This is a modern-English version of The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, originally written by Pyle, Howard. It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF

ROBIN HOOD

by Howard Pyle

 

 

 

 



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PREFACE

FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER

FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER

You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you. Clap to the leaves and go no farther than this, for I tell you plainly that if you go farther you will be scandalized by seeing good, sober folks of real history so frisk and caper in gay colors and motley that you would not know them but for the names tagged to them. Here is a stout, lusty fellow with a quick temper, yet none so ill for all that, who goes by the name of Henry II. Here is a fair, gentle lady before whom all the others bow and call her Queen Eleanor. Here is a fat rogue of a fellow, dressed up in rich robes of a clerical kind, that all the good folk call my Lord Bishop of Hereford. Here is a certain fellow with a sour temper and a grim look—the worshipful, the Sheriff of Nottingham. And here, above all, is a great, tall, merry fellow that roams the greenwood and joins in homely sports, and sits beside the Sheriff at merry feast, which same beareth the name of the proudest of the Plantagenets—Richard of the Lion's Heart. Beside these are a whole host of knights, priests, nobles, burghers, yeomen, pages, ladies, lasses, landlords, beggars, peddlers, and what not, all living the merriest of merry lives, and all bound by nothing but a few odd strands of certain old ballads (snipped and clipped and tied together again in a score of knots) which draw these jocund fellows here and there, singing as they go.

If you’re someone who gets so caught up in serious matters that you feel it’s shameful to let yourself experience a little joy and laughter in a place of imagination; if you believe that life has nothing to do with innocent laughter that doesn’t hurt anyone, then these pages aren't meant for you. Close this book and don't read any further, because I’m telling you straight that if you continue, you'll be shocked to see real historical figures acting in playful, colorful ways that you wouldn't recognize them without the labels attached. Here’s a sturdy, lively guy with a quick temper, who isn’t so bad after all, named Henry II. Here’s a lovely, gentle lady who everyone respects and calls Queen Eleanor. There’s a hefty rogue dressed in lavish clerical robes whom all the good people refer to as my Lord Bishop of Hereford. And here’s a certain grumpy fellow with a stern expression—the honorable Sheriff of Nottingham. Above all, there’s a tall, cheerful guy who wanders through the woods, participates in simple pastimes, and joins the Sheriff at festive gatherings, known as Richard the Lionheart, the proudest of the Plantagenets. Alongside these characters is a whole crowd of knights, priests, nobles, townsfolk, commoners, young pages, ladies, girls, landlords, beggars, peddlers, and more, all living their happiest lives, connected only by a few odd threads of old ballads (cut, rejoined, and tied together in various ways) that lead these joyful people around, singing as they go.

Here you will find a hundred dull, sober, jogging places, all tricked out with flowers and what not, till no one would know them in their fanciful dress. And here is a country bearing a well-known name, wherein no chill mists press upon our spirits, and no rain falls but what rolls off our backs like April showers off the backs of sleek drakes; where flowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where every fellow hath a merry catch as he travels the roads, and ale and beer and wine (such as muddle no wits) flow like water in a brook.

Here you’ll find a hundred boring, straight-laced jogging spots, all decked out with flowers and everything else, so that no one would recognize them in their fancy outfits. And here's a country with a well-known name, where no cold fog hangs over our spirits, and no rain falls that doesn’t just roll off our backs like April showers off the backs of sleek ducks; where flowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where everyone has a cheerful song as they travel the roads, and beer, ale, and wine (that won't cloud your mind) flow like water in a stream.

This country is not Fairyland. What is it? 'Tis the land of Fancy, and is of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of it—whisk!—you clap the leaves of this book together and 'tis gone, and you are ready for everyday life, with no harm done.

This country isn’t Fairyland. What is it? It’s the land of Fancy, and it’s the kind that, when you’re done with it—poof!—you just close this book and it’s gone, and you’re ready for everyday life, no harm done.

And now I lift the curtain that hangs between here and No-man's-land. Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.

And now I pull back the curtain that separates us from No-man's-land. Will you join me, dear Reader? Thank you. Take my hand.



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Contents


 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

Giving an account of Robin Hood and his adventure with the King's Foresters. Also telling how his band gathered around him, and of the merry adventure that gained him his good right hand man, the famous Little John.

Describing Robin Hood and his encounters with the King's Foresters. Also detailing how his crew came together and the fun adventure that earned him his loyal right-hand man, the famous Little John.



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How Robin Hood Came to Be an Outlaw

IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No archer ever lived that could speed a gray goose shaft with such skill and cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore merry men that roamed with him through the greenwood shades. Right merrily they dwelled within the depths of Sherwood Forest, suffering neither care nor want, but passing the time in merry games of archery or bouts of cudgel play, living upon the King's venison, washed down with draughts of ale of October brewing.

IN MERRY ENGLAND in the old days, when good King Henry the Second ruled the land, there lived in the green glades of Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham, a famous outlaw named Robin Hood. No archer ever lived who could shoot an arrow with such skill and cleverness as he could, nor were there ever such brave men as the seventy merry men who roamed with him through the forest. They lived happily in the depths of Sherwood Forest, free from worries or wants, spending their time in fun games of archery or contests of cudgel play, living off the King's deer and washing it down with pints of ale brewed in October.

Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws and dwelled apart from other men, yet they were beloved by the country people round about, for no one ever came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went away again with an empty fist.

Not just Robin himself but the entire gang were outlaws and lived separately from everyone else. Still, they were loved by the local folks because no one ever came to cheerful Robin for help in their time of need and left without anything.

And now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood fell afoul of the law.

And now I will explain how it happened that Robin Hood got into trouble with the law.

When Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew and bold of heart, the Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed a shooting match and offered a prize of a butt of ale to whosoever should shoot the best shaft in Nottinghamshire. "Now," quoth Robin, "will I go too, for fain would I draw a string for the bright eyes of my lass and a butt of good October brewing." So up he got and took his good stout yew bow and a score or more of broad clothyard arrows, and started off from Locksley Town through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham.

When Robin was eighteen, strong and brave, the Sheriff of Nottingham announced a shooting contest and offered a prize of a barrel of ale to whoever shot the best arrow in Nottinghamshire. "Now," said Robin, "I’m going too, because I’d love to impress the bright eyes of my girl and win that barrel of good October beer.” So he grabbed his sturdy yew bow and a dozen broad clothyard arrows and set off from Locksley Town through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham.

It was at the dawn of day in the merry Maytime, when hedgerows are green and flowers bedeck the meadows; daisies pied and yellow cuckoo buds and fair primroses all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom and sweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the throstle cock and cuckoo; when lads and lasses look upon each other with sweet thoughts; when busy housewives spread their linen to bleach upon the bright green grass. Sweet was the greenwood as he walked along its paths, and bright the green and rustling leaves, amid which the little birds sang with might and main: and blithely Robin whistled as he trudged along, thinking of Maid Marian and her bright eyes, for at such times a youth's thoughts are wont to turn pleasantly upon the lass that he loves the best.

It was early in the morning during cheerful May, when the hedgerows were lush and flowers decorated the meadows; white daisies and yellow buttercups, alongside pretty primroses all along the thorny hedges; when apple buds were blooming and sweet birds were singing, the lark at dawn, the thrush and the cuckoo; when young men and women gazed at each other with hopeful thoughts; when busy homemakers laid out their linens to bleach on the bright green grass. The forest was lovely as he walked along its paths, and the green and rustling leaves were vibrant, where the little birds sang energetically: and happily, Robin whistled as he walked, thinking of Maid Marian and her bright eyes, for during such times, a young man's thoughts often pleasantly drift to the girl he loves the most.

As thus he walked along with a brisk step and a merry whistle, he came suddenly upon some foresters seated beneath a great oak tree. Fifteen there were in all, making themselves merry with feasting and drinking as they sat around a huge pasty, to which each man helped himself, thrusting his hands into the pie, and washing down that which they ate with great horns of ale which they drew all foaming from a barrel that stood nigh. Each man was clad in Lincoln green, and a fine show they made, seated upon the sward beneath that fair, spreading tree. Then one of them, with his mouth full, called out to Robin, "Hulloa, where goest thou, little lad, with thy one-penny bow and thy farthing shafts?"

As he walked along with a quick step and a cheerful whistle, he suddenly came across some foresters sitting under a large oak tree. There were fifteen of them in total, enjoying themselves with food and drinks as they gathered around a giant pie, digging in with their hands, and washing down their meal with big horns of ale that they poured straight from a nearby barrel. Each man was dressed in Lincoln green, and they looked quite impressive sitting on the grass under that beautiful, sprawling tree. Then one of them, with his mouth full, called out to Robin, "Hey, where are you off to, little guy, with your cheap bow and your penny arrows?"

Then Robin grew angry, for no stripling likes to be taunted with his green years.

Then Robin got angry, because no young person likes to be mocked for being inexperienced.

"Now," quoth he, "my bow and eke mine arrows are as good as shine; and moreover, I go to the shooting match at Nottingham Town, which same has been proclaimed by our good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire; there I will shoot with other stout yeomen, for a prize has been offered of a fine butt of ale."

"Now," he said, "my bow and arrows are as good as new; and besides, I'm going to the shooting match in Nottingham, which has been announced by our good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire. There, I will compete with other strong archers, as a prize of a great barrel of ale has been offered."

Then one who held a horn of ale in his hand said, "Ho! listen to the lad! Why, boy, thy mother's milk is yet scarce dry upon thy lips, and yet thou pratest of standing up with good stout men at Nottingham butts, thou who art scarce able to draw one string of a two-stone bow."

Then someone holding a mug of ale said, "Hey! Listen to the kid! Wow, boy, your mother’s milk is barely off your lips, and you’re talking about standing up with strong men at the Nottingham archery range, you who can hardly pull back a string on a two-stone bow."

"I'll hold the best of you twenty marks," quoth bold Robin, "that I hit the clout at threescore rods, by the good help of Our Lady fair."

"I’ll bet twenty marks that I can hit the target at sixty yards, with a little help from Our Lady." said bold Robin.

At this all laughed aloud, and one said, "Well boasted, thou fair infant, well boasted! And well thou knowest that no target is nigh to make good thy wager."

At this, everyone laughed loudly, and one said, "Well said, you pretty little one, well said! And you know very well that there's no target nearby to back up your claim."

And another cried, "He will be taking ale with his milk next."

And another shouted, "Next, he'll be mixing beer with his milk."

At this Robin grew right mad. "Hark ye," said he, "yonder, at the glade's end, I see a herd of deer, even more than threescore rods distant. I'll hold you twenty marks that, by leave of Our Lady, I cause the best hart among them to die."

At this, Robin got really angry. "Listen," he said, "over there, at the end of the glade, I see a herd of deer, farther than sixty yards away. I bet you twenty marks that, with Our Lady's permission, I can take down the best stag among them."

"Now done!" cried he who had spoken first. "And here are twenty marks. I wager that thou causest no beast to die, with or without the aid of Our Lady."

"All done!" shouted the first speaker. "And here are twenty marks. I bet you won't cause any animal to die, with or without the help of Our Lady."

Then Robin took his good yew bow in his hand, and placing the tip at his instep, he strung it right deftly; then he nocked a broad clothyard arrow and, raising the bow, drew the gray goose feather to his ear; the next moment the bowstring rang and the arrow sped down the glade as a sparrowhawk skims in a northern wind. High leaped the noblest hart of all the herd, only to fall dead, reddening the green path with his heart's blood.

Then Robin picked up his trusty yew bow and, placing the tip at his foot, strung it skillfully. He nocked a broad clothyard arrow and, raising the bow, drew the gray goose feather back to his ear. In the next moment, the bowstring twanged and the arrow shot down the glade like a sparrowhawk gliding in a northern wind. The finest stag of the herd leaped high, only to fall dead, staining the green path with its blood.

"Ha!" cried Robin, "how likest thou that shot, good fellow? I wot the wager were mine, an it were three hundred pounds."

"Ha!" yelled Robin, "how do you like that shot, my good man? I bet the wager would be mine if it were three hundred pounds."

Then all the foresters were filled with rage, and he who had spoken the first and had lost the wager was more angry than all.

Then all the foresters were filled with anger, and the one who had spoken first and lost the bet was the angriest of them all.

"Nay," cried he, "the wager is none of thine, and get thee gone, straightway, or, by all the saints of heaven, I'll baste thy sides until thou wilt ne'er be able to walk again." "Knowest thou not," said another, "that thou hast killed the King's deer, and, by the laws of our gracious lord and sovereign King Harry, thine ears should be shaven close to thy head?"

"Nah," he shouted, "the bet isn't yours, so get out of here right now, or, I swear by all the saints in heaven, I'll beat you so badly you won't be able to walk again." "Don't you know," said another, "that you've killed the King's deer, and according to the laws of our gracious lord and sovereign King Harry, they should shave your ears close to your head?"

"Catch him!" cried a third.

"Get him!" cried a third.

"Nay," said a fourth, "let him e'en go because of his tender years."

"No," said a fourth, "just let him go because of his young age."

Never a word said Robin Hood, but he looked at the foresters with a grim face; then, turning on his heel, strode away from them down the forest glade. But his heart was bitterly angry, for his blood was hot and youthful and prone to boil.

Robin Hood didn’t say a word, but he glared at the foresters with a serious expression; then, turning on his heel, he walked away from them down the forest path. But inside, he was seething with anger, as his blood was hot and youthful and easily stirred.

Now, well would it have been for him who had first spoken had he left Robin Hood alone; but his anger was hot, both because the youth had gotten the better of him and because of the deep draughts of ale that he had been quaffing. So, of a sudden, without any warning, he sprang to his feet, and seized upon his bow and fitted it to a shaft. "Ay," cried he, "and I'll hurry thee anon." And he sent the arrow whistling after Robin.

Now, it would have been better for the guy who spoke first if he had left Robin Hood alone; but he was really angry, both because the young man had outsmarted him and because of the strong beers he had been drinking. So, suddenly, without any warning, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his bow, and fitted an arrow. "Yeah," he shouted, "and I'll be after you soon." Then he shot the arrow flying after Robin.

It was well for Robin Hood that that same forester's head was spinning with ale, or else he would never have taken another step. As it was, the arrow whistled within three inches of his head. Then he turned around and quickly drew his own bow, and sent an arrow back in return.

It was lucky for Robin Hood that the forester had a head full of ale, or he would have never moved again. As it turned out, an arrow whizzed by, just three inches from his head. He quickly turned around, drew his bow, and fired an arrow back in response.

"Ye said I was no archer," cried he aloud, "but say so now again!"

"You said I wasn't an archer," he shouted, "but say that again!"

The shaft flew straight; the archer fell forward with a cry, and lay on his face upon the ground, his arrows rattling about him from out of his quiver, the gray goose shaft wet with his; heart's blood. Then, before the others could gather their wits about them, Robin Hood was gone into the depths of the greenwood. Some started after him, but not with much heart, for each feared to suffer the death of his fellow; so presently they all came and lifted the dead man up and bore him away to Nottingham Town.

The arrow flew straight; the archer fell forward with a cry and lay face down on the ground, his arrows clattering around him from his quiver, the gray goose feather soaked in his blood. Then, before the others could collect themselves, Robin Hood disappeared into the depths of the forest. Some tried to chase after him, but not with much determination, as each feared they might meet the same fate as their friend; so eventually, they all came together, lifted the dead man, and carried him away to Nottingham Town.

Meanwhile Robin Hood ran through the greenwood. Gone was all the joy and brightness from everything, for his heart was sick within him, and it was borne in upon his soul that he had slain a man.

Meanwhile, Robin Hood ran through the forest. All the joy and brightness had vanished, for his heart was heavy, and he felt deep inside that he had killed a man.



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"Alas!" cried he, "thou hast found me an archer that will make thy wife to wring! I would that thou hadst ne'er said one word to me, or that I had never passed thy way, or e'en that my right forefinger had been stricken off ere that this had happened! In haste I smote, but grieve I sore at leisure!" And then, even in his trouble, he remembered the old saw that "What is done is done; and the egg cracked cannot be cured."

"Alas!" he cried, "you've found me an archer who will make your wife suffer! I wish you had never said a word to me, or that I had never crossed your path, or even that my right forefinger had been chopped off before this happened! I acted in haste, but I deeply regret it now!" And then, even in his distress, he remembered the old saying, "What is done is done; and a broken egg can't be fixed."

And so he came to dwell in the greenwood that was to be his home for many a year to come, never again to see the happy days with the lads and lasses of sweet Locksley Town; for he was outlawed, not only because he had killed a man, but also because he had poached upon the King's deer, and two hundred pounds were set upon his head, as a reward for whoever would bring him to the court of the King.

And so he settled in the forest that would be his home for many years to come, never to experience the joyful days with the boys and girls of lovely Locksley Town again; for he was an outlaw, not only because he had killed a man but also because he had hunted the King's deer, and a reward of two hundred pounds was offered for anyone who would bring him to the King's court.

Now the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would bring this knave Robin Hood to justice, and for two reasons: first, because he wanted the two hundred pounds, and next, because the forester that Robin Hood had killed was of kin to him.

Now the Sheriff of Nottingham vowed that he would personally bring this crook Robin Hood to justice for two reasons: first, because he wanted the two hundred pounds, and second, because the forester that Robin Hood had killed was related to him.

