They share and share alike with me all joys and troubles, gains and\nlosses. Sir Knight, I prythee tell me what money thou hast about thee.\"\n\nFor a time the Knight said not a word, but a slow red arose into his\ncheeks; at last he looked Robin in the face and said, \"I know not why I\nshould be ashamed, for it should be no shame to me; but, friend, I tell\nthee the truth, when I say that in my purse are ten shillings, and that\nthat is every groat that Sir Richard of the Lea hath in all the wide\nworld.\"\n\nWhen Sir Richard ended a silence fell, until at last Robin said, \"And\ndost thou pledge me thy knightly word that this is all thou hast with\nthee?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" answered Sir Richard, \"I do pledge thee my most solemn word, as a\ntrue knight, that it is all the money I have in the world. Nay, here is\nmy purse, ye may find for yourselves the truth of what I say.\" And he\nheld his purse out to Robin.\n\n\"Put up thy purse, Sir Richard,\" quoth Robin. \"Far be it from me to\ndoubt the word of so gentle a knight. The proud I strive to bring low,\nbut those that walk in sorrow I would aid if I could. Come, Sir Richard,\ncheer up thy heart and go with us into the greenwood. Even I may\nperchance aid thee, for thou surely knowest how the good Athelstane was\nsaved by the little blind mole that digged a trench over which he that\nsought the king's life stumbled.\"\n\n\"Truly, friend,\" said Sir Richard, \"methinks thou meanest kindness in\nthine own way; nevertheless my troubles are such that it is not likely\nthat thou canst cure them. But I will go with thee this day into\nSherwood.\" Hereupon he turned his horse's head, and they all wended\ntheir way to the woodlands, Robin walking on one side of the Knight and\nWill Scarlet on the other, while the rest of the band trudged behind.\n\nAfter they had traveled thus for a time Robin Hood spake. \"Sir Knight,\"\nsaid he, \"I would not trouble thee with idle questions; but dost thou\nfind it in thy heart to tell me thy sorrows?\"\n\n\"Truly, Robin,\" quoth the Knight, \"I see no reason why I should not do\nso. Thus it is: My castle and my lands are in pawn for a debt that I\nowe. Three days hence the money must be paid or else all mine estate is\nlost forever, for then it falls into the hands of the Priory of Emmet,\nand what they swallow they never give forth again.\"\n\nQuoth Robin, \"I understand not why those of thy kind live in such a\nmanner that all their wealth passeth from them like snow beneath the\nspringtide sun.\"\n\n\"Thou wrongest me, Robin,\" said the Knight, \"for listen: I have a son\nbut twenty winters old, nevertheless he has won his spurs as knight.\nLast year, on a certain evil day, the jousts were held at Chester, and\nthither my son went, as did I and my lady wife. I wot it was a proud\ntime for us, for he unhorsed each knight that he tilted against. At last\nhe ran a course with a certain great knight, Sir Walter of Lancaster,\nyet, though my son was so youthful, he kept his seat, albeit both spears\nwere shivered to the heft; but it happened that a splinter of my boy's\nlance ran through the visor of Sir Walter's helmet and pierced through\nhis eye into his brain, so that he died ere his esquire could unlace his\nhelm. Now, Robin, Sir Walter had great friends at court, therefore\nhis kinsmen stirred up things against my son so that, to save him from\nprison, I had to pay a ransom of six hundred pounds in gold. All might\nhave gone well even yet, only that, by ins and outs and crookedness of\nlaws, I was shorn like a sheep that is clipped to the quick. So it came\nthat I had to pawn my lands to the Priory of Emmet for more money, and\na hard bargain they drove with me in my hour of need. Yet I would have\nthee understand I grieve so for my lands only because of my dear lady\nwife.\"\n\n\"But where is thy son now?\" asked Robin, who had listened closely to all\nthe Knight had said.\n\n\"In Palestine,\" said Sir Richard, \"battling like a brave Christian\nsoldier for the cross and the holy sepulcher. Truly, England was an\nill place for him because of Sir Walter's death and the hate of the\nLancastrian's kinsmen.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said Robin, much moved, \"thine is a hard lot. But tell me, what\nis owing to Emmet for thine estates?\"\n\n\"Only four hundred pounds,\" said Sir Richard.\n\nAt this, Robin smote his thigh in anger. \"O the bloodsuckers!\" cried\nhe. \"A noble estate to be forfeit for four hundred pounds! But what will\nbefall thee if thou dost lose thy lands, Sir Richard?\"\n\n\"It is not mine own lot that doth trouble me in that case,\" said the\nKnight, \"but my dear lady's; for should I lose my land she will have\nto betake herself to some kinsman and there abide in charity, which,\nmethinks, would break her proud heart. As for me, I will over the\nsalt sea, and so to Palestine to join my son in fight for the holy\nsepulcher.\"\n\nThen up spake Will Scarlet. \"But hast thou no friend that will help thee\nin thy dire need?\"\n\n\"Never a man,\" said Sir Richard. \"While I was rich enow at home, and had\nfriends, they blew great boasts of how they loved me. But when the oak\nfalls in the forest the swine run from beneath it lest they should be\nsmitten down also. So my friends have left me; for not only am I poor\nbut I have great enemies.\"\n\nThen Robin said, \"Thou sayst thou hast no friends, Sir Richard. I make\nno boast, but many have found Robin Hood a friend in their troubles.\nCheer up, Sir Knight, I may help thee yet.\"\n\nThe Knight shook his head with a faint smile, but for all that, Robin's\nwords made him more blithe of heart, for in truth hope, be it never\nso faint, bringeth a gleam into darkness, like a little rushlight that\ncosteth but a groat.\n\nThe day was well-nigh gone when they came near to the greenwood tree.\nEven at a distance they saw by the number of men that Little John had\ncome back with some guest, but when they came near enough, whom should\nthey find but the Lord Bishop of Hereford! The good Bishop was in a fine\nstew, I wot. Up and down he walked beneath the tree like a fox caught in\na hencoop. Behind him were three Black Friars standing close together in\na frightened group, like three black sheep in a tempest. Hitched to the\nbranches of the trees close at hand were six horses, one of them a\nbarb with gay trappings upon which the Bishop was wont to ride, and the\nothers laden with packs of divers shapes and kinds, one of which made\nRobin's eyes glisten, for it was a box not overlarge, but heavily bound\nwith bands and ribs of iron.\n\nWhen the Bishop saw Robin and those with him come into the open he\nmade as though he would have run toward the yeoman, but the fellow\nthat guarded the Bishop and the three friars thrust his quarterstaff in\nfront, so that his lordship was fain to stand back, though with frowning\nbrow and angry speech.\n\n\"Stay, my Lord Bishop,\" cried jolly Robin in a loud voice, when he saw\nwhat had passed, \"I will come to thee with all speed, for I would rather\nsee thee than any man in merry England.\" So saying, he quickened his\nsteps and soon came to where the Bishop stood fuming.\n\n\"How now,\" quoth the Bishop in a loud and angry voice, when Robin had so\ncome to him, \"is this the way that thou and thy band treat one so high\nin the church as I am? I and these brethren were passing peacefully\nalong the highroad with our pack horses, and a half score of men to\nguard them, when up comes a great strapping fellow full seven feet high,\nwith fourscore or more men back of him, and calls upon me to\nstop--me, the Lord Bishop of Hereford, mark thou! Whereupon my armed\nguards--beshrew them for cowards!--straight ran away. But look ye; not\nonly did this fellow stop me, but he threatened me, saying that Robin\nHood would strip me as bare as a winter hedge. Then, besides all this,\nhe called me such vile names as 'fat priest,' 'man-eating bishop,'\n'money-gorging usurer,' and what not, as though I were no more than a\nstrolling beggar or tinker.\"\n\nAt this, the Bishop glared like an angry cat, while even Sir Richard\nlaughed; only Robin kept a grave face. \"Alas! my lord,\" said he, \"that\nthou hast been so ill-treated by my band! I tell thee truly that we\ngreatly reverence thy cloth. Little John, stand forth straightway.\"\n\nAt these words Little John came forward, twisting his face into a\nwhimsical look, as though he would say, \"Ha' mercy upon me, good\nmaster.\" Then Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford and said, \"Was this\nthe man who spake so boldly to Your Lordship?\"\n\n\"Ay, truly it was the same,\" said the Bishop, \"a naughty fellow, I wot.\n\n\"And didst thou, Little John,\" said Robin in a sad voice, \"call his\nlordship a fat priest?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Little John sorrowfully.\n\n\"And a man-eating bishop?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Little John, more sorrowfully than before.\n\n\"And a money-gorging usurer?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Little John in so sorrowful a voice that it might have drawn\ntears from the Dragon of Wentley.\n\n\"Alas, that these things should be!\" said jolly Robin, turning to the\nBishop, \"for I have ever found Little John a truthful man.\"\n\nAt this, a roar of laughter went up, whereat the blood rushed into the\nBishop's face till it was cherry red from crown to chin; but he said\nnothing and only swallowed his words, though they well-nigh choked him.\n\n\"Nay, my Lord Bishop,\" said Robin, \"we are rough fellows, but I trust\nnot such ill men as thou thinkest, after all. There is not a man here\nthat would harm a hair of thy reverence's head. I know thou art galled\nby our jesting, but we are all equal here in the greenwood, for there\nare no bishops nor barons nor earls among us, but only men, so thou must\nshare our life with us while thou dost abide here. Come, busk ye, my\nmerry men, and get the feast ready. Meantime, we will show our guests\nour woodland sports.\"\n\nSo, while some went to kindle the fires for roasting meats, others ran\nleaping to get their cudgels and longbows. Then Robin brought forward\nSir Richard of the Lea. \"My Lord Bishop,\" said he, \"here is another\nguest that we have with us this day. I wish that thou mightest know\nhim better, for I and all my men will strive to honor you both at this\nmerrymaking.\"\n\n\"Sir Richard,\" said the Bishop in a reproachful tone, \"methinks thou and\nI are companions and fellow sufferers in this den of--\" He was about to\nsay \"thieves,\" but he stopped suddenly and looked askance at Robin Hood.\n\n\"Speak out, Bishop,\" quoth Robin, laughing. \"We of Sherwood check not an\neasy flow of words. 'Den of thieves' thou west about to say.\"\n\nQuoth the Bishop, \"Mayhap that was what I meant to say, Sir Richard; but\nthis I will say, that I saw thee just now laugh at the scurrilous jests\nof these fellows. It would have been more becoming of thee, methinks, to\nhave checked them with frowns instead of spurring them on by laughter.\"\n\n\"I meant no harm to thee,\" said Sir Richard, \"but a merry jest is a\nmerry jest, and I may truly say I would have laughed at it had it been\nagainst mine own self.\"\n\nBut now Robin Hood called upon certain ones of his band who spread soft\nmoss upon the ground and laid deerskins thereon. Then Robin bade his\nguests be seated, and so they all three sat down, some of the chief men,\nsuch as Little John, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, and others, stretching\nthemselves upon the ground near by. Then a garland was set up at the\nfar end of the glade, and thereat the bowmen shot, and such shooting was\ndone that day as it would have made one's heart leap to see. And all the\nwhile Robin talked so quaintly to the Bishop and the Knight that,\nthe one forgetting his vexation and the other his troubles, they both\nlaughed aloud again and again.\n\nThen Allan a Dale came forth and tuned his harp, and all was hushed\naround, and he sang in his wondrous voice songs of love, of war, of\nglory, and of sadness, and all listened without a movement or a sound.\nSo Allan sang till the great round silver moon gleamed with its clear\nwhite light amid the upper tangle of the mazy branches of the trees. At\nlast two fellows came to say that the feast was ready spread, so Robin,\nleading his guests with either hand, brought them to where great smoking\ndishes that sent savory smells far and near stood along the white linen\ncloth spread on the grass. All around was a glare of torches that lit\neverything up with a red light. Then, straightway sitting down, all fell\nto with noise and hubbub, the rattling of platters blending with the\nsound of loud talking and laughter. A long time the feast lasted, but at\nlast all was over, and the bright wine and humming ale passed briskly.\nThen Robin Hood called aloud for silence, and all was hushed till he\nspoke.\n\n\"I have a story to tell you all, so listen to what I have to say,\" quoth\nhe; whereupon, without more ado, he told them all about Sir Richard, and\nhow his lands were in pawn. But, as he went on, the Bishop's face, that\nhad erst been smiling and ruddy with merriment, waxed serious, and he\nput aside the horn of wine he held in his hand, for he knew the story of\nSir Richard, and his heart sank within him with grim forebodings. Then,\nwhen Robin Hood had done, he turned to the Bishop of Hereford. \"Now, my\nLord Bishop,\" said he, \"dost thou not think this is ill done of anyone,\nmuch more of a churchman, who should live in humbleness and charity?\"\n\nTo this the Bishop answered not a word but looked upon the ground with\nmoody eyes.\n\nQuoth Robin, \"Now, thou art the richest bishop in all England; canst\nthou not help this needy brother?\" But still the Bishop answered not a\nword.\n\nThen Robin turned to Little John, and quoth he, \"Go thou and Will\nStutely and bring forth those five pack horses yonder.\" Whereupon the\ntwo yeomen did as they were bidden, those about the cloth making room\non the green, where the light was brightest, for the five horses which\nLittle John and Will Stutely presently led forward.\n\n\"Who hath the score of the goods?\" asked Robin Hood, looking at the\nBlack Friars.\n\nThen up spake the smallest of all, in a trembling voice--an old man he\nwas, with a gentle, wrinkled face. \"That have I; but, I pray thee, harm\nme not.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, \"I have never harmed harmless man yet; but give it\nto me, good father.\" So the old man did as he was bidden, and handed\nRobin the tablet on which was marked down the account of the various\npackages upon the horses. This Robin handed to Will Scarlet, bidding\nhim to read the same. So Will Scarlet, lifting his voice that all might\nhear, began:\n\n\"Three bales of silk to Quentin, the mercer at Ancaster.\"\n\n\"That we touch not,\" quoth Robin, \"for this Quentin is an honest fellow,\nwho hath risen by his own thrift.\" So the bales of silk were laid aside\nunopened.\n\n\"One bale of silk velvet for the Abbey of Beaumont.\"\n\n\"What do these priests want of silk velvet?\" quoth Robin. \"Nevertheless,\nthough they need it not, I will not take all from them. Measure it off\ninto three lots, one to be sold for charity, one for us, and one for the\nabbey.\" So this, too, was done as Robin Hood bade.\n\n\"Twoscore of great wax candles for the Chapel of Saint Thomas.\"\n\n\"That belongeth fairly to the chapel,\" quoth Robin, \"so lay it to one\nside. Far be it from us to take from the blessed Saint Thomas that which\nbelongeth to him.\" So this, also, was done according to Robin's bidding,\nand the candles were laid to one side, along with honest Quentin's\nunopened bales of silk. So the list was gone through with, and the goods\nadjudged according to what Robin thought most fit. Some things were\nlaid aside untouched, and many were opened and divided into three equal\nparts, for charity, for themselves, and for the owners. And now all the\nground in the torchlight was covered over with silks and velvets and\ncloths of gold and cases of rich wines, and so they came to the last\nline upon the tablet--\"A box belonging to the Lord Bishop of Hereford.\"\n\nAt these words the Bishop shook as with a chill, and the box was set\nupon the ground.\n\n\"My Lord Bishop, hast thou the key of this box?\" asked Robin.\n\nThe Bishop shook his head.\n\n\"Go, Will Scarlet,\" said Robin, \"thou art the strongest man here--bring\na sword straightway, and cut this box open, if thou canst.\" Then up rose\nWill Scarlet and left them, coming back in a short time, bearing a great\ntwo-handed sword. Thrice he smote that strong, ironbound box, and at the\nthird blow it burst open and a great heap of gold came rolling forth,\ngleaming red in the light of the torches. At this sight a murmur went\nall around among the band, like the sound of the wind in distant trees;\nbut no man came forward nor touched the money.\n\nQuoth Robin, \"Thou, Will Scarlet, thou, Allan a Dale, and thou, Little\nJohn, count it over.\"\n\nA long time it took to count all the money, and when it had been duly\nscored up, Will Scarlet called out that there were fifteen hundred\ngolden pounds in all. But in among the gold they found a paper, and this\nWill Scarlet read in a loud voice, and all heard that this money was\nthe rental and fines and forfeits from certain estates belonging to the\nBishopric of Hereford.\n\n\"My Lord Bishop,\" said Robin Hood, \"I will not strip thee, as Little\nJohn said, like a winter hedge, for thou shalt take back one third\nof thy money. One third of it thou canst well spare to us for thy\nentertainment and that of thy train, for thou art very rich; one third\nof it thou canst better spare for charity, for, Bishop, I hear that thou\nart a hard master to those beneath thee and a close hoarder of gains\nthat thou couldst better and with more credit to thyself give to charity\nthan spend upon thy own likings.\"\n\nAt this the Bishop looked up, but he could say never a word; yet he was\nthankful to keep some of his wealth.\n\nThen Robin turned to Sir Richard of the Lea, and quoth he, \"Now, Sir\nRichard, the church seemed like to despoil thee, therefore some of the\noverplus of church gains may well be used in aiding thee. Thou shalt\ntake that five hundred pounds laid aside for people more in need than\nthe Bishop is, and shalt pay thy debts to Emmet therewith.\"\n\nSir Richard looked at Robin until something arose in his eyes that made\nall the lights and the faces blur together. At last he said, \"I thank\nthee, friend, from my heart, for what thou doest for me; yet, think not\nill if I cannot take thy gift freely. But this I will do: I will take\nthe money and pay my debts, and in a year and a day hence will return it\nsafe either to thee or to the Lord Bishop of Hereford. For this I pledge\nmy most solemn knightly word. I feel free to borrow, for I know no man\nthat should be more bound to aid me than one so high in that church that\nhath driven such a hard bargain.\" \"Truly, Sir Knight,\" quoth Robin, \"I\ndo not understand those fine scruples that weigh with those of thy kind;\nbut, nevertheless, it shall all be as thou dost wish. But thou hadst\nbest bring the money to me at the end of the year, for mayhap I may make\nbetter use of it than the Bishop.\" Thereupon, turning to those near him,\nhe gave his orders, and five hundred pounds were counted out and tied up\nin a leathern bag for Sir Richard. The rest of the treasure was divided,\nand part taken to the treasurehouse of the band, and part put by with\nthe other things for the Bishop.\n\nThen Sir Richard arose. \"I cannot stay later, good friends,\" said he,\n\"for my lady will wax anxious if I come not home; so I crave leave to\ndepart.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood and all his merry men arose, and Robin said, \"We cannot\nlet thee go hence unattended, Sir Richard.\"\n\nThen up spake Little John, \"Good master, let me choose a score of stout\nfellows from the band, and let us arm ourselves in a seemly manner\nand so serve as retainers to Sir Richard till he can get others in our\nstead.\"\n\n\"Thou hast spoken well, Little John, and it shall be done,\" said Robin.\n\nThen up spake Will Scarlet, \"Let us give him a golden chain to hang\nabout his neck, such as befits one of his blood, and also golden spurs\nto wear at his heels.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood said, \"Thou hast spoken well, Will Scarlet, and it shall\nbe done.\"\n\nThen up spake Will Stutely, \"Let us give him yon bale of rich velvet\nand yon roll of cloth of gold to take home to his noble lady wife as a\npresent from Robin Hood and his merry men all.\"\n\nAt this all clapped their hands for joy, and Robin said: \"Thou hast well\nspoken, Will Stutely, and it shall be done.\"\n\nThen Sir Richard of the Lea looked all around and strove to speak, but\ncould scarcely do so for the feelings that choked him; at last he said\nin a husky, trembling voice, \"Ye shall all see, good friends, that Sir\nRichard o' the Lea will ever remember your kindness this day. And if ye\nbe at any time in dire need or trouble, come to me and my lady, and the\nwalls of Castle Lea shall be battered down ere harm shall befall you.\nI--\" He could say nothing further, but turned hastily away.\n\nBut now Little John and nineteen stout fellows whom he had chosen for\nhis band, came forth all ready for the journey. Each man wore upon his\nbreast a coat of linked mail, and on his head a cap of steel, and at his\nside a good stout sword. A gallant show they made as they stood all in a\nrow. Then Robin came and threw a chain of gold about Sir Richard's neck,\nand Will Scarlet knelt and buckled the golden spurs upon his heel; and\nnow Little John led forward Sir Richard's horse, and the Knight mounted.\nHe looked down at Robin for a little time, then of a sudden stooped and\nkissed his cheek. All the forest glades rang with the shout that went up\nas the Knight and the yeomen marched off through the woodland with glare\nof torches and gleam of steel, and so were gone.\n\nThen up spake the Bishop of Hereford in a mournful voice, \"I, too, must\nbe jogging, good fellow, for the night waxes late.\"\n\nBut Robin laid his hand upon the Bishop's arm and stayed him. \"Be not so\nhasty, Lord Bishop,\" said he. \"Three days hence Sir Richard must pay his\ndebts to Emmet; until that time thou must be content to abide with me\nlest thou breed trouble for the Knight. I promise thee that thou shalt\nhave great sport, for I know that thou art fond of hunting the dun deer.\nLay by thy mantle of melancholy, and strive to lead a joyous yeoman life\nfor three stout days. I promise thee thou shalt be sorry to go when the\ntime has come.\"\n\nSo the Bishop and his train abided with Robin for three days, and much\nsport his lordship had in that time, so that, as Robin had said, when\nthe time had come for him to go he was sorry to leave the greenwood. At\nthe end of three days Robin set him free, and sent him forth from the\nforest with a guard of yeomen to keep freebooters from taking what was\nleft of the packs and bundles.\n\nBut, as the Bishop rode away, he vowed within himself that he would\nsometime make Robin rue the day that he stopped him in Sherwood.\n\nBut now we shall follow Sir Richard; so listen, and you shall hear what\nbefell him, and how he paid his debts at Emmet Priory, and likewise in\ndue season to Robin Hood.\n\n\n\n\nHow Sir Richard of the Lea Paid His Debts\n\nTHE LONG HIGHWAY stretched straight on, gray and dusty in the sun. On\neither side were dikes full of water bordered by osiers, and far away\nin the distance stood the towers of Emmet Priory with tall poplar trees\naround.\n\nAlong the causeway rode a knight with a score of stout men-at-arms\nbehind him. The Knight was clad in a plain, long robe of gray serge,\ngathered in at the waist with a broad leathern belt, from which hung\na long dagger and a stout sword. But though he was so plainly dressed\nhimself, the horse he rode was a noble barb, and its trappings were rich\nwith silk and silver bells.\n\nSo thus the band journeyed along the causeway between the dikes, till\nat last they reached the great gate of Emmet Priory. There the Knight\ncalled to one of his men and bade him knock at the porter's lodge with\nthe heft of his sword.\n\nThe porter was drowsing on his bench within the lodge, but at the knock\nhe roused himself and, opening the wicket, came hobbling forth and\ngreeted the Knight, while a tame starling that hung in a wicker cage\nwithin piped out, \"_In coelo quies! In coelo quies!_\" such being the\nwords that the poor old lame porter had taught him to speak.\n\n\"Where is thy prior?\" asked the Knight of the old porter.\n\n\"He is at meat, good knight, and he looketh for thy coming,\" quoth the\nporter, \"for, if I mistake not, thou art Sir Richard of the Lea.\"\n\n\"I am Sir Richard of the Lea; then I will go seek him forthwith,\" said\nthe Knight.\n\n\"But shall I not send thy horse to stable?\" said the porter. \"By Our\nLady, it is the noblest nag, and the best harnessed, that e'er I saw in\nall my life before.\" And he stroked the horse's flank with his palm.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Sir Richard, \"the stables of this place are not for me, so\nmake way, I prythee.\" So saying, he pushed forward, and, the gates being\nopened, he entered the stony courtyard of the Priory, his men behind\nhim. In they came with rattle of steel and clashing of swords, and\nring of horses' feet on cobblestones, whereat a flock of pigeons that\nstrutted in the sun flew with flapping wings to the high eaves of the\nround towers.\n\n\nWhile the Knight was riding along the causeway to Emmet, a merry feast\nwas toward in the refectory there. The afternoon sun streamed in through\nthe great arched windows and lay in broad squares of light upon the\nstone floor and across the board covered with a snowy linen cloth,\nwhereon was spread a princely feast. At the head of the table sat Prior\nVincent of Emmet all clad in soft robes of fine cloth and silk; on his\nhead was a black velvet cap picked out with gold, and around his neck\nhung a heavy chain of gold, with a great locket pendant therefrom.\nBeside him, on the arm of his great chair, roosted his favorite falcon,\nfor the Prior was fond of the gentle craft of hawking. On his right hand\nsat the Sheriff of Nottingham in rich robes of purple all trimmed about\nwith fur, and on his left a famous doctor of law in dark and sober garb.\nBelow these sat the high cellarer of Emmet, and others chief among the\nbrethren.\n\nJest and laughter passed around, and all was as merry as merry could be.\nThe wizened face of the man of law was twisted into a wrinkled smile,\nfor in his pouch were fourscore golden angels that the Prior had paid\nhim in fee for the case betwixt him and Sir Richard of the Lea. The\nlearned doctor had been paid beforehand, for he had not overmuch trust\nin the holy Vincent of Emmet.\n\nQuoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, \"But art thou sure, Sir Prior, that\nthou hast the lands so safe?\"\n\n\"Ay, marry,\" said Prior Vincent, smacking his lips after a deep draught\nof wine, \"I have kept a close watch upon him, albeit he was unawares of\nthe same, and I know right well that he hath no money to pay me withal.\"\n\n\"Ay, true,\" said the man of law in a dry, husky voice, \"his land is\nsurely forfeit if he cometh not to pay; but, Sir Prior, thou must get a\nrelease beneath his sign manual, or else thou canst not hope to hold the\nland without trouble from him.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said the Prior, \"so thou hast told me ere now, but I know that\nthis knight is so poor that he will gladly sign away his lands for two\nhundred pounds of hard money.\"\n\nThen up spake the high cellarer, \"Methinks it is a shame to so drive\na misfortunate knight to the ditch. I think it sorrow that the noblest\nestate in Derbyshire should so pass away from him for a paltry five\nhundred pounds. Truly, I--\"\n\n\"How now,\" broke in the Prior in a quivering voice, his eyes glistening\nand his cheeks red with anger, \"dost thou prate to my very beard,\nsirrah? By Saint Hubert, thou hadst best save thy breath to cool thy\npottage, else it may scald thy mouth.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the man of law smoothly, \"I dare swear this same knight\nwill never come to settlement this day, but will prove recreant.\nNevertheless, we will seek some means to gain his lands from him, so\nnever fear.\"\n\nBut even as the doctor spoke, there came a sudden clatter of horses'\nhoofs and a jingle of iron mail in the courtyard below. Then up spake\nthe Prior and called upon one of the brethren that sat below the salt,\nand bade him look out of the window and see who was below, albeit he\nknew right well it could be none but Sir Richard.\n\nSo the brother arose and went and looked, and he said, \"I see below a\nscore of stout men-at-arms and a knight just dismounting from his\nhorse. He is dressed in long robes of gray which, methinks, are of poor\nseeming; but the horse he rideth upon hath the richest coursing that\never I saw. The Knight dismounts and they come this way, and are even\nnow below in the great hall.\"\n\n\"Lo, see ye there now,\" quoth Prior Vincent. \"Here ye have a knight with\nso lean a purse as scarce to buy him a crust of bread to munch, yet he\nkeeps a band of retainers and puts rich trappings upon his horse's hide,\nwhile his own back goeth bare. Is it not well that such men should be\nbrought low?\"\n\n\"But art thou sure,\" said the little doctor tremulously, \"that this\nknight will do us no harm? Such as he are fierce when crossed, and he\nhath a band of naughty men at his heels. Mayhap thou hadst better give\nan extension of his debt.\" Thus he spake, for he was afraid Sir Richard\nmight do him a harm.\n\n\"Thou needst not fear,\" said the Prior, looking down at the little man\nbeside him. \"This knight is gentle and would as soon think of harming an\nold woman as thee.\"\n\nAs the Prior finished, a door at the lower end of the refectory swung\nopen, and in came Sir Richard, with folded hands and head bowed upon his\nbreast. Thus humbly he walked slowly up the hall, while his men-at-arms\nstood about the door. When he had come to where the Prior sat, he knelt\nupon one knee. \"Save and keep thee, Sir Prior,\" said he, \"I am come to\nkeep my day.\"\n\nThen the first word that the Prior said to him was \"Hast thou brought my\nmoney?\"\n\n\"Alas! I have not so much as one penny upon my body,\" said the Knight;\nwhereat the Prior's eyes sparkled.\n\n\"Now, thou art a shrewd debtor, I wot,\" said he. Then, \"Sir Sheriff, I\ndrink to thee.\"\n\nBut still the Knight kneeled upon the hard stones, so the Prior turned\nto him again. \"What wouldst thou have?\" quoth he sharply.\n\nAt these words, a slow red mounted into the Knight's cheeks; but still\nhe knelt. \"I would crave thy mercy,\" said he. \"As thou hopest for\nHeaven's mercy, show mercy to me. Strip me not of my lands and so reduce\na true knight to poverty.\"\n\n\"Thy day is broken and thy lands forfeit,\" said the man of law, plucking\nup his spirits at the Knight's humble speech.\n\nQuoth Sir Richard, \"Thou man of law, wilt thou not befriend me in mine\nhour of need?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the other, \"I hold with this holy Prior, who hath paid me my\nfees in hard gold, so that I am bounder to him.\"\n\n\"Wilt thou not be my friend, Sir Sheriff?\" said Sir Richard.\n\n\"Nay, 'fore Heaven,\" quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, \"this is no\nbusiness of mine, yet I will do what I may,\" and he nudged the Prior\nbeneath the cloth with his knee. \"Wilt thou not ease him of some of his\ndebts, Sir Prior?\"\n\nAt this the Prior smiled grimly. \"Pay me three hundred pounds, Sir\nRichard,\" said he, \"and I will give thee quittance of thy debt.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest, Sir Prior, that it is as easy for me to pay four hundred\npounds as three hundred,\" said Sir Richard. \"But wilt thou not give me\nanother twelvemonth to pay my debt?\"\n\n\"Not another day,\" said the Prior sternly.\n\n\"And is this all thou wilt do for me?\" asked the Knight.\n\n\"Now, out upon thee, false knight!\" cried the Prior, bursting forth in\nanger. \"Either pay thy debt as I have said, or release thy land and get\nthee gone from out my hall.\"\n\nThen Sir Richard arose to his feet. \"Thou false, lying priest!\" said\nhe in so stern a voice that the man of law shrunk affrighted, \"I am no\nfalse knight, as thou knowest full well, but have even held my place\nin the press and the tourney. Hast thou so little courtesy that thou\nwouldst see a true knight kneel for all this time, or see him come into\nthy hall and never offer him meat or drink?\"\n\nThen quoth the man of law in a trembling voice, \"This is surely an\nill way to talk of matters appertaining to business; let us be mild in\nspeech. What wilt thou pay this knight, Sir Prior, to give thee release\nof his land?\"\n\n\"I would have given him two hundred pounds,\" quoth the Prior, \"but since\nhe hath spoken so vilely to my teeth, not one groat over one hundred\npounds will he get.\"\n\n\"Hadst thou offered me a thousand pounds, false prior,\" said the Knight,\n\"thou wouldst not have got an inch of my land.\" Then turning to where\nhis men-at-arms stood near the door, he called, \"Come hither,\" and\nbeckoned with his finger; whereupon the tallest of them all came forward\nand handed him a long leathern bag. Sir Richard took the bag and shot\nfrom it upon the table a glittering stream of golden money. \"Bear in\nmind, Sir Prior,\" said he, \"that thou hast promised me quittance for\nthree hundred pounds. Not one farthing above that shalt thou get.\" So\nsaying, he counted out three hundred pounds and pushed it toward the\nPrior.\n\nBut now the Prior's hands dropped at his sides and the Prior's head hung\nupon his shoulder, for not only had he lost all hopes of the land,\nbut he had forgiven the Knight one hundred pounds of his debt and had\nneedlessly paid the man of law fourscore angels. To him he turned, and\nquoth he, \"Give me back my money that thou hast.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cried the other shrilly, \"it is but my fee that thou didst pay\nme, and thou gettest it not back again.\" And he hugged his gown about\nhim.\n\n\"Now, Sir Prior,\" quoth Sir Richard, \"I have held my day and paid all\nthe dues demanded of me; so, as there is no more betwixt us, I leave\nthis vile place straightway.\" So saying, he turned upon his heel and\nstrode away.\n\nAll this time the Sheriff had been staring with wide-open eyes and mouth\nagape at the tall man-at-arms, who stood as though carved out of stone.\nAt last he gasped out, \"Reynold Greenleaf!\"\n\nAt this, the tall man-at-arms, who was no other than Little John,\nturned, grinning, to the Sheriff. \"I give thee good den, fair gossip,\"\nquoth he. \"I would say, sweet Sheriff, that I have heard all thy pretty\ntalk this day, and it shall be duly told unto Robin Hood. So, farewell\nfor the nonce, till we meet again in Sherwood Forest.\" Then he, also,\nturned and followed Sir Richard down the hall, leaving the Sheriff, all\npale and amazed, shrunk together upon his chair.\n\nA merry feast it was to which Sir Richard came, but a sorry lot he left\nbehind him, and little hunger had they for the princely food spread\nbefore them. Only the learned doctor was happy, for he had his fee.\n\n\nNow a twelvemonth and a day passed since Prior Vincent of Emmet sat at\nfeast, and once more the mellow fall of another year had come. But the\nyear had brought great change, I wot, to the lands of Sir Richard of the\nLea; for, where before shaggy wild grasses grew upon the meadow lands,\nnow all stretch away in golden stubble, betokening that a rich and\nplentiful crop had been gathered therefrom. A year had made a great\nchange in the castle, also, for, where were empty moats and the\ncrumbling of neglect, all was now orderly and well kept.\n\nBright shone the sun on battlement and tower, and in the blue air\noverhead a Hock of clattering jackdaws flew around the gilded weather\nvane and spire. Then, in the brightness of the morning, the drawbridge\nfell across the moat with a rattle and clank of chains, the gate of the\ncastle swung slowly open, and a goodly array of steel-clad men-at-arms,\nwith a knight all clothed in chain mail, as white as frost on brier and\nthorn of a winter morning, came flashing out from the castle courtyard.