But Robin Hood lay hidden in Sherwood Forest for one year, and in that time there gathered around him many others like himself, cast out from other folk for this cause and for that. Some had shot deer in hungry wintertime, when they could get no other food, and had been seen in the act by the foresters, but had escaped, thus saving their ears; some had been turned out of their inheritance, that their farms might be added to the King's lands in Sherwood Forest; some had been despoiled by a great baron or a rich abbot or a powerful esquire—all, for one cause or another, had come to Sherwood to escape wrong and oppression.

But Robin Hood stayed hidden in Sherwood Forest for a year, and during that time, many others like him gathered around, cast out by others for various reasons. Some had hunted deer during a hungry winter when they couldn't find any other food and had been caught in the act by the foresters, but had escaped, thus avoiding punishment; some had lost their inheritance so their farms could be added to the King's lands in Sherwood Forest; some had been robbed by a wealthy baron, a rich abbot, or a powerful squire—all had come to Sherwood to flee from injustice and oppression.

So, in all that year, fivescore or more good stout yeomen gathered about Robin Hood, and chose him to be their leader and chief. Then they vowed that even as they themselves had been despoiled they would despoil their oppressors, whether baron, abbot, knight, or squire, and that from each they would take that which had been wrung from the poor by unjust taxes, or land rents, or in wrongful fines. But to the poor folk they would give a helping hand in need and trouble, and would return to them that which had been unjustly taken from them. Besides this, they swore never to harm a child nor to wrong a woman, be she maid, wife, or widow; so that, after a while, when the people began to find that no harm was meant to them, but that money or food came in time of want to many a poor family, they came to praise Robin and his merry men, and to tell many tales of him and of his doings in Sherwood Forest, for they felt him to be one of themselves.

So, throughout that year, over a hundred good, strong men gathered around Robin Hood and chose him as their leader. They vowed that just as they had been wronged, they would take from their oppressors, whether they were lords, religious leaders, knights, or squires, and that they would reclaim what had been unjustly taken from the poor through unfair taxes, rent, or fines. But they promised to help those in need and give back what had been taken from them. Additionally, they swore never to harm a child or mistreat a woman, whether she was single, married, or a widow. Eventually, when people realized that no harm was intended and that money or food was provided to many struggling families, they began to praise Robin and his merry men, sharing stories of him and his adventures in Sherwood Forest, seeing him as one of their own.

Up rose Robin Hood one merry morn when all the birds were singing blithely among the leaves, and up rose all his merry men, each fellow washing his head and hands in the cold brown brook that leaped laughing from stone to stone. Then said Robin, "For fourteen days have we seen no sport, so now I will go abroad to seek adventures forthwith. But tarry ye, my merry men all, here in the greenwood; only see that ye mind well my call. Three blasts upon the bugle horn I will blow in my hour of need; then come quickly, for I shall want your aid."

Up got Robin Hood one cheerful morning while all the birds were singing happily among the leaves, and up got all his merry men, each guy washing his head and hands in the cold brown stream that leaped joyfully from rock to rock. Then Robin said, "For fourteen days we haven't had any fun, so now I'm going to go out and look for adventures right away. But wait here, my merry men, in the greenwood; just make sure you pay attention to my call. I’ll blow three blasts on the bugle horn when I need you; then come quickly, because I’ll need your help."

So saying, he strode away through the leafy forest glades until he had come to the verge of Sherwood. There he wandered for a long time, through highway and byway, through dingly dell and forest skirts. Now he met a fair buxom lass in a shady lane, and each gave the other a merry word and passed their way; now he saw a fair lady upon an ambling pad, to whom he doffed his cap, and who bowed sedately in return to the fair youth; now he saw a fat monk on a pannier-laden ass; now a gallant knight, with spear and shield and armor that flashed brightly in the sunlight; now a page clad in crimson; and now a stout burgher from good Nottingham Town, pacing along with serious footsteps; all these sights he saw, but adventure found he none. At last he took a road by the forest skirts, a bypath that dipped toward a broad, pebbly stream spanned by a narrow bridge made of a log of wood. As he drew nigh this bridge he saw a tall stranger coming from the other side. Thereupon Robin quickened his pace, as did the stranger likewise, each thinking to cross first.

So saying, he walked away through the leafy forest paths until he reached the edge of Sherwood. There, he wandered for a long time, along main roads and side paths, through wooded hollows and along the edges of the forest. He encountered a pretty, cheerful girl in a shaded lane, and they exchanged friendly words before continuing on their way; then he saw a lovely lady on a gentle horse, to whom he tipped his cap, and she gracefully bowed in response to the handsome youth; next, he spotted a plump monk on a heavily loaded donkey; then a dashing knight, armed with a spear and shield, his armor shining brightly in the sunlight; next was a page dressed in red; and finally, a sturdy townsman from good Nottingham, walking along with serious steps; he saw all these sights, but found no adventure. Eventually, he took a path along the forest's edge, a side trail that sloped down toward a wide, stony stream crossed by a narrow log bridge. As he approached the bridge, he noticed a tall stranger coming from the other side. Robin quickened his pace, and the stranger did the same, each hoping to cross first.

"Now stand thou back," quoth Robin, "and let the better man cross first."

"Now step back," said Robin, "and let the better man go first."

"Nay," answered the stranger, "then stand back shine own self, for the better man, I wet, am I."

"Not at all," replied the stranger, "so step aside for yourself, because I know I am the better man."

"That will we presently see," quoth Robin, "and meanwhile stand thou where thou art, or else, by the bright brow of Saint AElfrida, I will show thee right good Nottingham play with a clothyard shaft betwixt thy ribs."

"That we'll see soon enough," said Robin, "and in the meantime, stay right where you are, or else, by the bright brow of Saint AElfrida, I'll show you a really good Nottingham trick with an arrow between your ribs."

"Now," quoth the stranger, "I will tan thy hide till it be as many colors as a beggar's cloak, if thou darest so much as touch a string of that same bow that thou holdest in thy hands."

"Now," said the stranger, "I will beat you until you're as colorful as a beggar's cloak if you even think about touching a string on that bow you have in your hands."

"Thou pratest like an ass," said Robin, "for I could send this shaft clean through thy proud heart before a curtal friar could say grace over a roast goose at Michaelmastide."

"You talk like a fool," said Robin, "because I could shoot this arrow straight through your arrogant heart before a monk could say a blessing over a roast goose at Michaelmas."

"And thou pratest like a coward," answered the stranger, "for thou standest there with a good yew bow to shoot at my heart, while I have nought in my hand but a plain blackthorn staff wherewith to meet thee."

"And you talk like a coward," replied the stranger, "because you stand there with a good yew bow aimed at my heart, while all I have in my hand is a simple blackthorn staff to face you."

"Now," quoth Robin, "by the faith of my heart, never have I had a coward's name in all my life before. I will lay by my trusty bow and eke my arrows, and if thou darest abide my coming, I will go and cut a cudgel to test thy manhood withal."

"Now," said Robin, "I swear, I've never been called a coward in my life. I’ll put away my trusty bow and arrows, and if you're brave enough to wait for me, I’ll go get a stick to test your courage."

"Ay, marry, that will I abide thy coming, and joyously, too," quoth the stranger; whereupon he leaned sturdily upon his staff to await Robin.

"Yes, of course, I'll wait for you to arrive, and I'll be happy to do so," said the stranger, as he leaned firmly on his staff to wait for Robin.

Then Robin Hood stepped quickly to the coverside and cut a good staff of ground oak, straight, without new, and six feet in length, and came back trimming away the tender stems from it, while the stranger waited for him, leaning upon his staff, and whistling as he gazed round about. Robin observed him furtively as he trimmed his staff, measuring him from top to toe from out the corner of his eye, and thought that he had never seen a lustier or a stouter man. Tall was Robin, but taller was the stranger by a head and a neck, for he was seven feet in height. Broad was Robin across the shoulders, but broader was the stranger by twice the breadth of a palm, while he measured at least an ell around the waist.

Then Robin Hood quickly moved to the edge of the covers and cut a sturdy staff made of ground oak, straight, knot-free, and six feet long. He returned, trimming away the soft stems as he went, while the stranger patiently leaned on his staff, whistling and looking around. Robin watched him covertly as he worked on his staff, sizing him up from head to toe out of the corner of his eye, and thought he had never seen a stronger or burlier man. Robin was tall, but the stranger was taller by a head and neck, standing at seven feet. Robin had broad shoulders, but the stranger was even broader by the width of two palms, with a waist that measured at least an ell around.

"Nevertheless," said Robin to himself, "I will baste thy hide right merrily, my good fellow"; then, aloud, "Lo, here is my good staff, lusty and tough. Now wait my coming, an thou darest, and meet me an thou fearest not. Then we will fight until one or the other of us tumble into the stream by dint of blows."

"Still," Robin said to himself, "I will give you a good beating, my friend"; then, speaking out loud, "Look, here’s my sturdy staff, strong and tough. Now wait for me if you dare, and face me if you aren’t scared. Then we’ll fight until one of us falls into the stream from a good hit."

"Marry, that meeteth my whole heart!" cried the stranger, twirling his staff above his head, betwixt his fingers and thumb, until it whistled again.

"Wow, that completely fills my heart!" shouted the stranger, spinning his staff above his head, between his fingers and thumb, until it whistled again.

Never did the Knights of Arthur's Round Table meet in a stouter fight than did these two. In a moment Robin stepped quickly upon the bridge where the stranger stood; first he made a feint, and then delivered a blow at the stranger's head that, had it met its mark, would have tumbled him speedily into the water. But the stranger turned the blow right deftly and in return gave one as stout, which Robin also turned as the stranger had done. So they stood, each in his place, neither moving a finger's-breadth back, for one good hour, and many blows were given and received by each in that time, till here and there were sore bones and bumps, yet neither thought of crying "Enough," nor seemed likely to fall from off the bridge. Now and then they stopped to rest, and each thought that he never had seen in all his life before such a hand at quarterstaff. At last Robin gave the stranger a blow upon the ribs that made his jacket smoke like a damp straw thatch in the sun. So shrewd was the stroke that the stranger came within a hair's-breadth of falling off the bridge, but he regained himself right quickly and, by a dexterous blow, gave Robin a crack on the crown that caused the blood to flow. Then Robin grew mad with anger and smote with all his might at the other. But the stranger warded the blow and once again thwacked Robin, and this time so fairly that he fell heels over head into the water, as the queen pin falls in a game of bowls.

Never had the Knights of Arthur's Round Table faced a fiercer fight than these two did. In an instant, Robin stepped onto the bridge where the stranger was standing; first, he feigned an attack, then swung for the stranger's head with a blow that, if it had landed, would have sent him tumbling into the water. But the stranger skillfully deflected the attack and countered with an equally strong strike, which Robin also managed to evade. They stood their ground, not moving an inch for a full hour, trading blows back and forth, both sustaining sore spots and bruises, yet neither thought to call it quits or seemed likely to fall from the bridge. They occasionally paused to catch their breath, each thinking they had never witnessed such skill with a quarterstaff before. At last, Robin landed a hit on the stranger's ribs that made his jacket steam like damp straw under the sun. The blow was so precise that the stranger nearly lost his balance and fell off the bridge but quickly steadied himself and, with a clever strike, hit Robin on the head, causing blood to flow. Furious, Robin swung with all his strength at the stranger. But the stranger blocked the blow and struck Robin again, this time so perfectly that he flipped head over heels into the water, just like a queen pin in a game of bowls.

"And where art thou now, my good lad?" shouted the stranger, roaring with laughter.

"And where are you now, my good man?" shouted the stranger, laughing uproariously.

"Oh, in the flood and floating adown with the tide," cried Robin, nor could he forbear laughing himself at his sorry plight. Then, gaining his feet, he waded to the bank, the little fish speeding hither and thither, all frightened at his splashing.

"Oh, in the flood and floating down with the tide," cried Robin, and he couldn't help but laugh at his unfortunate situation. Then, getting back on his feet, he waded to the bank, with the little fish darting here and there, all scared by his splashing.

"Give me thy hand," cried he, when he had reached the bank. "I must needs own thou art a brave and a sturdy soul and, withal, a good stout stroke with the cudgels. By this and by that, my head hummeth like to a hive of bees on a hot June day."

"Give me your hand," he shouted when he reached the shore. "I have to admit you're a brave and strong person, and you also deliver a solid hit with the clubs. Honestly, my head is buzzing like a hive of bees on a hot June day."

Then he clapped his horn to his lips and winded a blast that went echoing sweetly down the forest paths. "Ay, marry," quoth he again, "thou art a tall lad, and eke a brave one, for ne'er, I bow, is there a man betwixt here and Canterbury Town could do the like to me that thou hast done."

Then he raised his horn to his lips and blew a sound that echoed sweetly down the forest paths. "Yes, indeed," he said again, "you are a tall guy, and also a brave one, because never, I swear, is there a man between here and Canterbury Town who could do what you just did."

"And thou," quoth the stranger, laughing, "takest thy cudgeling like a brave heart and a stout yeoman."

"And you," said the stranger, laughing, "take your beating like a brave heart and a tough farmer."

But now the distant twigs and branches rustled with the coming of men, and suddenly a score or two of good stout yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green, burst from out the covert, with merry Will Stutely at their head.

But now the distant twigs and branches rustled with the arrival of men, and suddenly a group of strong yeomen, all dressed in Lincoln green, burst out of the thicket, with merry Will Stutely leading the way.

"Good master," cried Will, "how is this? Truly thou art all wet from head to foot, and that to the very skin."

"Good master," shouted Will, "what’s going on? You’re completely soaked from head to toe, and I mean all the way to your skin."

"Why, marry," answered jolly Robin, "yon stout fellow hath tumbled me neck and crop into the water and hath given me a drubbing beside."

"Well, you see," replied jolly Robin, "that big guy threw me right into the water and gave me a beating while he was at it."

"Then shall he not go without a ducking and eke a drubbing himself!" cried Will Stutely. "Have at him, lads!"

"Then he won't get away without a dunking and a beating himself!" shouted Will Stutely. "Let's go get him, guys!"

Then Will and a score of yeomen leaped upon the stranger, but though they sprang quickly they found him ready and felt him strike right and left with his stout staff, so that, though he went down with press of numbers, some of them rubbed cracked crowns before he was overcome.

Then Will and a dozen archers jumped on the stranger, but even though they acted fast, they found him prepared and felt him hit out in all directions with his strong staff. So, even though he went down under the weight of numbers, some of them ended up with sore heads before he was defeated.

"Nay, forbear!" cried Robin, laughing until his sore sides ached again. "He is a right good man and true, and no harm shall befall him. Now hark ye, good youth, wilt thou stay with me and be one of my band? Three suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have each year, beside forty marks in fee, and share with us whatsoever good shall befall us. Thou shalt eat sweet venison and quaff the stoutest ale, and mine own good right-hand man shalt thou be, for never did I see such a cudgel player in all my life before. Speak! Wilt thou be one of my good merry men?"

"Come on, stop!" Robin exclaimed, laughing until his sides hurt again. "He’s a really good guy, and no harm will come to him. Now listen up, young man, will you stay with me and join my crew? You'll get three outfits of Lincoln green every year, plus forty marks as payment, and you'll share in whatever good fortune comes our way. You'll enjoy delicious venison and the best ale, and you'll be my right-hand man because I've never seen anyone handle a cudgel as well as you. So, what do you say? Will you be one of my merry men?"

"That know I not," quoth the stranger surlily, for he was angry at being so tumbled about. "If ye handle yew bow and apple shaft no better than ye do oaken cudgel, I wot ye are not fit to be called yeomen in my country; but if there be any man here that can shoot a better shaft than I, then will I bethink me of joining with you."

"I don’t know that," the stranger said grumpily, irritated by being pushed around. "If you handle your bow and arrow any worse than you do that wooden stick, I can tell you’re not fit to be called yeomen in my country; but if there’s anyone here who can shoot better than I can, then I’ll consider joining you."

"Now by my faith," said Robin, "thou art a right saucy varlet, sirrah; yet I will stoop to thee as I never stooped to man before. Good Stutely, cut thou a fair white piece of bark four fingers in breadth, and set it fourscore yards distant on yonder oak. Now, stranger, hit that fairly with a gray goose shaft and call thyself an archer."

"Now, I swear," said Robin, "you are a pretty bold guy, but I'll lower myself to your level like I've never done for anyone else. Good Stutely, cut a nice white piece of bark about four fingers wide and set it eighty yards away on that oak tree. Now, stranger, hit that dead center with an arrow and call yourself an archer."

"Ay, marry, that will I," answered he. "Give me a good stout bow and a fair broad arrow, and if I hit it not, strip me and beat me blue with bowstrings."

"Ay, sure, I will," he replied. "Just give me a strong bow and a nice wide arrow, and if I miss, strip me and whip me with bowstrings."

Then he chose the stoutest bow among them all, next to Robin's own, and a straight gray goose shaft, well-feathered and smooth, and stepping to the mark—while all the band, sitting or lying upon the greensward, watched to see him shoot—he drew the arrow to his cheek and loosed the shaft right deftly, sending it so straight down the path that it clove the mark in the very center. "Aha!" cried he, "mend thou that if thou canst"; while even the yeomen clapped their hands at so fair a shot.

Then he picked the sturdiest bow among them all, next to Robin's own, and a straight gray goose arrow, well-feathered and smooth. Stepping up to the mark—while the whole crew, sitting or lying on the grass, watched to see him shoot—he pulled the arrow to his cheek and released it expertly, sending it straight down the path so that it struck the target right in the center. "Aha!" he exclaimed, "try to beat that if you can!" Meanwhile, even the archers applauded such a great shot.

"That is a keen shot indeed," quoth Robin. "Mend it I cannot, but mar it I may, perhaps."

"That’s a sharp shot for sure," Robin said. "I can’t fix it, but I might be able to mess it up a little."

Then taking up his own good stout bow and nocking an arrow with care, he shot with his very greatest skill. Straight flew the arrow, and so true that it lit fairly upon the stranger's shaft and split it into splinters. Then all the yeomen leaped to their feet and shouted for joy that their master had shot so well.

Then he picked up his sturdy bow and carefully nocked an arrow, shooting with all his skill. The arrow flew straight and hit the stranger's shaft, splitting it into splinters. All the yeomen jumped to their feet and cheered with joy that their master had shot so well.

"Now by the lusty yew bow of good Saint Withold," cried the stranger, "that is a shot indeed, and never saw I the like in all my life before! Now truly will I be thy man henceforth and for aye. Good Adam Bell1 was a fair shot, but never shot he so!"

"Now by the lively yew bow of good Saint Withold," shouted the stranger, "that was an amazing shot, and I’ve never seen anything like it in my life! From now on, I’ll be your man forever. Good Adam Bell1 was a great shot, but he never shot like that!"


  1
	Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough,and William of Cloudesly were three
  noted north-country bowmen whose names have been celebrated in many
  ballads of the olden time.

1
	Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly were three famous northern bowmen whose names have been celebrated in many ballads from the past.

"Then have I gained a right good man this day," quoth jolly Robin. "What name goest thou by, good fellow?"

"Then I've found myself a really good man today," said jolly Robin. "What’s your name, good fellow?"

"Men call me John Little whence I came," answered the stranger.

"People call me John Little, wherever I come from," the stranger replied.

Then Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up. "Nay, fair little stranger," said he, "I like not thy name and fain would I have it otherwise. Little art thou indeed, and small of bone and sinew, therefore shalt thou be christened Little John, and I will be thy godfather."

Then Will Stutely, who loved a good joke, spoke up. "No, fair little stranger," he said, "I don't like your name and I'd prefer it to be something else. You are indeed little, and small of bone and muscle, so you'll be named Little John, and I will be your godfather."

Then Robin Hood and all his band laughed aloud until the stranger began to grow angry.

Then Robin Hood and his entire group laughed out loud until the stranger started to get angry.

"An thou make a jest of me," quoth he to Will Stutely, "thou wilt have sore bones and little pay, and that in short season."

"If you make a joke out of me," he said to Will Stutely, "you'll end up with broken bones and little reward, and that will happen quickly."

"Nay, good friend," said Robin Hood, "bottle thine anger, for the name fitteth thee well. Little John shall thou be called henceforth, and Little John shall it be. So come, my merry men, we will prepare a christening feast for this fair infant."

"Come on, my friend," said Robin Hood, "hold back your anger, because that name suits you perfectly. From now on, you'll be called Little John, and that's how it will be. So, come on, my merry men, let's get ready for a christening feast for this lovely baby."

So turning their backs upon the stream, they plunged into the forest once more, through which they traced their steps till they reached the spot where they dwelled in the depths of the woodland. There had they built huts of bark and branches of trees, and made couches of sweet rushes spread over with skins of fallow deer. Here stood a great oak tree with branches spreading broadly around, beneath which was a seat of green moss where Robin Hood was wont to sit at feast and at merrymaking with his stout men about him. Here they found the rest of the band, some of whom had come in with a brace of fat does. Then they all built great fires and after a time roasted the does and broached a barrel of humming ale. Then when the feast was ready they all sat down, but Robin placed Little John at his right hand, for he was henceforth to be the second in the band.

So, turning their backs on the stream, they dove back into the forest, retracing their steps until they reached the place where they lived deep in the woods. There, they had built huts from bark and tree branches and made beds of soft rushes topped with fallow deer hides. A huge oak tree stood there, its branches spreading wide, and beneath it was a seat of green moss where Robin Hood would often sit during feasts and celebrations with his loyal men around him. They found the rest of the group there, some of whom had come back with a couple of fat does. Then, they all built large fires, and after a while, they roasted the does and tapped a barrel of refreshing ale. Once the feast was ready, they all sat down, but Robin placed Little John at his right side, as he was now to be the second in command of the group.

Then when the feast was done Will Stutely spoke up. "It is now time, I ween, to christen our bonny babe, is it not so, merry boys?" And "Aye! Aye!" cried all, laughing till the woods echoed with their mirth.

Then, when the feast was over, Will Stutely spoke up. "I think it's time to name our pretty baby, right, merry boys?" And "Yeah! Yeah!" shouted everyone, laughing until the woods echoed with their joy.

"Then seven sponsors shall we have," quoth Will Stutely, and hunting among all the band, he chose the seven stoutest men of them all.

"Then we'll have seven sponsors," said Will Stutely, and searching among the group, he picked the seven strongest men of them all.

"Now by Saint Dunstan," cried Little John, springing to his feet, "more than one of you shall rue it an you lay finger upon me."

"Now by Saint Dunstan," shouted Little John, jumping to his feet, "more than one of you will regret it if you touch me."

But without a word they all ran upon him at once, seizing him by his legs and arms and holding him tightly in spite of his struggles, and they bore him forth while all stood around to see the sport. Then one came forward who had been chosen to play the priest because he had a bald crown, and in his hand he carried a brimming pot of ale. "Now, who bringeth this babe?" asked he right soberly.

But without saying a word, they all rushed at him at once, grabbing him by his legs and arms and holding him tight despite his struggles, and they carried him away while everyone watched for the entertainment. Then one person stepped forward who had been picked to play the priest because he was bald, and in his hand, he held a full pot of ale. "Now, who brings this baby?" he asked very seriously.

"That do I," answered Will Stutely.

"Same here," answered Will Stutely.

"And what name callest thou him?"

"And what do you call him?"

"Little John call I him."

"I call him Little John."

"Now Little John," quoth the mock priest, "thou hast not lived heretofore, but only got thee along through the world, but henceforth thou wilt live indeed. When thou livedst not thou wast called John Little, but now that thou dost live indeed, Little John shalt thou be called, so christen I thee." And at these last words he emptied the pot of ale upon Little John's head.

"Now Little John," said the fake priest, "you haven't really lived until now; you've just been getting by in the world. But from now on, you’re going to truly live. When you weren't living, you were called John Little, but now that you’re really living, you'll be called Little John, so I officially give you that name." And with those last words, he poured the pot of ale over Little John's head.

Then all shouted with laughter as they saw the good brown ale stream over Little John's beard and trickle from his nose and chin, while his eyes blinked with the smart of it. At first he was of a mind to be angry but found he could not, because the others were so merry; so he, too, laughed with the rest. Then Robin took this sweet, pretty babe, clothed him all anew from top to toe in Lincoln green, and gave him a good stout bow, and so made him a member of the merry band.

Then everyone erupted in laughter as they watched the rich brown ale pour over Little John's beard, dripping from his nose and chin, while his eyes blinked in response. At first, he felt like getting mad, but he couldn’t because everyone else was so cheerful; so he ended up laughing along with them. Then Robin took this sweet, adorable baby, dressed him completely in Lincoln green, and gave him a sturdy bow, making him a member of the merry band.

And thus it was that Robin Hood became outlawed; thus a band of merry companions gathered about him, and thus he gained his right-hand man, Little John; and so the prologue ends. And now I will tell how the Sheriff of Nottingham three times sought to take Robin Hood, and how he failed each time.

And so it happened that Robin Hood became an outlaw; a group of cheerful companions gathered around him, and he found his best friend, Little John; and that’s how the beginning wraps up. Now, I will tell you how the Sheriff of Nottingham tried three times to capture Robin Hood and how he failed every time.

 

 

 

 



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005b (31K)

Robin Hood and the Tinker

NOW IT WAS TOLD BEFORE how two hundred pounds were set upon Robin Hood's head, and how the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would seize Robin, both because he would fain have the two hundred pounds and because the slain man was a kinsman of his own. Now the Sheriff did not yet know what a force Robin had about him in Sherwood, but thought that he might serve a warrant for his arrest as he could upon any other man that had broken the laws; therefore he offered fourscore golden angels to anyone who would serve this warrant. But men of Nottingham Town knew more of Robin Hood and his doings than the Sheriff did, and many laughed to think of serving a warrant upon the bold outlaw, knowing well that all they would get for such service would be cracked crowns; so that no one came forward to take the matter in hand. Thus a fortnight passed, in which time none came forward to do the Sheriff's business. Then said he, "A right good reward have I offered to whosoever would serve my warrant upon Robin Hood, and I marvel that no one has come to undertake the task."

NOW IT WAS TOLD BEFORE how two hundred pounds were placed on Robin Hood's head, and how the Sheriff of Nottingham vowed that he himself would capture Robin, both because he wanted the two hundred pounds and because the murdered man was a relative of his. At this point, the Sheriff did not yet know the strength of Robin's supporters in Sherwood, but he thought he could issue a warrant for his arrest just like he could for any other person who had broken the law; therefore, he offered eighty gold angels to anyone who would serve this warrant. But the men of Nottingham Town knew more about Robin Hood and his actions than the Sheriff did, and many laughed at the idea of serving a warrant on the brave outlaw, fully aware that all they would get for such an effort would be split heads; so no one came forward to take on the task. Thus, two weeks passed, during which no one stepped up to do the Sheriff's work. Then he said, "I have offered a really good reward to whoever would serve my warrant on Robin Hood, and I wonder why no one has come forward to take on the job."

Then one of his men who was near him said, "Good master, thou wottest not the force that Robin Hood has about him and how little he cares for warrant of king or sheriff. Truly, no one likes to go on this service, for fear of cracked crowns and broken bones."

Then one of his men who was nearby said, "Good master, you don’t know the strength that Robin Hood has with him and how little he cares for the authority of the king or the sheriff. Honestly, no one wants to take on this task, fearing cracked skulls and broken bones."

"Then I hold all Nottingham men to be cowards," said the Sheriff. "And let me see the man in all Nottinghamshire that dare disobey the warrant of our sovereign lord King Harry, for, by the shrine of Saint Edmund, I will hang him forty cubits high! But if no man in Nottingham dare win fourscore angels, I will send elsewhere, for there should be men of mettle somewhere in this land."

"Then I consider all the men of Nottingham to be cowards," said the Sheriff. "And let me see any man in Nottinghamshire who dares to disobey the order of our lord King Harry, for, by the shrine of Saint Edmund, I will hang him forty feet high! But if no man in Nottingham dares to earn eighty gold coins, I will look elsewhere, because there must be some brave men in this land."

Then he called up a messenger in whom he placed great trust, and bade him saddle his horse and make ready to go to Lincoln Town to see whether he could find anyone there that would do his bidding and win the reward. So that same morning the messenger started forth upon his errand.

Then he called a messenger he really trusted and told him to saddle his horse and get ready to ride to Lincoln Town to see if he could find anyone there willing to do his work and earn the reward. That same morning, the messenger set out on his mission.

Bright shone the sun upon the dusty highway that led from Nottingham to Lincoln, stretching away all white over hill and dale. Dusty was the highway and dusty the throat of the messenger, so that his heart was glad when he saw before him the Sign of the Blue Boar Inn, when somewhat more than half his journey was done. The inn looked fair to his eyes, and the shade of the oak trees that stood around it seemed cool and pleasant, so he alighted from his horse to rest himself for a time, calling for a pot of ale to refresh his thirsty throat.

The sun shone brightly on the dusty road that went from Nottingham to Lincoln, stretching all white over the hills and valleys. The road was dusty, and so was the messenger's throat, so he felt relieved when he spotted the Sign of the Blue Boar Inn, just past the halfway point of his journey. The inn looked inviting to him, and the shade from the oak trees surrounding it seemed cool and refreshing, so he got off his horse to rest for a bit, ordering a mug of ale to quench his thirst.

There he saw a party of right jovial fellows seated beneath the spreading oak that shaded the greensward in front of the door. There was a tinker, two barefoot friars, and a party of six of the King's foresters all clad in Lincoln green, and all of them were quaffing humming ale and singing merry ballads of the good old times. Loud laughed the foresters, as jests were bandied about between the singing, and louder laughed the friars, for they were lusty men with beards that curled like the wool of black rams; but loudest of all laughed the Tinker, and he sang more sweetly than any of the rest. His bag and his hammer hung upon a twig of the oak tree, and near by leaned his good stout cudgel, as thick as his wrist and knotted at the end.

There he saw a group of cheerful guys sitting under the large oak tree that shaded the grassy area in front of the door. There was a tinker, two barefoot friars, and a group of six of the King's foresters all dressed in Lincoln green, and they were all drinking tasty ale and singing happy songs from the good old days. The foresters laughed loudly as they exchanged jokes between songs, and the friars laughed even louder, being strong men with beards that curled like the wool of black sheep; but the loudest laugh came from the Tinker, who sang sweeter than anyone else. His bag and hammer were hanging from a branch of the oak tree, and nearby leaned his sturdy cudgel, as thick as his wrist and knotted at the end.

"Come," cried one of the foresters to the tired messenger, "come join us for this shot. Ho, landlord! Bring a fresh pot of ale for each man."

"Come on," shouted one of the foresters to the exhausted messenger, "come join us for this shot. Hey, landlord! Bring a fresh pint of ale for everyone."

The messenger was glad enough to sit down along with the others who were there, for his limbs were weary and the ale was good.

The messenger was happy to join the others sitting there, because his limbs were tired and the ale was good.

"Now what news bearest thou so fast?" quoth one, "and whither ridest thou today?"

"What's the rush with the news you're carrying?" one asked. "And where are you riding off to today?"

The messenger was a chatty soul and loved a bit of gossip dearly; besides, the pot of ale warmed his heart; so that, settling himself in an easy corner of the inn bench, while the host leaned upon the doorway and the hostess stood with her hands beneath her apron, he unfolded his budget of news with great comfort. He told all from the very first: how Robin Hood had slain the forester, and how he had hidden in the greenwood to escape the law; how that he lived therein, all against the law, God wot, slaying His Majesty's deer and levying toll on fat abbot, knight, and esquire, so that none dare travel even on broad Watling Street or the Fosse Way for fear of him; how that the Sheriff had a mind to serve the King's warrant upon this same rogue, though little would he mind warrant of either king or sheriff, for he was far from being a law- abiding man. Then he told how none could be found in all Nottingham Town to serve this warrant, for fear of cracked pates and broken bones, and how that he, the messenger, was now upon his way to Lincoln Town to find of what mettle the Lincoln men might be.

The messenger was a talkative guy who loved gossip; besides, the jug of ale warmed him up nicely. So, he settled into a comfy corner of the inn bench while the innkeeper leaned against the doorway and the innkeeper's wife stood with her hands under her apron. He happily shared his load of news. He started from the beginning: how Robin Hood had killed the forester and hidden in the woods to dodge the law; how he lived there, completely breaking the law, killing the king's deer and charging tolls to rich abbots, knights, and squires, so that no one dared to travel even on the wide Watling Street or the Fosse Way out of fear of him; how the Sheriff intended to serve the King’s warrant on this same troublemaker, although he wouldn’t care much about the orders from either the king or sheriff since he was far from being a law-abiding citizen. Then he explained how no one in all of Nottingham Town would take on this warrant for fear of getting their heads cracked and bones broken, and how he, the messenger, was now on his way to Lincoln Town to see what the Lincoln folks were made of.

"Now come I, forsooth, from good Banbury Town," said the jolly Tinker, "and no one nigh Nottingham—nor Sherwood either, an that be the mark— can hold cudgel with my grip. Why, lads, did I not meet that mad wag Simon of Ely, even at the famous fair at Hertford Town, and beat him in the ring at that place before Sir Robert of Leslie and his lady? This same Robin Hood, of whom, I wot, I never heard before, is a right merry blade, but gin he be strong, am not I stronger? And gin he be sly, am not I slyer? Now by the bright eyes of Nan o' the Mill, and by mine own name and that's Wat o' the Crabstaff, and by mine own mother's son, and that's myself, will I, even I, Wat o' the Crabstaff, meet this same sturdy rogue, and gin he mind not the seal of our glorious sovereign King Harry, and the warrant of the good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, I will so bruise, beat, and bemaul his pate that he shall never move finger or toe again! Hear ye that, bully boys?"

"Here I am, coming straight from good Banbury Town," said the cheerful Tinker, "and no one near Nottingham—or Sherwood for that matter—can match my grip with a cudgel. Just the other day, I ran into that crazy guy Simon of Ely at the famous fair in Hertford Town and beat him in the ring right in front of Sir Robert of Leslie and his lady. This Robin Hood, whom I’ve never heard of before, is quite a character, but if he’s strong, am I not stronger? And if he’s clever, am I not cleverer? Now, by the bright eyes of Nan from the Mill, by my own name, which is Wat from the Crabstaff, and by my own mother’s son—myself—I, Wat from the Crabstaff, will take on this tough rogue. And if he thinks he can ignore the seal of our glorious King Harry and the warrant from the good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, I’ll pound him so hard that he won’t be able to move a finger or a toe again! Did you hear that, lads?"