\nIn his hand the Knight held a great spear, from the point of which\nfluttered a blood-red pennant as broad as the palm of one's hand. So\nthis troop came forth from the castle, and in the midst of them walked\nthree pack horses laden with parcels of divers shapes and kinds.\n\nThus rode forth good Sir Richard of the Lea to pay his debt to Robin\nHood this bright and merry morn. Along the highway they wended their\nway, with measured tramp of feet and rattle and jingle of sword and\nharness. Onward they marched till they came nigh to Denby, where, from\nthe top of a hill, they saw, over beyond the town, many gay flags and\nstreamers floating in the bright air. Then Sir Richard turned to the\nman-at-arms nearest to him. \"What is toward yonder at Denby today?\"\nquoth he.\n\n\"Please Your Worship,\" answered the man-at-arms, \"a merry fair is held\nthere today, and a great wrestling match, to which many folk have come,\nfor a prize hath been offered of a pipe of red wine, a fair golden ring,\nand a pair of gloves, all of which go to the best wrestler.\"\n\n\"Now, by my faith,\" quoth Sir Richard, who loved good manly sports right\nwell, \"this will be a goodly thing to see. Methinks we have to stay a\nlittle while on our journey, and see this merry sport.\" So he turned his\nhorse's head aside toward Denby and the fair, and thither he and his men\nmade their way.\n\nThere they found a great hubbub of merriment. Flags and streamers were\nfloating, tumblers were tumbling on the green, bagpipes were playing,\nand lads and lasses were dancing to the music. But the crowd were\ngathered most of all around a ring where the wrestling was going\nforward, and thither Sir Richard and his men turned their steps.\n\nNow when the judges of the wrestling saw Sir Richard coming and knew\nwho he was, the chief of them came down from the bench where he and the\nothers sat, and went to the Knight and took him by the hand, beseeching\nhim to come and sit with them and judge the sport. So Sir Richard got\ndown from his horse and went with the others to the bench raised beside\nthe ring.\n\nNow there had been great doings that morning, for a certain yeoman named\nEgbert, who came from Stoke over in Staffordshire, had thrown with ease\nall those that came against him; but a man of Denby, well known through\nall the countryside as William of the Scar, had been biding his time\nwith the Stoke man; so, when Egbert had thrown everyone else, stout\nWilliam leaped into the ring. Then a tough bout followed, and at last he\nthrew Egbert heavily, whereat there was a great shouting and shaking of\nhands, for all the Denby men were proud of their wrestler.\n\nWhen Sir Richard came, he found stout William, puffed up by the shouts\nof his friends, walking up and down the ring, daring anyone to come and\ntry a throw with him. \"Come one, come all!\" quoth he. \"Here stand I,\nWilliam of the Scar, against any man. If there is none in Derbyshire to\ncome against me, come all who will, from Nottingham, Stafford, or York,\nand if I do not make them one and all root the ground with their noses\nlike swine in the forests, call me no more brave William the wrestler.\"\n\nAt this all laughed; but above all the laughter a loud voice was\nheard to cry out, \"Sin' thou talkest so big, here cometh one from\nNottinghamshire to try a fall with thee, fellow;\" and straightway a tall\nyouth with a tough quarterstaff in his hand came pushing his way through\nthe crowd and at last leaped lightly over the rope into the ring. He\nwas not as heavy as stout William, but he was taller and broader in the\nshoulders, and all his joints were well knit. Sir Richard looked upon\nhim keenly, then, turning to one of the judges, he said, \"Knowest thou\nwho this youth is? Methinks I have seen him before.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the judge, \"he is a stranger to me.\"\n\nMeantime, without a word, the young man, laying aside his quarterstaff,\nbegan to take off his jerkin and body clothing until he presently stood\nwith naked arms and body; and a comely sight he was when so bared to\nthe view, for his muscles were cut round and smooth and sharp like\nswift-running water.\n\nAnd now each man spat upon his hands and, clapping them upon his knees,\nsquatted down, watching the other keenly, so as to take the vantage of\nhim in the grip. Then like a flash they leaped together, and a great\nshout went up, for William had gotten the better hold of the two. For\na short time they strained and struggled and writhed, and then stout\nWilliam gave his most cunning trip and throw, but the stranger met it\nwith greater skill than his, and so the trip came to nought. Then, of a\nsudden, with a twist and a wrench, the stranger loosed himself, and he\nof the scar found himself locked in a pair of arms that fairly made\nhis ribs crack. So, with heavy, hot breathing, they stood for a while\nstraining, their bodies all glistening with sweat, and great drops of\nsweat trickling down their faces. But the stranger's hug was so close\nthat at last stout William's muscles softened under his grip, and he\ngave a sob. Then the youth put forth all his strength and gave a sudden\ntrip with his heel and a cast over his right hip, and down stout William\nwent, with a sickening thud, and lay as though he would never move hand\nnor foot again.\n\nBut now no shout went up for the stranger, but an angry murmur was heard\namong the crowd, so easily had he won the match. Then one of the judges,\na kinsman to William of the Scar, rose with trembling lip and baleful\nlook. Quoth he, \"If thou hath slain that man it will go ill with thee,\nlet me tell thee, fellow.\" But the stranger answered boldly, \"He took\nhis chance with me as I took mine with him. No law can touch me to harm\nme, even if I slew him, so that it was fairly done in the wrestling\nring.\"\n\n\"That we shall see,\" said the judge, scowling upon the youth, while once\nmore an angry murmur ran around the crowd; for, as I have said, the men\nof Denby were proud of stout William of the Scar.\n\nThen up spoke Sir Richard gently. \"Nay,\" said he, \"the youth is right;\nif the other dieth, he dieth in the wrestling ring, where he took his\nchance, and was cast fairly enow.\"\n\nBut in the meantime three men had come forward and lifted stout William\nfrom the ground and found that he was not dead, though badly shaken\nby his heavy fall. Then the chief judge rose and said, \"Young man, the\nprize is duly thine. Here is the red-gold ring, and here the gloves, and\nyonder stands the pipe of wine to do with whatsoever thou dost list.\"\n\nAt this, the youth, who had donned his clothes and taken up his staff\nagain, bowed without a word, then, taking the gloves and the ring, and\nthrusting the one into his girdle and slipping the other upon his\nthumb, he turned and, leaping lightly over the ropes again, made his way\nthrough the crowd, and was gone.\n\n\"Now, I wonder who yon youth may be,\" said the judge, turning to Sir\nRichard, \"he seemeth like a stout Saxon from his red cheeks and fair\nhair. This William of ours is a stout man, too, and never have I seen\nhim cast in the ring before, albeit he hath not yet striven with such\ngreat wrestlers as Thomas of Cornwall, Diccon of York, and young David\nof Doncaster. Hath he not a firm foot in the ring, thinkest thou, Sir\nRichard?\"\n\n\"Ay, truly, and yet this youth threw him fairly, and with wondrous ease.\nI much wonder who he can be.\" Thus said Sir Richard in a thoughtful\nvoice.\n\nFor a time the Knight stood talking to those about him, but at last\nhe arose and made ready to depart, so he called his men about him and,\ntightening the girths of his saddle, he mounted his horse once more.\n\nMeanwhile the young stranger had made his way through the crowd, but, as\nhe passed, he heard all around him such words muttered as \"Look at the\ncockerel!\" \"Behold how he plumeth himself!\" \"I dare swear he cast good\nWilliam unfairly!\" \"Yea, truly, saw ye not birdlime upon his hands?\" \"It\nwould be well to cut his cock's comb!\" To all this the stranger paid no\nheed, but strode proudly about as though he heard it not. So he walked\nslowly across the green to where the booth stood wherein was dancing,\nand standing at the door he looked in on the sport. As he stood thus, a\nstone struck his arm of a sudden with a sharp jar, and, turning, he saw\nthat an angry crowd of men had followed him from the wrestling ring.\nThen, when they saw him turn so, a great hooting and yelling arose from\nall, so that the folk came running out from the dancing booth to see\nwhat was to do. At last a tall, broad-shouldered, burly blacksmith\nstrode forward from the crowd swinging a mighty blackthorn club in his\nhand.\n\n\"Wouldst thou come here to our fair town of Denby, thou Jack in the Box,\nto overcome a good honest lad with vile, juggling tricks?\" growled he in\na deep voice like the bellow of an angry bull. \"Take that, then!\" And of\na sudden he struck a blow at the youth that might have felled an ox.\nBut the other turned the blow deftly aside, and gave back another so\nterrible that the Denby man went down with a groan, as though he had\nbeen smitten by lightning. When they saw their leader fall, the crowd\ngave another angry shout; but the stranger placed his back against the\ntent near which he stood, swinging his terrible staff, and so fell had\nbeen the blow that he struck the stout smith that none dared to come\nwithin the measure of his cudgel, so the press crowded back, like a pack\nof dogs from a bear at bay. But now some coward hand from behind threw\na sharp jagged stone that smote the stranger on the crown, so that he\nstaggered back, and the red blood gushed from the cut and ran down his\nface and over his jerkin. Then, seeing him dazed with this vile blow,\nthe crowd rushed upon him, so that they overbore him and he fell beneath\ntheir feet.\n\nNow it might have gone ill with the youth, even to the losing of his\nyoung life, had not Sir Richard come to this fair; for of a sudden,\nshouts were heard, and steel flashed in the air, and blows were given\nwith the flat of swords, while through the midst of the crowd Sir\nRichard of the Lea came spurring on his white horse. Then the crowd,\nseeing the steel-clad knight and the armed men, melted away like snow\non the warm hearth, leaving the young man all bloody and dusty upon the\nground.\n\nFinding himself free, the youth arose and, wiping the blood from his\nface, looked up. Quoth he, \"Sir Richard of the Lea, mayhap thou hast\nsaved my life this day.\"\n\n\"Who art thou that knowest Sir Richard of the Lea so well?\" quoth the\nKnight. \"Methinks I have seen thy face before, young man.\"\n\n\"Yea, thou hast,\" said the youth, \"for men call me David of Doncaster.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said Sir Richard, \"I wonder that I knew thee not, David; but thy\nbeard hath grown longer, and thou thyself art more set in manhood since\nthis day twelvemonth. Come hither into the tent, David, and wash the\nblood from thy face. And thou, Ralph, bring him straightway a clean\njerkin. Now I am sorry for thee, yet I am right glad that I have had\na chance to pay a part of my debt of kindness to thy good master Robin\nHood, for it might have gone ill with thee had I not come, young man.\"\n\nSo saying, the Knight led David into the tent, and there the youth\nwashed the blood from his face and put on the clean jerkin.\n\nIn the meantime a whisper had gone around from those that stood nearest\nthat this was none other than the great David of Doncaster, the best\nwrestler in all the mid-country, who only last spring had cast stout\nAdam o' Lincoln in the ring at Selby, in Yorkshire, and now held the\nmid-country champion belt, Thus it happened that when young David came\nforth from the tent along with Sir Richard, the blood all washed from\nhis face, and his soiled jerkin changed for a clean one, no sounds of\nanger were heard, but all pressed forward to see the young man, feeling\nproud that one of the great wrestlers of England should have entered the\nring at Denby fair. For thus fickle is a mass of men.\n\nThen Sir Richard called aloud, \"Friends, this is David of Doncaster; so\nthink it no shame that your Denby man was cast by such a wrestler. He\nbeareth you no ill will for what hath passed, but let it be a warning\nto you how ye treat strangers henceforth. Had ye slain him it would have\nbeen an ill day for you, for Robin Hood would have harried your town as\nthe kestrel harries the dovecote. I have bought the pipe of wine from\nhim, and now I give it freely to you to drink as ye list. But never\nhereafterward fall upon a man for being a stout yeoman.\"\n\nAt this all shouted amain; but in truth they thought more of the wine\nthan of the Knight's words. Then Sir Richard, with David beside him and\nhis men-at-arms around, turned about and left the fair.\n\nBut in after days, when the men that saw that wrestling bout were bent\nwith age, they would shake their heads when they heard of any stalwart\ngame, and say, \"Ay, ay; but thou shouldst have seen the great David of\nDoncaster cast stout William of the Scar at Denby fair.\"\n\nRobin Hood stood in the merry greenwood with Little John and most of his\nstout yeomen around him, awaiting Sir Richard's coming. At last a glint\nof steel was seen through the brown forest leaves, and forth from the\ncovert into the open rode Sir Richard at the head of his men. He came\nstraight forward to Robin Hood and leaping from off his horse, clasped\nthe yeoman in his arms.\n\n\"Why, how now,\" said Robin, after a time, holding Sir Richard off and\nlooking at him from top to toe, \"methinks thou art a gayer bird than\nwhen I saw thee last.\"\n\n\"Yes, thanks to thee, Robin,\" said the Knight, laying his hand upon the\nyeoman's shoulder. \"But for thee I would have been wandering in misery\nin a far country by this time. But I have kept my word, Robin, and have\nbrought back the money that thou didst lend me, and which I have doubled\nfour times over again, and so become rich once more. Along with this\nmoney I have brought a little gift to thee and thy brave men from my\ndear lady and myself.\" Then, turning to his men, he called aloud, \"Bring\nforth the pack horses.\"\n\nBut Robin stopped him. \"Nay, Sir Richard,\" said he, \"think it not bold\nof me to cross thy bidding, but we of Sherwood do no business till after\nwe have eaten and drunk.\" Whereupon, taking Sir Richard by the hand,\nhe led him to the seat beneath the greenwood tree, while others of the\nchief men of the band came and seated themselves around. Then quoth\nRobin, \"How cometh it that I saw young David of Doncaster with thee and\nthy men, Sir Knight?\"\n\nThen straightway the Knight told all about his stay at Denby and of the\nhappening at the fair, and how it was like to go hard with young David;\nso he told his tale, and quoth he, \"It was this, good Robin, that kept\nme so late on the way, otherwise I would have been here an hour agone.\"\n\nThen, when he had done speaking, Robin stretched out his hand and\ngrasped the Knight's palm. Quoth he in a trembling voice, \"I owe thee\na debt I can never hope to repay, Sir Richard, for let me tell thee, I\nwould rather lose my right hand than have such ill befall young David of\nDoncaster as seemed like to come upon him at Denby.\"\n\nSo they talked until after a while one came forward to say that the\nfeast was spread; whereupon all arose and went thereto. When at last\nit was done, the Knight called upon his men to bring the pack horses\nforward, which they did according to his bidding. Then one of the men\nbrought the Knight a strongbox, which he opened and took from it a bag\nand counted out five hundred pounds, the sum he had gotten from Robin.\n\n\"Sir Richard,\" quoth Robin, \"thou wilt pleasure us all if thou wilt keep\nthat money as a gift from us of Sherwood. Is it not so, my lads?\"\n\nThen all shouted \"Ay\" with a mighty voice.\n\n\"I thank you all deeply,\" said the Knight earnestly, \"but think it not\nill of me if I cannot take it. Gladly have I borrowed it from you, but\nit may not be that I can take it as a gift.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood said no more but gave the money to Little John to put\naway in the treasury, for he had shrewdness enough to know that nought\nbreeds ill will and heart bitterness like gifts forced upon one that\ncannot choose but take them.\n\nThen Sir Richard had the packs laid upon the ground and opened,\nwhereupon a great shout went up that made the forest ring again, for lo,\nthere were tenscore bows of finest Spanish yew, all burnished till they\nshone again, and each bow inlaid with fanciful figures in silver, yet\nnot inlaid so as to mar their strength. Beside these were tenscore\nquivers of leather embroidered with golden thread, and in each quiver\nwere a score of shafts with burnished heads that shone like silver; each\nshaft was feathered with peacock's plumes, innocked with silver.\n\nSir Richard gave to each yeoman a bow and a quiver of arrows, but to\nRobin he gave a stout bow inlaid with the cunningest workmanship in\ngold, while each arrow in his quiver was innocked with gold.\n\nThen all shouted again for joy of the fair gift, and all swore among\nthemselves that they would die if need be for Sir Richard and his lady.\n\nAt last the time came when Sir Richard must go, whereupon Robin Hood\ncalled his band around him, and each man of the yeomen took a torch in\nhis hand to light the way through the woodlands. So they came to the\nedge of Sherwood, and there the Knight kissed Robin upon the cheeks and\nleft him and was gone.\n\nThus Robin Hood helped a noble knight out of his dire misfortunes, that\nelse would have smothered the happiness from his life.\n\n\n\n\nLittle John Turns Barefoot Friar\n\nCOLD WINTER had passed and spring had come. No leafy thickness had yet\nclad the woodlands, but the budding leaves hung like a tender mist about\nthe trees. In the open country the meadow lands lay a sheeny green, the\ncornfields a dark velvety color, for they were thick and soft with\nthe growing blades. The plowboy shouted in the sun, and in the purple\nnew-turned furrows flocks of birds hunted for fat worms. All the broad\nmoist earth smiled in the warm light, and each little green hill clapped\nits hand for joy.\n\nOn a deer's hide, stretched on the ground in the open in front of the\ngreenwood tree, sat Robin Hood basking in the sun like an old dog fox.\nLeaning back with his hands clasped about his knees, he lazily watched\nLittle John rolling a stout bowstring from long strands of hempen\nthread, wetting the palms of his hands ever and anon, and rolling the\ncord upon his thigh. Near by sat Allan a Dale fitting a new string to\nhis harp.\n\nQuoth Robin at last, \"Methinks I would rather roam this forest in the\ngentle springtime than be King of all merry England. What palace in the\nbroad world is as fair as this sweet woodland just now, and what king in\nall the world hath such appetite for plover's eggs and lampreys as I for\njuicy venison and sparkling ale? Gaffer Swanthold speaks truly when he\nsaith, 'Better a crust with content than honey with a sour heart.'\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth Little John, as he rubbed his new-made bowstring with\nyellow beeswax, \"the life we lead is the life for me. Thou speakest of\nthe springtime, but methinks even the winter hath its own joys. Thou and\nI, good master, have had more than one merry day, this winter past, at\nthe Blue Boar. Dost thou not remember that night thou and Will Stutely\nand Friar Tuck and I passed at that same hostelry with the two beggars\nand the strolling friar?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth merry Robin, laughing, \"that was the night that Will\nStutely must needs snatch a kiss from the stout hostess, and got a\ncanakin of ale emptied over his head for his pains.\"\n\n\"Truly, it was the same,\" said Little John, laughing also. \"Methinks\nthat was a goodly song that the strolling friar sang. Friar Tuck, thou\nhast a quick ear for a tune, dost thou not remember it?\"\n\n\"I did have the catch of it one time,\" said Tuck. \"Let me see,\" and he\ntouched his forefinger to his forehead in thought, humming to himself,\nand stopping ever and anon to fit what he had got to what he searched\nfor in his mind. At last he found it all and clearing his throat, sang\nmerrily:\n\n     \"_In the blossoming hedge the robin cock sings,\n     For the sun it is merry and bright,\n     And he joyfully hops and he flutters his wings,\n     For his heart is all full of delight.\n     For the May bloometh fair,\n     And there's little of care,\n     And plenty to eat in the Maytime rare.\n     When the flowers all die,\n     Then off he will fly,\n     To keep himself warm\n     In some jolly old barn\n     Where the snow and the wind neither chill him nor harm.\n\n     \"And such is the life of the strolling friar,\n     With aplenty to eat and to drink;\n     For the goodwife will keep him a seat by the fire,\n     And the pretty girls smile at his wink.\n     Then he lustily trolls\n     As he onward strolls,\n     A rollicking song for the saving of souls.\n     When the wind doth blow,\n     With the coming of snow,\n     There's a place by the fire\n     For the fatherly friar,\n     And a crab in the bowl for his heart's desire_.\"\n\nThus Friar Tuck sang in a rich and mellow voice, rolling his head from\nside to side in time with the music, and when he had done, all clapped\ntheir hands and shouted with laughter, for the song fitted him well.\n\n\"In very sooth,\" quoth Little John, \"it is a goodly song, and, were I\nnot a yeoman of Sherwood Forest, I had rather be a strolling friar than\naught else in the world.\"\n\n\"Yea, it is a goodly song,\" said Robin Hood, \"but methought those two\nburly beggars told the merrier tales and led the merrier life. Dost thou\nnot remember what that great black-bearded fellow told of his begging at\nthe fair in York?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said Little John, \"but what told the friar of the harvest home in\nKentshire? I hold that he led a merrier life than the other two.\"\n\n\"Truly, for the honor of the cloth,\" quoth Friar Tuck, \"I hold with my\ngood gossip, Little John.\"\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Robin, \"I hold to mine own mind. But what sayst thou,\nLittle John, to a merry adventure this fair day? Take thou a friar's\ngown from our chest of strange garments, and don the same, and I will\nstop the first beggar I meet and change clothes with him. Then let us\nwander the country about, this sweet day, and see what befalls each of\nus.\"\n\n\"That fitteth my mind,\" quoth Little John, \"so let us forth, say I.\"\n\nThereupon Little John and Friar Tuck went to the storehouse of the band,\nand there chose for the yeoman the robe of a Gray Friar. Then they came\nforth again, and a mighty roar of laughter went up, for not only had the\nband never seen Little John in such guise before, but the robe was too\nshort for him by a good palm's-breadth. But Little John's hands were\nfolded in his loose sleeves, and Little John's eyes were cast upon the\nground, and at his girdle hung a great, long string of beads.\n\nAnd now Little John took up his stout staff, at the end of which hung\na chubby little leathern pottle, such as palmers carry at the tips of\ntheir staves; but in it was something, I wot, more like good Malmsey\nthan cold spring water, such as godly pilgrims carry. Then up rose Robin\nand took his stout staff in his hand, likewise, and slipped ten golden\nangels into his pouch; for no beggar's garb was among the stores of the\nband, so he was fain to run his chance of meeting a beggar and buying\nhis clothes of him.\n\nSo, all being made ready, the two yeomen set forth on their way,\nstriding lustily along all in the misty morning. Thus they walked down\nthe forest path until they came to the highway, and then along the\nhighway till it split in twain, leading on one hand to Blyth and on the\nother to Gainsborough. Here the yeomen stopped.\n\nQuoth jolly Robin, \"Take thou the road to Gainsborough, and I will take\nthat to Blyth. So, fare thee well, holy father, and mayst thou not ha'\ncause to count thy beads in earnest ere we meet again.\"\n\n\"Good den, good beggar that is to be,\" quoth Little John, \"and mayst\nthou have no cause to beg for mercy ere I see thee next.\"\n\nSo each stepped sturdily upon his way until a green hill rose between\nthem, and the one was hid from the sight of the other.\n\nLittle John walked along, whistling, for no one was nigh upon all the\nroad. In the budding hedges the little birds twittered merrily, and on\neither hand the green hills swept up to the sky, the great white clouds\nof springtime sailing slowly over their crowns in lazy flight. Up hill\nand down dale walked Little John, the fresh wind blowing in his face and\nhis robes fluttering behind him, and so at last he came to a crossroad\nthat led to Tuxford. Here he met three pretty lasses, each bearing a\nbasket of eggs to market. Quoth he, \"Whither away, fair maids?\" And he\nstood in their path, holding his staff in front of them, to stop them.\n\nThen they huddled together and nudged one another, and one presently\nspake up and said, \"We are going to the Tuxford market, holy friar, to\nsell our eggs.\"\n\n\"Now out upon it!\" quoth Little John, looking upon them with his head on\none side. \"Surely, it is a pity that such fair lasses should be forced\nto carry eggs to market. Let me tell you, an I had the shaping of things\nin this world, ye should all three have been clothed in the finest\nsilks, and ride upon milk-white horses, with pages at your side, and\nfeed upon nothing but whipped cream and strawberries; for such a life\nwould surely befit your looks.\"\n\nAt this speech all three of the pretty maids looked down, blushing and\nsimpering. One said, \"La!\" another, \"Marry, a' maketh sport of us!\" and\nthe third, \"Listen, now, to the holy man!\" But at the same time they\nlooked at Little John from out the corners of their eyes.\n\n\"Now, look you,\" said Little John, \"I cannot see such dainty damsels\nas ye are carrying baskets along a highroad. Let me take them mine own\nself, and one of you, if ye will, may carry my staff for me.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said one of the lasses, \"but thou canst not carry three baskets\nall at one time.\"\n\n\"Yea, but I can,\" said Little John, \"and that I will show you presently.\nI thank the good Saint Wilfred that he hath given me a pretty wit. Look\nye, now. Here I take this great basket, so; here I tie my rosary around\nthe handle, thus; and here I slip the rosary over my head and sling the\nbasket upon my back, in this wise.\" And Little John did according to his\nwords, the basket hanging down behind him like a peddler's pack; then,\ngiving his staff to one of the maids, and taking a basket upon either\narm, he turned his face toward Tuxford Town and stepped forth merrily, a\nlaughing maid on either side, and one walking ahead, carrying the staff.\nIn this wise they journeyed along, and everyone they met stopped and\nlooked after them, laughing, for never had anybody seen such a merry\nsight as this tall, strapping Gray Friar, with robes all too short for\nhim, laden with eggs, and tramping the road with three pretty lasses.\nFor this Little John cared not a whit, but when such folks gave jesting\nwords to him he answered back as merrily, speech for speech.\n\nSo they stepped along toward Tuxford, chatting and laughing, until\nthey came nigh to the town. Here Little John stopped and set down\nthe baskets, for he did not care to go into the town lest he should,\nperchance, meet some of the Sheriff's men. \"Alas! sweet chucks,\" quoth\nhe, \"here I must leave you. I had not thought to come this way, but I am\nglad that I did so. Now, ere we part, we must drink sweet friendship.\"\nSo saying, he unslung the leathern pottle from the end of his staff,\nand, drawing the stopper therefrom, he handed it to the lass who had\ncarried his staff, first wiping the mouth of the pottle upon his sleeve.\nThen each lass took a fair drink of what was within, and when it had\npassed all around, Little John finished what was left, so that not\nanother drop could be squeezed from it. Then, kissing each lass sweetly,\nhe wished them all good den, and left them. But the maids stood looking\nafter him as he walked away whistling. \"What a pity,\" quoth one, \"that\nsuch a stout, lusty lad should be in holy orders.\"\n\n\"Marry,\" quoth Little John to himself, as he strode along, \"yon was no\nsuch ill happening; Saint Dunstan send me more of the like.\"\n\nAfter he had trudged along for a time he began to wax thirsty again in\nthe warmth of the day. He shook his leathern pottle beside his ear, but\nnot a sound came therefrom. Then he placed it to his lips and tilted it\nhigh aloft, but not a drop was there. \"Little John! Little John!\" said\nhe sadly to himself, shaking his head the while, \"woman will be thy ruin\nyet, if thou dost not take better care of thyself.\"\n\nBut at last he reached the crest of a certain hill, and saw below a\nsweet little thatched inn lying snugly in the dale beneath him, toward\nwhich the road dipped sharply. At the sight of this, a voice within him\ncried aloud, \"I give thee joy, good friend, for yonder is thy heart's\ndelight, to wit, a sweet rest and a cup of brown beer.\" So he quickened\nhis pace down the hill and so came to the little inn, from which hung a\nsign with a stag's head painted upon it. In front of the door a clucking\nhen was scratching in the dust with a brood of chickens about her heels,\nthe sparrows were chattering of household affairs under the eaves, and\nall was so sweet and peaceful that Little John's heart laughed within\nhim. Beside the door stood two stout cobs with broad soft-padded\nsaddles, well fitted for easy traveling, and speaking of rich guests\nin the parlor. In front of the door three merry fellows, a tinker, a\npeddler, and a beggar, were seated on a bench in the sun quaffing stout\nale.\n\n\"I give you good den, sweet friends,\" quoth Little John, striding up to\nwhere they sat.\n\n\"Give thee good den, holy father,\" quoth the merry Beggar with a grin.\n\"But look thee, thy gown is too short. Thou hadst best cut a piece off\nthe top and tack it to the bottom, so that it may be long enough. But\ncome, sit beside us here and take a taste of ale, if thy vows forbid\nthee not.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Little John, also grinning, \"the blessed Saint Dunstan hath\ngiven me a free dispensation for all indulgence in that line.\" And he\nthrust his hand into his pouch for money to pay his score.\n\n\"Truly,\" quoth the Tinker, \"without thy looks belie thee, holy friar,\nthe good Saint Dunstan was wise, for without such dispensation his\nvotary is like to ha' many a penance to make. Nay, take thy hand from\nout thy pouch, brother, for thou shalt not pay this shot. Ho, landlord,\na pot of ale!\"\n\nSo the ale was brought and given to Little John. Then, blowing the froth\na little way to make room for his lips, he tilted the bottom of the pot\nhigher and higher, till it pointed to the sky, and he had to shut his\neyes to keep the dazzle of the sunshine out of them. Then he took the\npot away, for there was nothing in it, and heaved a full deep sigh,\nlooking at the others with moist eyes and shaking his head solemnly.\n\n\"Ho, landlord!\" cried the Peddler, \"bring this good fellow another pot\nof ale, for truly it is a credit to us all to have one among us who can\nempty a canakin so lustily.\"\n\nSo they talked among themselves merrily, until after a while quoth\nLittle John, \"Who rideth those two nags yonder?\"\n\n\"Two holy men like thee, brother,\" quoth the Beggar. \"They are now\nhaving a goodly feast within, for I smelled the steam of a boiled\npullet just now. The landlady sayeth they come from Fountain Abbey, in\nYorkshire, and go to Lincoln on matters of business.\"\n\n\"They are a merry couple,\" said the Tinker, \"for one is as lean as an\nold wife's spindle, and the other as fat as a suet pudding.\"\n\n\"Talking of fatness,\" said the Peddler, \"thou thyself lookest none too\nill-fed, holy friar.\"\n\n\"Nay, truly,\" said Little John, \"thou seest in me what the holy Saint\nDunstan can do for them that serve him upon a handful of parched peas\nand a trickle of cold water.\"\n\nAt this a great shout of laughter went up. \"Truly, it is a wondrous\nthing,\" quoth the Beggar, \"I would have made my vow, to see the masterly\nmanner in which thou didst tuck away yon pot of ale, that thou hadst not\ntasted clear water for a brace of months. Has not this same holy Saint\nDunstan taught thee a goodly song or two?\"\n\n\"Why, as for that,\" quoth Little John, grinning, \"mayhap he hath lent me\naid to learn a ditty or so.\"\n\n\"Then, prythee, let us hear how he hath taught thee,\" quoth the Tinker.\n\nAt this Little John cleared his throat and, after a word or two about a\ncertain hoarseness that troubled him, sang thus:\n\n     \"_Ah, pretty, pretty maid, whither dost thou go?\n     I prythee, prythee, wait for thy lover also,\n     And we'll gather the rose\n     As it sweetly blows,\n     For the merry, merry winds are blo-o-o-wing_.\"\n\nNow it seemed as though Little John's songs were never to get sung, for\nhe had got no farther than this when the door of the inn opened and out\ncame the two brothers of Fountain Abbey, the landlord following them,\nand, as the saying is, washing his hands with humble soap. But when the\nbrothers of Fountain Abbey saw who it was that sang, and how he was\nclad in the robes of a Gray Friar, they stopped suddenly, the fat little\nBrother drawing his heavy eyebrows together in a mighty frown, and the\nthin Brother twisting up his face as though he had sour beer in his\nmouth. Then, as Little John gathered his breath for a new verse, \"How,\nnow,\" roared forth the fat Brother, his voice coming from him like loud\nthunder from a little cloud, \"thou naughty fellow, is this a fit place\nfor one in thy garb to tipple and sing profane songs?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Little John, \"sin' I cannot tipple and sing, like Your\nWorship's reverence, in such a goodly place as Fountain Abbey, I must\ne'en tipple and sing where I can.\"\n\n\"Now, out upon thee,\" cried the tall lean Brother in a harsh voice,\n\"now, out upon thee, that thou shouldst so disgrace thy cloth by this\ntalk and bearing.\"\n\n\"Marry, come up!\" quoth Little John. \"Disgrace, sayest thou? Methinks it\nis more disgrace for one of our garb to wring hard-earned farthings out\nof the gripe of poor lean peasants. It is not so, brother?\"\n\nAt this the Tinker and the Peddler and the Beggar nudged one another,\nand all grinned, and the friars scowled blackly at Little John; but they\ncould think of nothing further to say, so they turned to their horses.\nThen Little John arose of a sudden from the bench where he sat, and ran\nto where the brothers of Fountain Abbey were mounting. Quoth he, \"Let\nme hold your horses' bridles for you. Truly, your words have smitten my\nsinful heart, so that I will abide no longer in this den of evil, but\nwill go forward with you. No vile temptation, I wot, will fall upon me\nin such holy company.\"\n\n\"Nay, fellow,\" said the lean Brother harshly, for he saw that Little\nJohn made sport of them, \"we want none of thy company, so get thee\ngone.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" quoth Little John, \"I am truly sorry that ye like me not nor\nmy company, but as for leaving you, it may not be, for my heart is so\nmoved, that, willy-nilly, I must go with you for the sake of your holy\ncompany.\"\n\nNow, at this talk all the good fellows on the bench grinned till their\nteeth glistened, and even the landlord could not forbear to smile. As\nfor the friars, they looked at one another with a puzzled look, and knew\nnot what to do in the matter. They were so proud that it made them feel\nsick with shame to think of riding along the highroad with a strolling\nfriar, in robes all too short for him, running beside them, but yet they\ncould not make Little John stay against his will, for they knew he could\ncrack the bones of both of them in a twinkling were he so minded. Then\nup spake the fat Brother more mildly than he had done before. \"Nay, good\nbrother,\" said he, \"we will ride fast, and thou wilt tire to death at\nthe pace.\"\n\n\"Truly, I am grateful to thee for the thought of me,\" quoth Little John,\n\"but have no fear, brother; my limbs are stout, and I could run like a\nhare from here to Gainsborough.\"\n\nAt these words a sound of laughing came from the bench, whereat the lean\nBrother's wrath boiled over, like water into the fire, with great fuss\nand noise. \"Now, out upon thee, thou naughty fellow!