"Now art thou the man for my farthing," cried the messenger. "And back thou goest with me to Nottingham Town."

"Now you’re the man for my penny," shouted the messenger. "And you’re coming back with me to Nottingham Town."



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005a (141K)

"Nay," quoth the Tinker, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "Go I with no man gin it be not with mine own free will."

"No," said the Tinker, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "I won’t go with any man unless it's of my own free will."

"Nay, nay," said the messenger, "no man is there in Nottinghamshire could make thee go against thy will, thou brave fellow."

"Nah, nah," said the messenger, "there's nobody in Nottinghamshire who could make you go against your will, you brave guy."

"Ay, that be I brave," said the Tinker.

"Yeah, that's me being brave," said the Tinker.

"Ay, marry," said the messenger, "thou art a brave lad; but our good Sheriff hath offered fourscore angels of bright gold to whosoever shall serve the warrant upon Robin Hood; though little good will it do."

"Yeah, for sure," said the messenger, "you’re a brave guy; but our good Sheriff has offered eighty gold coins to whoever serves the warrant on Robin Hood; though it won’t do much good."

"Then I will go with thee, lad. Do but wait till I get my bag and hammer, and my cudgel. Ay, let' me but meet this same Robin Hood, and let me see whether he will not mind the King's warrant." So, after having paid their score, the messenger, with the Tinker striding beside his nag, started back to Nottingham again.

"Then I’ll go with you, kid. Just wait until I grab my bag and hammer, and my stick. Yeah, let me just meet this Robin Hood, and let’s see if he cares about the King’s warrant." After settling their bill, the messenger, with the Tinker walking alongside his horse, headed back to Nottingham.

One bright morning soon after this time, Robin Hood started off to Nottingham Town to find what was a-doing there, walking merrily along the roadside where the grass was sweet with daisies, his eyes wandering and his thoughts also. His bugle horn hung at his hip and his bow and arrows at his back, while in his hand he bore a good stout oaken staff, which he twirled with his fingers as he strolled along.

One sunny morning not long after that, Robin Hood set off to Nottingham Town to see what was happening there, walking cheerfully along the road where the grass was rich with daisies, his eyes drifting and his mind wandering. His bugle horn dangled at his hip, and his bow and arrows rested on his back, while he held a sturdy oak staff in his hand, which he twirled with his fingers as he walked.

As thus he walked down a shady lane he saw a tinker coming, trolling a merry song as he drew nigh. On his back hung his bag and his hammer, and in his hand he carried a right stout crabstaff full six feet long, and thus sang he:

As he walked down a shady lane, he saw a tinker approaching, singing a cheerful song as he got closer. On his back hung his bag and his hammer, and in his hand, he carried a sturdy walking stick about six feet long, and he sang:

 "In peascod time, when hound to horn
     Gives ear till buck be killed,
 And little lads with pipes of corn
     Sit keeping beasts afield—"
"In pea-pod season, when the hound listens to the horn
     Until the buck is killed,
 And young boys with corn pipes
     Sit watching the animals in the fields—"

"Halloa, good friend!" cried Robin.

"Hey there, good friend!" cried Robin.

"I WENT TO GATHER STRAWBERRIES—"

"I went to pick strawberries—"

"Halloa!" cried Robin again.

"Hello!" cried Robin again.

"BY WOODS AND GROVES FULL FAIR—"

"BY WOODS AND GROVES FULL FAIR—"

"Halloa! Art thou deaf, man? Good friend, say I!" "And who art thou dost so boldly check a fair song?" quoth the Tinker, stopping in his singing. "Halloa, shine own self, whether thou be good friend or no. But let me tell thee, thou stout fellow, gin thou be a good friend it were well for us both; but gin thou be no good friend it were ill for thee."

"Hey there! Are you deaf, man? Good friend, I'm talking to you!" "And who are you to interrupt a nice song?" said the Tinker, pausing his singing. "Hey, show yourself, whether you are a good friend or not. But let me tell you, you strong guy, if you’re a good friend it’s good for both of us; but if you’re not, it’ll be bad for you."

"And whence comest thou, my lusty blade?" quoth Robin.

"And where are you from, my lively friend?" said Robin.

"I come from Banbury," answered the Tinker.

"I come from Banbury," replied the Tinker.

"Alas!" quoth Robin, "I hear there is sad news this merry morn."

"Wow!" said Robin, "I hear there’s some bad news this cheerful morning."

"Ha! Is it indeed so?" cried the Tinker eagerly. "Prythee tell it speedily, for I am a tinker by trade, as thou seest, and as I am in my trade I am greedy for news, even as a priest is greedy for farthings."

"Ha! Is that really true?" the Tinker exclaimed eagerly. "Please tell me quickly, because I'm a tinker by trade, as you can see, and just like a priest is eager for coins, I’m greedy for news."

"Well then," quoth Robin, "list thou and I will tell, but bear thyself up bravely, for the news is sad, I wot. Thus it is: I hear that two tinkers are in the stocks for drinking ale and beer!"

"Well then," said Robin, "listen up and I’ll tell you, but stay strong, because the news is grim, I know. Here's the thing: I heard that two tinkers are locked up for drinking ale and beer!"

"Now a murrain seize thee and thy news, thou scurvy dog," quoth the Tinker, "for thou speakest but ill of good men. But sad news it is indeed, gin there be two stout fellows in the stocks."

"Now a plague take you and your news, you filthy dog," said the Tinker, "because you only speak poorly of good men. But it is indeed sad news if there are two strong guys in the stocks."

"Nay," said Robin, "thou hast missed the mark and dost but weep for the wrong sow. The sadness of the news lieth in that there be but two in the stocks, for the others do roam the country at large."

"No," said Robin, "you've missed the point and are just crying over the wrong issue. The sadness of the news lies in the fact that there are only two in the stocks, while the others are free to roam the country."

"Now by the pewter platter of Saint Dunstan," cried the Tinker, "I have a good part of a mind to baste thy hide for thine ill jest. But gin men be put in the stocks for drinking ale and beer, I trow thou wouldst not lose thy part."

"Now by the pewter plate of Saint Dunstan," shouted the Tinker, "I really feel like giving you a good beating for that bad joke. But if guys can be put in the stocks for drinking ale and beer, I bet you wouldn’t escape unpunished either."

Loud laughed Robin and cried, "Now well taken, Tinker, well taken! Why, thy wits are like beer, and do froth up most when they grow sour! But right art thou, man, for I love ale and beer right well. Therefore come straightway with me hard by to the Sign of the Blue Boar, and if thou drinkest as thou appearest—and I wot thou wilt not belie thy looks—I will drench thy throat with as good homebrewed as ever was tapped in all broad Nottinghamshire."

Loudly laughed Robin and said, "Well said, Tinker, well said! Your thoughts are like beer—they bubble up the most when they’re sour! But you’re right, my friend, because I really do love ale and beer. So come with me right away to the Sign of the Blue Boar, and if you drink as you look—though I know you won’t prove me wrong—I’ll treat you to the best homebrew tapped in all of Nottinghamshire."

"Now by my faith," said the Tinker, "thou art a right good fellow in spite of thy scurvy jests. I love thee, my sweet chuck, and gin I go not with thee to that same Blue Boar thou mayst call me a heathen."

"Now, I swear," said the Tinker, "you’re a really good guy despite your nasty jokes. I care about you, my dear, and if I don’t join you at that Blue Boar, you can call me a heathen."

"Tell me thy news, good friend, I prythee," quoth Robin as they trudged along together, "for tinkers, I ween, are all as full of news as an egg of meat."

"Tell me your news, good friend, please," said Robin as they walked along together, "because I think tinkers are always full of stories."

"Now I love thee as my brother, my bully blade," said the Tinker, "else I would not tell thee my news; for sly am I, man, and I have in hand a grave undertaking that doth call for all my wits, for I come to seek a bold outlaw that men, hereabouts, call Robin Hood. Within my pouch I have a warrant, all fairly written out on parchment, forsooth, with a great red seal for to make it lawful. Could I but meet this same Robin Hood I would serve it upon his dainty body, and if he minded it not I would beat him till every one of his ribs would cry Amen. But thou livest hereabouts, mayhap thou knowest Robin Hood thyself, good fellow."

"Now I love you like a brother, my strong friend," said the Tinker, "otherwise I wouldn't share my news with you; I'm quite clever, man, and I have a serious mission that demands all my wits, as I'm here to find a daring outlaw that people around here call Robin Hood. In my bag, I have a warrant, all neatly written on parchment, with a great red seal to make it official. If I could just meet this Robin Hood, I would present it to his fancy self, and if he didn’t mind, I would beat him until every one of his ribs would shout Amen. But since you live around here, maybe you know Robin Hood yourself, good man."

"Ay, marry, that I do somewhat," quoth Robin, "and I have seen him this very morn. But, Tinker, men say that he is but a sad, sly thief. Thou hadst better watch thy warrant, man, or else he may steal it out of thy very pouch."

"Yeah, actually, I do know him," said Robin, "and I saw him this very morning. But, Tinker, people say he's just a sneaky thief. You should keep an eye on your warrant, man, or he might snatch it right out of your pocket."

"Let him but try!" cried the Tinker. "Sly may he be, but sly am I, too. I would I had him here now, man to man!" And he made his heavy cudgel to spin again. "But what manner of man is he, lad?

"Let him give it a shot!" shouted the Tinker. "He might be clever, but I'm clever too. I wish I had him here right now, face to face!" And he started spinning his heavy club again. "But what kind of guy is he, kid?"

"Much like myself," said Robin, laughing, "and in height and build and age nigh the same; and he hath blue eyes, too."

"Just like me," Robin said, laughing, "and almost the same height, build, and age; and he has blue eyes, too."

"Nay," quoth the Tinker, "thou art but a green youth. I thought him to be a great bearded man. Nottingham men feared him so."

"Not at all," said the Tinker, "you're just a naive young man. I thought he was a big, bearded guy. The people of Nottingham were afraid of him."

"Truly, he is not so old nor so stout as thou art," said Robin. "But men do call him a right deft hand at quarterstaff."

"Honestly, he's not as old or as heavy as you are," said Robin. "But people do say he's really skilled with a quarterstaff."

"That may be," said the Tinker right sturdily, "but I am more deft than he, for did I not overcome Simon of Ely in a fair bout in the ring at Hertford Town? But if thou knowest him, my jolly blade, wilt thou go with me and bring me to him? Fourscore bright angels hath the Sheriff promised me if I serve the warrant upon the knave's body, and ten of them will I give to thee if thou showest me him."

"That may be," said the Tinker confidently, "but I'm more skilled than he is, since I defeated Simon of Ely in a fair match in the ring at Hertford Town. But if you know him, my good friend, would you come with me and take me to him? The Sheriff has promised me eighty shining gold coins if I serve the warrant on the rogue, and I'll give you ten of them if you show me where he is."

"Ay, that will I," quoth Robin, "but show me thy warrant, man, until I see whether it be good or no."

"Yeah, I will," said Robin, "but show me your proof first, man, so I can see if it's legitimate or not."

"That will I not do, even to mine own brother," answered the Tinker. "No man shall see my warrant till I serve it upon yon fellow's own body."

"That I won't do, even for my own brother," replied the Tinker. "No one will see my warrant until I serve it on that guy's own body."

"So be it," quoth Robin. "And thou show it not to me I know not to whom thou wilt show it. But here we are at the Sign of the Blue Boar, so let us in and taste his brown October."

"So be it," said Robin. "And if you don’t show it to me, I don’t know to whom you will show it. But here we are at the Sign of the Blue Boar, so let’s go in and try his brown October."

No sweeter inn could be found in all Nottinghamshire than that of the Blue Boar. None had such lovely trees standing around, or was so covered with trailing clematis and sweet woodbine; none had such good beer and such humming ale; nor, in wintertime, when the north wind howled and snow drifted around the hedges, was there to be found, elsewhere, such a roaring fire as blazed upon the hearth of the Blue Boar. At such times might be found a goodly company of yeomen or country folk seated around the blazing hearth, bandying merry jests, while roasted crabs[Small sour apples] bobbed in bowls of ale upon the hearthstone. Well known was the inn to Robin Hood and his band, for there had he and such merry companions as Little John or Will Stutely or young David of Doncaster often gathered when all the forest was filled with snow. As for mine host, he knew how to keep a still tongue in his head, and to swallow his words before they passed his teeth, for he knew very well which side of his bread was spread with butter, for Robin and his band were the best of customers and paid their scores without having them chalked up behind the door. So now, when Robin Hood and the Tinker came thereto and called aloud for two great pots of ale, none would have known from look or speech that the host had ever set eyes upon the outlaw before.

No sweeter inn could be found in all of Nottinghamshire than the Blue Boar. None had such beautiful trees surrounding it or was so covered with trailing clematis and sweet honeysuckle; none offered such good beer and such delicious ale; nor, during winter, when the north wind howled and snow drifted around the hedges, could you find a roaring fire that blazed on the hearth of the Blue Boar. At those times, a lively group of farmers or local folks could be found gathered around the blazing hearth, sharing jokes while roasted crab apples bobbed in bowls of ale on the hearthstone. The inn was well known to Robin Hood and his crew, as he and merry companions like Little John, Will Stutely, or young David of Doncaster often gathered there when the forest was covered in snow. The innkeeper knew how to keep quiet and think before he spoke, for he understood very well which side of his bread was buttered; Robin and his band were the best customers and always settled their bills without needing reminders. So now, when Robin Hood and the Tinker arrived and called out for two large pots of ale, no one would have guessed from their looks or words that the host had ever seen the outlaw before.

"Bide thou here," quoth Robin to the Tinker, "while I go and see that mine host draweth ale from the right butt, for he hath good October, I know, and that brewed by Withold of Tamworth." So saying, he went within and whispered to the host to add a measure of Flemish strong waters to the good English ale; which the latter did and brought it to them.

"Stay here," said Robin to the Tinker, "while I check that our host is serving the right ale, because I know he has good October, brewed by Withold of Tamworth." With that, he went inside and quietly told the host to add a shot of strong Flemish liquor to the good English ale; the host agreed and brought it back to them.

"By Our Lady," said the Tinker, after a long draught of the ale, "yon same Withold of Tamworth—a right good Saxon name, too, I would have thee know—breweth the most humming ale that e'er passed the lips of Wat o' the Crabstaff."

"By Our Lady," said the Tinker, after a long drink of the ale, "that same Withold of Tamworth—a really good Saxon name, just so you know—brews the best ale that ever crossed the lips of Wat o' the Crabstaff."

"Drink, man, drink," cried Robin, only wetting his own lips meanwhile. "Ho, landlord! Bring my friend another pot of the same. And now for a song, my jolly blade."

"Drink up, buddy," shouted Robin, only moistening his own lips in the process. "Hey, landlord! Get my friend another pint of the same. And now, let's hear a song, my cheerful mate."

"Ay, that will I give thee a song, my lovely fellow," quoth the Tinker, "for I never tasted such ale in all my days before. By Our Lady, it doth make my head hum even now! Hey, Dame Hostess, come listen, an thou wouldst hear a song, and thou too, thou bonny lass, for never sing I so well as when bright eyes do look upon me the while."

"Yeah, I'll give you a song, my beautiful friend," said the Tinker, "because I've never had such great ale in my life before. By Our Lady, it’s making my head buzz even now! Hey, Hostess, come listen if you want to hear a song, and you too, pretty girl, because I never sing as well as when bright eyes are looking at me."

Then he sang an ancient ballad of the time of good King Arthur, called "The Marriage of Sir Gawaine," which you may some time read yourself, in stout English of early times; and as he sang, all listened to that noble tale of noble knight and his sacrifice to his king. But long before the Tinker came to the last verse his tongue began to trip and his head to spin, because of the strong waters mixed with the ale. First his tongue tripped, then it grew thick of sound; then his head wagged from side to side, until at last he fell asleep as though he never would waken again.

Then he sang an old ballad from the time of good King Arthur, called "The Marriage of Sir Gawaine," which you might read someday in the sturdy English of earlier days; and as he sang, everyone listened to that noble story of a brave knight and his sacrifice to his king. But long before the Tinker reached the last verse, his tongue started to stumble and his head began to spin from the strong drinks mixed with the ale. First, his tongue fumbled, then it started to slur; then his head rocked from side to side, until finally he fell asleep as if he would never wake up again.

Then Robin Hood laughed aloud and quickly took the warrant from out the Tinker's pouch with his deft fingers. "Sly art thou, Tinker," quoth he, "but not yet, I bow, art thou as sly as that same sly thief Robin Hood."

Then Robin Hood laughed out loud and quickly pulled the warrant from the Tinker's pouch with his skillful fingers. "You're clever, Tinker," he said, "but not yet, I bet, are you as clever as that same clever thief Robin Hood."

Then he called the host to him and said, "Here, good man, are ten broad shillings for the entertainment thou hast given us this day. See that thou takest good care of thy fair guest there, and when he wakes thou mayst again charge him ten shillings also, and if he hath it not, thou mayst take his bag and hammer, and even his coat, in payment. Thus do I punish those that come into the greenwood to deal dole to me. As for thine own self, never knew I landlord yet that would not charge twice an he could."

Then he called the host over and said, "Here, good man, here are ten shillings for the entertainment you’ve provided us today. Make sure you take good care of your fair guest there, and when he wakes up, you can charge him ten shillings too. If he doesn’t have it, you can take his bag, hammer, and even his coat as payment. This is how I deal with those who come into the woods to offer me charity. As for you, I've never met a landlord who wouldn’t charge double if he could."

At this the host smiled slyly, as though saying to himself the rustic saw, "Teach a magpie to suck eggs."

At this, the host smiled cunningly, as if he were thinking to himself the old saying, "Teach a magpie to suck eggs."

The Tinker slept until the afternoon drew to a close and the shadows grew long beside the woodland edge, then he awoke. First he looked up, then he looked down, then he looked east, then he looked west, for he was gathering his wits together, like barley straws blown apart by the wind. First he thought of his merry companion, but he was gone. Then he thought of his stout crabstaff, and that he had within his hand. Then of his warrant, and of the fourscore angels he was to gain for serving it upon Robin Hood. He thrust his hand into his pouch, but not a scrap nor a farthing was there. Then he sprang to his feet in a rage.

The Tinker slept until the afternoon was ending and the shadows grew long by the edge of the woods, then he woke up. First, he looked up, then down, then east, then west, trying to gather his thoughts, like barley straws scattered by the wind. He first remembered his cheerful companion, but he was gone. Then he thought of his sturdy crabstaff, which he held in his hand. Next, he remembered his warrant and the eighty coins he was supposed to earn for delivering it to Robin Hood. He reached into his pouch, but there was nothing—no scrap or even a penny. Then he jumped to his feet, furious.

"Ho, landlord!" cried he, "whither hath that knave gone that was with me but now?"

"Hey, landlord!" he shouted, "where did that guy go who was with me just now?"

"What knave meaneth Your Worship?" quoth the landlord, calling the Tinker Worship to soothe him, as a man would pour oil upon angry water. "I saw no knave with Your Worship, for I swear no man would dare call that man knave so nigh to Sherwood Forest. A right stout yeoman I saw with Your Worship, but I thought that Your Worship knew him, for few there be about here that pass him by and know him not."

"What does 'knave' mean, Your Worship?" said the landlord, trying to calm the Tinker, like someone trying to smooth over angry waters. "I didn’t see any knave with you, because I swear no one would be brave enough to call that man a knave so close to Sherwood Forest. I did see a strong yeoman with you, but I figured you knew him, since few people around here pass by and don’t recognize him."

"Now, how should I, that ne'er have squealed in your sty, know all the swine therein? Who was he, then, an thou knowest him so well?"

"Now, how should I, who have never snitched in your pigpen, know all the pigs in there? Who was he, then, if you know him so well?"

"Why, yon same is a right stout fellow whom men hereabouts do call Robin Hood, which same—"

"Why, that guy is a really tough dude whom people around here call Robin Hood, which is—"

"Now, by'r Lady!" cried the Tinker hastily, and in a deep voice like an angry bull, "thou didst see me come into thine inn, I, a staunch, honest craftsman, and never told me who my company was, well knowing thine own self who he was. Now, I have a right round piece of a mind to crack thy knave's pate for thee!" Then he took up his cudgel and looked at the landlord as though he would smite him where he stood.

"Now, good heavens!" shouted the Tinker quickly, his voice deep like an angry bull, "You saw me walk into your inn, me, a reliable and honest craftsman, and you never told me who my company was, well knowing perfectly who he was. Now, I'm seriously thinking about cracking your scoundrel's skull for you!" Then he grabbed his club and glared at the landlord as if he were ready to hit him right there.

"Nay," cried the host, throwing up his elbow, for he feared the blow, "how knew I that thou knewest him not?"

"Nah," exclaimed the host, raising his elbow, afraid of the hit, "how was I supposed to know that you didn't know him?"

"Well and truly thankful mayst thou be," quoth the Tinker, "that I be a patient man and so do spare thy bald crown, else wouldst thou ne'er cheat customer again. But as for this same knave Robin Hood, I go straightway to seek him, and if I do not score his knave's pate, cut my staff into fagots and call me woman." So saying, he gathered himself together to depart.

"Be truly grateful," said the Tinker, "that I'm a patient man and letting you keep your bald head, or else you'd never con again. But as for this scoundrel Robin Hood, I'm going straight to find him, and if I don't knock that fool's head off, chop my staff into firewood and call me a woman." With that, he got ready to leave.

"Nay," quoth the landlord, standing in front of him and holding out his arms like a gooseherd driving his flock, for money made him bold, "thou goest not till thou hast paid me my score."

"Nah," said the landlord, standing in front of him and holding out his arms like a gooseherd herding his flock, because money made him confident, "you aren't leaving until you’ve settled your bill with me."

"But did not he pay thee?"

"But didn't he give you money?"

"Not so much as one farthing; and ten good shillings' worth of ale have ye drunk this day. Nay, I say, thou goest not away without paying me, else shall our good Sheriff know of it."

"Not even a penny; and you've drunk ten shillings' worth of ale today. No, I'm telling you, you’re not leaving without paying me, or our Sheriff will hear about it."

"But nought have I to pay thee with, good fellow," quoth the Tinker.

"But I have nothing to pay you with, my friend," said the Tinker.

"'Good fellow' not me," said the landlord. "Good fellow am I not when it cometh to lose ten shillings! Pay me that thou owest me in broad money, or else leave thy coat and bag and hammer; yet, I wot they are not worth ten shillings, and I shall lose thereby. Nay, an thou stirrest, I have a great dog within and I will loose him upon thee. Maken, open thou the door and let forth Brian if this fellow stirs one step."

"'Good friend' not me," said the landlord. "I am not a good friend when it comes to losing ten shillings! Pay me what you owe in cash, or else leave your coat and bag and hammer; though I doubt they're worth ten shillings, and I’d still be losing out. No, if you move, I have a big dog inside and I will let him loose on you. Maken, open the door and let Brian out if this guy takes one step."

"Nay," quoth the Tinker—for, by roaming the country, he had learned what dogs were—"take thou what thou wilt have, and let me depart in peace, and may a murrain go with thee. But oh, landlord! An I catch yon scurvy varlet, I swear he shall pay full with usury for that he hath had!"

"No," said the Tinker—because he had traveled around and knew what dogs were—"take whatever you want, and let me leave in peace, and I hope bad luck follows you. But oh, landlord! If I catch that scummy guy, I swear he'll pay dearly for what he's done!"

So saying, he strode away toward the forest, talking to himself, while the landlord and his worthy dame and Maken stood looking after him, and laughed when he had fairly gone.

So saying, he walked off toward the forest, talking to himself, while the landlord and his respectable wife and Maken stood watching him and laughed once he was out of sight.

"Robin and I stripped yon ass of his pack main neatly," quoth the landlord.

"Robin and I took off that donkey's pack real neat," said the landlord.

Now it happened about this time that Robin Hood was going through the forest to Fosse Way, to see what was to be seen there, for the moon was full and the night gave promise of being bright. In his hand he carried his stout oaken staff, and at his side hung his bugle horn. As thus he walked up a forest path, whistling, down another path came the Tinker, muttering to himself and shaking his head like an angry bull; and so, at a sudden bend, they met sharply face to face. Each stood still for a time, and then Robin spoke:

Now, around this time, Robin Hood was walking through the forest toward Fosse Way to see what was there because the moon was full, and the night looked like it would be bright. He had a sturdy oak staff in one hand, and his bugle horn hung at his side. As he strolled along a forest path, whistling, the Tinker came down another path, muttering to himself and shaking his head like an angry bull. Then, at a sudden curve, they ran into each other. They both stopped for a moment, and then Robin spoke:

"Halloa, my sweet bird," said he, laughing merrily, "how likest thou thine ale? Wilt not sing to me another song?"

"Hello, my sweet bird," he said, laughing happily, "how do you like your ale? Will you sing me another song?"

The Tinker said nothing at first but stood looking at Robin with a grim face. "Now," quoth he at last, "I am right glad I have met thee, and if I do not rattle thy bones within thy hide this day, I give thee leave to put thy foot upon my neck."

The Tinker didn’t say anything at first but just stared at Robin with a serious expression. "Well," he finally said, "I’m really glad I ran into you, and if I don’t knock you around today, you can feel free to step on my neck."

"With all my heart," cried merry Robin. "Rattle my bones, an thou canst." So saying, he gripped his staff and threw himself upon his guard. Then the Tinker spat upon his hands and, grasping his staff, came straight at the other. He struck two or three blows, but soon found that he had met his match, for Robin warded and parried all of them, and, before the Tinker thought, he gave him a rap upon the ribs in return. At this Robin laughed aloud, and the Tinker grew more angry than ever, and smote again with all his might and main. Again Robin warded two of the strokes, but at the third, his staff broke beneath the mighty blows of the Tinker. "Now, ill betide thee, traitor staff," cried Robin, as it fell from his hands; "a foul stick art thou to serve me thus in mine hour of need."

"With all my heart," shouted cheerful Robin. "Break my bones if you can." With that, he tightened his grip on his staff and got ready for a fight. The Tinker spat in his hands and, holding his staff, charged at Robin. He landed a few hits, but soon realized he had met his match, as Robin blocked and dodged every strike. Before the Tinker knew it, Robin hit him in the ribs in return. Robin laughed out loud, which only made the Tinker angrier, and he swung at Robin with all his strength. Once again, Robin blocked two of the strikes, but on the third, his staff shattered under the Tinker's powerful blows. "Now, cursed be you, treacherous staff," exclaimed Robin as it slipped from his hands; "what a worthless stick you are to fail me in my time of need."

"Now yield thee," quoth the Tinker, "for thou art my captive; and if thou do not, I will beat thy pate to a pudding."

"Now give in," said the Tinker, "because you’re my prisoner; and if you don’t, I’ll smash your head into a pulp."

To this Robin Hood made no answer, but, clapping his horn to his lips, he blew three blasts, loud and clear.

To this, Robin Hood didn't reply but raised his horn to his lips and blew three loud, clear blasts.

"Ay," quoth the Tinker, "blow thou mayest, but go thou must with me to Nottingham Town, for the Sheriff would fain see thee there. Now wilt thou yield thee, or shall I have to break thy pretty head?"

"Hey," said the Tinker, "you can shout all you want, but you have to come with me to Nottingham Town, because the Sheriff wants to see you there. So, are you going to go willingly, or do I need to smash that pretty head of yours?"

"An I must drink sour ale, I must," quoth Robin, "but never have I yielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my body. Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now. Ho, my merry men! Come quickly!"

"Okay, I have to drink sour ale," said Robin, "but I’ve never given in to a man before, especially without any injury or mark on my body. And, when I think about it, I won't give in now. Hey, my merry men! Come quickly!"

Then from out the forest leaped Little John and six stout yeomen clad in Lincoln green.

Then Little John and six strong men dressed in Lincoln green jumped out from the forest.

"How now, good master," cried Little John, "what need hast thou that thou dost wind thy horn so loudly?"

"Hey there, good master," shouted Little John, "why do you need to blow your horn so loudly?"

"There stands a tinker," quoth Robin, "that would fain take me to Nottingham, there to hang upon the gallows tree."

"There’s a tinker," said Robin, "who wants to take me to Nottingham, where I’d be hanged on the gallows tree."

"Then shall he himself hang forthwith," cried Little John, and he and the others made at the Tinker, to seize him.

"Then he should hang right away," shouted Little John, and he and the others rushed at the Tinker to grab him.

"Nay, touch him not," said Robin, "for a right stout man is he. A metal man he is by trade, and a mettled man by nature; moreover, he doth sing a lovely ballad. Say, good fellow, wilt thou join my merry men all? Three suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have a year, besides forty marks in fee; thou shalt share all with us and lead a right merry life in the greenwood; for cares have we not, and misfortune cometh not upon us within the sweet shades of Sherwood, where we shoot the dun deer and feed upon venison and sweet oaten cakes, and curds and honey. Wilt thou come with me?"

"Don't touch him," said Robin, "because he’s a really tough guy. He works with metal for a living, and he's got a strong spirit by nature; plus, he sings a beautiful song. Hey, friend, will you join my merry band? You’ll get three outfits in Lincoln green every year, along with a payment of forty marks; you can share everything with us and live a fun life in the woods; we have no worries, and bad luck doesn't find us in the lovely shade of Sherwood, where we hunt wild deer and eat venison along with sweet oat cakes and curds and honey. Will you come with me?"

"Ay, marry, will I join with you all," quoth the Tinker, "for I love a merry life, and I love thee, good master, though thou didst thwack my ribs and cheat me into the bargain. Fain am I to own thou art both a stouter and a slyer man than I; so I will obey thee and be thine own true servant."

"Yeah, sure, I'll join you all," said the Tinker, "because I enjoy a good time, and I like you, good master, even though you hit me and tricked me in the deal. I have to admit you are both tougher and sneakier than I am; so I'll follow you and be your loyal servant."

So all turned their steps to the forest depths, where the Tinker was to live henceforth. For many a day he sang ballads to the band, until the famous Allan a Dale joined them, before whose sweet voice all others seemed as harsh as a raven's; but of him we will learn hereafter.

So everyone headed into the depths of the forest, where the Tinker would live from now on. For many days, he sang ballads to the group, until the famous Allan a Dale joined them, whose sweet voice made all others sound as harsh as a raven's; but we'll learn more about him later.

 

 

 

 

006 (127K)

006 (127K)

The Shooting Match at Nottingham Town

THEN THE SHERIFF was very wroth because of this failure to take jolly Robin, for it came to his ears, as ill news always does, that the people laughed at him and made a jest of his thinking to serve a warrant upon such a one as the bold outlaw. And a man hates nothing so much as being made a jest of; so he said: "Our gracious lord and sovereign King himself shall know of this, and how his laws are perverted and despised by this band of rebel outlaws. As for yon traitor Tinker, him will I hang, if I catch him, upon the very highest gallows tree in all Nottinghamshire."

THEN THE SHERIFF was really angry because he failed to capture jolly Robin, as word travels fast, and he heard that people were laughing at him and mocking his attempts to serve a warrant on such a bold outlaw. Nothing bothers a man more than being made a fool of; so he declared, "Our gracious lord and sovereign King himself will hear about this, and how his laws are being twisted and disregarded by this group of rebel outlaws. And as for that traitor Tinker, I will hang him on the highest gallows in all of Nottinghamshire if I catch him."

Then he bade all his servants and retainers to make ready to go to London Town, to see and speak with the King.

Then he asked all his servants and attendants to get ready to go to London Town to see and talk to the King.

At this there was bustling at the Sheriff's castle, and men ran hither and thither upon this business and upon that, while the forge fires of Nottingham glowed red far into the night like twinkling stars, for all the smiths of the town were busy making or mending armor for the Sheriff's troop of escort. For two days this labor lasted, then, on the third, all was ready for the journey. So forth they started in the bright sunlight, from Nottingham Town to Fosse Way and thence to Watling Street; and so they journeyed for two days, until they saw at last the spires and towers of great London Town; and many folks stopped, as they journeyed along, and gazed at the show they made riding along the highways with their flashing armor and gay plumes and trappings.

At this, there was a flurry of activity at the Sheriff’s castle, and men ran back and forth on various tasks, while the forge fires of Nottingham glowed red into the night like twinkling stars, as all the blacksmiths in town busily crafted or repaired armor for the Sheriff’s escort. This work went on for two days, and on the third day, everything was ready for the journey. They set off in the bright sunlight, leaving Nottingham Town for Fosse Way and then onto Watling Street; they traveled for two days until they finally saw the spires and towers of great London. Many people stopped along the way to stare at the spectacle of them riding by, shining in their bright armor with colorful plumes and decorations.

In London King Henry and his fair Queen Eleanor held their court, gay with ladies in silks and satins and velvets and cloth of gold, and also brave knights and gallant courtiers.

In London, King Henry and his beautiful Queen Eleanor held their court, lively with ladies in silks, satins, velvets, and cloth of gold, along with brave knights and gallant courtiers.

Thither came the Sheriff and was shown into the King's presence.

The Sheriff arrived and was brought into the King's presence.

"A boon, a boon," quoth he, as he knelt upon the ground.

"A blessing, a blessing," he said, as he knelt on the ground.

"Now what wouldst thou have?" said the King. "Let us hear what may be thy desires."

"Now what do you want?" said the King. "Let's hear what your desires might be."

"O good my Lord and Sovereign," spake the Sheriff, "in Sherwood Forest in our own good shire of Nottingham, liveth a bold outlaw whose name is Robin Hood."

"O good my Lord and Sovereign," said the Sheriff, "in Sherwood Forest in our own good county of Nottingham, there lives a brave outlaw named Robin Hood."

"In good sooth," said the King, "his doings have reached even our own royal ears. He is a saucy, rebellious varlet, yet, I am fain to own, a right merry soul withal."

"In truth," said the King, "his actions have even come to our royal attention. He is a cheeky, rebellious rascal, yet, I must admit, a truly merry fellow as well."