\" he cried. \"Art\nthou not ashamed to bring disgrace so upon our cloth? Bide thee here,\nthou sot, with these porkers. Thou art no fit company for us.\"\n\n\"La, ye there now!\" quoth Little John. \"Thou hearest, landlord; thou art\nnot fit company for these holy men; go back to thine alehouse. Nay, if\nthese most holy brothers of mine do but give me the word, I'll beat thy\nhead with this stout staff till it is as soft as whipped eggs.\"\n\nAt these words a great shout of laughter went up from those on the\nbench, and the landlord's face grew red as a cherry from smothering his\nlaugh in his stomach; but he kept his merriment down, for he wished\nnot to bring the ill-will of the brothers of Fountain Abbey upon him\nby unseemly mirth. So the two brethren, as they could do nought else,\nhaving mounted their nags, turned their noses toward Lincoln and rode\naway.\n\n\"I cannot stay longer, sweet friends,\" quoth Little John, as he pushed\nin betwixt the two cobs, \"therefore I wish you good den. Off we go,\nwe three.\" So saying, he swung his stout staff over his shoulder and\ntrudged off, measuring his pace with that of the two nags.\n\nThe two brothers glowered at Little John when he so pushed himself\nbetwixt them, then they drew as far away from him as they could, so\nthat the yeoman walked in the middle of the road, while they rode on the\nfootpath on either side of the way. As they so went away, the Tinker,\nthe Peddler, and the Beggar ran skipping out into the middle of the\nhighway, each with a pot in his hand, and looked after them laughing.\n\nWhile they were in sight of those at the inn, the brothers walked their\nhorses soberly, not caring to make ill matters worse by seeming to run\naway from Little John, for they could not but think how it would sound\nin folks' ears when they heard how the brethren of Fountain Abbey\nscampered away from a strolling friar, like the Ugly One, when the\nblessed Saint Dunstan loosed his nose from the red-hot tongs where he\nhad held it fast; but when they had crossed the crest of the hill and\nthe inn was lost to sight, quoth the fat Brother to the thin Brother,\n\"Brother Ambrose, had we not better mend our pace?\"\n\n\"Why truly, gossip,\" spoke up Little John, \"methinks it would be well to\nboil our pot a little faster, for the day is passing on. So it will not\njolt thy fat too much, onward, say I.\"\n\nAt this the two friars said nothing, but they glared again on Little\nJohn with baleful looks; then, without another word, they clucked to\ntheir horses, and both broke into a canter. So they galloped for a mile\nand more, and Little John ran betwixt them as lightly as a stag and\nnever turned a hair with the running. At last the fat Brother drew his\nhorse's rein with a groan, for he could stand the shaking no longer.\n\"Alas,\" said Little John, with not so much as a catch in his breath, \"I\ndid sadly fear that the roughness of this pace would shake thy poor old\nfat paunch.\"\n\nTo this the fat Friar said never a word, but he stared straight before\nhim, and he gnawed his nether lip. And now they traveled forward more\nquietly, Little John in the middle of the road whistling merrily to\nhimself, and the two friars in the footpath on either side saying never\na word.\n\nThen presently they met three merry minstrels, all clad in red, who\nstared amain to see a Gray Friar with such short robes walking in the\nmiddle of the road, and two brothers with heads bowed with shame,\nriding upon richly caparisoned cobs on the footpaths. When they had\ncome near to the minstrels, Little John waved his staff like an usher\nclearing the way. \"Make way!\" he cried in a loud voice. \"Make way! make\nway! For here we go, we three!\" Then how the minstrels stared, and how\nthey laughed! But the fat Friar shook as with an ague, and the lean\nFriar bowed his head over his horse's neck.\n\nThen next they met two noble knights in rich array, with hawk on wrist,\nand likewise two fair ladies clad in silks and velvets, all a-riding on\nnoble steeds. These all made room, staring, as Little John and the two\nfriars came along the road. To them Little John bowed humbly. \"Give you\ngreetings, lords and ladies,\" said he. \"But here we go, we three.\"\n\nThen all laughed, and one of the fair ladies cried out, \"What three\nmeanest thou, merry friend?\"\n\nLittle John looked over his shoulder, for they had now passed each\nother, and he called back, \"Big Jack, lean Jack and fat Jack-pudding.\"\n\nAt this the fat Friar gave a groan and seemed as if he were like to fall\nfrom his saddle for shame; the other brother said nothing, but he looked\nbefore him with a grim and stony look.\n\nJust ahead of them the road took a sudden turn around a high hedge, and\nsome twoscore paces beyond the bend another road crossed the one they\nwere riding upon. When they had come to the crossroad and were well away\nfrom those they had left, the lean Friar drew rein suddenly. \"Look ye,\nfellow,\" quoth he in a voice quivering with rage, \"we have had enough\nof thy vile company, and care no longer to be made sport of. Go thy way,\nand let us go ours in peace.\"\n\n\"La there, now!\" quoth Little John. \"Methought we were such a merry\ncompany, and here thou dost blaze up like fat in the pan. But truly, I\nha' had enow of you today, though I can ill spare your company. I know\nye will miss me, but gin ye want me again, whisper to Goodman Wind, and\nhe will bring news thereof to me. But ye see I am a poor man and ye are\nrich. I pray you give me a penny or two to buy me bread and cheese at\nthe next inn.\"\n\n\"We have no money, fellow,\" said the lean Friar harshly. \"Come, Brother\nThomas, let us forward.\"\n\nBut Little John caught the horses by the bridle reins, one in either\nhand. \"Ha' ye in truth no money about you whatsoever?\" said he. \"Now, I\npray you, brothers, for charity's sake, give me somewhat to buy a crust\nof bread, e'en though it be only a penny.\"\n\n\"I tell thee, fellow, we have no money,\" thundered the fat little Friar\nwith the great voice.\n\n\"Ha' ye, in holy truth, no money?\" asked Little John.\n\n\"Not a farthing,\" said the lean Friar sourly.\n\n\"Not a groat,\" said the fat Friar loudly.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Little John, \"this must not be. Far be it from me to see\nsuch holy men as ye are depart from me with no money. Get both of you\ndown straightway from off your horses, and we will kneel here in the\nmiddle of the crossroads and pray the blessed Saint Dunstan to send us\nsome money to carry us on our journey.\"\n\n\"What sayest thou, thou limb of evil!\" cried the lean Friar, fairly\ngnashing his teeth with rage. \"Doss thou bid me, the high cellarer of\nFountain Abbey, to get down from my horse and kneel in the dirty road to\npray to some beggarly Saxon saint?\"\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Little John, \"I ha' a great part of a mind to crack thy\nhead for thee for speaking thus of the good Saint Dunstan! But get down\nstraightway, for my patience will not last much longer, and I may forget\nthat ye are both in holy orders.\" So saying, he twirled his stout staff\ntill it whistled again.\n\nAt this speech both friars grew as pale as dough. Down slipped the\nfat Brother from off his horse on one side, and down slipped the lean\nBrother on the other.\n\n\"Now, brothers, down on your knees and pray,\" said Little John;\nthereupon, putting his heavy hands upon the shoulder of each, he forced\nthem to their knees, he kneeling also. Then Little John began to beseech\nSaint Dunstan for money, which he did in a great loud voice. After he\nhad so besought the Saint for a time, he bade the friars feel in their\npouches and see if the Saint had sent them anything; so each put his\nhand slowly in the pouch that hung beside him, but brought nothing\nthence.\n\n\"Ha!\" quoth Little John, \"have your prayers so little virtue? Then let\nus at it again.\" Then straightway he began calling on Saint Dunstan\nagain, somewhat in this wise: \"O gracious Saint Dunstan! Send some money\nstraightway to these poor folk, lest the fat one waste away and grow as\nlean as the lean one, and the lean one waste away to nothing at all, ere\nthey get to Lincoln Town; but send them only ten shillings apiece, lest\nthey grow puffed up with pride, Any more than that that thou sendest,\nsend to me.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth he, rising, \"let us see what each man hath.\" Then he thrust\nhis hand into his pouch and drew thence four golden angels. \"What have\nye, brothers?\" said he.\n\nThen once again each friar slowly thrust his hand into his pouch, and\nonce again brought it out with nothing in it.\n\n\"Have ye nothing?\" quoth Little John. \"Nay, I warrant there is somewhat\nthat hath crept into the seams of your pouches, and so ye ha' missed it.\nLet me look.\"\n\nSo he went first to the lean Friar, and, thrusting his hand into the\npouch, he drew forth a leathern bag and counted therefrom one hundred\nand ten pounds of golden money. \"I thought,\" quoth Little John, \"that\nthou hadst missed, in some odd corner of thy pouch, the money that the\nblessed Saint had sent thee. And now let me see whether thou hast not\nsome, also, brother.\" Thereupon he thrust his hand into the pouch of the\nfat Friar and drew thence a bag like the other and counted out from it\nthreescore and ten pounds. \"Look ye now,\" quoth he, \"I knew the good\nSaint had sent thee some pittance that thou, also, hadst missed.\"\n\nThen, giving them one pound between them, he slipped the rest of the\nmoney into his own pouch, saying, \"Ye pledged me your holy word that ye\nhad no money. Being holy men, I trust that ye would not belie your word\nso pledged, therefore I know the good Saint Dunstan hath sent this in\nanswer to my prayers. But as I only prayed for ten shillings to be sent\nto each of you, all over and above that belongeth by rights to me, and\nso I take it. I give you good den, brothers, and may ye have a pleasant\njourney henceforth.\" So saying, he turned and left them, striding away.\nThe friars looked at one another with a woeful look, and slowly and\nsadly they mounted their horses again and rode away with never a word.\n\nBut Little John turned his footsteps back again to Sherwood Forest, and\nmerrily he whistled as he strode along.\n\nAnd now we will see what befell Robin Hood in his venture as beggar.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood Turns Beggar\n\nAFTER JOLLY ROBIN had left Little John at the forking of the roads, he\nwalked merrily onward in the mellow sunshine that shone about him.\nEver and anon he would skip and leap or sing a snatch of song, for pure\njoyousness of the day; for, because of the sweetness of the springtide,\nhis heart was as lusty within him as that of a colt newly turned out\nto grass. Sometimes he would walk a long distance, gazing aloft at the\ngreat white swelling clouds that moved slowly across the deep blue sky;\nanon he would stop and drink in the fullness of life of all things, for\nthe hedgerows were budding tenderly and the grass of the meadows was\nwaxing long and green; again he would stand still and listen to the\npretty song of the little birds in the thickets or hearken to the clear\ncrow of the cock daring the sky to rain, whereat he would laugh, for it\ntook but little to tickle Robin's heart into merriment. So he trudged\nmanfully along, ever willing to stop for this reason or for that, and\never ready to chat with such merry lasses as he met now and then. So\nthe morning slipped along, but yet he met no beggar with whom he could\nchange clothes. Quoth he, \"If I do not change my luck in haste, I am\nlike to have an empty day of it, for it is well nigh half gone already,\nand, although I have had a merry walk through the countryside, I know\nnought of a beggar's life.\"\n\nThen, after a while, he began to grow hungry, whereupon his mind turned\nfrom thoughts of springtime and flowers and birds and dwelled\nupon boiled capons, Malmsey, white bread, and the like, with great\ntenderness. Quoth he to himself, \"I would I had Willie Wynkin's wishing\ncoat; I know right well what I should wish for, and this it should be.\"\nHere he marked upon the fingers of his left hand with the forefinger of\nhis right hand those things which he wished for. \"Firstly, I would have\na sweet brown pie of tender larks; mark ye, not dry cooked, but with\na good sop of gravy to moisten it withal. Next, I would have a pretty\npullet, fairly boiled, with tender pigeons' eggs, cunningly sliced,\ngarnishing the platter around. With these I would have a long, slim loaf\nof wheaten bread that hath been baked upon the hearth; it should be warm\nfrom the fire, with glossy brown crust, the color of the hair of mine\nown Maid Marian, and this same crust should be as crisp and brittle as\nthe thin white ice that lies across the furrows in the early winter's\nmorning. These will do for the more solid things; but with these I must\nhave three potties, fat and round, one full of Malmsey, one of Canary,\nand one brimming full of mine own dear lusty sack.\" Thus spoke Robin to\nhimself, his mouth growing moist at the corners with the thoughts of the\ngood things he had raised in his own mind.\n\nSo, talking to himself, he came to where the dusty road turned sharply\naround the hedge, all tender with the green of the coming leaf, and\nthere he saw before him a stout fellow sitting upon a stile, swinging\nhis legs in idleness. All about this lusty rogue dangled divers pouches\nand bags of different sizes and kinds, a dozen or more, with great,\nwide, gaping mouths, like a brood of hungry daws. His coat was gathered\nin at his waist, and was patched with as many colors as there are\nstripes upon a Maypole in the springtide. On his head he wore a great\ntall leathern cap, and across his knees rested a stout quarterstaff of\nblackthorn, full as long and heavy as Robin's. As jolly a beggar was he\nas ever trod the lanes and byways of Nottinghamshire, for his eyes were\nas gray as slate, and snapped and twinkled and danced with merriment,\nand his black hair curled close all over his head in little rings of\nkinkiness.\n\n\"Halloa, good fellow,\" quoth Robin, when he had come nigh to the other,\n\"what art thou doing here this merry day, when the flowers are peeping\nand the buds are swelling?\"\n\nThen the other winked one eye and straightway trolled forth in a merry\nvoice:\n\n     \"_I sit upon the stile,\n     And I sing a little while\n     As I wait for my own true dear, O,\n     For the sun is shining bright,\n     And the leaves are dancing light,\n     And the little fowl sings she is near, O_.\n\n\"And so it is with me, bully boy, saving that my doxy cometh not.\"\n\n\"Now that is a right sweet song,\" quoth Robin, \"and, were I in the right\nmind to listen to thee, I could bear well to hear more; but I have two\nthings of seriousness to ask of thee; so listen, I prythee.\"\n\nAt this the jolly Beggar cocked his head on one side, like a rogue of\na magpie. Quoth he, \"I am an ill jug to pour heavy things into, good\nfriend, and, if I mistake not, thou hast few serious words to spare at\nany time.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth jolly Robin, \"what I would say first is the most serious\nof all thoughts to me, to wit, 'Where shall I get somewhat to eat and\ndrink?'\"\n\n\"Sayst thou so?\" quoth the Beggar. \"Marry, I make no such serious\nthoughts upon the matter. I eat when I can get it, and munch my crust\nwhen I can get no crumb; likewise, when there is no ale to be had I wash\nthe dust from out my throat with a trickle of cold water. I was sitting\nhere, as thou camest upon me, bethinking myself whether I should break\nmy fast or no. I do love to let my hunger grow mightily keen ere I eat,\nfor then a dry crust is as good to me as a venison pasty with suet and\nraisins is to stout King Harry. I have a sharp hunger upon me now, but\nmethinks in a short while it will ripen to a right mellow appetite.\"\n\n\"Now, in good sooth,\" quoth merry Robin, laughing, \"thou hast a quaint\ntongue betwixt thy teeth. But hast thou truly nought but a dry crust\nabout thee? Methinks thy bags and pouches are fat and lusty for such\nthin fare.\"\n\n\"Why, mayhap there is some other cold fare therein,\" said the Beggar\nslyly.\n\n\"And hast thou nought to drink but cold water?\" said Robin.\n\n\"Never so much as a drop,\" quoth the Beggar. \"Over beyond yon clump of\ntrees is as sweet a little inn as ever thou hast lifted eyelid upon; but\nI go not thither, for they have a nasty way with me. Once, when the good\nPrior of Emmet was dining there, the landlady set a dear little tart of\nstewed crabs and barley sugar upon the window sill to cool, and, seeing\nit there, and fearing it might be lost, I took it with me till that I\ncould find the owner thereof. Ever since then they have acted very ill\ntoward me; yet truth bids me say that they have the best ale there that\never rolled over my tongue.\"\n\nAt this Robin laughed aloud. \"Marry,\" quoth he, \"they did ill toward\nthee for thy kindness. But tell me truly, what hast thou in thy\npouches?\"\n\n\"Why,\" quoth the Beggar, peeping into the mouths of his bags, \"I find\nhere a goodly piece of pigeon pie, wrapped in a cabbage leaf to hold the\ngravy. Here I behold a dainty streaked piece of brawn, and here a fair\nlump of white bread. Here I find four oaten cakes and a cold knuckle of\nham. Ha! In sooth, 'tis strange; but here I behold six eggs that must\nhave come by accident from some poultry yard hereabouts. They are raw,\nbut roasted upon the coals and spread with a piece of butter that I\nsee--\"\n\n\"Peace, good friend!\" cried Robin, holding up his hand. \"Thou makest my\npoor stomach quake with joy for what thou tellest me so sweetly. If thou\nwilt give me to eat, I will straightway hie me to that little inn thou\ndidst tell of but now, and will bring a skin of ale for thy drinking and\nmine.\"\n\n\"Friend, thou hast said enough,\" said the Beggar, getting down from\nthe stile. \"I will feast thee with the best that I have and bless Saint\nCedric for thy company. But, sweet chuck, I prythee bring three quarts\nof ale at least, one for thy drinking and two for mine, for my thirst is\nsuch that methinks I can drink ale as the sands of the River Dee drink\nsalt water.\"\n\nSo Robin straightway left the Beggar, who, upon his part, went to a\nbudding lime bush back of the hedge, and there spread his feast upon\nthe grass and roasted his eggs upon a little fagot fire, with a deftness\ngained by long labor in that line. After a while back came Robin bearing\na goodly skin of ale upon his shoulder, which he laid upon the grass.\nThen, looking upon the feast spread upon the ground--and a fair sight it\nwas to look upon--he slowly rubbed his hand over his stomach, for to his\nhungry eyes it seemed the fairest sight that he had beheld in all his\nlife.\n\n\"Friend,\" said the Beggar, \"let me feel the weight of that skin.\n\n\"Yea, truly,\" quoth Robin, \"help thyself, sweet chuck, and meantime let\nme see whether thy pigeon pie is fresh or no.\"\n\nSo the one seized upon the ale and the other upon the pigeon pie, and\nnothing was heard for a while but the munching of food and the gurgle of\nale as it left the skin.\n\nAt last, after a long time had passed thus, Robin pushed the food from\nhim and heaved a great sigh of deep content, for he felt as though he\nhad been made all over anew.\n\n\"And now, good friend,\" quoth he, leaning upon one elbow, \"I would have\nat thee about that other matter of seriousness of which I spoke not long\nsince.\"\n\n\"How!\" said the Beggar reproachfully, \"thou wouldst surely not talk of\nthings appertaining to serious affairs upon such ale as this!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, laughing. \"I would not check thy thirst, sweet\nfriend; drink while I talk to thee. Thus it is: I would have thee know\nthat I have taken a liking to thy craft and would fain have a taste of a\nbeggar's life mine own self.\"\n\nSaid the Beggar, \"I marvel not that thou hast taken a liking to my\nmanner of life, good fellow, but 'to like' and 'to do' are two\nmatters of different sorts. I tell thee, friend, one must serve a\nlong apprenticeship ere one can learn to be even so much as a\nclapper-dudgeon, much less a crank or an Abraham-man.(3) I tell thee,\nlad, thou art too old to enter upon that which it may take thee years to\ncatch the hang of.\"\n\n     (3) Classes of traveling mendicants that infested England as\n     late as the middle of the seventeenth century. VIDE Dakkar's\n     ENGLISH VILLAINIES, etc.\n\n\"Mayhap that may be so,\" quoth Robin, \"for I bring to mind that Gaffer\nSwanthold sayeth Jack Shoemaker maketh ill bread; Tom Baker maketh ill\nshoon. Nevertheless, I have a mind to taste a beggar's life, and need\nbut the clothing to be as good as any.\"\n\n\"I tell thee, fellow,\" said the Beggar, \"if thou wert clad as sweetly\nas good Saint Wynten, the patron of our craft, thou wouldst never make\na beggar. Marry, the first jolly traveler that thou wouldst meet\nwould beat thee to a pudding for thrusting thy nose into a craft that\nbelongeth not to thee.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" quoth Robin, \"I would have a try at it; and methinks I\nshall change clothes with thee, for thy garb seemeth to be pretty, not\nto say gay. So not only will I change clothes, but I will give thee two\ngolden angels to boot. I have brought my stout staff with me, thinking\nthat I might have to rap some one of the brethren of thy cloth over the\nhead by way of argument in this matter, but I love thee so much for the\nfeast thou hast given me that I would not lift even my little finger\nagainst thee, so thou needst not have a crumb of fear.\"\n\nTo this the Beggar listened with his knuckles resting against his hips,\nand when Robin had ended he cocked his head on one side and thrust his\ntongue into his cheek.\n\n\"Marry, come up,\" quoth he at last. \"Lift thy finger against me,\nforsooth! Art thou out of thy wits, man? My name is Riccon Hazel, and I\ncome from Holywell, in Flintshire, over by the River Dee. I tell thee,\nknave, I have cracked the head of many a better man than thou art, and\neven now I would scald thy crown for thee but for the ale thou hast\ngiven me. Now thou shalt not have so much as one tag-rag of my coat,\neven could it save thee from hanging.\"\n\n\"Now, fellow,\" said Robin, \"it would ill suit me to spoil thy pretty\nhead for thee, but I tell thee plainly, that but for this feast I would\ndo that to thee would stop thy traveling the country for many a day to\ncome. Keep thy lips shut, lad, or thy luck will tumble out of thy mouth\nwith thy speech!\"\n\n\"Now out, and alas for thee, man, for thou hast bred thyself ill this\nday!\" cried the Beggar, rising and taking up his staff. \"Take up thy\nclub and defend thyself, fellow, for I will not only beat thee but I\nwill take from thee thy money and leave thee not so much as a clipped\ngroat to buy thyself a lump of goose grease to rub thy cracked crown\nwithal. So defend thyself, I say.\"\n\nThen up leaped merry Robin and snatched up his staff also. \"Take my\nmoney, if thou canst,\" quoth he. \"I promise freely to give thee every\nfarthing if thou dost touch me.\" And he twirled his staff in his fingers\ntill it whistled again.\n\nThen the Beggar swung his staff also, and struck a mighty blow at Robin,\nwhich the yeoman turned. Three blows the Beggar struck, yet never one\ntouched so much as a hair of Robin's head. Then stout Robin saw his\nchance, and, ere you could count three, Riccon's staff was over the\nhedge, and Riccon himself lay upon the green grass with no more motion\nthan you could find in an empty pudding bag.\n\n\"How now!\" quoth merry Robin, laughing. \"Wilt thou have my hide or my\nmoney, sweet chuck?\" But to this the other answered never a word. Then\nRobin, seeing his plight, and that he was stunned with the blow, ran,\nstill laughing, and brought the skin of ale and poured some of it on the\nBeggar's head and some down his throat, so that presently he opened his\neyes and looked around as though wondering why he lay upon his back.\n\nThen Robin, seeing that he had somewhat gathered the wits that had just\nbeen rapped out of his head, said, \"Now, good fellow, wilt thou change\nclothes with me, or shall I have to tap thee again? Here are two golden\nangels if thou wilt give me freely all thy rags and bags and thy cap\nand things. If thou givest them not freely, I much fear me I shall have\nto--\" and he looked up and down his staff.\n\nThen Riccon sat up and rubbed the bump on his crown. \"Now, out upon it!\"\nquoth he. \"I did think to drub thee sweetly, fellow. I know not how it\nis, but I seem, as it were, to have bought more beer than I can drink.\nIf I must give up my clothes, I must, but first promise me, by thy word\nas a true yeoman, that thou wilt take nought from me but my clothes.\"\n\n\"I promise on the word of a true yeoman,\" quoth Robin, thinking that the\nfellow had a few pennies that he would save.\n\nThereupon the Beggar drew a little knife that hung at his side and,\nripping up the lining of his coat, drew thence ten bright golden pounds,\nwhich he laid upon the ground beside him with a cunning wink at Robin.\n\"Now thou mayst have my clothes and welcome,\" said he, \"and thou\nmightest have had them in exchange for thine without the cost of a\nsingle farthing, far less two golden angels.\"\n\n\"Marry,\" quoth Robin, laughing, \"thou art a sly fellow, and I tell thee\ntruly, had I known thou hadst so much money by thee maybe thou mightst\nnot have carried it away, for I warrant thou didst not come honestly by\nit.\"\n\nThen each stripped off his clothes and put on those of the other, and as\nlusty a beggar was Robin Hood as e'er you could find of a summer's day.\nBut stout Riccon of Holywell skipped and leaped and danced for joy of\nthe fair suit of Lincoln green that he had so gotten. Quoth he, \"I am a\ngay-feathered bird now. Truly, my dear Moll Peascod would never know me\nin this dress. Thou mayst keep the cold pieces of the feast, friend, for\nI mean to live well and lustily while my money lasts and my clothes are\ngay.\"\n\nSo he turned and left Robin and, crossing the stile, was gone, but Robin\nheard him singing from beyond the hedge as he strode away:\n\n     \"_For Polly is smiling and Molly is glad\n     When the beggar comes in at the door,\n     And Jack and Dick call him a fine lusty lad,\n     And the hostess runs up a great score.\n\n     \"Then hey, Willy Waddykin,\n     Stay, Billy Waddykin,\n     And let the brown ale flow free, flow free,\n     The beggar's the man for me_.\"\n\nRobin listened till the song ended in the distance, then he also crossed\nthe stile into the road, but turned his toes away from where the Beggar\nhad gone. The road led up a gentle hill and up the hill Robin walked, a\nhalf score or more of bags dangling about his legs. Onward he strolled\nfor a long time, but other adventure he found not. The road was bare\nof all else but himself, as he went kicking up little clouds of dust at\neach footstep; for it was noontide, the most peaceful time of all the\nday, next to twilight. All the earth was silent in the restfulness of\neating time; the plowhorses stood in the furrow munching, with great\nbags over their noses holding sweet food, the plowman sat under the\nhedge and the plowboy also, and they, too, were munching, each one\nholding a great piece of bread in one fist and a great piece of cheese\nin the other.\n\nSo Robin, with all the empty road to himself, strode along whistling\nmerrily, his bags and pouches bobbing and dangling at his thighs. At\nlast he came to where a little grass-grown path left the road and,\npassing through a stile and down a hill, led into a little dell and on\nacross a rill in the valley and up the hill on the other side, till it\nreached a windmill that stood on the cap of the rise where the wind bent\nthe trees in swaying motion. Robin looked at the spot and liked it, and,\nfor no reason but that his fancy led him, he took the little path and\nwalked down the grassy sunny slope of the open meadow, and so came to\nthe little dingle and, ere he knew it, upon four lusty fellows that sat\nwith legs outstretched around a goodly feast spread upon the ground.\n\nFour merry beggars were they, and each had slung about his neck a little\nboard that rested upon his breast. One board had written upon it, \"I\nam blind,\" another, \"I am deaf,\" another, \"I am dumb,\" and the fourth,\n\"Pity the lame one.\" But although all these troubles written upon the\nboards seemed so grievous, the four stout fellows sat around feasting\nas merrily as though Cain's wife had never opened the pottle that held\nmisfortunes and let them forth like a cloud of flies to pester us.\n\nThe deaf man was the first to hear Robin, for he said, \"Hark, brothers,\nI hear someone coming.\" And the blind man was the first to see him,\nfor he said, \"He is an honest man, brothers, and one of like craft to\nourselves.\" Then the dumb man called to him in a great voice and said,\n\"Welcome, brother; come and sit while there is still some of the feast\nleft and a little Malmsey in the pottle.\" At this, the lame man, who\nhad taken off his wooden leg and unstrapped his own leg, and was sitting\nwith it stretched out upon the grass so as to rest it, made room for\nRobin among them. \"We are glad to see thee, brother,\" said he, holding\nout the flask of Malmsey.\n\n\"Marry,\" quoth Robin, laughing, and weighing the flask in his hands ere\nhe drank, \"methinks it is no more than seemly of you all to be glad\nto see me, seeing that I bring sight to the blind, speech to the dumb,\nhearing to the deaf, and such a lusty leg to a lame man. I drink to your\nhappiness, brothers, as I may not drink to your health, seeing ye are\nalready hale, wind and limb.\"\n\nAt this all grinned, and the Blind beggar, who was the chief man among\nthem, and was the broadest shouldered and most lusty rascal of all,\nsmote Robin upon the shoulder, swearing he was a right merry wag.\n\n\"Whence comest thou, lad?\" asked the Dumb man.\n\n\"Why,\" quoth Robin, \"I came this morning from sleeping overnight in\nSherwood.\"\n\n\"Is it even so?\" said the Deaf man. \"I would not for all the money we\nfour are carrying to Lincoln Town sleep one night in Sherwood. If Robin\nHood caught one of our trade in his woodlands he would, methinks, clip\nhis ears.\"\n\n\"Methinks he would, too,\" quoth Robin, laughing. \"But what money is this\nthat ye speak of?\"\n\nThen up spake the Lame man. \"Our king, Peter of York,\" said he, \"hath\nsent us to Lincoln with those moneys that--\"\n\n\"Stay, brother Hodge,\" quoth the Blind man, breaking into the talk, \"I\nwould not doubt our brother here, but bear in mind we know him not. What\nart thou, brother? Upright-man, Jurkman, Clapper-dudgeon, Dommerer, or\nAbraham-man?\"\n\nAt these words Robin looked from one man to the other with mouth agape.\n\"Truly,\" quoth he, \"I trust I am an upright man, at least, I strive to\nbe; but I know not what thou meanest by such jargon, brother. It were\nmuch more seemly, methinks, if yon Dumb man, who hath a sweet voice,\nwould give us a song.\"\n\nAt these words a silence fell on all, and after a while the Blind man\nspoke again. Quoth he, \"Thou dost surely jest when thou sayest that thou\ndost not understand such words. Answer me this: Hast thou ever fibbed a\nchouse quarrons in the Rome pad for the loure in his bung?\"(4)\n\n     (4) I.E., in old beggar's cant, \"beaten a man or gallant\n     upon the highway for the money in his purse.\"  Dakkar's\n     ENGLISH VILLAINIES.\n\n\"Now out upon it,\" quoth Robin Hood testily, \"an ye make sport of me by\npattering such gibberish, it will be ill for you all, I tell you. I have\nthe best part of a mind to crack the heads of all four of you, and would\ndo so, too, but for the sweet Malmsey ye have given me. Brother, pass\nthe pottle lest it grow cold.\"\n\nBut all the four beggars leaped to their feet when Robin had done\nspeaking, and the Blind man snatched up a heavy knotted cudgel that lay\nbeside him on the grass, as did the others likewise. Then Robin, seeing\nthat things were like to go ill with him, albeit he knew not what all\nthe coil was about, leaped to his feet also and, catching up his trusty\nstaff, clapped his back against the tree and stood upon his guard\nagainst them. \"How, now!\" cried he, twirling his staff betwixt his\nfingers, \"would you four stout fellows set upon one man? Stand back, ye\nrascals, or I will score your pates till they have as many marks upon\nthem as a pothouse door! Are ye mad? I have done you no harm.\"\n\n\"Thou liest!\" quoth the one who pretended to be blind and who, being the\nlustiest villain, was the leader of the others, \"thou liest! For thou\nhast come among us as a vile spy. But thine ears have heard too much for\nthy body's good, and thou goest not forth from this place unless thou\ngoest feet foremost, for this day thou shalt die! Come, brothers, all\ntogether! Down with him!\" Then, whirling up his cudgel, he rushed upon\nRobin as an angry bull rushes upon a red rag. But Robin was ready for\nany happening. \"Crick! Crack!\" he struck two blows as quick as a wink,\nand down went the Blind man, rolling over and over upon the grass.\n\nAt this the others bore back and stood at a little distance scowling\nupon Robin. \"Come on, ye scum!\" cried he merrily. \"Here be cakes and ale\nfor all. Now, who will be next served?\"\n\nTo this speech the beggars answered never a word, but they looked at\nRobin as great Blunderbore looked upon stout Jack the slayer of giants,\nas though they would fain eat him, body and bones; nevertheless, they\ndid not care to come nigher to him and his terrible staff. Then, seeing\nthem so hesitate, Robin of a sudden leaped upon them, striking even as\nhe leaped. Down went the Dumb man, and away flew his cudgel from his\nhand as he fell. At this the others ducked to avoid another blow, then,\ntaking to their heels, scampered, the one one way and the other the\nother, as though they had the west wind's boots upon their feet. Robin\nlooked after them, laughing, and thought that never had he seen so fleet\na runner as the Lame man; but neither of the beggars stopped nor turned\naround, for each felt in his mind the wind of Robin's cudgel about his\nears.\n\nThen Robin turned to the two stout knaves lying upon the ground. Quoth\nhe, \"These fellows spake somewhat about certain moneys they were taking\nto Lincoln; methinks I may find it upon this stout blind fellow,\nwho hath as keen sight as e'er a trained woodsman in Nottingham or\nYorkshire. It were a pity to let sound money stay in the pockets of\nsuch thieving knaves.\" So saying, he stooped over the burly rascal and\nsearched among his rags and tatters, till presently his fingers felt a\nleathern pouch slung around his body beneath his patched and tattered\ncoat. This he stripped away and, weighing it in his hands, bethought\nhimself that it was mighty heavy. \"It were a sweet thing,\" said he to\nhimself, \"if this were filled with gold instead of copper pence.\" Then,\nsitting down upon the grass, he opened the pocket and looked into it.\nThere he found four round rolls wrapped up in dressed sheepskin; one of\nthese rolls he opened; then his mouth gaped and his eyes stared, I wot,\nas though they would never close again, for what did he see but fifty\npounds of bright golden money? He opened the other pockets and found in\neach one the same, fifty bright new-stamped golden pounds. Quoth Robin,\n\"I have oft heard that the Beggars' Guild was over-rich, but never did\nI think that they sent such sums as this to their treasury. I shall take\nit with me, for it will be better used for charity and the good of my\nmerry band than in the enriching of such knaves as these.\" So saying, he\nrolled up the money in the sheepskin again, and putting it back in the\npurse, he thrust the pouch into his own bosom. Then taking up the flask\nof Malmsey, he held it toward the two fellows lying on the grass, and\nquoth he, \"Sweet friends, I drink your health and thank you dearly for\nwhat ye have so kindly given me this day, and so I wish you good den.\"\nThen, taking up his staff, he left the spot and went merrily on his way.\n\nBut when the two stout beggars that had been rapped upon the head roused\nthemselves and sat up, and when the others had gotten over their fright\nand come back, they were as sad and woebegone as four frogs in dry\nweather, for two of them had cracked crowns, their Malmsey was all gone,\nand they had not so much as a farthing to cross their palms withal.