"But hearken, O my most gracious Sovereign," said the Sheriff. "I sent a warrant to him with thine own royal seal attached, by a right lusty knave, but he beat the messenger and stole the warrant. And he killeth thy deer and robbeth thine own liege subjects even upon the great highways."

"But listen, my most gracious Sovereign," said the Sheriff. "I sent a warrant to him with your royal seal attached, through a strong messenger, but he beat up the messenger and took the warrant. And he’s killing your deer and robbing your own loyal subjects right on the major roads."

"Why, how now," quoth the King wrathfully. "What wouldst thou have me do? Comest thou not to me with a great array of men-at-arms and retainers, and yet art not able to take a single band of lusty knaves without armor on breast, in thine own county! What wouldst thou have me do? Art thou not my Sheriff? Are not my laws in force in Nottinghamshire? Canst thou not take thine own course against those that break the laws or do any injury to thee or thine? Go, get thee gone, and think well; devise some plan of thine own, but trouble me no further. But look well to it, Master Sheriff, for I will have my laws obeyed by all men within my kingdom, and if thou art not able to enforce them thou art no sheriff for me. So look well to thyself, I say, or ill may befall thee as well as all the thieving knaves in Nottinghamshire. When the flood cometh it sweepeth away grain as well as chaff."

"Why, what's going on?" the King said angrily. "What do you want me to do? You come to me with a whole army of soldiers and followers, and yet you can’t capture a single group of rowdy men without armor in your own county! What do you want from me? Aren't you my Sheriff? Are my laws not in effect in Nottinghamshire? Can't you handle those who break the laws or harm you or yours? Go, leave me be, and think it over; come up with your own plan, but don’t bother me anymore. But be careful, Master Sheriff, because I want my laws followed by everyone in my kingdom, and if you can’t enforce them, you’re not the sheriff I need. So take care of yourself, I say, or bad things may happen to you just like to all the thieving rogues in Nottinghamshire. When the flood comes, it sweeps away grain as well as chaff."

Then the Sheriff turned away with a sore and troubled heart, and sadly he rued his fine show of retainers, for he saw that the King was angry because he had so many men about him and yet could not enforce the laws. So, as they all rode slowly back to Nottingham, the Sheriff was thoughtful and full of care. Not a word did he speak to anyone, and no one of his men spoke to him, but all the time he was busy devising some plan to take Robin Hood.

Then the Sheriff turned away with a heavy and troubled heart, and sadly he regretted his impressive display of followers, realizing that the King was upset because he had so many men with him yet couldn’t enforce the laws. As they all rode slowly back to Nottingham, the Sheriff was lost in thought and full of worry. He didn’t say a word to anyone, and none of his men spoke to him, but all the while he was busy coming up with a plan to catch Robin Hood.

"Aha!" cried he suddenly, smiting his hand upon his thigh "I have it now! Ride on, my merry men all, and let us get back to Nottingham Town as speedily as we may. And mark well my words: before a fortnight is passed, that evil knave Robin Hood will be safely clapped into Nottingham gaol."

"Aha!" he suddenly exclaimed, hitting his thigh with his hand. "I've got it now! Ride on, my merry men, and let's get back to Nottingham Town as quickly as we can. And remember my words: before two weeks are up, that scoundrel Robin Hood will be safely locked up in Nottingham jail."

But what was the Sheriff's plan?

But what was the sheriff's plan?

As a usurer takes each one of a bag of silver angels, feeling each coin to find whether it be clipped or not, so the Sheriff, as all rode slowly and sadly back toward Nottingham, took up thought after thought in turn, feeling around the edges of each but finding in every one some flaw. At last he thought of the daring soul of jolly Robin and how, as he the Sheriff knew, he often came even within the walls of Nottingham.

As a moneylender examines each coin in a bag of silver angels, checking to see if any are clipped, the Sheriff, while everyone rode slowly and sadly back to Nottingham, pondered one thought after another, probing the details of each but discovering flaws in every single one. Finally, he thought about the brave spirit of jolly Robin and how, as the Sheriff knew, he often came close to the walls of Nottingham.

"Now," thought the Sheriff, "could I but persuade Robin nigh to Nottingham Town so that I could find him, I warrant I would lay hands upon him so stoutly that he would never get away again." Then of a sudden it came to him like a flash that were he to proclaim a great shooting match and offer some grand prize, Robin Hood might be overpersuaded by his spirit to come to the butts; and it was this thought which caused him to cry "Aha!" and smite his palm upon his thigh.

"Now," thought the Sheriff, "if I could just convince Robin to come close to Nottingham Town, I bet I could grab him so firmly that he’d never escape again." Then suddenly it hit him like a bolt of lightning: if he announced a big archery contest and offered a fantastic prize, Robin Hood might be tempted enough to show up at the shooting range. This idea made him exclaim, "Aha!" and slap his palm against his thigh.

So, as soon as he had returned safely to Nottingham, he sent messengers north and south, and east and west, to proclaim through town, hamlet, and countryside, this grand shooting match, and everyone was bidden that could draw a longbow, and the prize was to be an arrow of pure beaten gold.

So, as soon as he got back safely to Nottingham, he sent messengers north, south, east, and west to announce this big archery competition throughout towns, villages, and rural areas. Everyone who could shoot a longbow was invited, and the prize was an arrow made of pure gold.

When Robin Hood first heard the news of this he was in Lincoln Town, and hastening back to Sherwood Forest he soon called all his merry men about him and spoke to them thus:

When Robin Hood first heard the news, he was in Lincoln Town. Rushing back to Sherwood Forest, he quickly gathered all his merry men around him and said:

"Now hearken, my merry men all, to the news that I have brought from Lincoln Town today. Our friend the Sheriff of Nottingham hath proclaimed a shooting match, and hath sent messengers to tell of it through all the countryside, and the prize is to be a bright golden arrow. Now I fain would have one of us win it, both because of the fairness of the prize and because our sweet friend the Sheriff hath offered it. So we will take our bows and shafts and go there to shoot, for I know right well that merriment will be a-going. What say ye, lads?"

"Hey, my merry men, listen up to the news I’ve brought from Lincoln Town today. Our friend the Sheriff of Nottingham has announced a shooting contest and sent messengers to spread the word throughout the countryside, with a bright golden arrow as the prize. I really want one of us to win it, both because the prize is fair and because our good friend the Sheriff has offered it. So let’s grab our bows and arrows and head over to shoot, because I know for sure there will be a lot of fun. What do you say, guys?"

Then young David of Doncaster spoke up and said, "Now listen, I pray thee, good master, unto what I say. I have come straight from our friend Eadom o' the Blue Boar, and there I heard the full news of this same match. But, master, I know from him, and he got it from the Sheriff's man Ralph o' the Scar, that this same knavish Sheriff hath but laid a trap for thee in this shooting match and wishes nothing so much as to see thee there. So go not, good master, for I know right well he doth seek to beguile thee, but stay within the greenwood lest we all meet dole and woe."

Then young David from Doncaster spoke up and said, "Now listen, please, good master, to what I have to say. I’ve just come straight from our friend Eadom of the Blue Boar, and there I heard all the news about this match. But, master, I know from him—he got it from the Sheriff’s man Ralph of the Scar—that this deceitful Sheriff has set a trap for you in this shooting match and wants nothing more than to see you there. So don’t go, good master, because I know very well he seeks to trick you, but stay in the greenwood, or we might all face sorrow and misfortune."

"Now," quoth Robin, "thou art a wise lad and keepest thine ears open and thy mouth shut, as becometh a wise and crafty woodsman. But shall we let it be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham did cow bold Robin Hood and sevenscore as fair archers as are in all merry England? Nay, good David, what thou tellest me maketh me to desire the prize even more than I else should do. But what sayeth our good gossip Swanthold? Is it not 'A hasty man burneth his mouth, and the fool that keepeth his eyes shut falleth into the pit'? Thus he says, truly, therefore we must meet guile with guile. Now some of you clothe yourselves as curtal friars, and some as rustic peasants, and some as tinkers, or as beggars, but see that each man taketh a good bow or broadsword, in case need should arise. As for myself, I will shoot for this same golden arrow, and should I win it, we will hang it to the branches of our good greenwood tree for the joy of all the band. How like you the plan, my merry men all?"

"Now," said Robin, "you're a smart guy who keeps his ears open and his mouth shut, just like a clever woodsman should. But should we really let it be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham intimidated brave Robin Hood and seventy other great archers in all of merry England? No way, good David; what you’ve told me makes me want the prize even more than I did before. But what does our good friend Swanthold say? Isn’t it ‘A hasty person burns his mouth, and the fool who keeps his eyes closed falls into a pit’? So he says, and that means we must tackle trickery with trickery. Some of you dress up as friars, others as country peasants, and some as tinkers or beggars, but make sure each man brings a good bow or broadsword, just in case we need them. As for me, I'm going to compete for that golden arrow, and if I win it, we'll hang it from the branches of our beloved greenwood tree for everyone in the band to enjoy. What do you think of the plan, my merry men?"

Then "Good, good!" cried all the band right heartily.

Then "Great, great!" cheered all the group wholeheartedly.

A fair sight was Nottingham Town on the day of the shooting match. All along upon the green meadow beneath the town wall stretched a row of benches, one above the other, which were for knight and lady, squire and dame, and rich burghers and their wives; for none but those of rank and quality were to sit there. At the end of the range, near the target, was a raised seat bedecked with ribbons and scarfs and garlands of flowers, for the Sheriff of Nottingham and his dame. The range was twoscore paces broad. At one end stood the target, at the other a tent of striped canvas, from the pole of which fluttered many-colored flags and streamers. In this booth were casks of ale, free to be broached by any of the archers who might wish to quench their thirst.

Nottingham Town looked lovely on the day of the shooting match. All along the green meadow below the town wall, there was a row of benches stacked one above the other for knights and ladies, squires and their partners, and wealthy citizens and their wives; only those of high status were allowed to sit there. At the end of the range, near the target, was an elevated seat adorned with ribbons, scarves, and flower garlands, meant for the Sheriff of Nottingham and his partner. The range was about forty paces wide. At one end stood the target, and at the other was a striped canvas tent, from which colorful flags and streamers fluttered. Inside this booth were barrels of ale, free for any archers who wanted to quench their thirst.

Across the range from where the seats for the better folk were raised was a railing to keep the poorer people from crowding in front of the target. Already, while it was early, the benches were beginning to fill with people of quality, who kept constantly arriving in little carts or upon palfreys that curveted gaily to the merry tinkle of silver bells at bridle reins. With these came also the poorer folk, who sat or lay upon the green grass near the railing that kept them from off the range. In the great tent the archers were gathering by twos and threes; some talking loudly of the fair shots each man had made in his day; some looking well to their bows, drawing a string betwixt the fingers to see that there was no fray upon it, or inspecting arrows, shutting one eye and peering down a shaft to see that it was not warped, but straight and true, for neither bow nor shaft should fail at such a time and for such a prize. And never was such a company of yeomen as were gathered at Nottingham Town that day, for the very best archers of merry England had come to this shooting match. There was Gill o' the Red Cap, the Sheriff's own head archer, and Diccon Cruikshank of Lincoln Town, and Adam o' the Dell, a man of Tamworth, of threescore years and more, yet hale and lusty still, who in his time had shot in the famous match at Woodstock, and had there beaten that renowned archer, Clym o' the Clough. And many more famous men of the longbow were there, whose names have been handed down to us in goodly ballads of the olden time.

Across the field where the seats for the upper class were set up, there was a railing to keep the less fortunate from crowding the target area. Even though it was still early, the benches were starting to fill with people of status, who arrived continuously in small carts or on horses that pranced happily to the cheerful sound of silver bells on their bridles. Along with them came the poorer folks, who sat or lay on the green grass near the railing that kept them away from the shooting range. Inside the large tent, the archers were gathering in small groups; some were loudly discussing the great shots they had made in their day, while others were carefully checking their bows, pulling the string between their fingers to make sure there were no frays, or inspecting their arrows, closing one eye and looking down the shaft to ensure it was straight and true, because neither bow nor arrow could afford to fail at such a moment for such a prize. There had never been such a gathering of skilled archers as there was in Nottingham Town that day, for the very best longbowmen in merry England had come to this shooting competition. There was Gill o' the Red Cap, the Sheriff's own head archer, Diccon Cruikshank from Lincoln Town, and Adam o' the Dell, a man from Tamworth, over sixty years old, yet still strong and healthy, who had once competed in the famous match at Woodstock where he had bested the renowned archer, Clym o' the Clough. Many more famous longbowmen were there, whose names have been immortalized in wonderful ballads from the past.

But now all the benches were filled with guests, lord and lady, burgher and dame, when at last the Sheriff himself came with his lady, he riding with stately mien upon his milk-white horse and she upon her brown filly. Upon his head he wore a purple velvet cap, and purple velvet was his robe, all trimmed about with rich ermine; his jerkin and hose were of sea-green silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the pointed toes fastened to his garters with golden chains. A golden chain hung about his neck, and at his collar was a great carbuncle set in red gold. His lady was dressed in blue velvet, all trimmed with swan's down. So they made a gallant sight as they rode along side by side, and all the people shouted from where they crowded across the space from the gentlefolk; so the Sheriff and his lady came to their place, where men-at-arms, with hauberk and spear, stood about, waiting for them.

But now all the benches were filled with guests—nobility and commoners alike—when finally the Sheriff arrived with his lady. He rode majestically on his milk-white horse, while she rode her brown filly. He wore a purple velvet cap and a purple velvet robe, lavishly trimmed with rich ermine. His jerkin and pants were made of sea-green silk, and his shoes were black velvet, with pointed toes attached to his garters by golden chains. A golden chain hung around his neck, and at his collar was a large ruby set in red gold. His lady was dressed in blue velvet, trimmed with swan's down. Together, they made a striking pair as they rode side by side, and the crowd cheered from where they huddled across the space from the aristocrats. They finally reached their spot, where men-at-arms, clad in mail and holding spears, stood ready for them.

Then when the Sheriff and his dame had sat down, he bade his herald wind upon his silver horn; who thereupon sounded three blasts that came echoing cheerily back from the gray walls of Nottingham. Then the archers stepped forth to their places, while all the folks shouted with a mighty voice, each man calling upon his favorite yeoman. "Red Cap!" cried some; "Cruikshank!" cried others; "Hey for William o' Leslie!" shouted others yet again; while ladies waved silken scarfs to urge each yeoman to do his best.

Then, when the Sheriff and his wife sat down, he signaled his herald to blow on his silver horn; he then blew three loud blasts that echoed cheerfully back from the gray walls of Nottingham. The archers stepped forward to their positions, while the crowd cheered loudly, each person calling out for their favorite archer. "Red Cap!" yelled some; "Cruikshank!" shouted others; "Cheer for William o' Leslie!" called yet more; while women waved silk scarves to encourage each archer to give it their all.

Then the herald stood forth and loudly proclaimed the rules of the game as follows:

Then the announcer stepped forward and loudly declared the rules of the game as follows:

"Shoot each man from yon mark, which is sevenscore yards and ten from the target. One arrow shooteth each man first, and from all the archers shall the ten that shooteth the fairest shafts be chosen for to shoot again. Two arrows shooteth each man of these ten, then shall the three that shoot the fairest shafts be chosen for to shoot again. Three arrows shooteth each man of those three, and to him that shooteth the fairest shafts shall the prize be given."

"Shoot each man from that mark, which is 170 yards from the target. Each man shoots one arrow first, and from all the archers, the ten who shoot the best arrows will be chosen to shoot again. Each of these ten will shoot two arrows, and then the three who shoot the best arrows will be selected to shoot again. Each of those three will shoot three arrows, and the prize will be awarded to the one who shoots the best arrows."

Then the Sheriff leaned forward, looking keenly among the press of archers to find whether Robin Hood was among them; but no one was there clad in Lincoln green, such as was worn by Robin and his band. "Nevertheless," said the Sheriff to himself, "he may still be there, and I miss him among the crowd of other men. But let me see when but ten men shoot, for I wot he will be among the ten, or I know him not."

Then the Sheriff leaned forward, scanning the group of archers to see if Robin Hood was among them; but there was no one dressed in Lincoln green, like Robin and his crew. "Still," the Sheriff muttered to himself, "he could be here, and I just can't spot him in the crowd of other men. But let me see when just ten men shoot, because I know he will be one of those ten, or I don’t know him at all."

And now the archers shot, each man in turn, and the good folk never saw such archery as was done that day. Six arrows were within the clout, four within the black, and only two smote the outer ring; so that when the last arrow sped and struck the target, all the people shouted aloud, for it was noble shooting.

And now the archers took turns shooting, and the crowd had never seen such incredible archery as on that day. Six arrows landed within the best area, four hit the inner circle, and only two touched the outer ring; so when the last arrow flew and hit the target, everyone cheered loudly, because it was impressive shooting.

And now but ten men were left of all those that had shot before, and of these ten, six were famous throughout the land, and most of the folk gathered there knew them. These six men were Gilbert o' the Red Cap, Adam o' the Dell, Diccon Cruikshank, William o' Leslie, Hubert o' Cloud, and Swithin o' Hertford. Two others were yeomen of merry Yorkshire, another was a tall stranger in blue, who said he came from London Town, and the last was a tattered stranger in scarlet, who wore a patch over one eye.