\n\nBut after Robin left the little dell he strode along merrily, singing as\nhe went; and so blithe was he and such a stout beggar, and, withal, so\nfresh and clean, that every merry lass he met had a sweet word for him\nand felt no fear, while the very dogs, that most times hate the sight\nof a beggar, snuffed at his legs in friendly wise and wagged their tails\npleasantly; for dogs know an honest man by his smell, and an honest man\nRobin was--in his own way.\n\nThus he went along till at last he had come to the wayside cross nigh\nOllerton, and, being somewhat tired, he sat him down to rest upon the\ngrassy bank in front of it. \"It groweth nigh time,\" quoth he to himself,\n\"that I were getting back again to Sherwood; yet it would please me well\nto have one more merry adventure ere I go back again to my jolly band.\"\n\nSo he looked up the road and down the road to see who might come, until\nat last he saw someone drawing near, riding upon a horse. When the\ntraveler came nigh enough for him to see him well, Robin laughed, for a\nstrange enough figure he cut. He was a thin, wizened man, and, to look\nupon him, you could not tell whether he was thirty years old or sixty,\nso dried up was he even to skin and bone. As for the nag, it was as thin\nas the rider, and both looked as though they had been baked in Mother\nHuddle's Oven, where folk are dried up so that they live forever.\n\nBut although Robin laughed at the droll sight, he knew the wayfarer\nto be a certain rich corn engrosser of Worksop, who more than once had\nbought all the grain in the countryside and held it till it reached even\nfamine prices, thus making much money from the needs of poor people, and\nfor this he was hated far and near by everyone that knew aught of him.\n\nSo, after a while, the Corn Engrosser came riding up to where Robin sat;\nwhereupon merry Robin stepped straightway forth, in all his rags and\ntatters, his bags and pouches dangling about him, and laid his hand upon\nthe horse's bridle rein, calling upon the other to stop.\n\n\"Who art thou, fellow, that doth dare to stop me thus upon the King's\nhighway?\" said the lean man, in a dry, sour voice.\n\n\"Pity a poor beggar,\" quoth Robin. \"Give me but a farthing to buy me a\npiece of bread.\"\n\n\"Now, out upon thee!\" snarled the other. \"Such sturdy rogues as thou art\nare better safe in the prisons or dancing upon nothing, with a hempen\ncollar about the neck, than strolling the highways so freely.\"\n\n\"Tut,\" quoth Robin, \"how thou talkest! Thou and I are brothers, man. Do\nwe not both take from the poor people that which they can ill spare? Do\nwe not make our livings by doing nought of any good? Do we not both live\nwithout touching palm to honest work? Have we either of us ever rubbed\nthumbs over honestly gained farthings? Go to! We are brothers, I say;\nonly thou art rich and I am poor; wherefore, I prythee once more, give\nme a penny.\"\n\n\"Doss thou prate so to me, sirrah?\" cried the Corn Engrosser in a rage.\n\"Now I will have thee soundly whipped if ever I catch thee in any town\nwhere the law can lay hold of thee! As for giving thee a penny, I swear\nto thee that I have not so much as a single groat in my purse. Were\nRobin Hood himself to take me, he might search me from crown to heel\nwithout finding the smallest piece of money upon me. I trust I am too\nsly to travel so nigh to Sherwood with money in my pouch, and that thief\nat large in the woods.\"\n\nThen merry Robin looked up and down, as if to see that there was no one\nnigh, and then, coming close to the Corn Engrosser, he stood on tiptoe\nand spake in his ear, \"Thinkest thou in sooth that I am a beggar, as I\nseem to be? Look upon me. There is not a grain of dirt upon my hands or\nmy face or my body. Didst thou ever see a beggar so? I tell thee I am as\nhonest a man as thou art. Look, friend.\" Here he took the purse of money\nfrom his breast and showed to the dazzled eyes of the Corn Engrosser the\nbright golden pieces. \"Friend, these rags serve but to hide an honest\nrich man from the eyes of Robin Hood.\"\n\n\"Put up thy money, lad,\" cried the other quickly. \"Art thou a fool,\nto trust to beggar's rags to shield thee from Robin Hood? If he caught\nthee, he would strip thee to the skin, for he hates a lusty beggar as he\ndoth a fat priest or those of my kind.\"\n\n\"Is it indeed so?\" quoth Robin. \"Had I known this, mayhap I had not come\nhereabouts in this garb. But I must go forward now, as much depends upon\nmy journeying. Where goest thou, friend?\"\n\n\"I go to Grantham,\" said the Corn Engrosser, \"but I shall lodge tonight\nat Newark, if I can get so far upon my way.\"\n\n\"Why, I myself am on the way to Newark,\" quoth merry Robin, \"so that,\nas two honest men are better than one in roads beset by such a fellow as\nthis Robin Hood, I will jog along with thee, if thou hast no dislike to\nmy company.\"\n\n\"Why, as thou art an honest fellow and a rich fellow,\" said the Corn\nEngrosser, \"I mind not thy company; but, in sooth, I have no great\nfondness for beggars.\"\n\n\"Then forward,\" quoth Robin, \"for the day wanes and it will be dark ere\nwe reach Newark.\" So off they went, the lean horse hobbling along as\nbefore, and Robin running beside, albeit he was so quaking with laughter\nwithin him that he could hardly stand; yet he dared not laugh aloud,\nlest the Corn Engrosser should suspect something. So they traveled along\ntill they reached a hill just on the outskirts of Sherwood. Here the\nlean man checked his lean horse into a walk, for the road was steep, and\nhe wished to save his nag's strength, having far to go ere he reached\nNewark. Then he turned in his saddle and spake to Robin again, for the\nfirst time since they had left the cross. \"Here is thy greatest danger,\nfriend,\" said he, \"for here we are nighest to that vile thief Robin\nHood, and the place where he dwells. Beyond this we come again to the\nopen honest country, and so are more safe in our journeying.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" quoth Robin, \"I would that I had as little money by me as thou\nhast, for this day I fear that Robin Hood will get every groat of my\nwealth.\"\n\nThen the other looked at Robin and winked cunningly. Quoth he, \"I tell\nthee, friend, that I have nigh as much by me as thou hast, but it is\nhidden so that never a knave in Sherwood could find it.\"\n\n\"Thou dost surely jest,\" quoth Robin. \"How could one hide so much as two\nhundred pounds upon his person?\"\n\n\"Now, as thou art so honest a fellow, and, withal, so much younger than\nI am, I will tell thee that which I have told to no man in all the world\nbefore, and thus thou mayst learn never again to do such a foolish thing\nas to trust to beggar's garb to guard thee against Robin Hood. Seest\nthou these clogs upon my feet?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth Robin, laughing, \"truly, they are large enough for any man\nto see, even were his sight as foggy as that of Peter Patter, who never\ncould see when it was time to go to work.\"\n\n\"Peace, friend,\" said the Corn Engrosser, \"for this is no matter for\njesting. The soles of these clogs are not what they seem to be, for each\none is a sweet little box; and by twisting the second nail from the toe,\nthe upper of the shoe and part of the sole lifts up like a lid, and in\nthe spaces within are fourscore and ten bright golden pounds in each\nshoe, all wrapped in hair, to keep them from clinking and so telling\ntales of themselves.\"\n\nWhen the Corn Engrosser had told this, Robin broke into a roar of\nlaughter and, laying his hands upon the bridle rein, stopped the\nsad-looking nag. \"Stay, good friend,\" quoth he, between bursts of\nmerriment, \"thou art the slyest old fox that e'er I saw in all\nmy life!--In the soles of his shoon, quotha!--If ever I trust a\npoor-seeming man again, shave my head and paint it blue! A corn factor,\na horse jockey, an estate agent, and a jackdaw for cunningness, say I!\"\nAnd he laughed again till he shook in his shoes with mirth.\n\nAll this time the Corn Engrosser had been staring at Robin, his mouth\nagape with wonder. \"Art thou mad,\" quoth he, \"to talk in this way, so\nloud and in such a place? Let us forward, and save thy mirth till we are\nsafe and sound at Newark.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, the tears of merriment wet on his cheeks, \"on second\nthoughts I go no farther than here, for I have good friends hereabouts.\nThou mayst go forward if thou dost list, thou sweet pretty fellow, but\nthou must go forward barefoot, for I am afraid that thy shoon must be\nleft behind. Off with them, friend, for I tell thee I have taken a great\nfancy to them.\"\n\nAt these words the corn factor grew pale as a linen napkin. \"Who art\nthou that talkest so?\" said he.\n\nThen merry Robin laughed again, and quoth he, \"Men hereabouts call me\nRobin Hood; so, sweet friend, thou hadst best do my bidding and give\nme thy shoes, wherefore hasten, I prythee, or else thou wilt not get to\nfair Newark Town till after dark.\"\n\nAt the sound of the name of Robin Hood, the corn factor quaked with\nfear, so that he had to seize his horse by the mane to save himself\nfrom falling off its back. Then straightway, and without more words,\nhe stripped off his clogs and let them fall upon the road. Robin, still\nholding the bridle rein, stooped and picked them up. Then he said,\n\"Sweet friend, I am used to ask those that I have dealings with to\ncome and feast at Sherwood with me. I will not ask thee, because of our\npleasant journey together; for I tell thee there be those in Sherwood\nthat would not be so gentle with thee as I have been. The name of Corn\nEngrosser leaves a nasty taste upon the tongue of all honest men. Take a\nfool's advice of me and come no more so nigh to Sherwood, or mayhap some\nday thou mayst of a sudden find a clothyard shaft betwixt thy ribs. So,\nwith this, I give thee good den.\" Hereupon he clapped his hand to the\nhorse's flank and off went nag and rider. But the man's face was all\nbedewed with the sweat of fright, and never again, I wot, was he found\nso close to Sherwood Forest as he had been this day.\n\nRobin stood and looked after him, and, when he was fairly gone, turned,\nlaughing, and entered the forest carrying the shoes in his hand.\n\nThat night in sweet Sherwood the red fires glowed brightly in wavering\nlight on tree and bush, and all around sat or lay the stout fellows of\nthe band to hear Robin Hood and Little John tell their adventures. All\nlistened closely, and again and again the woods rang with shouts of\nlaughter.\n\nWhen all was told, Friar Tuck spoke up. \"Good master,\" said he, \"thou\nhast had a pretty time, but still I hold to my saying, that the life of\nthe barefoot friar is the merrier of the two.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Will Stutely, \"I hold with our master, that he hath had\nthe pleasanter doings of the two, for he hath had two stout bouts at\nquarterstaff this day.\"\n\nSo some of the band held with Robin Hood and some with Little John. As\nfor me, I think--But I leave it with you to say for yourselves which you\nhold with.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood Shoots Before Queen Eleanor\n\nTHE HIGHROAD stretched white and dusty in the hot summer afternoon sun,\nand the trees stood motionless along the roadside. All across the meadow\nlands the hot air danced and quivered, and in the limpid waters of\nthe lowland brook, spanned by a little stone bridge, the fish hung\nmotionless above the yellow gravel, and the dragonfly sat quite still,\nperched upon the sharp tip of a spike of the rushes, with its wings\nglistening in the sun.\n\nAlong the road a youth came riding upon a fair milk-white barb, and the\nfolk that he passed stopped and turned and looked after him, for never\nhad so lovely a lad or one so gaily clad been seen in Nottingham before.\nHe could not have been more than sixteen years of age, and was as fair\nas any maiden. His long yellow hair flowed behind him as he rode along,\nall clad in silk and velvet, with jewels flashing and dagger jingling\nagainst the pommel of the saddle. Thus came the Queen's Page, young\nRichard Partington, from famous London Town down into Nottinghamshire,\nupon Her Majesty's bidding, to seek Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest.\n\nThe road was hot and dusty and his journey had been long, for that day\nhe had come all the way from Leicester Town, a good twenty miles and\nmore; wherefore young Partington was right glad when he saw before him a\nsweet little inn, all shady and cool beneath the trees, in front of the\ndoor of which a sign hung pendant, bearing the picture of a blue boar.\nHere he drew rein and called loudly for a pottle of Rhenish wine to be\nbrought him, for stout country ale was too coarse a drink for this young\ngentleman. Five lusty fellows sat upon the bench beneath the pleasant\nshade of the wide-spreading oak in front of the inn door, drinking ale\nand beer, and all stared amain at this fair and gallant lad. Two of the\nstoutest of them were clothed in Lincoln green, and a great heavy oaken\nstaff leaned against the gnarled oak tree trunk beside each fellow.\n\nThe landlord came and brought a pottle of wine and a long narrow glass\nupon a salver, which he held up to the Page as he sat upon his horse.\nYoung Partington poured forth the bright yellow wine and holding the\nglass aloft, cried, \"Here is to the health and long happiness of my\nroyal mistress, the noble Queen Eleanor; and may my journey and her\ndesirings soon have end, and I find a certain stout yeoman men call\nRobin Hood.\"\n\nAt these words all stared, but presently the two stout yeomen in Lincoln\ngreen began whispering together. Then one of the two, whom Partington\nthought to be the tallest and stoutest fellow he had ever beheld, spoke\nup and said, \"What seekest thou of Robin Hood, Sir Page? And what does\nour good Queen Eleanor wish of him? I ask this of thee, not foolishly,\nbut with reason, for I know somewhat of this stout yeoman.\"\n\n\"An thou knowest aught of him, good fellow,\" said young Partington,\n\"thou wilt do great service to him and great pleasure to our royal Queen\nby aiding me to find him.\"\n\nThen up spake the other yeoman, who was a handsome fellow with sunburned\nface and nut-brown, curling hair, \"Thou hast an honest look, Sir Page,\nand our Queen is kind and true to all stout yeomen. Methinks I and my\nfriend here might safely guide thee to Robin Hood, for we know where\nhe may be found. Yet I tell thee plainly, we would not for all merry\nEngland have aught of harm befall him.\"\n\n\"Set thy mind at ease; I bring nought of ill with me,\" quoth Richard\nPartington. \"I bring a kind message to him from our Queen, therefore an\nye know where he is to be found, I pray you to guide me thither.\"\n\nThen the two yeomen looked at one another again, and the tall man said,\n\"Surely it were safe to do this thing, Will;\" whereat the other nodded.\nThereupon both arose, and the tall yeoman said, \"We think thou art true,\nSir Page, and meanest no harm, therefore we will guide thee to Robin\nHood as thou dost wish.\"\n\nThen Partington paid his score, and the yeomen coming forward, they all\nstraightway departed upon their way.\n\n\nUnder the greenwood tree, in the cool shade that spread all around upon\nthe sward, with flickering lights here and there, Robin Hood and many\nof his band lay upon the soft green grass, while Allan a Dale sang and\nplayed upon his sweetly sounding harp. All listened in silence, for\nyoung Allan's singing was one of the greatest joys in all the world\nto them; but as they so listened there came of a sudden the sound of a\nhorse's feet, and presently Little John and Will Stutely came forth from\nthe forest path into the open glade, young Richard Partington riding\nbetween them upon his milk-white horse. The three came toward where\nRobin Hood sat, all the band staring with might and main, for never had\nthey seen so gay a sight as this young Page, nor one so richly clad\nin silks and velvets and gold and jewels. Then Robin arose and stepped\nforth to meet him, and Partington leaped from his horse and doffing\nhis cap of crimson velvet, met Robin as he came. \"Now, welcome!\" cried\nRobin. \"Now, welcome, fair youth, and tell me, I prythee, what bringeth\none of so fair a presence and clad in such noble garb to our poor forest\nof Sherwood?\"\n\nThen young Partington said, \"If I err not, thou art the famous Robin\nHood, and these thy stout band of outlawed yeomen. To thee I bring\ngreetings from our noble Queen Eleanor. Oft hath she heard thee spoken\nof and thy merry doings hereabouts, and fain would she behold thy face;\ntherefore she bids me tell thee that if thou wilt presently come to\nLondon Town, she will do all in her power to guard thee against harm,\nand will send thee back safe to Sherwood Forest again. Four days hence,\nin Finsbury Fields, our good King Henry, of great renown, holdeth a\ngrand shooting match, and all the most famous archers of merry England\nwill be thereat. Our Queen would fain see thee strive with these,\nknowing that if thou wilt come thou wilt, with little doubt, carry\noff the prize. Therefore she hath sent me with this greeting, and\nfurthermore sends thee, as a sign of great good will, this golden ring\nfrom off her own fair thumb, which I give herewith into thy hands.\"\n\nThen Robin Hood bowed his head and taking the ring, kissed it right\nloyally, and then slipped it upon his little finger. Quoth he, \"Sooner\nwould I lose my life than this ring; and ere it departs from me, my hand\nshall be cold in death or stricken off at the wrist. Fair Sir Page, I\nwill do our Queen's bidding, and will presently hie with thee to London;\nbut, ere we go, I will feast thee here in the woodlands with the very\nbest we have.\"\n\n\"It may not be,\" said the Page; \"we have no time to tarry, therefore\nget thyself ready straightway; and if there be any of thy band that thou\nwouldst take with thee, our Queen bids me say that she will make them\nright welcome likewise.\"\n\n\"Truly, thou art right,\" quoth Robin, \"and we have but short time to\nstay; therefore I will get me ready presently. I will choose three of my\nmen, only, to go with me, and these three shall be Little John, mine\nown true right-hand man, Will Scarlet, my cousin, and Allan a Dale, my\nminstrel. Go, lads, and get ye ready straightway, and we will presently\noff with all speed that we may. Thou, Will Stutely, shall be the chief\nof the band while I am gone.\"\n\nThen Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale ran leaping, full of\njoy, to make themselves ready, while Robin also prepared himself for the\njourney. After a while they all four came forth, and a right fair sight\nthey made, for Robin was clad in blue from head to foot, and Little John\nand Will Scarlet in good Lincoln green, and as for Allan a Dale, he was\ndressed in scarlet from the crown of his head to the toes of his pointed\nshoes. Each man wore beneath his cap a little head covering of burnished\nsteel set with rivets of gold, and underneath his jerkin a coat of\nlinked mail, as fine as carded wool, yet so tough that no arrow could\npierce it. Then, seeing all were ready, young Partington mounted his\nhorse again, and the yeomen having shaken hands all around, the five\ndeparted upon their way.\n\nThat night they took up their inn in Melton Mowbray, in Leicestershire,\nand the next night they lodged at Kettering, in Northamptonshire; and\nthe next at Bedford Town; and the next at St. Albans, in Hertfordshire.\nThis place they left not long after the middle of the night, and\ntraveling fast through the tender dawning of the summer day, when the\ndews lay shining on the meadows and faint mists hung in the dales,\nwhen the birds sang their sweetest and the cobwebs beneath the hedges\nglimmered like fairy cloth of silver, they came at last to the towers\nand walls of famous London Town, while the morn was still young and all\ngolden toward the east.\n\nQueen Eleanor sat in her royal bower, through the open casements of\nwhich poured the sweet yellow sunshine in great floods of golden light.\nAll about her stood her ladies-in-waiting chatting in low voices, while\nshe herself sat dreamily where the mild air came softly drifting into\nthe room laden with the fresh perfumes of the sweet red roses that\nbloomed in the great garden beneath the wall. To her came one who said\nthat her page, Richard Partington, and four stout yeomen waited her\npleasure in the court below. Then Queen Eleanor arose joyously and bade\nthem be straightway shown into her presence.\n\nThus Robin Hood and Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale came\nbefore the Queen into her own royal bower. Then Robin kneeled before the\nQueen with his hands folded upon his breast, saying in simple phrase,\n\"Here am I, Robin Hood. Thou didst bid me come, and lo, I do thy\nbidding. I give myself to thee as thy true servant, and will do thy\ncommanding, even if it be to the shedding of the last drop of my life's\nblood.\"\n\nBut good Queen Eleanor smiled pleasantly upon him, bidding him to arise.\nThen she made them all be seated to rest themselves after their long\njourney. Rich food was brought them and noble wines, and she had her\nown pages to wait upon the wants of the yeomen. At last, after they\nhad eaten all they could, she began questioning them of their merry\nadventures. Then they told her all of the lusty doings herein spoken of,\nand among others that concerning the Bishop of Hereford and Sir Richard\nof the Lea, and how the Bishop had abided three days in Sherwood Forest.\nAt this, the Queen and the ladies about her laughed again and again, for\nthey pictured to themselves the stout Bishop abiding in the forest and\nranging the woods in lusty sport with Robin and his band. Then, when\nthey had told all that they could bring to mind, the Queen asked Allan\nto sing to her, for his fame as a minstrel had reached even to the court\nat London Town. So straightway Allan took up his harp in his hand, and,\nwithout more asking, touched the strings lightly till they all rang\nsweetly, then he sang thus:\n\n     \"_Gentle river, gentle river,\n     Bright thy crystal waters flow,\n     Sliding where the aspens shiver,\n     Gliding where the lilies blow,\n\n     \"Singing over pebbled shallows,\n     Kissing blossoms bending low,\n     Breaking 'neath the dipping swallows,\n     Purpling where the breezes blow.\n\n     \"Floating on thy breast forever\n     Down thy current I could glide;\n     Grief and pain should reach me never\n     On thy bright and gentle tide.\n\n     \"So my aching heart seeks thine, love,\n     There to find its rest and peace,\n     For, through loving, bliss is mine, love,\n     And my many troubles cease_.\"\n\nThus Allan sang, and as he sang all eyes dwelled upon him and not a\nsound broke the stillness, and even after he had done the silence hung\nfor a short space. So the time passed till the hour drew nigh for the\nholding of the great archery match in Finsbury Fields.\n\nA gay sight were famous Finsbury Fields on that bright and sunny morning\nof lusty summertime. Along the end of the meadow stood the booths for\nthe different bands of archers, for the King's yeomen were divided into\ncompanies of fourscore men, and each company had a captain over it; so\non the bright greensward stood ten booths of striped canvas, a booth for\neach band of the royal archers, and at the peak of each fluttered a\nflag in the mellow air, and the flag was the color that belonged to\nthe captain of each band. From the center booth hung the yellow flag of\nTepus, the famous bow bearer of the King; next to it, on one hand,\nwas the blue flag of Gilbert of the White Hand, and on the other the\nblood-red pennant of stout young Clifton of Buckinghamshire. The seven\nother archer captains were also men of great renown; among them were\nEgbert of Kent and William of Southampton; but those first named were\nmost famous of all. The noise of many voices in talk and laughter came\nfrom within the booths, and in and out ran the attendants like\nants about an ant-hill. Some bore ale and beer, and some bundles of\nbowstrings or sheaves of arrows. On each side of the archery range were\nrows upon rows of seats reaching high aloft, and in the center of the\nnorth side was a raised dais for the King and Queen, shaded by canvas\nof gay colors, and hung about with streaming silken pennants of red and\nblue and green and white. As yet the King and Queen had not come, but\nall the other benches were full of people, rising head above head high\naloft till it made the eye dizzy to look upon them. Eightscore yards\ndistant from the mark from which the archers were to shoot stood ten\nfair targets, each target marked by a flag of the color belonging to the\nband that was to shoot thereat. So all was ready for the coming of the\nKing and Queen.\n\nAt last a great blast of bugles sounded, and into the meadow came riding\nsix trumpeters with silver trumpets, from which hung velvet banners\nheavy with rich workings of silver and gold thread. Behind these came\nstout King Henry upon a dapple-gray stallion, with his Queen beside him\nupon a milk-white palfrey. On either side of them walked the yeomen of\nthe guard, the bright sunlight flashing from the polished blades of\nthe steel halberds they carried. Behind these came the Court in a great\ncrowd, so that presently all the lawn was alive with bright colors, with\nsilk and velvet, with waving plumes and gleaming gold, with flashing\njewels and sword hilts; a gallant sight on that bright summer day.\n\nThen all the people arose and shouted, so that their voices sounded like\nthe storm upon the Cornish coast, when the dark waves run upon the shore\nand leap and break, surging amid the rocks; so, amid the roaring and the\nsurging of the people, and the waving of scarfs and kerchiefs, the King\nand Queen came to their place, and, getting down from their horses,\nmounted the broad stairs that led to the raised platform, and there\ntook their seats on two thrones bedecked with purple silks and cloths of\nsilver and of gold.\n\nWhen all was quiet a bugle sounded, and straightway the archers came\nmarching in order from their tents. Fortyscore they were in all, as\nstalwart a band of yeomen as could be found in all the wide world. So\nthey came in orderly fashion and stood in front of the dais where King\nHenry and his Queen sat. King Henry looked up and down their ranks right\nproudly, for his heart warmed within him at the sight of such a gallant\nband of yeomen. Then he bade his herald Sir Hugh de Mowbray stand forth\nand proclaim the rules governing the game. So Sir Hugh stepped to the\nedge of the platform and spoke in a loud clear voice, and thus he said:\n\nThat each man should shoot seven arrows at the target that belonged to\nhis band, and, of the fourscore yeomen of each band, the three that shot\nthe best should be chosen. These three should shoot three arrows apiece,\nand the one that shot the best should again be chosen. Then each of\nthese should again shoot three arrows apiece, and the one that shot the\nbest should have the first prize, the one that shot the next best should\nhave the second, and the one that shot the next best should have the\nthird prize. Each of the others should have fourscore silver pennies for\nhis shooting. The first prize was to be twoscore and ten golden pounds,\na silver bugle horn inlaid with gold, and a quiver with ten white arrows\ntipped with gold and feathered with the white swan's-wing therein. The\nsecond prize was to be fivescore of the fattest bucks that run on Dallen\nLea, to be shot when the yeoman that won them chose. The third prize was\nto be two tuns of good Rhenish wine.\n\nSo Sir Hugh spoke, and when he had done all the archers waved their bows\naloft and shouted. Then each band turned and marched in order back to\nits place.\n\nAnd now the shooting began, the captains first taking stand and speeding\ntheir shafts and then making room for the men who shot, each in turn,\nafter them. Two hundred and eighty score shafts were shot in all, and so\ndeftly were they sped that when the shooting was done each target looked\nlike the back of a hedgehog when the farm dog snuffs at it. A long\ntime was taken in this shooting, and when it was over the judges came\nforward, looked carefully at the targets, and proclaimed in a loud voice\nwhich three had shot the best from the separate bands. Then a great\nhubbub of voices arose, each man among the crowd that looked on calling\nfor his favorite archer. Then ten fresh targets were brought forward,\nand every sound was hushed as the archers took their places once more.\n\nThis time the shooting was more speedily done, for only nine shafts\nwere shot by each band. Not an arrow missed the targets, but in that of\nGilbert of the White Hand five arrows were in the small white spot that\nmarked the center; of these five three were sped by Gilbert. Then the\njudges came forward again, and looking at the targets, called aloud the\nnames of the archer chosen as the best bowman of each band. Of these\nGilbert of the White Hand led, for six of the ten arrows he had shot had\nlodged in the center; but stout Tepus and young Clifton trod close upon\nhis heels; yet the others stood a fair chance for the second or third\nplace.\n\nAnd now, amid the roaring of the crowd, those ten stout fellows that\nwere left went back to their tents to rest for a while and change their\nbowstrings, for nought must fail at this next round, and no hand must\ntremble or eye grow dim because of weariness.\n\nThen while the deep buzz and hum of talking sounded all around like the\nnoise of the wind in the leafy forest, Queen Eleanor turned to the King,\nand quoth she, \"Thinkest thou that these yeomen so chosen are the very\nbest archers in all merry England?\"\n\n\"Yea, truly,\" said the King, smiling, for he was well pleased with the\nsport that he had seen; \"and I tell thee, that not only are they the\nbest archers in all merry England, but in all the wide world beside.\"\n\n\"But what wouldst thou say,\" quoth Queen Eleanor, \"if I were to find\nthree archers to match the best three yeomen of all thy guard?\"\n\n\"I would say thou hast done what I could not do,\" said the King,\nlaughing, \"for I tell thee there lives not in all the world three\narchers to match Tepus and Gilbert and Clifton of Buckinghamshire.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said the Queen, \"I know of three yeomen, and in truth I have seen\nthem not long since, that I would not fear to match against any three\nthat thou canst choose from among all thy fortyscore archers; and,\nmoreover, I will match them here this very day. But I will only match\nthem with thy archers providing that thou wilt grant a free pardon to\nall that may come in my behalf.\"\n\nAt this, the King laughed loud and long. \"Truly,\" said he, \"thou art\ntaking up with strange matters for a queen. If thou wilt bring those\nthree fellows that thou speakest of, I will promise faithfully to give\nthem free pardon for forty days, to come or to go wheresoever they\nplease, nor will I harm a hair of their heads in all that time.\nMoreover, if these that thou bringest shoot better than my yeomen, man\nfor man, they shall have the prizes for themselves according to their\nshooting. But as thou hast so taken up of a sudden with sports of this\nkind, hast thou a mind for a wager?\"\n\n\"Why, in sooth,\" said Queen Eleanor, laughing, \"I know nought of such\nmatters, but if thou hast a mind to do somewhat in that way, I will\nstrive to pleasure thee. What wilt thou wager upon thy men?\"\n\nThen the merry King laughed again, for he dearly loved goodly jest; so\nhe said, amidst his laughter, \"I will wager thee ten tuns of Rhenish\nwine, ten tuns of the stoutest ale, and tenscore bows of tempered\nSpanish yew, with quivers and arrows to match.\"\n\nAll that stood around smiled at this, for it seemed a merry wager for\na king to give to a queen; but Queen Eleanor bowed her head quietly. \"I\nwill take thy wager,\" said she, \"for I know right well where to place\nthose things that thou hast spoken of. Now, who will be on my side in\nthis matter?\" And she looked around upon them that stood about; but no\none spake or cared to wager upon the Queen's side against such archers\nas Tepus and Gilbert and Clifton. Then the Queen spoke again, \"Now, who\nwill back me in this wager? Wilt thou, my Lord Bishop of Hereford?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Bishop hastily, \"it ill befits one of my cloth to deal\nin such matters. Moreover, there are no such archers as His Majesty's in\nall the world; therefore I would but lose my money.\n\n\"Methinks the thought of thy gold weigheth more heavily with thee than\nthe wrong to thy cloth,\" said the Queen, smiling, and at this a ripple\nof laughter went around, for everyone knew how fond the Bishop was of\nhis money. Then the Queen turned to a knight who stood near, whose name\nwas Sir Robert Lee. \"Wilt thou back me in this manner?\" said she. \"Thou\nart surely rich enough to risk so much for the sake of a lady.\"\n\n\"To pleasure my Queen I will do it,\" said Sir Robert Lee, \"but for the\nsake of no other in all the world would I wager a groat, for no man can\nstand against Tepus and Gilbert and Clifton.\"\n\nThen turning to the King, Queen Eleanor said, \"I want no such aid as Sir\nRobert giveth me; but against thy wine and beer and stout bows of yew I\nwager this girdle all set with jewels from around my waist; and surely\nthat is worth more than thine.\"\n\n\"Now, I take thy wager,\" quoth the King. \"Send for thy archers\nstraightway. But here come forth the others; let them shoot, and then I\nwill match those that win against all the world.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" said the Queen. Thereupon, beckoning to young Richard\nPartington, she whispered something in his ear, and straightway the Page\nbowed and left the place, crossing the meadow to the other side of the\nrange, where he was presently lost in the crowd. At this, all that stood\naround whispered to one another, wondering what it all meant, and what\nthree men the Queen was about to set against those famous archers of the\nKing's guard.\n\nAnd now the ten archers of the King's guard took their stand again, and\nall the great crowd was hushed to the stillness of death. Slowly and\ncarefully each man shot his shafts, and so deep was the silence that\nyou could hear every arrow rap against the target as it struck it. Then,\nwhen the last shaft had sped, a great roar went up; and the shooting, I\nwot, was well worthy of the sound. Once again Gilbert had lodged three\narrows in the white; Tepus came second with two in the white and one in\nthe black ring next to it; but stout Clifton had gone down and Hubert of\nSuffolk had taken the third place, for, while both those two good yeomen\nhad lodged two in the white, Clifton had lost one shot upon the fourth\nring, and Hubert came in with one in the third.\n\nAll the archers around Gilbert's booth shouted for joy till their\nthroats were hoarse, tossing their caps aloft, and shaking hands with\none another.\n\nIn the midst of all the noise and hubbub five men came walking across\nthe lawn toward the King's pavilion. The first was Richard Partington,\nand was known to most folk there, but the others were strange to\neverybody. Beside young Partington walked a yeoman clad in blue, and\nbehind came three others, two in Lincoln green and one in scarlet. This\nlast yeoman carried three stout bows of yew tree, two fancifully inlaid\nwith silver and one with gold. While these five men came walking across\nthe meadow, a messenger came running from the King's booth and summoned\nGilbert and Tepus and Hubert to go with him. And now the shouting\nquickly ceased, for all saw that something unwonted was toward, so the\nfolk stood up in their places and leaned forward to see what was the\nado.\n\nWhen Partington and the others came before the spot where the King and\nQueen sat, the four yeomen bent their knees and doffed their caps unto\nher. King Henry leaned far forward and stared at them closely, but the\nBishop of Hereford, when he saw their faces, started as though stung by\na wasp. He opened his mouth as though about to speak, but, looking up,\nhe saw the Queen gazing at him with a smile upon her lips, so he said\nnothing, but bit his nether lip, while his face was as red as a cherry.\n\nThen the Queen leaned forward and spake in a clear voice. \"Locksley,\"\nsaid she, \"I have made a wager with the King that thou and two of thy\nmen can outshoot any three that he can send against you. Wilt thou do\nthy best for my sake?