And now only ten men were left from those who had shot before, and out of these ten, six were well-known throughout the land, and most of the people gathered there recognized them. These six men were Gilbert of the Red Cap, Adam of the Dell, Diccon Cruikshank, William of Leslie, Hubert of Cloud, and Swithin of Hertford. Two others were cheerful yeomen from Yorkshire, another was a tall stranger in blue, who claimed to be from London, and the last was a ragged stranger in scarlet, who had a patch over one eye.

"Now," quoth the Sheriff to a man-at-arms who stood near him, "seest thou Robin Hood among those ten?"

"Now," said the Sheriff to a soldier who was standing nearby, "do you see Robin Hood among those ten?"

"Nay, that do I not, Your Worship," answered the man. "Six of them I know right well. Of those Yorkshire yeomen, one is too tall and the other too short for that bold knave. Robin's beard is as yellow as gold, while yon tattered beggar in scarlet hath a beard of brown, besides being blind of one eye. As for the stranger in blue, Robin's shoulders, I ween, are three inches broader than his."

"No, I don't, Your Worship," the man replied. "I know six of them well. Of those Yorkshire farmers, one is too tall and the other too short for that daring scoundrel. Robin's beard is as golden as gold, while that tattered beggar in red has a brown beard and is blind in one eye. As for the stranger in blue, I think Robin's shoulders are three inches broader than his."

"Then," quoth the Sheriff, smiting his thigh angrily, "yon knave is a coward as well as a rogue, and dares not show his face among good men and true."

"Then," said the Sheriff, hitting his thigh in anger, "that guy is a coward as well as a scoundrel, and doesn't have the guts to show his face among decent people."

Then, after they had rested a short time, those ten stout men stepped forth to shoot again. Each man shot two arrows, and as they shot, not a word was spoken, but all the crowd watched with scarce a breath of sound; but when the last had shot his arrow another great shout arose, while many cast their caps aloft for joy of such marvelous shooting.

Then, after they had taken a short break, those ten strong men stepped forward to shoot again. Each man took two shots, and as they did, not a word was spoken; the crowd watched in near silence. But when the last man released his arrow, another great cheer erupted, and many threw their hats in the air in celebration of such amazing shooting.

"Now by our gracious Lady fair," quoth old Sir Amyas o' the Dell, who, bowed with fourscore years and more, sat near the Sheriff, "ne'er saw I such archery in all my life before, yet have I seen the best hands at the longbow for threescore years and more."

"Now by our gracious Lady," said old Sir Amyas of the Dell, who, at over eighty years old, sat near the Sheriff, "I've never seen such amazing archery in my life, and I've witnessed the best longbow shooters for more than sixty years."

And now but three men were left of all those that had shot before. One was Gill o' the Red Cap, one the tattered stranger in scarlet, and one Adam o' the Dell of Tamworth Town. Then all the people called aloud, some crying, "Ho for Gilbert o' the Red Cap!" and some, "Hey for stout Adam o' Tamworth!" But not a single man in the crowd called upon the stranger in scarlet.

And now only three men remained of all those who had shot before. One was Gill of the Red Cap, one was the tattered stranger in scarlet, and one was Adam of the Dell of Tamworth Town. Then everyone in the crowd shouted, some calling, "Hooray for Gilbert of the Red Cap!" and some, "Hey for strong Adam of Tamworth!" But not a single person in the crowd called out for the stranger in scarlet.

"Now, shoot thou well, Gilbert," cried the Sheriff, "and if thine be the best shaft, fivescore broad silver pennies will I give to thee beside the prize."

"Now, take your shot, Gilbert," shouted the Sheriff, "and if your arrow is the best, I'll give you a hundred silver pennies in addition to the prize."

"Truly I will do my best," quoth Gilbert right sturdily. "A man cannot do aught but his best, but that will I strive to do this day." So saying, he drew forth a fair smooth arrow with a broad feather and fitted it deftly to the string, then drawing his bow with care he sped the shaft. Straight flew the arrow and lit fairly in the clout, a finger's-breadth from the center. "A Gilbert, a Gilbert!" shouted all the crowd; and, "Now, by my faith," cried the Sheriff, smiting his hands together, "that is a shrewd shot."

"I'll definitely give it my all," Gilbert said firmly. "A man can only do his best, and that's what I'll aim for today." With that, he pulled out a smooth, well-crafted arrow with a broad feather and expertly nocked it onto the string. Then, carefully drawing back his bow, he released the arrow. It flew straight and landed perfectly in the target, just a finger's-width from the center. "Gilbert, Gilbert!" the crowd cheered; and, "Now, I swear," exclaimed the Sheriff, clapping his hands together, "that was an impressive shot."

Then the tattered stranger stepped forth, and all the people laughed as they saw a yellow patch that showed beneath his arm when he raised his elbow to shoot, and also to see him aim with but one eye. He drew the good yew bow quickly, and quickly loosed a shaft; so short was the time that no man could draw a breath betwixt the drawing and the shooting; yet his arrow lodged nearer the center than the other by twice the length of a barleycorn.

Then the ragged stranger stepped up, and everyone laughed when they saw a yellow patch that showed under his arm when he raised his elbow to shoot, and also noticed he aimed with just one eye. He pulled back the good yew bow quickly and shot an arrow just as fast; it was so quick that no one could take a breath between the drawing and the shooting; yet his arrow landed twice as close to the center than the others by the length of a barleycorn.

"Now by all the saints in Paradise!" cried the Sheriff, "that is a lovely shaft in very truth!"

"Now by all the saints in Paradise!" shouted the Sheriff, "that's a beautiful arrow for sure!"

Then Adam o' the Dell shot, carefully and cautiously, and his arrow lodged close beside the stranger's. Then after a short space they all three shot again, and once more each arrow lodged within the clout, but this time Adam o' the Dell's was farthest from the center, and again the tattered stranger's shot was the best. Then, after another time of rest, they all shot for the third time. This time Gilbert took great heed to his aim, keenly measuring the distance and shooting with shrewdest care. Straight flew the arrow, and all shouted till the very flags that waved in the breeze shook with the sound, and the rooks and daws flew clamoring about the roofs of the old gray tower, for the shaft had lodged close beside the spot that marked the very center.

Then Adam from the Dell shot carefully and cautiously, and his arrow landed close beside the stranger's. After a short break, all three shot again, and this time each arrow landed within the target, but Adam from the Dell's was farthest from the center, and once again the ragged stranger's shot was the best. After another moment of rest, they all shot for the third time. This time Gilbert paid close attention to his aim, carefully measuring the distance and shooting with precision. The arrow flew straight, and everyone shouted until the flags waving in the breeze shook with the sound, and the rooks and crows flew around the roofs of the old gray tower, for the arrow had landed right next to the spot that marked the exact center.

"Well done, Gilbert!" cried the Sheriff right joyously. "Fain am I to believe the prize is thine, and right fairly won. Now, thou ragged knave, let me see thee shoot a better shaft than that."

"Great job, Gilbert!" exclaimed the Sheriff with excitement. "I'm glad to believe the prize is yours, and you earned it fairly. Now, you scrappy rascal, show me if you can shoot a better arrow than that."

Nought spake the stranger but took his place, while all was hushed, and no one spoke or even seemed to breathe, so great was the silence for wonder what he would do. Meanwhile, also, quite still stood the stranger, holding his bow in his hand, while one could count five; then he drew his trusty yew, holding it drawn but a moment, then loosed the string. Straight flew the arrow, and so true that it smote a gray goose feather from off Gilbert's shaft, which fell fluttering through the sunlit air as the stranger's arrow lodged close beside his of the Red Cap, and in the very center. No one spoke a word for a while and no one shouted, but each man looked into his neighbor's face amazedly.

The stranger didn’t say a word but took his place, and everything went silent; no one spoke or even seemed to breathe, so stunned were they by what he might do. Meanwhile, the stranger stood still, holding his bow, counting for five. Then he drew his reliable yew, held it for a moment, and let the string go. The arrow flew straight and true, striking a gray goose feather off Gilbert's arrow, which fell fluttering through the sunlit air while the stranger’s arrow landed right beside the Red Cap’s arrow, hitting the exact center. For a while, no one said anything, and no one shouted; instead, everyone looked at each other in amazement.

"Nay," quoth old Adam o' the Dell presently, drawing a long breath and shaking his head as he spoke, "twoscore years and more have I shot shaft, and maybe not all times bad, but I shoot no more this day, for no man can match with yon stranger, whosoe'er he may be." Then he thrust his shaft into his quiver, rattling, and unstrung his bow without another word.

"Nah," said old Adam of the Dell, taking a deep breath and shaking his head as he spoke, "I've been shooting arrows for over forty years, and maybe I haven't always been bad at it, but I won't shoot anymore today, because no one can compete with that stranger, whoever he is." Then he put his arrow back in his quiver, making it rattle, and unstrung his bow without saying another word.

Then the Sheriff came down from his dais and drew near, in all his silks and velvets, to where the tattered stranger stood leaning upon his stout bow, while the good folk crowded around to see the man who shot so wondrously well. "Here, good fellow," quoth the Sheriff, "take thou the prize, and well and fairly hast thou won it, I bow. What may be thy name, and whence comest thou?"

Then the Sheriff stepped down from his platform and approached, dressed in all his silks and velvets, to where the ragged stranger leaned on his sturdy bow, while the townsfolk gathered around to see the man who shot so impressively. "Here, my good man," said the Sheriff, "take the prize, for you have truly earned it. What is your name, and where do you come from?"

"Men do call me Jock o' Teviotdale, and thence am I come," said the stranger.

"People call me Jock of Teviotdale, and that's where I'm from," said the stranger.

"Then, by Our Lady, Jock, thou art the fairest archer that e'er mine eyes beheld, and if thou wilt join my service I will clothe thee with a better coat than that thou hast upon thy back; thou shalt eat and drink of the best, and at every Christmastide fourscore marks shall be thy wage. I trow thou drawest better bow than that same coward knave Robin Hood, that dared not show his face here this day. Say, good fellow, wilt thou join my service?"

"Then, by Our Lady, Jock, you're the best archer I've ever seen, and if you join my service, I'll give you a better coat than the one you’re wearing. You’ll eat and drink the best food, and every Christmas you’ll earn eighty marks. I believe you shoot a better bow than that coward Robin Hood, who didn’t dare show his face here today. So, my friend, will you join my service?"

"Nay, that will I not," quoth the stranger roughly. "I will be mine own, and no man in all merry England shall be my master."

"Nah, I won't do that," the stranger said roughly. "I’ll be my own person, and no one in all of merry England will be my master."

"Then get thee gone, and a murrain seize thee!" cried the Sheriff, and his voice trembled with anger. "And by my faith and troth, I have a good part of a mind to have thee beaten for thine insolence!" Then he turned upon his heel and strode away.

"Then get out of here, and may a plague take you!" shouted the Sheriff, his voice shaking with anger. "And honestly, I'm seriously thinking about having you beaten for your disrespect!" Then he spun on his heel and walked away.

It was a right motley company that gathered about the noble greenwood tree in Sherwood's depths that same day. A score and more of barefoot friars were there, and some that looked like tinkers, and some that seemed to be sturdy beggars and rustic hinds; and seated upon a mossy couch was one all clad in tattered scarlet, with a patch over one eye; and in his hand he held the golden arrow that was the prize of the great shooting match. Then, amidst a noise of talking and laughter, he took the patch from off his eye and stripped away the scarlet rags from off his body and showed himself all clothed in fair Lincoln green; and quoth he, "Easy come these things away, but walnut stain cometh not so speedily from yellow hair." Then all laughed louder than before, for it was Robin Hood himself that had won the prize from the Sheriff's very hands.

It was quite a diverse group that gathered around the noble greenwood tree in the depths of Sherwood that day. There were a couple dozen barefoot friars, some who looked like tinkers, and others who seemed to be hardy beggars and country folks. Sitting on a mossy seat was one dressed in tattered scarlet, with a patch over one eye; in his hand, he held the golden arrow that was the prize from the great shooting match. Then, amidst a hubbub of chatter and laughter, he took off the patch from his eye and stripped away the scarlet rags, revealing himself fully dressed in fine Lincoln green. He said, "These things come off easily, but you can’t wash walnut stain out of yellow hair that quickly." Then everyone laughed even louder, for it was Robin Hood himself who had won the prize right from the Sheriff's hands.

Then all sat down to the woodland feast and talked among themselves of the merry jest that had been played upon the Sheriff, and of the adventures that had befallen each member of the band in his disguise. But when the feast was done, Robin Hood took Little John apart and said, "Truly am I vexed in my blood, for I heard the Sheriff say today, 'Thou shootest better than that coward knave Robin Hood, that dared not show his face here this day.' I would fain let him know who it was who won the golden arrow from out his hand, and also that I am no coward such as he takes me to be."

Then everyone sat down to the woodland feast and chatted about the funny trick they played on the Sheriff, and the adventures each member of the crew had while in disguise. But once the feast was over, Robin Hood pulled Little John aside and said, "I'm really upset because I heard the Sheriff say today, 'You shoot better than that coward Robin Hood, who didn’t dare show his face here today.' I want him to know who actually won the golden arrow from him, and that I’m not the coward he thinks I am."

Then Little John said, "Good master, take thou me and Will Stutely, and we will send yon fat Sheriff news of all this by a messenger such as he doth not expect."

Then Little John said, "Good master, take me and Will Stutely, and we will send that fat Sheriff news of all this through a messenger he won’t see coming."

That day the Sheriff sat at meat in the great hall of his house at Nottingham Town. Long tables stood down the hall, at which sat men-at- arms and household servants and good stout villains,[Bond-servants.] in all fourscore and more. There they talked of the day's shooting as they ate their meat and quaffed their ale. The Sheriff sat at the head of the table upon a raised seat under a canopy, and beside him sat his dame.

That day, the Sheriff was having a meal in the great hall of his house in Nottingham Town. Long tables lined the hall, where soldiers, household staff, and burly servants gathered—all in all, over eighty people. They chatted about the day's hunting while enjoying their food and drinks. The Sheriff sat at the head of the table on a raised platform under a canopy, with his lady sitting next to him.

"By my troth," said he, "I did reckon full roundly that that knave Robin Hood would be at the game today. I did not think that he was such a coward. But who could that saucy knave be who answered me to my beard so bravely? I wonder that I did not have him beaten; but there was something about him that spoke of other things than rags and tatters."

"Honestly," he said, "I really thought that scoundrel Robin Hood would be here today. I didn’t expect him to be such a coward. But who was that cheeky guy who talked back to me so boldly? I’m surprised I didn’t have him beaten; but there was something about him that suggested he was more than just some guy in rags."

Then, even as he finished speaking, something fell rattling among the dishes on the table, while those that sat near started up wondering what it might be. After a while one of the men-at-arms gathered courage enough to pick it up and bring it to the Sheriff. Then everyone saw that it was a blunted gray goose shaft, with a fine scroll, about the thickness of a goose quill, tied near to its head. The Sheriff opened the scroll and glanced at it, while the veins upon his forehead swelled and his cheeks grew ruddy with rage as he read, for this was what he saw:

Then, just as he finished talking, something clattered among the dishes on the table, and those nearby jumped up, curious about what it could be. After a moment, one of the guards mustered enough courage to pick it up and bring it to the Sheriff. Everyone then saw that it was a dull gray arrow shaft, with a neat scroll tied close to its head, about the thickness of a goose quill. The Sheriff unrolled the scroll and took a quick look at it, his forehead veins bulging and his cheeks flushed with anger as he read, for this is what he saw:

     "Now Heaven bless Thy Grace this day
     Say all in sweet Sherwood
     For thou didst give the prize away
     To merry Robin Hood."
     "Now may Heaven bless Your Grace today
     Say all in sweet Sherwood
     For you gave the prize away
     To cheerful Robin Hood."

"Whence came this?" cried the Sheriff in a mighty voice. "Even through the window, Your Worship," quoth the man who had handed the shaft to him.

"Where did this come from?" shouted the Sheriff in a powerful voice. "Right through the window, Your Worship," replied the man who had given him the arrow.

 

 

 

 

Will Stutely Rescued by His Companions

NOW WHEN THE SHERIFF found that neither law nor guile could overcome Robin Hood, he was much perplexed, and said to himself, "Fool that I am! Had I not told our King of Robin Hood, I would not have gotten myself into such a coil; but now I must either take him captive or have wrath visited upon my head from his most gracious Majesty. I have tried law, and I have tried guile, and I have failed in both; so I will try what may be done with might."

NOW WHEN THE SHERIFF realized that neither the law nor trickery could catch Robin Hood, he was quite confused and said to himself, "What a fool I am! If I hadn’t mentioned Robin Hood to our King, I wouldn’t be in this mess; but now I have to either capture him or face the King's anger. I’ve tried using the law and I’ve tried being crafty, and I've failed at both; so now I’ll see what I can accomplish with force."

Thus communing within himself, he called his constables together and told them what was in his mind. "Now take ye each four men, all armed in proof," said he, "and get ye gone to the forest, at different points, and lie in wait for this same Robin Hood. But if any constable finds too many men against him, let him sound a horn, and then let each band within hearing come with all speed and join the party that calls them. Thus, I think, shall we take this green-clad knave. Furthermore, to him that first meeteth with Robin Hood shall one hundred pounds of silver money be given, if he be brought to me dead or alive; and to him that meeteth with any of his band shall twoscore pounds be given, if such be brought to me dead or alive. So, be ye bold and be ye crafty."