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth Robin Hood, to whom she spake, \"I will do my best for thy\nsake, and, if I fail, I make my vow never to finger bowstring more.\"\n\nNow, although Little John had been somewhat abashed in the Queen's\nbower, he felt himself the sturdy fellow he was when the soles of his\nfeet pressed green grass again; so he said boldly, \"Now, blessings on\nthy sweet face, say I. An there lived a man that would not do his best\nfor thee--I will say nought, only I would like to have the cracking of\nhis knave's pate!\n\n\"Peace, Little John!\" said Robin Hood hastily, in a low voice; but good\nQueen Eleanor laughed aloud, and a ripple of merriment sounded all over\nthe booth.\n\nThe Bishop of Hereford did not laugh, neither did the King, but he\nturned to the Queen, and quoth he, \"Who are these men that thou hast\nbrought before us?\"\n\nThen up spoke the Bishop hastily, for he could hold his peace no longer:\n\"Your Majesty,\" quoth he, \"yon fellow in blue is a certain outlawed\nthief of the mid-country, named Robin Hood; yon tall, strapping villain\ngoeth by the name of Little John; the other fellow in green is a certain\nbacksliding gentleman, known as Will Scarlet; the man in red is a rogue\nof a northern minstrel, named Allan a Dale.\"\n\nAt this speech the King's brows drew together blackly, and he turned to\nthe Queen. \"Is this true?\" said he sternly.\n\n\"Yea,\" said the Queen, smiling, \"the Bishop hath told the truth; and\ntruly he should know them well, for he and two of his friars spent three\ndays in merry sport with Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. I did little\nthink that the good Bishop would so betray his friends. But bear in mind\nthat thou hast pledged thy promise for the safety of these good yeomen\nfor forty days.\"\n\n\"I will keep my promise,\" said the King, in a deep voice that showed the\nanger in his heart, \"but when these forty days are gone let this outlaw\nlook to himself, for mayhap things will not go so smoothly with him\nas he would like.\" Then he turned to his archers, who stood near the\nSherwood yeomen, listening and wondering at all that passed. Quoth he,\n\"Gilbert, and thou, Tepus, and thou, Hubert, I have pledged myself that\nye shall shoot against these three fellows. If ye outshoot the knaves I\nwill fill your caps with silver pennies; if ye fail ye shall lose\nyour prizes that ye have won so fairly, and they go to them that shoot\nagainst you, man to man. Do your best, lads, and if ye win this bout ye\nshall be glad of it to the last days of your life. Go, now, and get you\ngone to the butts.\"\n\nThen the three archers of the King turned and went back to their booths,\nand Robin and his men went to their places at the mark from which they\nwere to shoot. Then they strung their bows and made themselves ready,\nlooking over their quivers of arrows, and picking out the roundest and\nthe best feathered.\n\nBut when the King's archers went to their tents, they told their friends\nall that had passed, and how that these four men were the famous Robin\nHood and three of his band, to wit, Little John, Will Scarlet, and Allan\na Dale. The news of this buzzed around among the archers in the\nbooths, for there was not a man there that had not heard of these great\nmid-country yeomen. From the archers the news was taken up by the crowd\nthat looked on at the shooting, so that at last everybody stood up,\ncraning their necks to catch sight of the famous outlaws.\n\nSix fresh targets were now set up, one for each man that was to shoot;\nwhereupon Gilbert and Tepus and Hubert came straightway forth from the\nbooths. Then Robin Hood and Gilbert of the White Hand tossed a farthing\naloft to see who should lead in the shooting, and the lot fell to\nGilbert's side; thereupon he called upon Hubert of Suffolk to lead.\n\nHubert took his place, planted his foot firmly, and fitted a fair,\nsmooth arrow; then, breathing upon his fingertips, he drew the string\nslowly and carefully. The arrow sped true, and lodged in the white;\nagain he shot, and again he hit the clout; a third shaft he sped, but\nthis time failed of the center, and but struck the black, yet not more\nthan a finger's-breadth from the white. At this a shout went up, for it\nwas the best shooting that Hubert had yet done that day.\n\nMerry Robin laughed, and quoth he, \"Thou wilt have an ill time bettering\nthat round, Will, for it is thy turn next. Brace thy thews, lad, and\nbring not shame upon Sherwood.\"\n\nThen Will Scarlet took his place; but, because of overcaution, he\nspoiled his target with the very first arrow that he sped, for he hit\nthe next ring to the black, the second from the center. At this Robin\nbit his lips. \"Lad, lad,\" quoth he, \"hold not the string so long! Have\nI not often told thee what Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, that 'overcaution\nspilleth the milk'?\" To this Will Scarlet took heed, so the next arrow\nhe shot lodged fairly in the center ring; again he shot, and again he\nsmote the center; but, for all that, stout Hubert had outshot him, and\nshowed the better target. Then all those that looked on clapped their\nhands for joy because that Hubert had overcome the stranger.\n\nQuoth the King grimly, to the Queen, \"If thy archers shoot no better\nthan that, thou art like to lose thy wager, lady.\" But Queen Eleanor\nsmiled, for she looked for better things from Robin Hood and Little\nJohn.\n\nAnd now Tepus took his place to shoot. He, also, took overheed to what\nhe was about, and so he fell into Will Scarlet's error. The first arrow\nhe struck into the center ring, but the second missed its mark, and\nsmote the black; the last arrow was tipped with luck, for it smote the\nvery center of the clout, upon the black spot that marked it. Quoth\nRobin Hood, \"That is the sweetest shot that hath been sped this day;\nbut, nevertheless, friend Tepus, thy cake is burned, methinks. Little\nJohn, it is thy turn next.\"\n\nSo Little John took his place as bidden, and shot his three arrows\nquickly. He never lowered his bow arm in all the shooting, but fitted\neach shaft with his longbow raised; yet all three of his arrows smote\nthe center within easy distance of the black. At this no sound of\nshouting was heard, for, although it was the best shooting that had been\ndone that day, the folk of London Town did not like to see the stout\nTepus overcome by a fellow from the countryside, even were he as famous\nas Little John.\n\nAnd now stout Gilbert of the White Hand took his place and shot with the\ngreatest care; and again, for the third time in one day, he struck all\nthree shafts into the clout.\n\n\"Well done, Gilbert!\" quoth Robin Hood, smiting him upon the shoulder.\n\"I make my vow, thou art one of the best archers that ever mine eyes\nbeheld. Thou shouldst be a free and merry ranger like us, lad, for thou\nart better fitted for the greenwood than for the cobblestones and gray\nwalls of London Town.\" So saying, he took his place, and drew a fair,\nround arrow from his quiver, which he turned over and over ere he fitted\nit to his bowstring.\n\nThen the King muttered in his beard, \"Now, blessed Saint Hubert, if thou\nwilt but jog that rogue's elbow so as to make him smite even the second\nring, I will give eightscore waxen candles three fingers'-breadth in\nthickness to thy chapel nigh Matching.\" But it may be Saint Hubert's\nears were stuffed with tow, for he seemed not to hear the King's prayer\nthis day.\n\nHaving gotten three shafts to his liking, merry Robin looked carefully\nto his bowstring ere he shot. \"Yea,\" quoth he to Gilbert, who stood\nnigh him to watch his shooting, \"thou shouldst pay us a visit at merry\nSherwood.\" Here he drew the bowstring to his ear. \"In London\"--here\nhe loosed his shaft--\"thou canst find nought to shoot at but rooks and\ndaws; there one can tickle the ribs of the noblest stags in England.\" So\nhe shot even while he talked, yet the shaft lodged not more than half an\ninch from the very center.\n\n\"By my soul!\" cried Gilbert. \"Art thou the devil in blue, to shoot in\nthat wise?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth Robin, laughing, \"not quite so ill as that, I trust.\" And\nhe took up another shaft and fitted it to the string. Again he shot, and\nagain he smote his arrow close beside the center; a third time he loosed\nhis bowstring and dropped his arrow just betwixt the other two and\ninto the very center, so that the feathers of all three were ruffled\ntogether, seeming from a distance to be one thick shaft.\n\nAnd now a low murmur ran all among that great crowd, for never before\nhad London seen such shooting as this; and never again would it see it\nafter Robin Hood's day had gone. All saw that the King's archers were\nfairly beaten, and stout Gilbert clapped his palm to Robin's, owning\nthat he could never hope to draw such a bowstring as Robin Hood or\nLittle John. But the King, full of wrath, would not have it so, though\nhe knew in his mind that his men could not stand against those fellows.\n\"Nay!\" cried he, clenching his hands upon the arms of his seat, \"Gilbert\nis not yet beaten! Did he not strike the clout thrice? Although I have\nlost my wager, he hath not yet lost the first prize. They shall shoot\nagain, and still again, till either he or that knave Robin Hood cometh\noff the best. Go thou, Sir Hugh, and bid them shoot another round, and\nanother, until one or the other is overcome.\" Then Sir Hugh, seeing how\nwroth the King was, said never a word, but went straightway to do his\nbidding; so he came to where Robin Hood and the other stood, and told\nthem what the King had said.\n\n\"With all my heart,\" quoth merry Robin, \"I will shoot from this time\ntill tomorrow day if it can pleasure my most gracious lord and King.\nTake thy place, Gilbert lad, and shoot.\"\n\nSo Gilbert took his place once more, but this time he failed, for, a\nsudden little wind arising, his shaft missed the center ring, but by not\nmore than the breadth of a barley straw.\n\n\"Thy eggs are cracked, Gilbert,\" quoth Robin, laughing; and straightway\nhe loosed a shaft, and once more smote the white circle of the center.\n\nThen the King arose from his place, and not a word said he, but he\nlooked around with a baleful look, and it would have been an ill day for\nanyone that he saw with a joyous or a merry look upon his face. Then he\nand his Queen and all the court left the place, but the King's heart was\nbrimming full of wrath.\n\nAfter the King had gone, all the yeomen of the archer guard came\ncrowding around Robin, and Little John, and Will, and Allan, to snatch\na look at these famous fellows from the mid-country; and with them came\nmany that had been onlookers at the sport, for the same purpose. Thus it\nhappened presently that the yeomen, to whom Gilbert stood talking, were\nall surrounded by a crowd of people that formed a ring about them.\n\nAfter a while the three judges that had the giving away of the prizes\ncame forward, and the chief of them all spake to Robin and said,\n\"According to agreement, the first prize belongeth rightly to thee; so\nhere I give thee the silver bugle, here the quiver of ten golden arrows,\nand here a purse of twoscore and ten golden pounds.\" And as he spake he\nhanded those things to Robin, and then turned to Little John. \"To thee,\"\nhe said, \"belongeth the second prize, to wit, fivescore of the finest\nharts that run on Dallen Lea. Thou mayest shoot them whensoever thou\ndost list.\" Last of all he turned to stout Hubert. \"Thou,\" said he,\n\"hast held thine own against the yeomen with whom thou didst shoot, and\nso thou hast kept the prize duly thine, to wit, two tuns of good Rhenish\nwine. These shall be delivered to thee whensoever thou dost list.\" Then\nhe called upon the other seven of the King's archers who had last shot,\nand gave each fourscore silver pennies.\n\nThen up spake Robin, and quoth he, \"This silver bugle I keep in honor of\nthis shooting match; but thou, Gilbert, art the best archer of all the\nKing's guard, and to thee I freely give this purse of gold. Take it,\nman, and would it were ten times as much, for thou art a right yeoman,\ngood and true. Furthermore, to each of the ten that last shot I give one\nof these golden shafts apiece. Keep them always by you, so that ye may\ntell your grandchildren, an ye are ever blessed with them, that ye are\nthe very stoutest yeomen in all the wide world.\"\n\nAt this all shouted aloud, for it pleased them to hear Robin speak so of\nthem.\n\nThen up spake Little John. \"Good friend Tepus,\" said he, \"I want not\nthose harts of Dallen Lea that yon stout judge spoke of but now, for in\ntruth we have enow and more than enow in our own country. Twoscore and\nten I give to thee for thine own shooting, and five I give to each band\nfor their pleasure.\"\n\nAt this another great shout went up, and many tossed their caps aloft,\nand swore among themselves that no better fellows ever walked the sod\nthan Robin Hood and his stout yeomen.\n\nWhile they so shouted with loud voices, a tall burly yeoman of the\nKing's guard came forward and plucked Robin by the sleeve. \"Good\nmaster,\" quoth he, \"I have somewhat to tell thee in thine ear; a silly\nthing, God wot, for one stout yeoman to tell another; but a young\npeacock of a page, one Richard Partington, was seeking thee without\navail in the crowd, and, not being able to find thee, told me that he\nbore a message to thee from a certain lady that thou wottest of. This\nmessage he bade me tell thee privily, word for word, and thus it was.\nLet me see--I trust I have forgot it not--yea, thus it was: 'The lion\ngrowls. Beware thy head.'\"\n\n\"Is it so?\" quoth Robin, starting; for he knew right well that it was\nthe Queen sent the message, and that she spake of the King's wrath.\n\"Now, I thank thee, good fellow, for thou hast done me greater service\nthan thou knowest of this day.\" Then he called his three yeomen together\nand told them privately that they had best be jogging, as it was like to\nbe ill for them so nigh merry London Town. So, without tarrying longer,\nthey made their way through the crowd until they had come out from the\npress. Then, without stopping, they left London Town and started away\nnorthward.\n\n\n\n\nThe Chase of Robin Hood\n\nSO ROBIN HOOD and the others left the archery range at Finsbury Fields,\nand, tarrying not, set forth straightway upon their homeward journey.\nIt was well for them that they did so, for they had not gone more than\nthree or four miles upon their way when six of the yeomen of the King's\nguard came bustling among the crowd that still lingered, seeking for\nRobin and his men, to seize upon them and make them prisoners. Truly, it\nwas an ill-done thing in the King to break his promise, but it all came\nabout through the Bishop of Hereford's doing, for thus it happened:\n\nAfter the King left the archery ground, he went straightway to his\ncabinet, and with him went the Bishop of Hereford and Sir Robert Lee;\nbut the King said never a word to these two, but sat gnawing his nether\nlip, for his heart was galled within him by what had happened. At last\nthe Bishop of Hereford spoke, in a low, sorrowful voice: \"It is a sad\nthing, Your Majesty, that this knavish outlaw should be let to escape in\nthis wise; for, let him but get back to Sherwood Forest safe and sound,\nand he may snap his fingers at king and king's men.\"\n\nAt these words the King raised his eyes and looked grimly upon the\nBishop. \"Sayst thou so?\" quoth he. \"Now, I will show thee, in good time,\nhow much thou dost err, for, when the forty days are past and gone,\nI will seize upon this thieving outlaw, if I have to tear down all of\nSherwood to find him. Thinkest thou that the laws of the King of England\nare to be so evaded by one poor knave without friends or money?\"\n\nThen the Bishop spoke again, in his soft, smooth voice:\n\n\"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, and believe that I have nought but\nthe good of England and Your Majesty's desirings at heart; but what\nwould it boot though my gracious lord did root up every tree of\nSherwood? Are there not other places for Robin Hood's hiding? Cannock\nChase is not far from Sherwood, and the great Forest of Arden is not far\nfrom Cannock Chase. Beside these are many other woodlands in Nottingham\nand Derby, Lincoln and York, amid any of which Your Majesty might as\nwell think to seize upon Robin Hood as to lay finger upon a rat among\nthe dust and broken things of a garret. Nay, my gracious lord, if he\ndoth once plant foot in the woodland, he is lost to the law forever.\"\n\nAt these words the King tapped his fingertips upon the table beside him\nwith vexation. \"What wouldst thou have me do, Bishop?\" quoth he. \"Didst\nthou not hear me pledge my word to the Queen? Thy talk is as barren as\nthe wind from the bellows upon dead coals.\"\n\n\"Far be it from me,\" said the cunning Bishop, \"to point the way to one\nso clear-sighted as Your Majesty; but, were I the King of England, I\nshould look upon the matter in this wise: I have promised my Queen, let\nus say, that for forty days the cunningest rogue in all England shall\nhave freedom to come and go; but, lo! I find this outlaw in my grasp;\nshall I, then, foolishly cling to a promise so hastily given? Suppose\nthat I had promised to do Her Majesty's bidding, whereupon she bade me\nto slay myself; should I, then, shut mine eyes and run blindly upon\nmy sword? Thus would I argue within myself. Moreover, I would say unto\nmyself, a woman knoweth nought of the great things appertaining to state\ngovernment; and, likewise, I know a woman is ever prone to take up a\nfancy, even as she would pluck a daisy from the roadside, and then throw\nit away when the savor is gone; therefore, though she hath taken a fancy\nto this outlaw, it will soon wane away and be forgotten. As for me, I\nhave the greatest villain in all England in my grasp; shall I, then,\nopen my hand and let him slip betwixt my fingers? Thus, Your Majesty,\nwould I say to myself, were I the King of England.\" So the Bishop\ntalked, and the King lent his ear to his evil counsel, until, after a\nwhile, he turned to Sir Robert Lee and bade him send six of the yeomen\nof the guard to take Robin Hood and his three men prisoners.\n\nNow Sir Robert Lee was a gentle and noble knight, and he felt grieved\nto the heart to see the King so break his promise; nevertheless, he said\nnothing, for he saw how bitterly the King was set against Robin Hood;\nbut he did not send the yeomen of the guard at once, but went first to\nthe Queen, and told her all that had passed, and bade her send word to\nRobin of his danger. This he did not for the well-being of Robin Hood,\nbut because he would save his lord's honor if he could. Thus it came\nabout that when, after a while, the yeomen of the guard went to the\narchery field, they found not Robin and the others, and so got no cakes\nat that fair.\n\nThe afternoon was already well-nigh gone when Robin Hood, Little John,\nWill, and Allan set forth upon their homeward way, trudging along\nmerrily through the yellow slanting light, which speedily changed to\nrosy red as the sun sank low in the heavens. The shadows grew long,\nand finally merged into the grayness of the mellow twilight. The dusty\nhighway lay all white betwixt the dark hedgerows, and along it walked\nfour fellows like four shadows, the pat of their feet sounding loud, and\ntheir voices, as they talked, ringing clear upon the silence of the air.\nThe great round moon was floating breathlessly up in the eastern sky\nwhen they saw before them the twinkling lights of Barnet Town, some ten\nor twelve miles from London. Down they walked through the stony streets\nand past the cosy houses with overhanging gables, before the doors of\nwhich sat the burghers and craftsmen in the mellow moonlight, with\ntheir families about them, and so came at last, on the other side of\nthe hamlet, to a little inn, all shaded with roses and woodbines. Before\nthis inn Robin Hood stopped, for the spot pleased him well. Quoth he,\n\"Here will we take up our inn and rest for the night, for we are well\naway from London Town and our King's wrath. Moreover, if I mistake not,\nwe will find sweet faring within. What say ye, lads?\"\n\n\"In sooth, good master,\" quoth Little John, \"thy bidding and my doing\never fit together like cakes and ale. Let us in, I say also.\"\n\nThen up spake Will Scarlet: \"I am ever ready to do what thou sayest,\nuncle, yet I could wish that we were farther upon our way ere we rest\nfor the night. Nevertheless, if thou thinkest best, let us in for the\nnight, say I also.\"\n\nSo in they went and called for the best that the place afforded. Then a\nright good feast was set before them, with two stout bottles of old sack\nto wash it down withal. These things were served by as plump and buxom a\nlass as you could find in all the land, so that Little John, who always\nhad an eye for a fair lass, even when meat and drink were by, stuck his\narms akimbo and fixed his eyes upon her, winking sweetly whenever he saw\nher looking toward him. Then you should have seen how the lass twittered\nwith laughter, and how she looked at Little John out of the corners of\nher eyes, a dimple coming in either cheek; for the fellow had always a\ntaking way with the womenfolk.\n\nSo the feast passed merrily, and never had that inn seen such lusty\nfeeders as these four stout fellows; but at last they were done their\neating, though it seemed as though they never would have ended, and\nsat loitering over the sack. As they so sat, the landlord came in of\na sudden, and said that there was one at the door, a certain young\nesquire, Richard Partington, of the Queen's household, who wished to\nsee the lad in blue, and speak with him, without loss of time. So Robin\narose quickly, and, bidding the landlord not to follow him, left the\nothers gazing at one another, and wondering what was about to happen.\n\nWhen Robin came out of the inn, he found young Richard Partington\nsitting upon his horse in the white moonlight, awaiting his coming.\n\n\"What news bearest thou, Sir Page?\" said Robin. \"I trust that it is not\nof an ill nature.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said young Partington, \"for the matter of that, it is ill enow.\nThe King hath been bitterly stirred up against thee by that vile Bishop\nof Hereford. He sent to arrest thee at the archery butts at Finsbury\nFields, but not finding thee there, he hath gathered together his armed\nmen, fifty-score and more, and is sending them in haste along this very\nroad to Sherwood, either to take thee on the way or to prevent thy\ngetting back to the woodlands again. He hath given the Bishop of\nHereford command over all these men, and thou knowest what thou hast\nto expect of the Bishop of Hereford--short shrift and a long rope. Two\nbands of horsemen are already upon the road, not far behind me, so\nthou hadst best get thee gone from this place straightway, for, if thou\ntarriest longer, thou art like to sleep this night in a cold dungeon.\nThis word the Queen hath bidden me bring to thee.\"\n\n\"Now, Richard Partington,\" quoth Robin, \"this is the second time that\nthou hast saved my life, and if the proper time ever cometh I will show\nthee that Robin Hood never forgets these things. As for that Bishop of\nHereford, if I ever catch him nigh to Sherwood again, things will be\nlike to go ill with him. Thou mayst tell the good Queen that I will\nleave this place without delay, and will let the landlord think that we\nare going to Saint Albans; but when we are upon the highroad again, I\nwill go one way through the country and will send my men the other, so\nthat if one falleth into the King's hands the others may haply escape.\nWe will go by devious ways, and so, I hope, will reach Sherwood in\nsafety. And now, Sir Page, I wish thee farewell.\"\n\n\"Farewell, thou bold yeoman,\" said young Partington, \"and mayst thou\nreach thy hiding in safety.\" So each shook the other's hand, and the\nlad, turning his horse's head, rode back toward London, while Robin\nentered the inn once more.\n\nThere he found his yeomen sitting in silence, waiting his coming;\nlikewise the landlord was there, for he was curious to know what Master\nPartington had to do with the fellow in blue. \"Up, my merry men!\" quoth\nRobin, \"this is no place for us, for those are after us with whom we\nwill stand but an ill chance an we fall into their hands. So we will\ngo forward once more, nor will we stop this night till we reach Saint\nAlbans.\" Hereupon, taking out his purse, he paid the landlord his score,\nand so they left the inn.\n\nWhen they had come to the highroad without the town, Robin stopped and\ntold them all that had passed between young Partington and himself, and\nhow that the King's men were after them with hot heels. Then he told\nthem that here they should part company; they three going to the\neastward and he to the westward, and so, skirting the main highroads,\nwould come by devious paths to Sherwood. \"So, be ye wily,\" said Robin\nHood, \"and keep well away from the northward roads till ye have gotten\nwell to the eastward. And thou, Will Scarlet, take the lead of the\nothers, for thou hast a cunning turn to thy wits.\" Then Robin kissed the\nthree upon the cheeks, and they kissed him, and so they parted company.\n\nNot long after this, a score or more of the King's men came clattering\nup to the door of the inn at Barnet Town. Here they leaped from their\nhorses and quickly surrounded the place, the leader of the band and four\nothers entering the room where the yeomen had been. But they found that\ntheir birds had flown again, and that the King had been balked a second\ntime.\n\n\"Methought that they were naughty fellows,\" said the host, when he heard\nwhom the men-at-arms sought. \"But I heard that blue-clad knave say that\nthey would go straight forward to Saint Albans; so, an ye hurry forward,\nye may, perchance, catch them on the highroad betwixt here and there.\"\nFor this news the leader of the band thanked mine host right heartily,\nand, calling his men together, mounted and set forth again, galloping\nforward to Saint Albans upon a wild goose chase.\n\nAfter Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale had left the highway\nnear garnet, they traveled toward the eastward, without stopping, as\nlong as their legs could carry them, until they came to Chelmsford,\nin Essex. Thence they turned northward, and came through Cambridge and\nLincolnshire, to the good town of Gainsborough. Then, striking to the\nwestward and the south, they came at last to the northern borders of\nSherwood Forest, without in all that time having met so much as a single\nband of the King's men. Eight days they journeyed thus ere they reached\nthe woodlands in safety, but when they got to the greenwood glade, they\nfound that Robin had not yet returned.\n\nFor Robin was not as lucky in getting back as his men had been, as you\nshall presently hear.\n\nAfter having left the great northern road, he turned his face to the\nwestward, and so came past Aylesbury, to fair Woodstock, in Oxfordshire.\nThence he turned his footsteps northward, traveling for a great distance\nby way of Warwick Town, till he came to Dudley, in Staffordshire. Seven\ndays it took him to journey thus far, and then he thought he had gotten\nfar enough to the north, so, turning toward the eastward, shunning the\nmain roads, and choosing byways and grassy lanes, he went, by way of\nLitchfield and Ashby de la Zouch, toward Sherwood, until he came to a\nplace called Stanton. And now Robin's heart began to laugh aloud, for\nhe thought that his danger had gone by, and that his nostrils would soon\nsnuff the spicy air of the woodlands once again. But there is many a\nslip betwixt the cup and the lip, and this Robin was to find. For thus\nit was:\n\nWhen the King's men found themselves foiled at Saint Albans, and that\nRobin and his men were not to be found high nor low, they knew not what\nto do. Presently another band of horsemen came, and another, until all\nthe moonlit streets were full of armed men. Betwixt midnight and\ndawn another band came to the town, and with them came the Bishop of\nHereford. When he heard that Robin Hood had once more slipped out of\nthe trap, he stayed not a minute, but, gathering his bands together, he\npushed forward to the northward with speed, leaving orders for all the\ntroops that came to Saint Albans to follow after him without tarrying.\nOn the evening of the fourth day he reached Nottingham Town, and there\nstraightway divided his men into bands of six or seven, and sent them\nall through the countryside, blocking every highway and byway to the\neastward and the southward and the westward of Sherwood. The Sheriff\nof Nottingham called forth all his men likewise, and joined with the\nBishop, for he saw that this was the best chance that had ever befallen\nof paying back his score in full to Robin Hood. Will Scarlet and Little\nJohn and Allan a Dale had just missed the King's men to the eastward,\nfor the very next day after they had passed the line and entered\nSherwood the roads through which they had traveled were blocked, so\nthat, had they tarried in their journeying, they would surely have\nfallen into the Bishop's hands.\n\nBut of all this Robin knew not a whit; so he whistled merrily as he\ntrudged along the road beyond Stanton, with his heart as free from care\nas the yolk of an egg is from cobwebs. At last he came to where a little\nstream spread across the road in a shallow sheet, tinkling and sparkling\nas it fretted over its bed of golden gravel. Here Robin stopped, being\nathirst, and, kneeling down, he made a cup of the palms of his hands,\nand began to drink. On either side of the road, for a long distance,\nstood tangled thickets of bushes and young trees, and it pleased Robin's\nheart to hear the little birds singing therein, for it made him think\nof Sherwood, and it seemed as though it had been a lifetime since he had\nbreathed the air of the woodlands. But of a sudden, as he thus stooped,\ndrinking, something hissed past his ear, and struck with a splash into\nthe gravel and water beside him. Quick as a wink Robin sprang to his\nfeet, and, at one bound, crossed the stream and the roadside, and\nplunged headlong into the thicket, without looking around, for he knew\nright well that that which had hissed so venomously beside his ear was\na gray goose shaft, and that to tarry so much as a moment meant death.\nEven as he leaped into the thicket six more arrows rattled among the\nbranches after him, one of which pierced his doublet, and would have\nstruck deeply into his side but for the tough coat of steel that he\nwore. Then up the road came riding some of the King's men at headlong\nspeed. They leaped from their horses and plunged straightway into the\nthicket after Robin. But Robin knew the ground better than they did,\nso crawling here, stooping there, and, anon, running across some little\nopen, he soon left them far behind, coming out, at last, upon another\nroad about eight hundred paces distant from the one he had left. Here he\nstood for a moment, listening to the distant shouts of the seven men\nas they beat up and down in the thickets like hounds that had lost the\nscent of the quarry. Then, buckling his belt more tightly around his\nwaist, he ran fleetly down the road toward the eastward and Sherwood.\n\nBut Robin had not gone more than three furlongs in that direction when\nhe came suddenly to the brow of a hill, and saw beneath him another band\nof the King's men seated in the shade along the roadside in the valley\nbeneath. Then he paused not a moment, but, seeing that they had not\ncaught sight of him, he turned and ran back whence he had come, knowing\nthat it was better to run the chance of escaping those fellows that were\nyet in the thickets than to rush into the arms of those in the valley.\nSo back he ran with all speed, and had gotten safely past the thickets,\nwhen the seven men came forth into the open road. They raised a great\nshout when they saw him, such as the hunter gives when the deer breaks\ncover, but Robin was then a quarter of a mile and more away from them,\ncoursing over the ground like a greyhound. He never slackened his pace,\nbut ran along, mile after mile, till he had come nigh to Mackworth, over\nbeyond the Derwent River, nigh to Derby Town. Here, seeing that he was\nout of present danger, he slackened in his running, and at last sat him\ndown beneath a hedge where the grass was the longest and the shade the\ncoolest, there to rest and catch his wind. \"By my soul, Robin,\" quoth he\nto himself, \"that was the narrowest miss that e'er thou hadst in all\nthy life. I do say most solemnly that the feather of that wicked shaft\ntickled mine ear as it whizzed past. This same running hath given me a\nmost craving appetite for victuals and drink. Now I pray Saint Dunstan\nthat he send me speedily some meat and beer.\"\n\nIt seemed as though Saint Dunstan was like to answer his prayer, for\nalong the road came plodding a certain cobbler, one Quince, of Derby,\nwho had been to take a pair of shoes to a farmer nigh Kirk Langly, and\nwas now coming back home again, with a fair boiled capon in his pouch\nand a stout pottle of beer by his side, which same the farmer had given\nhim for joy of such a stout pair of shoon. Good Quince was an honest\nfellow, but his wits were somewhat of the heavy sort, like unbaked\ndough, so that the only thing that was in his mind was, \"Three shillings\nsixpence ha'penny for thy shoon, good Quince--three shillings sixpence\nha'penny for thy shoon,\" and this traveled round and round inside of his\nhead, without another thought getting into his noddle, as a pea rolls\nround and round inside an empty quart pot.\n\n\"Halloa, good friend,\" quoth Robin, from beneath the hedge, when the\nother had gotten nigh enough, \"whither away so merrily this bright day?\"\n\nHearing himself so called upon, the Cobbler stopped, and, seeing a\nwell-clad stranger in blue, he spoke to him in seemly wise. \"Give ye\ngood den, fair sir, and I would say that I come from Kirk Langly, where\nI ha' sold my shoon and got three shillings sixpence ha'penny for them\nin as sweet money as ever thou sawest, and honestly earned too, I would\nha' thee know. But an I may be so bold, thou pretty fellow, what dost\nthou there beneath the hedge?\"\n\n\"Marry,\" quoth merry Robin, \"I sit beneath the hedge here to drop salt\non the tails of golden birds; but in sooth thou art the first chick of\nany worth I ha' seen this blessed day.\"\n\nAt these words the Cobbler's eyes opened big and wide, and his mouth\ngrew round with wonder, like a knothole in a board fence, \"slack-a-day,\"\nquoth he, \"look ye, now! I ha' never seen those same golden birds. And\ndost thou in sooth find them in these hedges, good fellow? Prythee, tell\nme, are there many of them? I would fain find them mine own self.\"\n\n\"Ay, truly,\" quoth Robin, \"they are as thick here as fresh herring in\nCannock Chase.\"\n\n\"Look ye, now!\" said the Cobbler, all drowned in wonder. \"And dost thou\nin sooth catch them by dropping salt on their pretty tails?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth Robin, \"but this salt is of an odd kind, let me tell thee,\nfor it can only be gotten by boiling down a quart of moonbeams in a\nwooden platter, and then one hath but a pinch. But tell me, now, thou\nwitty man, what hast thou gotten there in that pouch by thy side and in\nthat pottle?\"\n\nAt these words the Cobbler looked down at those things of which merry\nRobin spoke, for the thoughts of the golden bird had driven them from\nhis mind, and it took him some time to scrape the memory of them back\nagain. \"Why,\" said he at last, \"in the one is good March beer, and in\nthe other is a fat capon. Truly, Quince the Cobbler will ha' a fine\nfeast this day an I mistake not.\"\n\n\"But tell me, good Quince,\" said Robin, \"hast thou a mind to sell those\nthings to me? For the hearing of them sounds sweet in mine ears. I will\ngive thee these gay clothes of blue that I have upon my body and ten\nshillings to boot for thy clothes and thy leather apron and thy beer and\nthy capon. What sayst thou, bully boy?\"\n\n\"Nay, thou dost jest with me,\" said the Cobbler, \"for my clothes are\ncoarse and patched, and thine are of fine stuff and very pretty.\"\n\n\"Never a jest do I speak,\" quoth Robin. \"Come, strip thy jacket off and\nI will show thee, for I tell thee I like thy clothes well. Moreover, I\nwill be kind to thee, for I will feast straightway upon the good things\nthou hast with thee, and thou shalt be bidden to the eating.\" At these\nwords he began slipping off his doublet, and the Cobbler, seeing him so\nin earnest, began pulling off his clothes also, for Robin Hood's garb\ntickled his eye. So each put on the other fellow's clothes, and Robin\ngave the honest Cobbler ten bright new shillings. Quoth merry Robin,\n\"I ha' been a many things in my life before, but never have I been an\nhonest cobbler. Come, friend, let us fall to and eat, for something\nwithin me cackles aloud for that good fat capon.\" So both sat down and\nbegan to feast right lustily, so that when they were done the bones of\nthe capon were picked as bare as charity.\n\nThen Robin stretched his legs out with a sweet feeling of comfort within\nhim. Quoth he, \"By the turn of thy voice, good Quince, I know that\nthou hast a fair song or two running loose in thy head like colts in a\nmeadow. I prythee, turn one of them out for me.\"\n\n\"A song or two I ha',\" quoth the Cobbler, \"poor things, poor things, but\nsuch as they are thou art welcome to one of them.\" So, moistening his\nthroat with a swallow of beer, he sang:\n\n     \"_Of all the joys, the best I love,\n     Sing hey my frisking Nan, O,\n     And that which most my soul doth move,\n     It is the clinking can, O.\n\n     \"All other bliss I'd throw away,\n     Sing hey my frisking Nan, O,\n     But this_--\"\n\nThe stout Cobbler got no further in his song, for of a sudden six\nhorsemen burst upon them where they sat, and seized roughly upon the\nhonest craftsman, hauling him to his feet, and nearly plucking the\nclothes from him as they did so. \"Ha!\" roared the leader of the band\nin a great big voice of joy, \"have we then caught thee at last, thou\nblue-clad knave? Now, blessed be the name of Saint Hubert, for we are\nfourscore pounds richer this minute than we were before, for the good\nBishop of Hereford hath promised that much to the band that shall bring\nthee to him. Oho! thou cunning rascal! thou wouldst look so innocent,\nforsooth! We know thee, thou old fox. But off thou goest with us to have\nthy brush clipped forthwith.\" At these words the poor Cobbler gazed all\naround him with his great blue eyes as round as those of a dead fish,\nwhile his mouth gaped as though he had swallowed all his words and so\nlost his speech.\n\nRobin also gaped and stared in a wondering way, just as the Cobbler\nwould have done in his place. \"Alack-a-daisy, me,\" quoth he. \"I know\nnot whether I be sitting here or in No-man's-land! What meaneth all this\nstir i' th' pot, dear good gentlemen? Surely this is a sweet, honest\nfellow.\"\n\n\"'Honest fellow,' sayst thou, clown?\" quoth one of the men \"Why, I tell\nthee that this is that same rogue that men call Robin Hood.\"\n\nAt this speech the Cobbler stared and gaped more than ever, for there\nwas such a threshing of thoughts going on within his poor head that his\nwits were all befogged with the dust and chaff thereof. Moreover, as\nhe looked at Robin Hood, and saw the yeoman look so like what he knew\nhimself to be, he began to doubt and to think that mayhap he was the\ngreat outlaw in real sooth. Said he in a slow, wondering voice, \"Am I\nin very truth that fellow?--Now I had thought--but nay, Quince, thou art\nmistook--yet--am I?--Nay, I must indeed be Robin Hood! Yet, truly, I had\nnever thought to pass from an honest craftsman to such a great yeoman.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" quoth Robin Hood, \"look ye there, now! See how your\nill-treatment hath curdled the wits of this poor lad and turned them all\nsour! I, myself, am Quince, the Cobbler of Derby Town.\"\n\n\"Is it so?\" said Quince. \"Then, indeed, I am somebody else, and can be\nnone other than Robin Hood. Take me, fellows; but let me tell you that\nye ha' laid hand upon the stoutest yeoman that ever trod the woodlands.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt play madman, wilt thou?\" said the leader of the band. \"Here,\nGiles, fetch a cord and bind this knave's hands behind him. I warrant\nwe will bring his wits back to him again when we get him safe before our\ngood Bishop at Tutbury Town.\" Thereupon they tied the Cobbler's hands\nbehind him, and led him off with a rope, as the farmer leads off the\ncalf he hath brought from the fair. Robin stood looking after them, and\nwhen they were gone he laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks;\nfor he knew that no harm would befall the honest fellow, and he pictured\nto himself the Bishop's face when good Quince was brought before him\nas Robin Hood. Then, turning his steps once more to the eastward, he\nstepped out right foot foremost toward Nottinghamshire and Sherwood\nForest.\n\nBut Robin Hood had gone through more than he wotted of. His journey\nfrom London had been hard and long, and in a se'ennight he had traveled\nsevenscore and more of miles. He thought now to travel on without\nstopping until he had come to Sherwood, but ere he had gone a half a\nscore of miles he felt his strength giving way beneath him like a river\nbank which the waters have undermined. He sat him down and rested, but\nhe knew within himself that he could go no farther that day, for his\nfeet felt like lumps of lead, so heavy were they with weariness. Once\nmore he arose and went forward, but after traveling a couple of miles\nhe was fain to give the matter up, so, coming to an inn just then, he\nentered and calling the landlord, bade him show him to a room, although\nthe sun was only then just sinking in the western sky. There were but\nthree bedrooms in the place, and to the meanest of these the landlord\nshowed Robin Hood, but little Robin cared for the looks of the place,\nfor he could have slept that night upon a bed of broken stones. So,\nstripping off his clothes without more ado, he rolled into the bed and\nwas asleep almost ere his head touched the pillow.\n\nNot long after Robin had so gone to his rest a great cloud peeped\nblackly over the hills to the westward. Higher and higher it arose\nuntil it piled up into the night like a mountain of darkness. All around\nbeneath it came ever and anon a dull red flash, and presently a short\ngrim mutter of the coming thunder was heard. Then up rode four stout\nburghers of Nottingham Town, for this was the only inn within\nfive miles' distance, and they did not care to be caught in such a\nthunderstorm as this that was coming upon them. Leaving their nags to\nthe stableman, they entered the best room of the inn, where fresh green\nrushes lay all spread upon the floor, and there called for the goodliest\nfare that the place afforded. After having eaten heartily they bade the\nlandlord show them to their rooms, for they were aweary, having ridden\nall the way from Dronfield that day. So off they went, grumbling at\nhaving to sleep two in a bed, but their troubles on this score, as well\nas all others, were soon lost in the quietness of sleep.\n\nAnd now came the first gust of wind, rushing past the place, clapping\nand banging the doors and shutters, smelling of the coming rain, and all\nwrapped in a cloud of dust and leaves. As though the wind had brought a\nguest along with it, the door opened of a sudden and in came a friar of\nEmmet Priory, and one in high degree, as was shown by the softness and\nsleekness of his robes and the richness of his rosary. He called to the\nlandlord, and bade him first have his mule well fed and bedded in the\nstable, and then to bring him the very best there was in the house.\nSo presently a savory stew of tripe and onions, with sweet little fat\ndumplings, was set before him, likewise a good stout pottle of\nMalmsey, and straightway the holy friar fell to with great courage and\nheartiness, so that in a short time nought was left but a little pool of\ngravy in the center of the platter, not large enow to keep the life in a\nstarving mouse.\n\nIn the meantime the storm broke. Another gust of wind went rushing\nby, and with it fell a few heavy drops of rain, which presently came\nrattling down in showers, beating against the casements like a hundred\nlittle hands. Bright flashes of lightning lit up every raindrop, and\nwith them came cracks of thunder that went away rumbling and bumping as\nthough Saint Swithin were busy rolling great casks of water across rough\nground overhead. The womenfolks screamed, and the merry wags in\nthe taproom put their arms around their waists to soothe them into\nquietness.\n\nAt last the holy friar bade the landlord show him to his room; but when\nhe heard that he was to bed with a cobbler, he was as ill contented a\nfellow as you could find in all England, nevertheless there was nothing\nfor it, and he must sleep there or nowhere; so, taking up his candle,\nhe went off, grumbling like the now distant thunder. When he came to the\nroom where he was to sleep he held the light over Robin and looked at\nhim from top to toe; then he felt better pleased, for, instead, of a\nrough, dirty-bearded fellow, he beheld as fresh and clean a lad as one\ncould find in a week of Sundays; so, slipping off his clothes, he also\nhuddled into the bed, where Robin, grunting and grumbling in his sleep,\nmade room for him. Robin was more sound asleep, I wot, than he had been\nfor many a day, else he would never have rested so quietly with one of\nthe friar's sort so close beside him. As for the friar, had he known who\nRobin Hood was, you may well believe he would almost as soon have slept\nwith an adder as with the man he had for a bedfellow.\n\nSo the night passed comfortably enough, but at the first dawn of day\nRobin opened his eyes and turned his head upon the pillow. Then how he\ngaped and how he stared, for there beside him lay one all shaven and\nshorn, so that he knew that it must be a fellow in holy orders. He\npinched himself sharply, but, finding he was awake, sat up in bed, while\nthe other slumbered as peacefully as though he were safe and sound at\nhome in Emmet Priory. \"Now,\" quoth Robin to himself, \"I wonder how this\nthing hath dropped into my bed during the night.\" So saying, he arose\nsoftly, so as not to waken the other, and looking about the room he\nespied the friar's clothes lying upon a bench near the wall. First he\nlooked at the clothes, with his head on one side, and then he looked\nat the friar and slowly winked one eye. Quoth he, \"Good Brother\nWhat-e'er-thy-name-may-be, as thou hast borrowed my bed so freely I'll\ne'en borrow thy clothes in return.\" So saying, he straightway donned the\nholy man's garb, but kindly left the cobbler's clothes in the place\nof it. Then he went forth into the freshness of the morning, and the\nstableman that was up and about the stables opened his eyes as though he\nsaw a green mouse before him, for such men as the friars of Emmet were\nnot wont to be early risers; but the man bottled his thoughts, and only\nasked Robin whether he wanted his mule brought from the stable.\n\n\"Yea, my son,\" quoth Robin--albeit he knew nought of the mule--\"and\nbring it forth quickly, I prythee, for I am late and must be jogging.\"\nSo presently the stableman brought forth the mule, and Robin mounted it\nand went on his way rejoicing.\n\nAs for the holy friar, when he arose he was in as pretty a stew as any\nman in all the world, for his rich, soft robes were gone, likewise his\npurse with ten golden pounds in it, and nought was left but patched\nclothes and a leathern apron. He raged and swore like any layman, but as\nhis swearing mended nothing and the landlord could not aid him, and as,\nmoreover, he was forced to be at Emmet Priory that very morning upon\nmatters of business, he was fain either to don the cobbler's clothes\nor travel the road in nakedness. So he put on the clothes, and, still\nraging and swearing vengeance against all the cobblers in Derbyshire,\nhe set forth upon his way afoot; but his ills had not yet done with him,\nfor he had not gone far ere he fell into the hands of the King's men,\nwho marched him off, willy-nilly, to Tutbury Town and the Bishop of\nHereford. In vain he swore he was a holy man, and showed his shaven\ncrown; off he must go, for nothing would do but that he was Robin Hood.\n\nMeanwhile merry Robin rode along contentedly, passing safely by two\nbands of the King's men, until his heart began to dance within him\nbecause of the nearness of Sherwood; so he traveled ever on to the\neastward, till, of a sudden, he met a noble knight in a shady lane. Then\nRobin checked his mule quickly and leaped from off its back. \"Now, well\nmet, Sir Richard of the Lea,\" cried he, \"for rather than any other man\nin England would I see thy good face this day!\" Then he told Sir Richard\nall the happenings that had befallen him, and that now at last he felt\nhimself safe, being so nigh to Sherwood again. But when Robin had done,\nSir Richard shook his head sadly. \"Thou art in greater danger now,\nRobin, than thou hast yet been,\" said he, \"for before thee lie bands of\nthe Sheriff's men blocking every road and letting none pass through the\nlines without examining them closely. I myself know this, having passed\nthem but now. Before thee lie the Sheriffs men and behind thee the\nKing's men, and thou canst not hope to pass either way, for by this\ntime they will know of thy disguise and will be in waiting to seize upon\nthee. My castle and everything within it are thine, but nought could be\ngained there, for I could not hope to hold it against such a force as is\nnow in Nottingham of the King's and the Sheriffs men.\" Having so spoken,\nSir Richard bent his head in thought, and Robin felt his heart sink\nwithin him like that of the fox that hears the hounds at his heels and\nfinds his den blocked with earth so that there is no hiding for him.\nBut presently Sir Richard spoke again, saying, \"One thing thou canst do,\nRobin, and one only. Go back to London and throw thyself upon the mercy\nof our good Queen Eleanor. Come with me straightway to my castle. Doff\nthese clothes and put on such as my retainers wear. Then I will hie me\nto London Town with a troop of men behind me, and thou shalt mingle with\nthem, and thus will I bring thee to where thou mayst see and speak with\nthe Queen. Thy only hope is to get to Sherwood, for there none can reach\nthee, and thou wilt never get to Sherwood but in this way.\"\n\nSo Robin went with Sir Richard of the Lea, and did as he said, for he\nsaw the wisdom of that which the knight advised, and that this was his\nonly chance of safety.\n\n\nQueen Eleanor walked in her royal garden, amid the roses that bloomed\nsweetly, and with her walked six of her ladies-in-waiting, chattering\nblithely together. Of a sudden a man leaped up to the top of the wall\nfrom the other side, and then, hanging for a moment, dropped lightly\nupon the grass within. All the ladies-in-waiting shrieked at the\nsuddenness of his coming, but the man ran to the Queen and kneeled at\nher feet, and she saw that it was Robin Hood.\n\n\"Why, how now, Robin!\" cried she, \"dost thou dare to come into the very\njaws of the raging lion? Alas, poor fellow! Thou art lost indeed if the\nKing finds thee here. Dost thou not know that he is seeking thee through\nall the land?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth Robin, \"I do know right well that the King seeks me, and\ntherefore I have come; for, surely, no ill can befall me when he hath\npledged his royal word to Your Majesty for my safety. Moreover, I know\nYour Majesty's kindness and gentleness of heart, and so I lay my life\nfreely in your gracious hands.\"\n\n\"I take thy meaning, Robin Hood,\" said the Queen, \"and that thou dost\nconvey reproach to me, as well thou mayst, for I know that I have not\ndone by thee as I ought to have done. I know right well that thou must\nhave been hard pressed by peril to leap so boldly into one danger to\nescape another. Once more I promise thee mine aid, and will do all I can\nto send thee back in safety to Sherwood Forest. Bide thou here till I\nreturn.\" So saying, she left Robin in the garden of roses, and was gone\na long time.\n\nWhen she came back Sir Robert Lee was with her, and the Queen's cheeks\nwere hot and the Queen's eyes were bright, as though she had been\ntalking with high words. Then Sir Robert came straight forward to where\nRobin Hood stood, and he spoke to the yeoman in a cold, stern voice.\nQuoth he, \"Our gracious Sovereign the King hath mitigated his wrath\ntoward thee, fellow, and hath once more promised that thou shalt depart\nin peace and safety. Not only hath he promised this, but in three days\nhe will send one of his pages to go with thee and see that none arrest\nthy journey back again. Thou mayst thank thy patron saint that thou hast\nsuch a good friend in our noble Queen, for, but for her persuasion and\narguments, thou hadst been a dead man, I can tell thee. Let this peril\nthat thou hast passed through teach thee two lessons. First, be more\nhonest. Second, be not so bold in thy comings and goings. A man that\nwalketh in the darkness as thou dost may escape for a time, but in the\nend he will surely fall into the pit. Thou hast put thy head in the\nangry lion's mouth, and yet thou hast escaped by a miracle. Try it not\nagain.\" So saying, he turned and left Robin and was gone.\n\nFor three days Robin abided in London in the Queen's household, and at\nthe end of that time the King's head Page, Edward Cunningham, came, and\ntaking Robin with him, departed northward upon his way to Sherwood.\nNow and then they passed bands of the King's men coming back again to\nLondon, but none of those bands stopped them, and so, at last, they\nreached the sweet, leafy woodlands.\n\n\n\n\nRobin Hood and Guy of Gisbourne\n\nA LONG TIME passed after the great shooting match, and during that time\nRobin followed one part of the advice of Sir Robert Lee, to wit, that of\nbeing less bold in his comings and his goings; for though mayhap he may\nnot have been more honest (as most folks regard honesty), he took good\ncare not to travel so far from Sherwood that he could not reach it both\neasily and quickly.\n\nGreat changes had fallen in this time; for King Henry had died and King\nRichard had come to the crown that fitted him so well through many hard\ntrials, and through adventures as stirring as any that ever befell Robin\nHood. But though great changes came, they did not reach to Sherwood's\nshades, for there Robin Hood and his men dwelled as merrily as they had\never done, with hunting and feasting and singing and blithe woodland\nsports; for it was little the outside striving of the world troubled\nthem.\n\nThe dawning of a summer's day was fresh and bright, and the birds sang\nsweetly in a great tumult of sound. So loud was their singing that\nit awakened Robin Hood where he lay sleeping, so that he stirred, and\nturned, and arose. Up rose Little John also, and all the merry men;\nthen, after they had broken their fast, they set forth hither and\nthither upon the doings of the day.\n\nRobin Hood and Little John walked down a forest path where all around\nthe leaves danced and twinkled as the breeze trembled through them and\nthe sunlight came flickering down. Quoth Robin Hood, \"I make my vow,\nLittle John, my blood tickles my veins as it flows through them this gay\nmorn. What sayst thou to our seeking adventures, each one upon his own\naccount?\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said Little John. \"We have had more than one\npleasant doing in that way, good master. Here are two paths; take thou\nthe one to the right hand, and I will take the one to the left, and then\nlet us each walk straight ahead till he tumble into some merry doing or\nother.\"\n\n\"I like thy plan,\" quoth Robin, \"therefore we will part here. But look\nthee, Little John, keep thyself out of mischief, for I would not have\nill befall thee for all the world.\"\n\n\"Marry, come up,\" quoth Little John, \"how thou talkest! Methinks thou\nart wont to get thyself into tighter coils than I am like to do.\"\n\nAt this Robin Hood laughed. \"Why, in sooth, Little John,\" said he, \"thou\nhast a blundering hard-headed way that seemeth to bring thee right side\nuppermost in all thy troubles; but let us see who cometh out best this\nday.\" So saying, he clapped his palm to Little John's and each departed\nupon his way, the trees quickly shutting the one from the other's sight.\n\nRobin Hood strolled onward till he came to where a broad woodland road\nstretched before him. Overhead the branches of the trees laced together\nin flickering foliage, all golden where it grew thin to the sunlight;\nbeneath his feet the ground was soft and moist from the sheltering\nshade. Here in this pleasant spot the sharpest adventure that ever\nbefell Robin Hood came upon him; for, as he walked down the woodland\npath thinking of nought but the songs of the birds, he came of a sudden\nto where a man was seated upon the mossy roots beneath the shade of\na broad-spreading oak tree. Robin Hood saw that the stranger had not\ncaught sight of him, so he stopped and stood quite still, looking at the\nother a long time before he came forward. And the stranger, I wot,\nwas well worth looking at, for never had Robin seen a figure like that\nsitting beneath the tree. From his head to his feet he was clad in a\nhorse's hide, dressed with the hair upon it. Upon his head was a cowl\nthat hid his face from sight, and which was made of the horse's skin,\nthe ears whereof stuck up like those of a rabbit. His body was clad in\na jacket made of the hide, and his legs were covered with the hairy skin\nlikewise. By his side was a heavy broadsword and a sharp, double-edged\ndagger. A quiver of smooth round arrows hung across his shoulders, and\nhis stout bow of yew leaned against the tree beside him.\n\n\"Halloa, friend,\" cried Robin, coming forward at last, \"who art thou\nthat sittest there? And what is that that thou hast upon thy body? I\nmake my vow I ha' never seen such a sight in all my life before. Had I\ndone an evil thing, or did my conscience trouble me, I would be afraid\nof thee, thinking that thou wast someone from down below bringing a\nmessage bidding me come straightway to King Nicholas.\"\n\nTo this speech the other answered not a word, but he pushed the cowl\nback from his head and showed a knit brow, a hooked nose, and a pair of\nfierce, restless black eyes, which altogether made Robin think of a hawk\nas he looked on his face. But beside this there was something about the\nlines on the stranger's face, and his thin cruel mouth, and the hard\nglare of his eyes, that made one's flesh creep to look upon.\n\n\"Who art thou, rascal?\" said he at last, in a loud, harsh voice.\n\n\"Tut, tut,\" quoth merry Robin, \"speak not so sourly, brother. Hast\nthou fed upon vinegar and nettles this morning that thy speech is so\nstinging?\"\n\n\"An thou likest not my words,\" said the other fiercely, \"thou hadst best\nbe jogging, for I tell thee plainly, my deeds match them.\"\n\n\"Nay, but I do like thy words, thou sweet, pretty thing,\" quoth Robin,\nsquatting down upon the grass in front of the other. \"Moreover, I tell\nthee thy speech is witty and gamesome as any I ever heard in all my\nlife.\"\n\nThe other said not a word, but he glared upon Robin with a wicked and\nbaleful look, such as a fierce dog bestows upon a man ere it springs at\nhis throat. Robin returned the gaze with one of wide-eyed innocence, not\na shadow of a smile twinkling in his eyes or twitching at the corners of\nhis mouth. So they sat staring at one another for a long time, until the\nstranger broke the silence suddenly. \"What is thy name, fellow?\" said\nhe.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth Robin, \"I am right glad to hear thee speak, for I began to\nfear the sight of me had stricken thee dumb. As for my name, it may be\nthis or it may be that; but methinks it is more meet for thee to tell\nme thine, seeing that thou art the greater stranger in these parts.\nPrythee, tell me, sweet chuck, why wearest thou that dainty garb upon\nthy pretty body?\" At these words the other broke into a short, harsh\nroar of laughter. \"By the bones of the Daemon Odin,\" said he, \"thou art\nthe boldest-spoken man that ever I have seen in all my life. I know not\nwhy I do not smite thee down where thou sittest, for only two days ago I\nskewered a man over back of Nottingham Town for saying not half so much\nto me as thou hast done. I wear this garb, thou fool, to keep my body\nwarm; likewise it is near as good as a coat of steel against a common\nsword-thrust. As for my name, I care not who knoweth it. It is Guy\nof Gisbourne, and thou mayst have heard it before. I come from the\nwoodlands over in Herefordshire, upon the lands of the Bishop of that\nilk. I am an outlaw, and get my living by hook and by crook in a manner\nit boots not now to tell of. Not long since the Bishop sent for me, and\nsaid that if I would do a certain thing that the Sheriff of Nottingham\nwould ask of me, he would get me a free pardon, and give me tenscore\npounds to boot. So straightway I came to Nottingham Town and found my\nsweet Sheriff; and what thinkest thou he wanted of me? Why, forsooth, to\ncome here to Sherwood to hunt up one Robin Hood, also an outlaw, and to\ntake him alive or dead. It seemeth that they have no one here to face\nthat bold fellow, and so sent all the way to Herefordshire, and to me,\nfor thou knowest the old saying, 'Set a thief to catch a thief.' As for\nthe slaying of this fellow, it galleth me not a whit, for I would shed\nthe blood of my own brother for the half of two hundred pounds.\"\n\nTo all this Robin listened, and as he listened his gorge rose. Well he\nknew of this Guy of Gisbourne, and of all the bloody and murderous deeds\nthat he had done in Herefordshire, for his doings were famous throughout\nall the land. Yet, although he loathed the very presence of the man, he\nheld his peace, for he had an end to serve. \"Truly,\" quoth he, \"I have\nheard of thy gentle doings. Methinks there is no one in all the world\nthat Robin Hood would rather meet than thee.\"\n\nAt this Guy of Gisbourne gave another harsh laugh. \"Why,\" quoth he, \"it\nis a merry thing to think of one stout outlaw like Robin Hood meeting\nanother stout outlaw like Guy of Gisbourne. Only in this case it will be\nan ill happening for Robin Hood, for the day he meets Guy of Gisbourne\nhe shall die.\"\n\n\"But thou gentle, merry spirit,\" quoth Robin, \"dost thou not think that\nmayhap this same Robin Hood may be the better man of the two? I know\nhim right well, and many think that he is one of the stoutest men\nhereabouts.\"\n\n\"He may be the stoutest of men hereabouts,\" quoth Guy of Gisbourne,\n\"yet, I tell thee, fellow, this sty of yours is not the wide world.\nI lay my life upon it I am the better man of the two. He an outlaw,\nforsooth! Why, I hear that he hath never let blood in all his life,\nsaving when he first came to the forest. Some call him a great archer;\nmarry, I would not be afraid to stand against him all the days of the\nyear with a bow in my hand.\"\n\n\"Why, truly, some folk do call him a great archer,\" said Robin Hood,\n\"but we of Nottinghamshire are famous hands with the longbow. Even I,\nthough but a simple hand at the craft, would not fear to try a bout with\nthee.\"\n\nAt these words Guy of Gisbourne looked upon Robin with wondering eyes,\nand then gave another roar of laughter till the woods rang. \"Now,\" quoth\nhe, \"thou art a bold fellow to talk to me in this way. I like thy spirit\nin so speaking up to me, for few men have dared to do so. Put up a\ngarland, lad, and I will try a bout with thee.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut,\" quoth Robin, \"only babes shoot at garlands hereabouts. I\nwill put up a good Nottingham mark for thee.\" So saying, he arose, and\ngoing to a hazel thicket not far off, he cut a wand about twice\nthe thickness of a man's thumb. From this he peeled the bark, and,\nsharpening the point, stuck it up in the ground in front of a great oak\ntree. Thence he measured off fourscore paces, which brought him beside\nthe tree where the other sat. \"There,\" quoth he, \"is the kind of mark\nthat Nottingham yeomen shoot at. Now let me see thee split that wand if\nthou art an archer.\"\n\nThen Guy of Gisbourne arose. \"Now out upon it!\" cried he. \"The Devil\nhimself could not hit such a mark as that.\"\n\n\"Mayhap he could and mayhap he could not,\" quoth merry Robin, \"but that\nwe shall never know till thou hast shot thereat.\"\n\nAt these words Guy of Gisbourne looked upon Robin with knit brows, but,\nas the yeoman still looked innocent of any ill meaning, he bottled his\nwords and strung his bow in silence. Twice he shot, but neither time did\nhe hit the wand, missing it the first time by a span and the second time\nby a good palm's-breadth. Robin laughed and laughed. \"I see now,\" quoth\nhe, \"that the Devil himself could not hit that mark. Good fellow, if\nthou art no better with the broadsword than thou art with the bow and\narrow, thou wilt never overcome Robin Hood.\"\n\nAt these words Guy of Gisbourne glared savagely upon Robin. Quoth he,\n\"Thou hast a merry tongue, thou villain; but take care that thou makest\nnot too free with it, or I may cut it out from thy throat for thee.\"\n\nRobin Hood strung his bow and took his place with never a word, albeit\nhis heartstrings quivered with anger and loathing. Twice he shot, the\nfirst time hitting within an inch of the wand, the second time splitting\nit fairly in the middle. Then, without giving the other a chance for\nspeech, he flung his bow upon the ground. \"There, thou bloody villain!\"\ncried he fiercely, \"let that show thee how little thou knowest of manly\nsports. And now look thy last upon the daylight, for the good earth hath\nbeen befouled long enough by thee, thou vile beast! This day, Our Lady\nwilling, thou diest--I am Robin Hood.\" So saying, he flashed forth his\nbright sword in the sunlight.\n\nFor a time Guy of Gisbourne stared upon Robin as though bereft of wits;\nbut his wonder quickly passed to a wild rage. \"Art thou indeed Robin\nHood?\" cried he. \"Now I am glad to meet thee, thou poor wretch! Shrive\nthyself, for thou wilt have no time for shriving when I am done with\nthee.\" So saying, he also drew his sword.\n\nAnd now came the fiercest fight that ever Sherwood saw; for each man\nknew that either he or the other must die, and that no mercy was to be\nhad in this battle. Up and down they fought, till all the sweet green\ngrass was crushed and ground beneath the trampling of their heels. More\nthan once the point of Robin Hood's sword felt the softness of flesh,\nand presently the ground began to be sprinkled with bright red drops,\nalbeit not one of them came from Robin's veins. At last Guy of Gisbourne\nmade a fierce and deadly thrust at Robin Hood, from which he leaped back\nlightly, but in so leaping he caught his heel in a root and fell heavily\nupon his back. \"Now, Holy Mary aid me!\" muttered he, as the other leaped\nat him, with a grin of rage upon his face. Fiercely Guy of Gisbourne\nstabbed at the other with his great sword, but Robin caught the blade in\nhis naked hand, and, though it cut his palm, he turned the point away so\nthat it plunged deep into the ground close beside him; then, ere a blow\ncould be struck again, he leaped to his feet, with his good sword in\nhis hand. And now despair fell upon Guy of Gisbourne's heart in a black\ncloud, and he looked around him wildly, like a wounded hawk. Seeing that\nhis strength was going from him, Robin leaped forward, and, quick as a\nflash, struck a back-handed blow beneath the sword arm. Down fell\nthe sword from Guy of Gisbourne's grasp, and back he staggered at the\nstroke, and, ere he could regain himself, Robin's sword passed through\nand through his body. Round he spun upon his heel, and, flinging his\nhands aloft with a shrill, wild cry, fell prone upon his face upon the\ngreen sod.\n\nThen Robin Hood wiped his sword and thrust it back into the scabbard,\nand, coming to where Guy of Gisbourne lay, he stood over him with folded\narms, talking to himself the while. \"This is the first man I have slain\nsince I shot the Kings forester in the hot days of my youth. I ofttimes\nthink bitterly, even yet, of that first life I took, but of this I am as\nglad as though I had slain a wild boar that laid waste a fair country.\nSince the Sheriff of Nottingham hath sent such a one as this against me,\nI will put on the fellow's garb and go forth to see whether I may not\nfind his worship, and perchance pay him back some of the debt I owe him\nupon this score.\"\n\nSo saying, Robin Hood stripped the hairy garments from off the dead man,\nand put them on himself, all bloody as they were. Then, strapping the\nother's sword and dagger around his body and carrying his own in his\nhand, together with the two bows of yew, he drew the cowl of horse's\nhide over his face, so that none could tell who he was, and set forth\nfrom the forest, turning his steps toward the eastward and Nottingham\nTown. As he strode along the country roads, men, women, and children\nhid away from him, for the terror of Guy of Gisbourne's name and of his\ndoings had spread far and near.\n\nAnd now let us see what befell Little John while these things were\nhappening.\n\nLittle John walked on his way through the forest paths until he had\ncome to the outskirts of the woodlands, where, here and there, fields of\nbarley, corn, or green meadow lands lay smiling in the sun. So he came\nto the highroad and to where a little thatched cottage stood back of\na cluster of twisted crab trees, with flowers in front of it. Here he\nstopped of a sudden, for he thought that he heard the sound of someone\nin sorrow. He listened, and found that it came from the cottage; so,\nturning his footsteps thither, he pushed open the wicket and entered\nthe place. There he saw a gray-haired dame sitting beside a cold\nhearthstone, rocking herself to and fro and weeping bitterly.\n\nNow Little John had a tender heart for the sorrows of other folk, so,\ncoming to the old woman and patting her kindly upon the shoulder, he\nspoke comforting words to her, bidding her cheer up and tell him her\ntroubles, for that mayhap he might do something to ease them. At all\nthis the good dame shook her head; but all the same his kind words did\nsoothe her somewhat, so after a while she told him all that bore upon\nher mind. That that morning she had three as fair, tall sons beside her\nas one could find in all Nottinghamshire, but that they were now taken\nfrom her, and were like to be hanged straightway; that, want having\ncome upon them, her eldest boy had gone out, the night before, into the\nforest, and had slain a hind in the moonlight; that the King's rangers\nhad followed the blood upon the grass until they had come to her\ncottage, and had there found the deer's meat in the cupboard; that, as\nneither of the younger sons would betray their brother, the foresters\nhad taken all three away, in spite of the oldest saying that he alone\nhad slain the deer; that, as they went, she had heard the rangers\ntalking among themselves, saying that the Sheriff had sworn that he\nwould put a check upon the great slaughter of deer that had been going\non of late by hanging the very first rogue caught thereat upon the\nnearest tree, and that they would take the three youths to the King's\nHead Inn, near Nottingham Town, where the Sheriff was abiding that day,\nthere to await the return of a certain fellow he had sent into Sherwood\nto seek for Robin Hood.\n\nTo all this Little John listened, shaking his head sadly now and then.\n\"Alas,\" quoth he, when the good dame had finished her speech, \"this is\nindeed an ill case. But who is this that goeth into Sherwood after Robin\nHood, and why doth he go to seek him? But no matter for that now; only\nthat I would that Robin Hood were here to advise us. Nevertheless, no\ntime may be lost in sending for him at this hour, if we would save the\nlives of thy three sons. Tell me, hast thou any clothes hereabouts that\nI may put on in place of these of Lincoln green? Marry, if our stout\nSheriff catcheth me without disguise, I am like to be run up more\nquickly than thy sons, let me tell thee, dame.\"\n\nThen the old woman told him that she had in the house some of the\nclothes of her good husband, who had died only two years before. These\nshe brought to Little John, who, doffing his garb of Lincoln green, put\nthem on in its stead. Then, making a wig and false beard of uncarded\nwool, he covered his own brown hair and beard, and, putting on a great,\ntall hat that had belonged to the old peasant, he took his staff in one\nhand and his bow in the other, and set forth with all speed to where the\nSheriff had taken up his inn.\n\nA mile or more from Nottingham Town, and not far from the southern\nborders of Sherwood Forest, stood the cosy inn bearing the sign of the\nKing's Head. Here was a great bustle and stir on this bright morning,\nfor the Sheriff and a score of his men had come to stop there and\nawait Guy of Gisbourne's return from the forest. Great hiss and fuss of\ncooking was going on in the kitchen, and great rapping and tapping of\nwine kegs and beer barrels was going on in the cellar. The Sheriff\nsat within, feasting merrily of the best the place afforded, and the\nSheriff's men sat upon the bench before the door, quaffing ale, or lay\nbeneath the shade of the broad-spreading oak trees, talking and jesting\nand laughing. All around stood the horses of the band, with a great\nnoise of stamping feet and a great switching of tails. To this inn came\nthe King's rangers, driving the widow's three sons before them. The\nhands of the three youths were tied tightly behind their backs, and a\ncord from neck to neck fastened them all together. So they were marched\nto the room where the Sheriff sat at meat, and stood trembling before\nhim as he scowled sternly upon them.\n\n\"So,\" quoth he, in a great, loud, angry voice, \"ye have been poaching\nupon the King's deer, have you? Now I will make short work of you this\nday, for I will hang up all three of you as a farmer would hang up three\ncrows to scare others of the kind from the field. Our fair county of\nNottingham hath been too long a breeding place for such naughty knaves\nas ye are. I have put up with these things for many years, but now I\nwill stamp them out once for all, and with you I will begin.\"\n\nThen one of the poor fellows opened his mouth to speak, but the Sheriff\nroared at him in a loud voice to be silent, and bade the rangers to take\nthem away till he had done his eating and could attend to the matters\nconcerning them. So the three poor youths were marched outside, where\nthey stood with bowed heads and despairing hearts, till after a while\nthe Sheriff came forth. Then he called his men about him, and quoth he,\n\"These three villains shall be hanged straightway, but not here, lest\nthey breed ill luck to this goodly inn. We will take them over yonder to\nthat belt of woodlands, for I would fain hang them upon the very trees\nof Sherwood itself, to show those vile outlaws therein what they may\nexpect of me if I ever have the good luck to lay hands upon them.\" So\nsaying, he mounted his horse, as did his men-at-arms likewise, and all\ntogether they set forth for the belt of woodlands he had spoken of, the\npoor youths walking in their midst guarded by the rangers. So they came\nat last to the spot, and here nooses were fastened around the necks of\nthe three, and the ends of the cords flung over the branch of a great\noak tree that stood there. Then the three youths fell upon their knees\nand loudly besought mercy of the Sheriff; but the Sheriff of Nottingham\nlaughed scornfully. \"Now,\" quoth he, \"I would that I had a priest here\nto shrive you; but, as none is nigh, you must e'en travel your road with\nall your sins packed upon your backs, and trust to Saint Peter to let\nyou in through the gates of Paradise like three peddlers into the town.\"\n\nIn the meantime, while all this had been going forward, an old man had\ndrawn near and stood leaning on his staff, looking on. His hair and\nbeard were all curly and white, and across his back was a bow of yew\nthat looked much too strong for him to draw. As the Sheriff looked\naround ere he ordered his men to string the three youths up to the oak\ntree, his eyes fell upon this strange old man. Then his worship beckoned\nto him, saying, \"Come hither, father, I have a few words to say to\nthee.\" So Little John, for it was none other than he, came forward, and\nthe Sheriff looked upon him, thinking that there was something strangely\nfamiliar in the face before him. \"How, now,\" said he, \"methinks I have\nseen thee before. What may thy name be, father?\"\n\n\"Please Your Worship,\" said Little John, in a cracked voice like that of\nan old man, \"my name is Giles Hobble, at Your Worship's service.\"\n\n\"Giles Hobble, Giles Hobble,\" muttered the Sheriff to himself, turning\nover the names that he had in his mind to try to find one to fit to\nthis. \"I remember not thy name,\" said he at last, \"but it matters not.\nHast thou a mind to earn sixpence this bright morn?\"\n\n\"Ay, marry,\" quoth Little John, \"for money is not so plenty with me that\nI should cast sixpence away an I could earn it by an honest turn. What\nis it Your Worship would have me do?\"\n\n\"Why, this,\" said the Sheriff. \"Here are three men that need hanging\nas badly as any e'er I saw. If thou wilt string them up I will pay thee\ntwopence apiece for them. I like not that my men-at-arms should turn\nhangmen. Wilt thou try thy hand?\"\n\n\"In sooth,\" said Little John, still in the old man's voice, \"I ha' never\ndone such a thing before; but an a sixpence is to be earned so easily\nI might as well ha' it as anybody. But, Your Worship, are these naughty\nfellows shrived?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Sheriff, laughing, \"never a whit; but thou mayst turn\nthy hand to that also if thou art so minded. But hasten, I prythee, for\nI would get back to mine inn betimes.\"\n\nSo Little John came to where the three youths stood trembling, and,\nputting his face to the first fellow's cheek as though he were listening\nto him, he whispered softly into his ear, \"Stand still, brother, when\nthou feelest thy bonds cut, but when thou seest me throw my woolen wig\nand beard from my head and face, cast the noose from thy neck and run\nfor the woodlands.\" Then he slyly cut the cord that bound the youth's\nhands; who, upon his part, stood still as though he were yet bound. Then\nhe went to the second fellow, and spoke to him in the same way, and also\ncut his bonds. This he did to the third likewise, but all so slyly that\nthe Sheriff, who sat upon his horse laughing, wotted not what was being\ndone, nor his men either.\n\nThen Little John turned to the Sheriff. \"Please Your Worship,\" said he,\n\"will you give me leave to string my bow? For I would fain help these\nfellows along the way, when they are swinging, with an arrow beneath the\nribs.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said the Sheriff, \"only, as I said before, make\nthou haste in thy doings.\"\n\nLittle John put the tip of his bow to his instep, and strung the weapon\nso deftly that all wondered to see an old man so strong. Next he drew\na good smooth arrow from his quiver and fitted it to the string; then,\nlooking all around to see that the way was clear behind him, he suddenly\ncast away the wool from his head and face, shouting in a mighty voice,\n\"Run!\" Quick as a flash the three youths flung the nooses from their\nnecks and sped across the open to the woodlands as the arrow speeds from\nthe bow. Little John also flew toward the covert like a greyhound, while\nthe Sheriff and his men gazed after him all bewildered with the sudden\ndoing. But ere the yeoman had gone far the Sheriff roused himself.\n\"After him!\" he roared in a mighty voice; for he knew now who it was\nwith whom he had been talking, and wondered that he had not known him\nbefore.\n\nLittle John heard the Sheriff's words, and seeing that he could not hope\nto reach the woodlands before they would be upon him, he stopped and\nturned suddenly, holding his bow as though he were about to shoot.\n\"Stand back!\" cried he fiercely. \"The first man that cometh a foot\nforward, or toucheth finger to bowstring, dieth!\"\n\nAt these words the Sheriff's men stood as still as stocks, for they knew\nright well that Little John would be as good as his word, and that to\ndisobey him meant death. In vain the Sheriff roared at them, calling\nthem cowards, and urging them forward in a body; they would not budge an\ninch, but stood and watched Little John as he moved slowly away toward\nthe forest, keeping his gaze fixed upon them. But when the Sheriff saw\nhis enemy thus slipping betwixt his fingers he grew mad with his rage,\nso that his head swam and he knew not what he did. Then of a sudden he\nturned his horse's head, and plunging his spurs into its sides he gave\na great shout, and, rising in his stirrups, came down upon Little John\nlike the wind. Then Little John raised his deadly bow and drew the gray\ngoose feather to his cheek. But alas for him! For, ere he could loose\nthe shaft, the good bow that had served him so long, split in his hands,\nand the arrow fell harmless at his feet. Seeing what had happened, the\nSheriff's men raised a shout, and, following their master, came rushing\ndown upon Little John. But the Sheriff was ahead of the others, and\nso caught up with the yeoman before he reached the shelter of the\nwoodlands, then leaning forward he struck a mighty blow. Little John\nducked and the Sheriff's sword turned in his hand, but the flat of the\nblade struck the other upon the head and smote him down, stunned and\nsenseless.\n\n\"Now, I am right glad,\" said the Sheriff, when the men came up and found\nthat Little John was not dead, \"that I have not slain this man in my\nhaste! I would rather lose five hundred pounds than have him die thus\ninstead of hanging, as such a vile thief should do. Go, get some water\nfrom yonder fountain, William, and pour it over his head.\"\n\nThe man did as he was bidden, and presently Little John opened his eyes\nand looked around him, all dazed and bewildered with the stun of the\nblow. Then they tied his hands behind him, and lifting him up set him\nupon the back of one of the horses, with his face to its tail and his\nfeet strapped beneath its belly. So they took him back to the King's\nHead Inn, laughing and rejoicing as they went along. But in the meantime\nthe widow's three sons had gotten safely away, and were hidden in the\nwoodlands.\n\nOnce more the Sheriff of Nottingham sat within the King's Head Inn. His\nheart rejoiced within him, for he had at last done that which he had\nsought to do for years, taken Little John prisoner. Quoth he to himself,\n\"This time tomorrow the rogue shall hang upon the gallows tree in front\nof the great gate of Nottingham Town, and thus shall I make my long\nscore with him even.\" So saying, he took a deep draught of Canary. But\nit seemed as if the Sheriff had swallowed a thought with his wine, for\nhe shook his head and put the cup down hastily. \"Now,\" he muttered\nto himself, \"I would not for a thousand pounds have this fellow slip\nthrough my fingers; yet, should his master escape that foul Guy of\nGisbourne, there is no knowing what he may do, for he is the cunningest\nknave in all the world--this same Robin Hood. Belike I had better not\nwait until tomorrow to hang the fellow.\" So saying, he pushed his chair\nback hastily, and going forth from the inn called his men together.\nQuoth he, \"I will wait no longer for the hanging of this rogue, but it\nshall be done forthwith, and that from the very tree whence he saved\nthose three young villains by stepping betwixt them and the law. So get\nye ready straightway.\"\n\nThen once more they sat Little John upon the horse, with his face to the\ntail, and so, one leading the horse whereon he sat and the others riding\naround him, they went forward to that tree from the branches of which\nthey had thought to hang the poachers. On they went, rattling and\njingling along the road till they came to the tree. Here one of the men\nspake to the Sheriff of a sudden. \"Your Worship,\" cried he, \"is not yon\nfellow coming along toward us that same Guy of Gisbourne whom thou didst\nsend into the forest to seek Robin Hood?\" At these words the Sheriff\nshaded his eyes and looked eagerly. \"Why, certes,\" quoth he, \"yon fellow\nis the same. Now, Heaven send that he hath slain the master thief, as we\nwill presently slay the man!\"\n\nWhen Little John heard this speech he looked up, and straightway his\nheart crumbled away within him, for not only were the man's garments all\ncovered with blood, but he wore Robin Hood's bugle horn and carried his\nbow and broadsword.\n\n\"How now!\" cried the Sheriff, when Robin Hood, in Guy of Gisbourne's\nclothes, had come nigh to them. \"What luck hath befallen thee in the\nforest? Why, man, thy clothes are all over blood!\"\n\n\"An thou likest not my clothes,\" said Robin in a harsh voice like that\nof Guy of Gisbourne, \"thou mayst shut thine eyes. Marry, the blood upon\nme is that of the vilest outlaw that ever trod the woodlands, and one\nwhom I have slain this day, albeit not without wound to myself.\"\n\nThen out spake Little John, for the first time since he had fallen into\nthe Sheriff's hands. \"O thou vile, bloody wretch! I know thee, Guy of\nGisbourne, for who is there that hath not heard of thee and cursed thee\nfor thy vile deeds of blood and rapine? Is it by such a hand as thine\nthat the gentlest heart that ever beat is stilled in death? Truly,\nthou art a fit tool for this coward Sheriff of Nottingham. Now I die\njoyfully, nor do I care how I die, for life is nought to me!\" So spake\nLittle John, the salt tears rolling down his brown cheeks.\n\nBut the Sheriff of Nottingham clapped his hands for joy. \"Now, Guy of\nGisbourne,\" cried he, \"if what thou tellest me is true, it will be the\nbest day's doings for thee that ever thou hast done in all thy life.\"\n\n\"What I have told thee is sooth, and I lie not,\" said Robin, still in\nGuy of Gisbourne's voice. \"Look, is not this Robin Hood's sword, and is\nnot this his good bow of yew, and is not this his bugle horn? Thinkest\nthou he would have given them to Guy of Gisbourne of his own free will?\"\n\nThen the Sheriff laughed aloud for joy. \"This is a good day!\" cried he.\n\"The great outlaw dead and his right-hand man in my hands! Ask what thou\nwilt of me, Guy of Gisbourne, and it is thine!\"\n\n\"Then this I ask of thee,\" said Robin. \"As I have slain the master\nI would now kill the man. Give this fellow's life into my hands, Sir\nSheriff.\"\n\n\"Now thou art a fool!\" cried the Sheriff. \"Thou mightst have had money\nenough for a knight's ransom if thou hadst asked for it. I like ill to\nlet this fellow pass from my hands, but as I have promised, thou shalt\nhave him.\"\n\n\"I thank thee right heartily for thy gift,\" cried Robin. \"Take the rogue\ndown from the horse, men, and lean him against yonder tree, while I show\nyou how we stick a porker whence I come!\"\n\nAt these words some of the Sheriff's men shook their heads; for, though\nthey cared not a whit whether Little John were hanged or not, they hated\nto see him butchered in cold blood. But the Sheriff called to them in\na loud voice, ordering them to take the yeoman down from the horse and\nlean him against the tree, as the other bade.\n\nWhile they were doing this Robin Hood strung both his bow and that of\nGuy of Gisbourne, albeit none of them took notice of his doing so. Then,\nwhen Little John stood against the tree, he drew Guy of Gisbourne's\nsharp, double-edged dagger. \"Fall back! fall back!\" cried he. \"Would\nye crowd so on my pleasure, ye unmannerly knaves? Back, I say! Farther\nyet!\" So they crowded back, as he ordered, many of them turning their\nfaces away, that they might not see what was about to happen.\n\n\"Come!\" cried Little John. \"Here is my breast. It is meet that the same\nhand that slew my dear master should butcher me also! I know thee, Guy\nof Gisbourne!\"\n\n\"Peace, Little John!\" said Robin in a low voice. \"Twice thou hast said\nthou knowest me, and yet thou knowest me not at all. Couldst thou not\ntell me beneath this wild beast's hide? Yonder, just in front of thee,\nlie my bow and arrows, likewise my broadsword. Take them when I cut thy\nbonds. Now! Get them quickly!\" So saying, he cut the bonds, and Little\nJohn, quick as a wink, leaped forward and caught up the bow and arrows\nand the broadsword. At the same time Robin Hood threw back the cowl of\nhorse's hide from his face and bent Guy of Gisbourne's bow, with a keen,\nbarbed arrow fitted to the string. \"Stand back!\" cried he sternly. \"The\nfirst man that toucheth finger to bowstring dieth! I have slain thy\nman, Sheriff; take heed that it is not thy turn next.\" Then, seeing that\nLittle John had armed himself, he clapped his bugle horn to his lips and\nblew three blasts both loud and shrill.\n\nNow when the Sheriff of Nottingham saw whose face it was beneath Guy of\nGisbourne's hood, and when he heard those bugle notes ring in his ear,\nhe felt as if his hour had come. \"Robin Hood!\" roared he, and without\nanother word he wheeled his horse in the road and went off in a cloud of\ndust. The Sheriff's men, seeing their master thus fleeing for his life,\nthought that it was not their business to tarry longer, so, clapping\nspurs to their horses, they also dashed away after him. But though\nthe Sheriff of Nottingham went fast, he could not outstrip a clothyard\narrow. Little John twanged his bowstring with a shout, and when the\nSheriff dashed in through the gates of Nottingham Town at full speed, a\ngray goose shaft stuck out behind him like a moulting sparrow with one\nfeather in its tail. For a month afterward the poor Sheriff could sit\nupon nought but the softest cushions that could be gotten for him.\n\nThus the Sheriff and a score of men ran away from Robin Hood and Little\nJohn; so that when Will Stutely and a dozen or more of stout yeomen\nburst from out the covert, they saw nought of their master's enemies,\nfor the Sheriff and his men were scurrying away in the distance, hidden\nwithin a cloud of dust like a little thunderstorm.\n\nThen they all went back into the forest once more, where they found the\nwidow's three sons, who ran to Little John and kissed his hands. But\nit would not do for them to roam the forest at large any more; so\nthey promised that, after they had gone and told their mother of\ntheir escape, they would come that night to the greenwood tree, and\nthenceforth become men of the band.\n\n\n\n\nKing Richard Comes to Sherwood Forest\n\nNOT MORE than two months had passed and gone since these stirring\nadventures befell Robin Hood and Little John, when all Nottinghamshire\nwas a mighty stir and tumult, for King Richard of the Lion's Heart was\nmaking a royal progress through merry England, and everyone expected\nhim to come to Nottingham Town in his journeying. Messengers went riding\nback and forth between the Sheriff and the King, until at last the time\nwas fixed upon when His Majesty was to stop in Nottingham, as the guest\nof his worship.\n\nAnd now came more bustle than ever; a great running hither and thither,\na rapping of hammers and a babble of voices sounded everywhere through\nthe place, for the folk were building great arches across the streets,\nbeneath which the King was to pass, and were draping these arches with\nsilken banners and streamers of many colors. Great hubbub was going on\nin the Guild Hall of the town, also, for here a grand banquet was to\nbe given to the King and the nobles of his train, and the best master\ncarpenters were busy building a throne where the King and the Sheriff\nwere to sit at the head of the table, side by side.\n\nIt seemed to many of the good folk of the place as if the day that\nshould bring the King into the town would never come; but all the same\nit did come in its own season, and bright shone the sun down into the\nstony streets, which were all alive with a restless sea of people.\nOn either side of the way great crowds of town and country folk stood\npacked as close together as dried herring in a box, so that the Sheriffs\nmen, halberds in hands, could hardly press them back to leave space for\nthe King's riding.\n\n\"Take care whom thou pushest against!\" cried a great, burly friar to one\nof these men. \"Wouldst thou dig thine elbows into me, sirrah? By'r Lady\nof the Fountain, an thou dost not treat me with more deference I will\ncrack thy knave's pate for thee, even though thou be one of the mighty\nSheriff's men.\"\n\nAt this a great shout of laughter arose from a number of tall yeomen in\nLincoln green that were scattered through the crowd thereabouts; but one\nthat seemed of more authority than the others nudged the holy man with\nhis elbow. \"Peace, Tuck,\" said he, \"didst thou not promise me, ere thou\ncamest here, that thou wouldst put a check upon thy tongue?\"\n\n\"Ay, marry,\" grumbled the other, \"but 'a did not think to have a\nhard-footed knave trample all over my poor toes as though they were no\nmore than so many acorns in the forest.\"\n\nBut of a sudden all this bickering ceased, for a clear sound of many\nbugle horns came winding down the street. Then all the people craned\ntheir necks and gazed in the direction whence the sound came, and the\ncrowding and the pushing and the swaying grew greater than ever. And now\na gallant array of men came gleaming into sight, and the cheering of the\npeople ran down the crowd as the fire runs in dry grass.\n\nEight and twenty heralds in velvet and cloth of gold came riding\nforward. Over their heads fluttered a cloud of snow-white feathers,\nand each herald bore in his hand a long silver trumpet, which he blew\nmusically. From each trumpet hung a heavy banner of velvet and cloth\nof gold, with the royal arms of England emblazoned thereon. After these\ncame riding fivescore noble knights, two by two, all fully armed, saving\nthat their heads were uncovered. In their hands they bore tall lances,\nfrom the tops of which fluttered pennons of many colors and devices. By\nthe side of each knight walked a page clad in rich clothes of silk and\nvelvet, and each page bore in his hands his master's helmet, from which\nwaved long, floating plumes of feathers. Never had Nottingham seen a\nfairer sight than those fivescore noble knights, from whose armor the\nsun blazed in dazzling light as they came riding on their great war\nhorses, with clashing of arms and jingling of chains. Behind the knights\ncame the barons and the nobles of the mid-country, in robes of silk and\ncloth of gold, with golden chains about their necks and jewels at their\ngirdles. Behind these again came a great array of men-at-arms, with\nspears and halberds in their hands, and, in the midst of these, two\nriders side by side. One of the horsemen was the Sheriff of Nottingham\nin his robes of office. The other, who was a head taller than the\nSheriff, was clad in a rich but simple garb, with a broad, heavy chain\nabout his neck. His hair and beard were like threads of gold, and his\neyes were as blue as the summer sky. As he rode along he bowed to the\nright hand and the left, and a mighty roar of voices followed him as he\npassed; for this was King Richard.\n\nThen, above all the tumult and the shouting a great voice was heard\nroaring, \"Heaven, its saints bless thee, our gracious King Richard!\nand likewise Our Lady of the Fountain, bless thee!\" Then King Richard,\nlooking toward the spot whence the sound came, saw a tall, burly,\nstrapping priest standing in front of all the crowd with his legs wide\napart as he backed against those behind.\n\n\"By my soul, Sheriff,\" said the King, laughing, \"ye have the tallest\npriests in Nottinghamshire that e'er I saw in all my life. If\nHeaven never answered prayers because of deafness, methinks I would\nnevertheless have blessings bestowed upon me, for that man yonder would\nmake the great stone image of Saint Peter rub its ears and hearken unto\nhim. I would that I had an army of such as he.\"\n\nTo this the Sheriff answered never a word, but all the blood left his\ncheeks, and he caught at the pommel of his saddle to keep himself from\nfalling; for he also saw the fellow that so shouted, and knew him to be\nFriar Tuck; and, moreover, behind Friar Tuck he saw the faces of Robin\nHood and Little John and Will Scarlet and Will Stutely and Allan a Dale\nand others of the band.\n\n\"How now,\" said the King hastily, \"art thou ill, Sheriff, that thou\ngrowest so white?\"\n\n\"Nay, Your Majesty,\" said the Sheriff, \"it was nought but a sudden pain\nthat will soon pass by.\" Thus he spake, for he was ashamed that the King\nshould know that Robin Hood feared him so little that he thus dared to\ncome within the very gates of Nottingham Town.\n\nThus rode the King into Nottingham Town on that bright afternoon in the\nearly fall season; and none rejoiced more than Robin Hood and his merry\nmen to see him come so royally unto his own.\n\n\nEventide had come; the great feast in the Guild Hall at Nottingham Town\nwas done, and the wine passed freely. A thousand waxen lights gleamed\nalong the board, at which sat lord and noble and knight and squire in\ngoodly array. At the head of the table, upon a throne all hung with\ncloth of gold, sat King Richard with the Sheriff of Nottingham beside\nhim.\n\nQuoth the King to the Sheriff, laughing as he spoke, \"I have heard much\nspoken concerning the doings of certain fellows hereabouts, one Robin\nHood and his band, who are outlaws and abide in Sherwood Forest. Canst\nthou not tell me somewhat of them, Sir Sheriff? For I hear that thou\nhast had dealings with them more than once.\"\n\nAt these words the Sheriff of Nottingham looked down gloomily, and the\nBishop of Hereford, who was present, gnawed his nether lip. Quoth the\nSheriff, \"I can tell Your Majesty but little concerning the doings of\nthose naughty fellows, saving that they are the boldest lawbreakers in\nall the land.\"\n\nThen up spake young Sir Henry of the Lea, a great favorite with the\nKing, under whom he had fought in Palestine. \"May it please Your\nMajesty,\" said he, \"when I was away in Palestine I heard ofttimes from\nmy father, and in most cases I heard of this very fellow, Robin Hood.\nIf Your Majesty would like I will tell you a certain adventure of this\noutlaw.\"\n\nThen the King laughingly bade him tell his tale, whereupon he told\nhow Robin Hood had aided Sir Richard of the Lea with money that he had\nborrowed from the Bishop of Hereford. Again and again the King and those\npresent roared with laughter, while the poor Bishop waxed cherry red in\nthe face with vexation, for the matter was a sore thing with him. When\nSir Henry of the Lea was done, others of those present, seeing how the\nKing enjoyed this merry tale, told other tales concerning Robin and his\nmerry men.\n\n\"By the hilt of my sword,\" said stout King Richard, \"this is as bold and\nmerry a knave as ever I heard tell of. Marry, I must take this matter in\nhand and do what thou couldst not do, Sheriff, to wit, clear the forest\nof him and his band.\"\n\nThat night the King sat in the place that was set apart for his lodging\nwhile in Nottingham Town. With him were young Sir Henry of the Lea and\ntwo other knights and three barons of Nottinghamshire; but the King's\nmind still dwelled upon Robin Hood. \"Now,\" quoth he, \"I would freely\ngive a hundred pounds to meet this roguish fellow, Robin Hood, and to\nsee somewhat of his doings in Sherwood Forest.\"\n\nThen up spake Sir Hubert of gingham, laughing: \"If Your Majesty hath\nsuch a desire upon you it is not so hard to satisfy. If Your Majesty is\nwilling to lose one hundred pounds, I will engage to cause you not only\nto meet this fellow, but to feast with him in Sherwood.\"\n\n\"Marry, Sir Hubert,\" quoth the King, \"this pleaseth me well. But how\nwilt thou cause me to meet Robin Hood?\"\n\n\"Why, thus,\" said Sir Hubert, \"let Your Majesty and us here present put\non the robes of seven of the Order of Black Friars, and let Your Majesty\nhang a purse of one hundred pounds beneath your gown; then let us\nundertake to ride from here to Mansfield Town tomorrow, and, without I\nam much mistaken, we will both meet with Robin Hood and dine with him\nbefore the day be passed.\"\n\n\"I like thy plan, Sir Hubert,\" quoth the King merrily, \"and tomorrow we\nwill try it and see whether there be virtue in it.\"\n\nSo it happened that when early the next morning the Sheriff came to\nwhere his liege lord was abiding, to pay his duty to him, the King told\nhim what they had talked of the night before, and what merry adventure\nthey were set upon undertaking that morning. But when the Sheriff heard\nthis he smote his forehead with his fist. \"Alas!\" said he, \"what evil\ncounsel is this that hath been given thee! O my gracious lord and King,\nyou know not what you do! This villain that you thus go to seek hath no\nreverence either for king or king's laws.\"\n\n\"But did I not hear aright when I was told that this Robin Hood hath\nshed no blood since he was outlawed, saving only that of that vile Guy\nof Gisbourne, for whose death all honest men should thank him?\"\n\n\"Yea, Your Majesty,\" said the Sheriff, \"you have heard aright.\nNevertheless--\"\n\n\"Then,\" quoth the King, breaking in on the Sheriffs speech, \"what have\nI to fear in meeting him, having done him no harm? Truly, there is no\ndanger in this. But mayhap thou wilt go with us, Sir Sheriff.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Sheriff hastily, \"Heaven forbid!\"\n\nBut now seven habits such as Black Friars wear were brought, and the\nKing and those about him having clad themselves therein, and His Majesty\nhaving hung a purse with a hundred golden pounds in it beneath his\nrobes, they all went forth and mounted the mules that had been brought\nto the door for them. Then the King bade the Sheriff be silent as\nto their doings, and so they set forth upon their way. Onward they\ntraveled, laughing and jesting, until they passed through the open\ncountry; between bare harvest fields whence the harvest had been\ngathered home; through scattered glades that began to thicken as they\nwent farther along, till they came within the heavy shade of the forest\nitself. They traveled in the forest for several miles without meeting\nanyone such as they sought, until they had come to that part of the road\nthat lay nearest to Newstead Abbey.\n\n\"By the holy Saint Martin,\" quoth the King, \"I would that I had a better\nhead for remembering things of great need. Here have we come away and\nbrought never so much as a drop of anything to drink with us. Now\nI would give half a hundred pounds for somewhat to quench my thirst\nwithal.\"\n\nNo sooner had the King so spoken, than out from the covert at the\nroadside stepped a tall fellow with yellow beard and hair and a pair of\nmerry blue eyes. \"Truly, holy brother,\" said he, laying his hand upon\nthe King's bridle rein, \"it were an unchristian thing to not give\nfitting answer to so fair a bargain. We keep an inn hereabouts, and for\nfifty pounds we will not only give thee a good draught of wine, but will\ngive thee as noble a feast as ever thou didst tickle thy gullet withal.\"\nSo saying, he put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle.\nThen straightway the bushes and branches on either side of the road\nswayed and crackled, and threescore broad-shouldered yeomen in Lincoln\ngreen burst out of the covert.\n\n\"How now, fellow,\" quoth the King, \"who art thou, thou naughty rogue?\nHast thou no regard for such holy men as we are?\"\n\n\"Not a whit,\" quoth merry Robin Hood, for the fellow was he, \"for in\nsooth all the holiness belonging to rich friars, such as ye are, one\ncould drop into a thimble and the goodwife would never feel it with the\ntip of her finger. As for my name, it is Robin Hood, and thou mayst have\nheard it before.\"\n\n\"Now out upon thee!\" quoth King Richard. \"Thou art a bold and naughty\nfellow and a lawless one withal, as I have often heard tell. Now,\nprythee, let me, and these brethren of mine, travel forward in peace and\nquietness.\"\n\n\"It may not be,\" said Robin, \"for it would look but ill of us to let\nsuch holy men travel onward with empty stomachs. But I doubt not that\nthou hast a fat purse to pay thy score at our inn since thou offerest\nfreely so much for a poor draught of wine. Show me thy purse, reverend\nbrother, or I may perchance have to strip thy robes from thee to search\nfor it myself.\"\n\n\"Nay, use no force,\" said the King sternly. \"Here is my purse, but lay\nnot thy lawless hands upon our person.\"\n\n\"Hut, tut,\" quoth merry Robin, \"what proud words are these? Art thou the\nKing of England, to talk so to me? Here, Will, take this purse and see\nwhat there is within.\"\n\nWill Scarlet took the purse and counted out the money. Then Robin bade\nhim keep fifty pounds for themselves, and put fifty back into the purse.\nThis he handed to the King. \"Here, brother,\" quoth he, \"take this half\nof thy money, and thank Saint Martin, on whom thou didst call before,\nthat thou hast fallen into the hands of such gentle rogues that they\nwill not strip thee bare, as they might do. But wilt thou not put back\nthy cowl? For I would fain see thy face.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the King, drawing back, \"I may not put back my cowl, for\nwe seven have vowed that we will not show our faces for four and twenty\nhours.\"\n\n\"Then keep them covered in peace,\" said Robin, \"and far be it from me to\nmake you break your vows.\"\n\nSo he called seven of his yeomen and bade them each one take a mule\nby the bridle; then, turning their faces toward the depths of the\nwoodlands, they journeyed onward until they came to the open glade and\nthe greenwood tree.\n\nLittle John, with threescore yeomen at his heels, had also gone forth\nthat morning to wait along the roads and bring a rich guest to Sherwood\nglade, if such might be his luck, for many with fat purses must\ntravel the roads at this time, when such great doings were going on in\nNottinghamshire, but though Little John and so many others were gone,\nFriar Tuck and twoscore or more stout yeomen were seated or lying around\nbeneath the great tree, and when Robin and the others came they leaped\nto their feet to meet him.\n\n\"By my soul,\" quoth merry King Richard, when he had gotten down from his\nmule and stood looking about him, \"thou hast in very truth a fine lot of\nyoung men about thee, Robin. Methinks King Richard himself would be glad\nof such a bodyguard.\"\n\n\"These are not all of my fellows,\" said Robin proudly, \"for threescore\nmore of them are away on business with my good right-hand man, Little\nJohn. But, as for King Richard, I tell thee, brother, there is not a man\nof us all but would pour out our blood like water for him. Ye churchmen\ncannot rightly understand our King; but we yeomen love him right loyally\nfor the sake of his brave doings which are so like our own.\"\n\nBut now Friar Tuck came bustling up. \"Gi' ye good den, brothers,\" said\nhe. \"I am right glad to welcome some of my cloth in this naughty place.\nTruly, methinks these rogues of outlaws would stand but an ill chance\nwere it not for the prayers of Holy Tuck, who laboreth so hard for their\nwell-being.\" Here he winked one eye slyly and stuck his tongue into his\ncheek.\n\n\"Who art thou, mad priest?\" said the King in a serious voice, albeit he\nsmiled beneath his cowl.\n\nAt this Friar Tuck looked all around with a slow gaze. \"Look you now,\"\nquoth he, \"never let me hear you say again that I am no patient man.\nHere is a knave of a friar calleth me a mad priest, and yet I smite him\nnot. My name is Friar Tuck, fellow--the holy Friar Tuck.\"\n\n\"There, Tuck,\" said Robin, \"thou hast said enow. Prythee, cease thy talk\nand bring some wine. These reverend men are athirst, and sin' they have\npaid so richly for their score they must e'en have the best.\"\n\nFriar Tuck bridled at being so checked in his speech, nevertheless he\nwent straightway to do Robin's bidding; so presently a great crock was\nbrought, and wine was poured out for all the guests and for Robin Hood.\nThen Robin held his cup aloft. \"Stay!\" cried he. \"Tarry in your drinking\ntill I give you a pledge. Here is to good King Richard of great renown,\nand may all enemies to him be confounded.\"\n\nThen all drank the King's health, even the King himself. \"Methinks, good\nfellow,\" said he, \"thou hast drunk to thine own confusion.\"\n\n\"Never a whit,\" quoth merry Robin, \"for I tell thee that we of Sherwood\nare more loyal to our lord the King than those of thine order. We would\ngive up our lives for his benefiting, while ye are content to lie snug\nin your abbeys and priories let reign who will.\"\n\nAt this the King laughed. Quoth he, \"Perhaps King Richard's welfare is\nmore to me than thou wottest of, fellow. But enough of that matter.\nWe have paid well for our fare, so canst thou not show us some merry\nentertainment? I have oft heard that ye are wondrous archers; wilt thou\nnot show us somewhat of your skill?\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said Robin, \"we are always pleased to show our\nguests all the sport that is to be seen. As Gaffer Swanthold sayeth,\n''Tis a hard heart that will not give a caged starling of the best'; and\ncaged starlings ye are with us. Ho, lads! Set up a garland at the end of\nthe glade.\"\n\nThen, as the yeomen ran to do their master's bidding, Tuck turned to\none of the mock friars. \"Hearest thou our master?\" quoth he, with a sly\nwink. \"Whenever he cometh across some poor piece of wit he straightway\nlayeth it on the shoulders of this Gaffer Swanthold--whoever he may\nbe--so that the poor goodman goeth traveling about with all the odds and\nends and tags and rags of our master's brain packed on his back.\" Thus\nspake Friar Tuck, but in a low voice so that Robin could not hear him,\nfor he felt somewhat nettled at Robin's cutting his talk so short.\n\nIn the meantime the mark at which they were to shoot was set up at\nsixscore paces distance. It was a garland of leaves and flowers two\nspans in width, which same was hung upon a stake in front of a broad\ntree trunk. \"There,\" quoth Robin, \"yon is a fair mark, lads. Each of you\nshoot three arrows thereat; and if any fellow misseth by so much as one\narrow, he shall have a buffet of Will Scarlet's fist.\"\n\n\"Hearken to him!\" quoth Friar Tuck. \"Why, master, thou dost bestow\nbuffets from thy strapping nephew as though they were love taps from\nsome bouncing lass. I warrant thou art safe to hit the garland thyself,\nor thou wouldst not be so free of his cuffing.\"\n\nFirst David of Doncaster shot, and lodged all three of his arrows within\nthe garland. \"Well done, David!\" cried Robin, \"thou hast saved thine\nears from a warming this day.\" Next Midge, the Miller, shot, and he,\nalso, lodged his arrows in the garland. Then followed Wat, the Tinker,\nbut alas for him! For one of his shafts missed the mark by the breadth\nof two fingers.\n\n\"Come hither, fellow,\" said Will Scarlet, in his soft, gentle voice,\n\"I owe thee somewhat that I would pay forthwith.\" Then Wat, the Tinker,\ncame forward and stood in front of Will Scarlet, screwing up his face\nand shutting his eyes tightly, as though he already felt his ears\nringing with the buffet. Will Scarlet rolled up his sleeve, and,\nstanding on tiptoe to give the greater swing to his arm, he struck with\nmight and main. \"WHOOF!\" came his palm against the Tinker's head, and\ndown went stout Wat to the grass, heels over head, as the wooden image\nat the fair goes down when the skillful player throws a cudgel at it.\nThen, as the Tinker sat up upon the grass, rubbing his ear and winking\nand blinking at the bright stars that danced before his eyes, the yeomen\nroared with mirth till the forest rang. As for King Richard, he laughed\ntill the tears ran down his cheeks. Thus the band shot, each in turn,\nsome getting off scot free, and some winning a buffet that always sent\nthem to the grass. And now, last of all, Robin took his place, and all\nwas hushed as he shot. The first shaft he shot split a piece from the\nstake on which the garland was hung; the second lodged within an inch of\nthe other. \"By my halidom,\" said King Richard to himself, \"I would give\na thousand pounds for this fellow to be one of my guard!\" And now,\nfor the third time Robin shot; but, alas for him! The arrow was\nill-feathered, and, wavering to one side, it smote an inch outside the\ngarland.\n\nAt this a great roar went up, those of the yeomen who sat upon the grass\nrolling over and over and shouting with laughter, for never before had\nthey seen their master so miss his mark; but Robin flung his bow upon\nthe ground with vexation. \"Now, out upon it!\" cried he. \"That shaft had\nan ill feather to it, for I felt it as it left my fingers. Give me a\nclean arrow, and I will engage to split the wand with it.\"\n\nAt these words the yeomen laughed louder than ever. \"Nay, good uncle,\"\nsaid Will Scarlet in his soft, sweet voice, \"thou hast had thy fair\nchance and hast missed thine aim out and out. I swear the arrow was\nas good as any that hath been loosed this day. Come hither; I owe thee\nsomewhat, and would fain pay it.\"\n\n\"Go, good master,\" roared Friar Tuck, \"and may my blessing go with thee.\nThou hast bestowed these love taps of Will Scarlet's with great freedom.\nIt were pity an thou gottest not thine own share.\"\n\n\"It may not be,\" said merry Robin. \"I am king here, and no subject may\nraise hand against the king. But even our great King Richard may yield\nto the holy Pope without shame, and even take a tap from him by way of\npenance; therefore I will yield myself to this holy friar, who seemeth\nto be one in authority, and will take my punishment from him.\" Thus\nsaying, he turned to the King, \"I prythee, brother, wilt thou take my\npunishing into thy holy hands?\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" quoth merry King Richard, rising from where he was\nsitting. \"I owe thee somewhat for having lifted a heavy weight of fifty\npounds from my purse. So make room for him on the green, lads.\"\n\n\"An thou makest me tumble,\" quoth Robin, \"I will freely give thee back\nthy fifty pounds; but I tell thee, brother, if thou makest me not feel\ngrass all along my back, I will take every farthing thou hast for thy\nboastful speech.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" said the King, \"I am willing to venture it.\" Thereupon he\nrolled up his sleeve and showed an arm that made the yeomen stare.\nBut Robin, with his feet wide apart, stood firmly planted, waiting the\nother, smiling. Then the King swung back his arm, and, balancing himself\na moment, he delivered a buffet at Robin that fell like a thunderbolt.\nDown went Robin headlong upon the grass, for the stroke would have\nfelled a stone wall. Then how the yeomen shouted with laughter till\ntheir sides ached, for never had they seen such a buffet given in all\ntheir lives. As for Robin, he presently sat up and looked all around\nhim, as though he had dropped from a cloud and had lit in a place he had\nnever seen before. After a while, still gazing about him at his laughing\nyeomen, he put his fingertips softly to his ear and felt all around\nit tenderly. \"Will Scarlet,\" said he, \"count this fellow out his fifty\npounds; I want nothing more either of his money or of him. A murrain\nseize him and his buffeting! I would that I had taken my dues from thee,\nfor I verily believe he hath deafened mine ear from ever hearing again.\"\n\nThen, while gusts of laughter still broke from the band, Will Scarlet\ncounted out the fifty pounds, and the King dropped it back into his\npurse again. \"I give thee thanks, fellow,\" said he, \"and if ever thou\nshouldst wish for another box of the ear to match the one thou hast,\ncome to me and I will fit thee with it for nought.\"\n\nSo spake the merry King; but, even as he ended, there came suddenly\nthe sound of many voices, and out from the covert burst Little John and\nthreescore men, with Sir Richard of the Lea in the midst. Across the\nglade they came running, and, as they came, Sir Richard shouted to\nRobin: \"Make haste, dear friend, gather thy band together and come with\nme! King Richard left Nottingham Town this very morning, and cometh to\nseek thee in the woodlands. I know not how he cometh, for it was but\na rumor of this that reached me; nevertheless, I know that it is the\ntruth. Therefore hasten with all thy men, and come to Castle Lea, for\nthere thou mayst lie hidden till thy present danger passeth. Who are\nthese strangers that thou hast with thee?\"\n\n\"Why,\" quoth merry Robin, rising from the grass, \"these are certain\ngentle guests that came with us from the highroad over by Newstead\nAbbey. I know not their names, but I have become right well acquaint\nwith this lusty rogue's palm this morning. Marry, the pleasure of this\nacquaintance hath dost me a deaf ear and fifty pounds to boot!\"\n\nSir Richard looked keenly at the tall friar, who, drawing himself up to\nhis full height, looked fixedly back at the knight. Then of a sudden Sir\nRichard's cheeks grew pale, for he knew who it was that he looked upon.\nQuickly he leaped from off his horse's back and flung himself upon his\nknees before the other. At this, the King, seeing that Sir Richard knew\nhim, threw back his cowl, and all the yeomen saw his face and knew him\nalso, for there was not one of them but had been in the crowd in the\ngood town of Nottingham, and had seen him riding side by side with the\nSheriff. Down they fell upon their knees, nor could they say a word.\nThen the King looked all around right grimly, and, last of all, his\nglance came back and rested again upon Sir Richard of the Lea.\n\n\"How is this, Sir Richard?\" said he sternly. \"How darest thou step\nbetween me and these fellows? And how darest thou offer thy knightly\nCastle of the Lea for a refuge to them? Wilt thou make it a hiding place\nfor the most renowned outlaws in England?\"\n\nThen Sir Richard of the Lea raised his eyes to the King's face. \"Far be\nit from me,\" said he, \"to do aught that could bring Your Majesty's anger\nupon me. Yet, sooner would I face Your Majesty's wrath than suffer aught\nof harm that I could stay to fall upon Robin Hood and his band; for to\nthem I owe life, honor, everything. Should I, then, desert him in his\nhour of need?\"\n\nEre the knight had done speaking, one of the mock friars that stood near\nthe King came forward and knelt beside Sir Richard, and throwing back\nhis cowl showed the face of young Sir Henry of the Lea. Then Sir Henry\ngrasped his father's hand and said, \"Here kneels one who hath served\nthee well, King Richard, and, as thou knowest, hath stepped between thee\nand death in Palestine; yet do I abide by my dear father, and here I say\nalso, that I would freely give shelter to this noble outlaw, Robin Hood,\neven though it brought thy wrath upon me, for my father's honor and my\nfather's welfare are as dear to me as mine own.\"\n\nKing Richard looked from one to the other of the kneeling knights,\nand at last the frown faded from his brow and a smile twitched at the\ncorners of his lips. \"Marry, Sir Richard,\" quoth the King, \"thou art\na bold-spoken knight, and thy freedom of speech weigheth not heavily\nagainst thee with me. This young son of thine taketh after his sire both\nin boldness of speech and of deed, for, as he sayeth, he stepped one\ntime betwixt me and death; wherefore I would pardon thee for his sake\neven if thou hadst done more than thou hast. Rise all of you, for ye\nshall suffer no harm through me this day, for it were pity that a merry\ntime should end in a manner as to mar its joyousness.\"\n\nThen all arose and the King beckoned Robin Hood to come to him. \"How\nnow,\" quoth he, \"is thine ear still too deaf to hear me speak?\"\n\n\"Mine ears would be deafened in death ere they would cease to hear Your\nMajesty's voice,\" said Robin. \"As for the blow that Your Majesty struck\nme, I would say that though my sins are haply many, methinks they have\nbeen paid up in full thereby.\"\n\n\"Thinkest thou so?\" said the King with somewhat of sternness in\nhis voice. \"Now I tell thee that but for three things, to wit, my\nmercifulness, my love for a stout woodsman, and the loyalty thou hast\navowed for me, thine ears, mayhap, might have been more tightly closed\nthan ever a buffet from me could have shut them. Talk not lightly of thy\nsins, good Robin. But come, look up. Thy danger is past, for hereby I\ngive thee and all thy band free pardon. But, in sooth, I cannot let you\nroam the forest as ye have done in the past; therefore I will take thee\nat thy word, when thou didst say thou wouldst give thy service to me,\nand thou shalt go back to London with me. We will take that bold\nknave Little John also, and likewise thy cousin, Will Scarlet, and thy\nminstrel, Allan a Dale. As for the rest of thy band, we will take their\nnames and have them duly recorded as royal rangers; for methinks it\nwere wiser to have them changed to law-abiding caretakers of our deer in\nSherwood than to leave them to run at large as outlawed slayers thereof.\nBut now get a feast ready; I would see how ye live in the woodlands.\"\n\nSo Robin bade his men make ready a grand feast. Straightway great\nfires were kindled and burned brightly, at which savory things roasted\nsweetly. While this was going forward, the King bade Robin call Allan\na Dale, for he would hear him sing. So word was passed for Allan, and\npresently he came, bringing his harp.\n\n\"Marry,\" said King Richard, \"if thy singing match thy looks it is\nfair enough. Prythee, strike up a ditty and let us have a taste of thy\nskill.\"\n\nThen Allan touched his harp lightly, and all words were hushed while he\nsang thus:\n\n     \"'_Oh, where has thou been, my daughter?\n     Oh, where hast thou been this day\n     Daughter, my daughter?'\n     'Oh, I have been to the river's side,\n     Where the waters lie all gray and wide,\n     And the gray sky broods o'er the leaden tide,\n     And the shrill wind sighs a straining.'\n\n     \"'What sawest thou there, my daughter?\n     What sawest thou there this day,\n     Daughter, my daughter?'\n     'Oh, I saw a boat come drifting nigh,\n     Where the quivering rushes hiss and sigh,\n     And the water soughs as it gurgles by,\n     And the shrill wind sighs a straining.'\n\n     \"'What sailed in the boat, my daughter?\n     What sailed in the boat this day,\n     Daughter, my daughter?'\n     'Oh, there was one all clad in white,\n     And about his face hung a pallid light,\n     And his eyes gleamed sharp like the stars at night,\n     And the shrill wind sighed a straining.'\n\n     \"'And what said he, my daughter?\n     What said he to thee this day,\n     Daughter, my daughter?'\n     'Oh, said he nought, but did he this:\n     Thrice on my lips did he press a kiss,\n     And my heartstrings shrunk with an awful bliss,\n     And the shrill wind sighed a straining.'\n\n     \"'Why growest thou so cold, my daughter?\n     Why growest thou so cold and white,\n     Daughter, my daughter?'\n     Oh, never a word the daughter said,\n     But she sat all straight with a drooping head,\n     For her heart was stilled and her face was dead:\n     And the shrill wind sighed a straining_.\"\n\nAll listened in silence; and when Allan a Dale had done King Richard\nheaved a sigh. \"By the breath of my body, Allan,\" quoth he, \"thou hast\nsuch a wondrous sweet voice that it strangely moves my heart. But what\ndoleful ditty is this for the lips of a stout yeoman? I would rather\nhear thee sing a song of love and battle than a sad thing like that.\nMoreover, I understand it not; what meanest thou by the words?\"\n\n\"I know not, Your Majesty,\" said Allan, shaking his head, \"for ofttimes\nI sing that which I do not clearly understand mine own self.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" quoth the King, \"let it pass; only I tell thee this,\nAllan, thou shouldst turn thy songs to such matters as I spoke of, to\nwit, love or war; for in sooth thou hast a sweeter voice than Blondell,\nand methought he was the best minstrel that ever I heard.\"\n\nBut now one came forward and said that the feast was ready; so Robin\nHood brought King Richard and those with him to where it lay all spread\nout on fair white linen cloths which lay upon the soft green grass. Then\nKing Richard sat him down and feasted and drank, and when he was done\nhe swore roundly that he had never sat at such a lusty repast in all his\nlife before.\n\nThat night he lay in Sherwood Forest upon a bed of sweet green\nleaves, and early the next morning he set forth from the woodlands for\nNottingham Town, Robin Hood and all of his band going with him. You\nmay guess what a stir there was in the good town when all these famous\noutlaws came marching into the streets. As for the Sheriff, he knew not\nwhat to say nor where to look when he saw Robin Hood in such high favor\nwith the King, while all his heart was filled with gall because of the\nvexation that lay upon him.\n\nThe next day the King took leave of Nottingham Town; so Robin Hood and\nLittle John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale shook hands with all the\nrest of the band, kissing the cheeks of each man, and swearing that they\nwould often come to Sherwood and see them. Then each mounted his horse\nand rode away in the train of the King.\n\n\n\n\nEpilogue\n\nTHUS END the Merry Adventures of Robin Hood; for, in spite of his\npromise, it was many a year ere he saw Sherwood again.\n\nAfter a year or two at court Little John came back to Nottinghamshire,\nwhere he lived in an orderly way, though within sight of Sherwood, and\nwhere he achieved great fame as the champion of all England with the\nquarterstaff. Will Scarlet after a time came back to his own home,\nwhence he had been driven by his unlucky killing of his father's\nsteward. The rest of the band did their duty as royal rangers right\nwell. But Robin Hood and Allan a Dale did not come again to Sherwood so\nquickly, for thus it was:\n\nRobin, through his great fame as an archer, became a favorite with\nthe King, so that he speedily rose in rank to be the chief of all the\nyeomen. At last the King, seeing how faithful and how loyal he was,\ncreated him Earl of Huntingdon; so Robin followed the King to the\nwars, and found his time so full that he had no chance to come back to\nSherwood for even so much as a day. As for Allan a Dale and his wife,\nthe fair Ellen, they followed Robin Hood and shared in all his ups and\ndowns of life.\n\nAnd now, dear friend, you who have journeyed with me in all these merry\ndoings, I will not bid you follow me further, but will drop your hand\nhere with a \"good den,\" if you wish it; for that which cometh hereafter\nspeaks of the breaking up of things, and shows how joys and pleasures\nthat are dead and gone can never be set upon their feet to walk again.\nI will not dwell upon the matter overlong, but will tell as speedily as\nmay be of how that stout fellow, Robin Hood, died as he had lived, not\nat court as Earl of Huntingdon, but with bow in hand, his heart in the\ngreenwood, and he himself a right yeoman.\n\nKing Richard died upon the battlefield, in such a way as properly became\na lion-hearted king, as you yourself, no doubt, know; so, after a\ntime, the Earl of Huntingdon--or Robin Hood, as we still call him as of\nold--finding nothing for his doing abroad, came back to merry England\nagain. With him came Allan a Dale and his wife, the fair Ellen, for\nthese two had been chief of Robin's household ever since he had left\nSherwood Forest.\n\nIt was in the springtime when they landed once more on the shores of\nEngland. The leaves were green and the small birds sang blithely, just\nas they used to do in fair Sherwood when Robin Hood roamed the woodland\nshades with a free heart and a light heel. All the sweetness of the time\nand the joyousness of everything brought back to Robin's mind his forest\nlife, so that a great longing came upon him to behold the woodlands once\nmore. So he went straightway to King John and besought leave of him to\nvisit Nottingham for a short season. The King gave him leave to come\nand to go, but bade him not stay longer than three days at Sherwood. So\nRobin Hood and Allan a Dale set forth without delay to Nottinghamshire\nand Sherwood Forest.\n\nThe first night they took up their inn at Nottingham Town, yet they did\nnot go to pay their duty to the Sheriff, for his worship bore many a\nbitter grudge against Robin Hood, which grudges had not been lessened\nby Robin's rise in the world. The next day at an early hour they mounted\ntheir horses and set forth for the woodlands. As they passed along the\nroad it seemed to Robin that he knew every stick and stone that his eyes\nlooked upon. Yonder was a path that he had ofttimes trod of a mellow\nevening, with Little John beside him; here was one, now nigh choked with\nbrambles, along which he and a little band had walked when they went\nforth to seek a certain curtal friar.\n\nThus they rode slowly onward, talking about these old, familiar things;\nold and yet new, for they found more in them than they had ever thought\nof before. Thus at last they came to the open glade, and the broad,\nwide-spreading greenwood tree which was their home for so many years.\nNeither of the two spoke when they stood beneath that tree. Robin looked\nall about him at the well-known things, so like what they used to be and\nyet so different; for, where once was the bustle of many busy fellows\nwas now the quietness of solitude; and, as he looked, the woodlands, the\ngreensward, and the sky all blurred together in his sight through salt\ntears, for such a great yearning came upon him as he looked on these\nthings (as well known to him as the fingers of his right hand) that he\ncould not keep back the water from his eyes.\n\nThat morning he had slung his good old bugle horn over his shoulder,\nand now, with the yearning, came a great longing to sound his bugle once\nmore. He raised it to his lips; he blew a blast. \"Tirila, lirila,\" the\nsweet, clear notes went winding down the forest paths, coming back again\nfrom the more distant bosky shades in faint echoes of sound, \"Tirila,\nlirila, tirila, lirila,\" until it faded away and was lost.\n\nNow it chanced that on that very morn Little John was walking through\na spur of the forest upon certain matters of business, and as he paced\nalong, sunk in meditation, the faint, clear notes of a distant bugle\nhorn came to his ear. As leaps the stag when it feels the arrow at its\nheart, so leaped Little John when that distant sound met his ear. All\nthe blood in his body seemed to rush like a flame into his cheeks as he\nbent his head and listened. Again came the bugle note, thin and clear,\nand yet again it sounded. Then Little John gave a great, wild cry of\nyearning, of joy, and yet of grief, and, putting down his head, he\ndashed into the thicket. Onward he plunged, crackling and rending, as\nthe wild boar rushes through the underbrush. Little recked he of thorns\nand briers that scratched his flesh and tore his clothing, for all\nhe thought of was to get, by the shortest way, to the greenwood glade\nwhence he knew the sound of the bugle horn came. Out he burst from the\ncovert, at last, a shower of little broken twigs falling about him, and,\nwithout pausing a moment, rushed forward and flung himself at Robin's\nfeet. Then he clasped his arms around the master's knees, and all his\nbody was shaken with great sobs; neither could Robin nor Allan a Dale\nspeak, but stood looking down at Little John, the tears rolling down\ntheir cheeks.\n\nWhile they thus stood, seven royal rangers rushed into the open glade\nand raised a great shout of joy at the sight of Robin; and at their\nhead was Will Stutely. Then, after a while, came four more, panting with\ntheir running, and two of these four were Will Scathelock and Midge, the\nMiller; for all of these had heard the sound of Robin Hood's horn. All\nthese ran to Robin and kissed his hands and his clothing, with great\nsound of weeping.\n\nAfter a while Robin looked around him with tear-dimmed eyes and said,\nin a husky voice, \"Now, I swear that never again will I leave these dear\nwoodlands. I have been away from them and from you too long. Now do I\nlay by the name of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, and take upon me once\nagain that nobler title, Robin Hood, the Yeoman.\" At this a great shout\nwent up, and all the yeomen shook one another's hands for joy.\n\nThe news that Robin Hood had come back again to dwell in Sherwood as\nof old spread like wildfire all over the countryside, so that ere a\nse'ennight had passed nearly all of his old yeomen had gathered about\nhim again. But when the news of all this reached the ears of King John,\nhe swore both loud and deep, and took a solemn vow that he would not\nrest until he had Robin Hood in his power, dead or alive. Now there\nwas present at court a certain knight, Sir William Dale, as gallant a\nsoldier as ever donned harness. Sir William Dale was well acquainted\nwith Sherwood Forest, for he was head keeper over that part of it that\nlay nigh to good Mansfield Town; so to him the King turned, and bade him\ntake an army of men and go straightway to seek Robin Hood. Likewise the\nKing gave Sir William his signet ring to show to the Sheriff, that he\nmight raise all his armed men to aid the others in their chase of Robin.\nSo Sir William and the Sheriff set forth to do the King's bidding and to\nsearch for Robin Hood; and for seven days they hunted up and down, yet\nfound him not.\n\nNow, had Robin Hood been as peaceful as of old, everything might have\nended in smoke, as other such ventures had always done before; but he\nhad fought for years under King Richard, and was changed from what he\nused to be. It galled his pride to thus flee away before those sent\nagainst him, as a chased fox flees from the hounds; so thus it came\nabout, at last, that Robin Hood and his yeomen met Sir William and the\nSheriff and their men in the forest, and a bloody fight followed. The\nfirst man slain in that fight was the Sheriff of Nottingham, for he fell\nfrom his horse with an arrow in his brain ere half a score of shafts had\nbeen sped. Many a better man than the Sheriff kissed the sod that day,\nbut at last, Sir William Dale being wounded and most of his men slain,\nhe withdrew, beaten, and left the forest. But scores of good fellows\nwere left behind him, stretched out all stiff beneath the sweet green\nboughs.\n\nBut though Robin Hood had beaten off his enemies in fair fight, all\nthis lay heavily upon his mind, so that he brooded over it until a fever\nseized upon him. For three days it held him, and though he strove to\nfight it off, he was forced to yield at last. Thus it came that, on the\nmorning of the fourth day, he called Little John to him, and told him\nthat he could not shake the fever from him, and that he would go to his\ncousin, the prioress of the nunnery near Kirklees, in Yorkshire, who was\na skillful leech, and he would have her open a vein in his arm and take\na little blood from him, for the bettering of his health. Then he bade\nLittle John make ready to go also, for he might perchance need aid in\nhis journeying. So Little John and he took their leave of the others,\nand Robin Hood bade Will Stutely be the captain of the band until they\nshould come back. Thus they came by easy stages and slow journeying\nuntil they reached the Nunnery of Kirklees.\n\nNow Robin had done much to aid this cousin of his; for it was through\nKing Richard's love of him that she had been made prioress of the place.\nBut there is nought in the world so easily forgot as gratitude; so,\nwhen the Prioress of Kirklees had heard how her cousin, the Earl of\nHuntingdon, had thrown away his earldom and gone back again to Sherwood,\nshe was vexed to the soul, and feared lest her cousinship with him\nshould bring the King's wrath upon her also. Thus it happened that when\nRobin came to her and told her how he wished her services as leech, she\nbegan plotting ill against him in her mind, thinking that by doing evil\nto him she might find favor with his enemies. Nevertheless, she kept\nthis well to herself and received Robin with seeming kindness. She led\nhim up the winding stone stair to a room which was just beneath the\neaves of a high, round tower; but she would not let Little John come\nwith him.\n\nSo the poor yeoman turned his feet away from the door of the nunnery,\nand left his master in the hands of the women. But, though he did not\ncome in, neither did he go far away; for he laid him down in a little\nglade near by, where he could watch the place that Robin abided, like\nsome great, faithful dog turned away from the door where his master has\nentered.\n\nAfter the women had gotten Robin Hood to the room beneath the eaves, the\nPrioress sent all of the others away; then, taking a little cord, she\ntied it tightly about Robin's arm, as though she were about to bleed\nhim. And so she did bleed him, but the vein she opened was not one of\nthose that lie close and blue beneath the skin; deeper she cut than\nthat, for she opened one of those veins through which the bright red\nblood runs leaping from the heart. Of this Robin knew not; for, though\nhe saw the blood flow, it did not come fast enough to make him think\nthat there was anything ill in it.\n\nHaving done this vile deed, the Prioress turned and left her cousin,\nlocking the door behind her. All that livelong day the blood ran from\nRobin Hood's arm, nor could he check it, though he strove in every way\nto do so. Again and again he called for help, but no help came, for his\ncousin had betrayed him, and Little John was too far away to hear his\nvoice. So he bled and bled until he felt his strength slipping away from\nhim. Then he arose, tottering, and bearing himself up by the palms of\nhis hands against the wall, he reached his bugle horn at last. Thrice\nhe sounded it, but weakly and faintly, for his breath was fluttering\nthrough sickness and loss of strength; nevertheless, Little John heard\nit where he lay in the glade, and, with a heart all sick with dread, he\ncame running and leaping toward the nunnery. Loudly he knocked at the\ndoor, and in a loud voice shouted for them to let him in, but the door\nwas of massive oak, strongly barred, and studded with spikes, so they\nfelt safe, and bade Little John begone.\n\nThen Little John's heart was mad with grief and fear for his master's\nlife. Wildly he looked about him, and his sight fell upon a heavy stone\nmortar, such as three men could not lift nowadays. Little John took\nthree steps forward, and, bending his back, heaved the stone mortar up\nfrom where it stood deeply rooted. Staggering under its weight, he came\nforward and hurled it crashing against the door. In burst the door, and\naway fled the frightened nuns, shrieking, at his coming. Then Little\nJohn strode in, and never a word said he, but up the winding stone steps\nhe ran till he reached the room wherein his master was. Here he found\nthe door locked also, but, putting his shoulder against it, he burst the\nlocks as though they were made of brittle ice.\n\nThere he saw his own dear master leaning against the gray stone wall,\nhis face all white and drawn, and his head swaying to and fro with\nweakness. Then, with a great, wild cry of love and grief and pity,\nLittle John leaped forward and caught Robin Hood in his arms. Up he\nlifted him as a mother lifts her child, and carrying him to the bed,\nlaid him tenderly thereon.\n\nAnd now the Prioress came in hastily, for she was frightened at what she\nhad done, and dreaded the vengeance of Little John and the others of the\nband; then she stanched the blood by cunning bandages, so that it flowed\nno more. All the while Little John stood grimly by, and after she had\ndone he sternly bade her to begone, and she obeyed, pale and trembling.\nThen, after she had departed, Little John spake cheering words, laughing\nloudly, and saying that all this was a child's fright, and that no stout\nyeoman would die at the loss of a few drops of blood. \"Why,\" quoth he,\n\"give thee a se'ennight and thou wilt be roaming the woodlands as boldly\nas ever.\"\n\nBut Robin shook his head and smiled faintly where he lay. \"Mine own dear\nLittle John,\" whispered he, \"Heaven bless thy kind, rough heart. But,\ndear friend, we will never roam the woodlands together again.\"\n\n\"Ay, but we will!\" quoth Little John loudly. \"I say again, ay--out upon\nit--who dares say that any more harm shall come upon thee? Am I not by?\nLet me see who dares touch--\" Here he stopped of a sudden, for his words\nchoked him. At last he said, in a deep, husky voice, \"Now, if aught of\nharm befalls thee because of this day's doings, I swear by Saint George\nthat the red cock shall crow over the rooftree of this house, for the\nhot flames shall lick every crack and cranny thereof. As for these\nwomen\"--here he ground his teeth--\"it will be an ill day for them!\"\n\nBut Robin Hood took Little John's rough, brown fist in his white hands,\nand chid him softly in his low, weak voice, asking him since what time\nLittle John had thought of doing harm to women, even in vengeance. Thus\nhe talked till, at last, the other promised, in a choking voice, that no\nill should fall upon the place, no matter what happened. Then a silence\nfell, and Little John sat with Robin Hood's hand in his, gazing out of\nthe open window, ever and anon swallowing a great lump that came in his\nthroat. Meantime the sun dropped slowly to the west, till all the sky\nwas ablaze with a red glory. Then Robin Hood, in a weak, faltering\nvoice, bade Little John raise him that he might look out once more upon\nthe woodlands; so the yeoman lifted him in his arms, as he bade, and\nRobin Hood's head lay on his friend's shoulder. Long he gazed, with a\nwide, lingering look, while the other sat with bowed head, the hot tears\nrolling one after another from his eyes, and dripping upon his bosom,\nfor he felt that the time of parting was near at hand. Then, presently,\nRobin Hood bade him string his stout bow for him, and choose a smooth\nfair arrow from his quiver. This Little John did, though without\ndisturbing his master or rising from where he sat. Robin Hood's fingers\nwrapped lovingly around his good bow, and he smiled faintly when he felt\nit in his grasp, then he nocked the arrow on that part of the string\nthat the tips of his fingers knew so well. \"Little John,\" said he,\n\"Little John, mine own dear friend, and him I love better than all\nothers in the world, mark, I prythee, where this arrow lodges, and there\nlet my grave be digged. Lay me with my face toward the East, Little\nJohn, and see that my resting place be kept green, and that my weary\nbones be not disturbed.\"\n\nAs he finished speaking, he raised himself of a sudden and sat upright.\nHis old strength seemed to come back to him, and, drawing the bowstring\nto his ear, he sped the arrow out of the open casement. As the shaft\nflew, his hand sank slowly with the bow till it lay across his knees,\nand his body likewise sank back again into Little John's loving arms;\nbut something had sped from that body, even as the winged arrow sped\nfrom the bow.\n\nFor some minutes Little John sat motionless, but presently he laid that\nwhich he held gently down, then, folding the hands upon the breast and\ncovering up the face, he turned upon his heel and left the room without\na word or a sound.\n\nUpon the steep stairway he met the Prioress and some of the chief among\nthe sisters. To them he spoke in a deep, quivering voice, and said he,\n\"An ye go within a score of feet of yonder room, I will tear down\nyour rookery over your heads so that not one stone shall be left upon\nanother. Bear my words well in mind, for I mean them.\" So saying, he\nturned and left them, and they presently saw him running rapidly across\nthe open, through the falling of the dusk, until he was swallowed up by\nthe forest.\n\nThe early gray of the coming morn was just beginning to lighten the\nblack sky toward the eastward when Little John and six more of the band\ncame rapidly across the open toward the nunnery. They saw no one, for\nthe sisters were all hidden away from sight, having been frightened by\nLittle John's words. Up the stone stair they ran, and a great sound of\nweeping was presently heard. After a while this ceased, and then came\nthe scuffling and shuffling of men's feet as they carried a heavy weight\ndown the steep and winding stairs. So they went forth from the nunnery,\nand, as they passed through the doors thereof, a great, loud sound of\nwailing arose from the glade that lay all dark in the dawning, as though\nmany men, hidden in the shadows, had lifted up their voices in sorrow.\n\nThus died Robin Hood, at Kirklees Nunnery, in fair Yorkshire, with mercy\nin his heart toward those that had been his undoing; for thus he showed\nmercy for the erring and pity for the weak through all the time of his\nliving.\n\nHis yeomen were scattered henceforth, but no great ill befell them\nthereafter, for a more merciful sheriff and one who knew them not so\nwell succeeding the one that had gone, and they being separated here and\nthere throughout the countryside, they abided in peace and quietness,\nso that many lived to hand down these tales to their children and their\nchildren's children.\n\nA certain one sayeth that upon a stone at Kirklees is an old\ninscription. This I give in the ancient English in which it was written,\nand thus it runs:\n\nHEAR UNDERNEAD DIS LAITL STEAN LAIS ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTUN NEA ARCIR\nVER AS HIE SAE GEUD AN PIPL KAULD IM ROBIN HEUD SICK UTLAWS AS HI AN IS\nMEN VIL ENGLAND NIDIR SI AGEN OBIIT 24 KAL. DEKEMBRIS 1247.\n\n\nAnd now, dear friend, we also must part, for our merry journeyings have\nended, and here, at the grave of Robin Hood, we turn, each going his own\nway.","title":"The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":111082}