Gathering his thoughts, he called his officers together and shared what he was planning. "Each of you take four armed men," he instructed, "and head into the forest at different points to wait for Robin Hood. If any officer encounters too many men, he should blow a horn, and then each team within earshot should come quickly to join him. I believe this is how we’ll capture that green-clad fool. Additionally, the first person who finds Robin Hood will receive one hundred pounds in silver, whether he brings him in dead or alive; and anyone who encounters one of his gang will receive forty pounds, also dead or alive. So, be brave and be clever."

So thus they went in threescore companies of five to Sherwood Forest, to take Robin Hood, each constable wishing that he might be the one to find the bold outlaw, or at least one of his band. For seven days and nights they hunted through the forest glades, but never saw so much as a single man in Lincoln green; for tidings of all this had been brought to Robin Hood by trusty Eadom o' the Blue Boar.

So they went in sixty groups of five to Sherwood Forest to capture Robin Hood, with each constable hoping he would be the one to find the brave outlaw or at least one of his crew. For seven days and nights, they searched through the forest, but they never saw a single person in Lincoln green; for trustworthy Eadom o' the Blue Boar had brought news of all this to Robin Hood.

When he first heard the news, Robin said, "If the Sheriff dare send force to meet force, woe will it be for him and many a better man besides, for blood will flow and there will be great trouble for all. But fain would I shun blood and battle, and fain would I not deal sorrow to womenfolk and wives because good stout yeomen lose their lives. Once I slew a man, and never do I wish to slay a man again, for it is bitter for the soul to think thereon. So now we will abide silently in Sherwood Forest, so that it may be well for all, but should we be forced to defend ourselves, or any of our band, then let each man draw bow and brand with might and main."

When he first heard the news, Robin said, "If the Sheriff sends out troops to meet us, he and many others will be in deep trouble because blood will be shed, and chaos will follow. But I would gladly avoid bloodshed and violence, and I would hate to bring sorrow to women and wives just because good, brave men are losing their lives. Once I killed a man, and I never want to do that again, as it's heartbreaking to think about. So now we will stay quietly in Sherwood Forest for everyone's sake, but if we have to defend ourselves or any member of our group, then every man should draw his bow and sword with all his strength."

At this speech many of the band shook their heads, and said to themselves, "Now the Sheriff will think that we are cowards, and folk will scoff throughout the countryside, saying that we fear to meet these men." But they said nothing aloud, swallowing their words and doing as Robin bade them.

At this speech, many members of the band shook their heads and thought to themselves, "Now the Sheriff will think we're cowards, and people will mock us across the countryside, saying we’re too afraid to face these men." But they said nothing out loud, biting their tongues and following Robin's lead.

Thus they hid in the depths of Sherwood Forest for seven days and seven nights and never showed their faces abroad in all that time; but early in the morning of the eighth day Robin Hood called the band together and said, "Now who will go and find what the Sheriff's men are at by this time? For I know right well they will not bide forever within Sherwood shades."

Thus they hid in the depths of Sherwood Forest for seven days and seven nights and never showed their faces outside during all that time; but early on the morning of the eighth day, Robin Hood gathered the group and said, "Now who will go and see what the Sheriff's men are up to by this time? Because I know very well they won't stay hidden in Sherwood forever."

At this a great shout arose, and each man waved his bow aloft and cried that he might be the one to go. Then Robin Hood's heart was proud when he looked around on his stout, brave fellows, and he said, "Brave and true are ye all, my merry men, and a right stout band of good fellows are ye, but ye cannot all go, so I will choose one from among you, and it shall be good Will Stutely, for he is as sly as e'er an old dog fox in Sherwood Forest."

At this, a loud cheer erupted, and everyone raised their bows in the air, eager to be the one selected. Robin Hood felt a swell of pride as he looked at his strong, brave friends, and he said, "You are all brave and true, my merry men, and a solid group of good people you are, but not all of you can go, so I will choose one among you, and it will be good Will Stutely, for he is as clever as any old fox in Sherwood Forest."

Then Will Stutely leaped high aloft and laughed loudly, clapping his hands for pure joy that he should have been chosen from among them all. "Now thanks, good master," quoth he, "and if I bring not news of those knaves to thee, call me no more thy sly Will Stutely."

Then Will Stutely jumped up high and laughed out loud, clapping his hands in pure joy for being chosen from everyone. "Now thank you, good master," he said, "and if I don't bring you news about those scoundrels, don’t call me your clever Will Stutely anymore."

Then he clad himself in a friar's gown, and underneath the robe he hung a good broadsword in such a place that he could easily lay hands upon it. Thus clad, he set forth upon his quest, until he came to the verge of the forest, and so to the highway. He saw two bands of the Sheriff's men, yet he turned neither to the right nor the left, but only drew his cowl the closer over his face, folding his hands as if in meditation. So at last he came to the Sign of the Blue Boar. "For," quoth he to himself, "our good friend Eadom will tell me all the news."

Then he dressed in a friar's robe, and beneath it, he secured a sturdy broadsword where he could easily grab it. Dressed like this, he set off on his quest until he reached the edge of the forest and then the main road. He spotted two groups of the Sheriff's men, but he didn't turn either right or left; he simply pulled his hood tighter over his face and folded his hands as if he was deep in thought. Eventually, he arrived at the Sign of the Blue Boar. "Because," he said to himself, "my good friend Eadom will fill me in on all the news."

At the Sign of the Blue Boar he found a band of the Sheriffs men drinking right lustily; so, without speaking to anyone, he sat down upon a distant bench, his staff in his hand, and his head bowed forward as though he were meditating. Thus he sat waiting until he might see the landlord apart, and Eadom did not know him, but thought him to be some poor tired friar, so he let him sit without saying a word to him or molesting him, though he liked not the cloth. "For," said he to himself, "it is a hard heart that kicks the lame dog from off the sill." As Stutely sat thus, there came a great house cat and rubbed against his knee, raising his robe a palm's-breadth high. Stutely pushed his robe quickly down again, but the constable who commanded the Sheriffs men saw what had passed, and saw also fair Lincoln green beneath the friar's robe. He said nothing at the time, but communed within himself in this wise: "Yon is no friar of orders gray, and also, I wot, no honest yeoman goeth about in priest's garb, nor doth a thief go so for nought. Now I think in good sooth that is one of Robin Hood's own men." So, presently, he said aloud, "O holy father, wilt thou not take a good pot of March beer to slake thy thirsty soul withal?"

At the Sign of the Blue Boar, he found a group of the Sheriff’s men drinking heartily; so, without talking to anyone, he sat down on a distant bench, his staff in hand, and his head bowed as if he were deep in thought. He waited there until he could see the landlord privately, and Eadom didn't recognize him, instead thinking he was just a weary friar, so he let him be without saying anything or bothering him, even though he didn’t like the habit. "After all," he thought to himself, "it takes a hard heart to kick a lame dog off the porch." While Stutely sat like this, a large house cat came over and rubbed against his knee, lifting his robe slightly. Stutely quickly pulled his robe back down, but the constable in charge of the Sheriff’s men noticed what happened, as well as the green fabric beneath the friar’s robe. He didn’t say anything at that moment, but thought to himself, “That’s no friar from the gray orders, and I know no honest yeoman would wander around in a priest’s outfit, nor would a thief do so for no reason. I truly believe that’s one of Robin Hood’s men.” Then, he said aloud, “Oh, holy father, would you like to have a good jug of March beer to quench your thirst?”

But Stutely shook his head silently, for he said to himself, "Maybe there be those here who know my voice."

But Stutely shook his head silently, thinking to himself, "Maybe there are people here who recognize my voice."

Then the constable said again, "Whither goest thou, holy friar, upon this hot summer's day?"

Then the constable said again, "Where are you going, holy friar, on this hot summer day?"

"I go a pilgrim to Canterbury Town," answered Will Stutely, speaking gruffly, so that none might know his voice.

"I’m heading on a pilgrimage to Canterbury," replied Will Stutely, speaking roughly so that no one would recognize his voice.

Then the constable said, for the third time, "Now tell me, holy father, do pilgrims to Canterbury wear good Lincoln green beneath their robes? Ha! By my faith, I take thee to be some lusty thief, and perhaps one of Robin Hood's own band! Now, by Our Lady's grace, if thou movest hand or foot, I will run thee through the body with my sword!"

Then the constable said for the third time, "Now tell me, holy father, do pilgrims headed to Canterbury wear good Lincoln green under their robes? Ha! By my faith, I think you're some lively thief, maybe even one of Robin Hood's crew! Now, by Our Lady's grace, if you move a hand or a foot, I'll run you through with my sword!"

Then he flashed forth his bright sword and leaped upon Will Stutely, thinking he would take him unaware; but Stutely had his own sword tightly held in his hand, beneath his robe, so he drew it forth before the constable came upon him. Then the stout constable struck a mighty blow; but he struck no more in all that fight, for Stutely, parrying the blow right deftly, smote the constable back again with all his might. Then he would have escaped, but could not, for the other, all dizzy with the wound and with the flowing blood, seized him by the knees with his arms even as he reeled and fell. Then the others rushed upon him, and Stutely struck again at another of the Sheriff's men, but the steel cap glanced the blow, and though the blade bit deep, it did not kill. Meanwhile, the constable, fainting as he was, drew Stutely downward, and the others, seeing the yeoman hampered so, rushed upon him again, and one smote him a blow upon the crown so that the blood ran down his face and blinded him. Then, staggering, he fell, and all sprang upon him, though he struggled so manfully that they could hardly hold him fast. Then they bound him with stout hempen cords so that he could not move either hand or foot, and thus they overcame him.

Then he drew his bright sword and jumped at Will Stutely, thinking he would catch him off guard; but Stutely had his own sword firmly held in his hand under his robe, so he pulled it out just before the constable reached him. The strong constable struck a powerful blow, but that was the last he hit during the whole fight, as Stutely expertly blocked the attack and hit the constable back with all his strength. Stutely tried to escape, but he couldn't, because the other man, dazed from his injury and with blood flowing, grabbed him by the knees as he stumbled and fell. The others rushed at him, and Stutely swung at another of the Sheriff's men, but the steel cap deflected the blow, and although the blade cut deep, it didn't kill. Meanwhile, the constable, feeling weak, pulled Stutely down, and the others, seeing him struggling, attacked again, with one landing a blow on his head that made blood run down his face and blind him. Dazed, he fell, and they all jumped on him, though he fought back so hard that they could barely keep him down. Then they tied him up with strong hemp ropes so he couldn’t move his hands or feet, and that’s how they defeated him.

Robin Hood stood under the greenwood tree, thinking of Will Stutely and how he might be faring, when suddenly he saw two of his stout yeomen come running down the forest path, and betwixt them ran buxom Maken of the Blue Boar. Then Robin's heart fell, for he knew they were the bearers of ill tidings.

Robin Hood stood under the green tree, thinking about Will Stutely and how he was doing, when suddenly he saw two of his strong men running down the forest path, and between them ran lively Maken of the Blue Boar. Then Robin's heart sank, because he knew they were bringing bad news.

"Will Stutely hath been taken," cried they, when they had come to where he stood.

"Will Stutely has been captured," they shouted when they arrived where he was standing.

"And is it thou that hast brought such doleful news?" said Robin to the lass.

"And is it you who has brought such sad news?" said Robin to the girl.

"Ay, marry, for I saw it all," cried she, panting as the hare pants when it has escaped the hounds, "and I fear he is wounded sore, for one smote him main shrewdly i' the crown. They have bound him and taken him to Nottingham Town, and ere I left the Blue Boar I heard that he should be hanged tomorrow day."

"Yes, indeed, I saw everything," she exclaimed, breathless like a hare that's just escaped from the hounds. "I'm worried he's really hurt because someone hit him hard on the head. They've captured him and taken him to Nottingham Town, and before I left the Blue Boar, I heard they plan to hang him tomorrow."

"He shall not be hanged tomorrow day," cried Robin; "or, if he be, full many a one shall gnaw the sod, and many shall have cause to cry Alack-a- day!"

"He won't be hanged tomorrow," shouted Robin; "or if he is, a lot of people will end up dead, and many will have reason to say alas!"

Then he clapped his horn to his lips and blew three blasts right loudly, and presently his good yeomen came running through the greenwood until sevenscore bold blades were gathered around him.

Then he raised his horn to his lips and blew three loud blasts, and soon his loyal men came running through the woods until a hundred and forty brave warriors were gathered around him.

"Now hark you all!" cried Robin. "Our dear companion Will Stutely hath been taken by that vile Sheriff's men, therefore doth it behoove us to take bow and brand in hand to bring him off again; for I wot that we ought to risk life and limb for him, as he hath risked life and limb for us. Is it not so, my merry men all?" Then all cried, "Ay!" with a great voice.

"Listen up, everyone!" shouted Robin. "Our good friend Will Stutely has been captured by those wicked Sheriff’s men, so we need to grab our bows and swords to rescue him; we should definitely risk our lives for him, just as he has done for us. Isn’t that right, my merry men?" Then everyone shouted, "Yeah!" loudly.

So the next day they all wended their way from Sherwood Forest, but by different paths, for it behooved them to be very crafty; so the band separated into parties of twos and threes, which were all to meet again in a tangled dell that lay near to Nottingham Town. Then, when they had all gathered together at the place of meeting, Robin spoke to them thus:

So the next day, they all made their way out of Sherwood Forest, but by different paths, because they needed to be very clever; so the group split into pairs and small groups, and they all planned to meet again in a hidden glade near Nottingham Town. Then, when they had all gathered at the meeting spot, Robin addressed them:

"Now we will lie here in ambush until we can get news, for it doth behoove us to be cunning and wary if we would bring our friend Will Stutely off from the Sheriff's clutches."

"Now we’ll wait here in hiding until we can get news, because we need to be smart and careful if we want to get our friend Will Stutely out of the Sheriff’s grip."

So they lay hidden a long time, until the sun stood high in the sky. The day was warm and the dusty road was bare of travelers, except an aged palmer who walked slowly along the highroad that led close beside the gray castle wall of Nottingham Town. When Robin saw that no other wayfarer was within sight, he called young David of Doncaster, who was a shrewd man for his years, and said to him, "Now get thee forth, young David, and speak to yonder palmer that walks beside the town wall, for he hath come but now from Nottingham Town, and may tell thee news of good Stutely, perchance."

So they stayed hidden for a long time until the sun was high in the sky. The day was warm, and the dusty road was empty of travelers, except for an old pilgrim who walked slowly along the main road next to the gray castle wall of Nottingham Town. When Robin saw that there were no other travelers in sight, he called young David of Doncaster, who was wise for his age, and said to him, "Now go ahead, young David, and talk to that pilgrim walking by the town wall, for he has just come from Nottingham Town and might have news about good Stutely, perhaps."

So David strode forth, and when he came up to the pilgrim, he saluted him and said, "Good morrow, holy father, and canst thou tell me when Will Stutely will be hanged upon the gallows tree? I fain would not miss the sight, for I have come from afar to see so sturdy a rogue hanged."

So David walked up, and when he reached the pilgrim, he greeted him and said, "Good morning, holy father. Can you tell me when Will Stutely will be hanged on the gallows? I really don’t want to miss the event, as I’ve come from far away to see such a tough rogue hanged."

"Now, out upon thee, young man," cried the Palmer, "that thou shouldst speak so when a good stout man is to be hanged for nothing but guarding his own life!" And he struck his staff upon the ground in anger. "Alas, say I, that this thing should be! For even this day, toward evening, when the sun falleth low, he shall be hanged, fourscore rods from the great town gate of Nottingham, where three roads meet; for there the Sheriff sweareth he shall die as a warning to all outlaws in Nottinghamshire. But yet, I say again, Alas! For, though Robin Hood and his band may be outlaws, yet he taketh only from the rich and the strong and the dishonest man, while there is not a poor widow nor a peasant with many children, nigh to Sherwood, but has barley flour enough all the year long through him. It grieves my heart to see one as gallant as this Stutely die, for I have been a good Saxon yeoman in my day, ere I turned palmer, and well I know a stout hand and one that smiteth shrewdly at a cruel Norman or a proud abbot with fat moneybags. Had good Stutely's master but known how his man was compassed about with perils, perchance he might send succor to bring him out of the hand of his enemies.

"Listen up, young man," the Palmer exclaimed, "how can you say that when a solid guy is about to be hanged just for protecting his own life?" He slammed his staff on the ground in frustration. "It's a shame this is happening! For today, around evening when the sun sets, he’s going to be hanged, eighty rods from Nottingham's main gate where three roads meet; the Sheriff has vowed he will die as a warning to all outlaws in Nottinghamshire. But I say again, it’s such a pity! Even though Robin Hood and his crew are considered outlaws, he only steals from the rich, the powerful, and the dishonest, while every poor widow and peasant with many children near Sherwood gets enough barley flour all year round thanks to him. It breaks my heart to see someone as brave as Stutely face death, for I used to be a good Saxon yeoman before I became a palmer, and I know well the value of a strong hand that strikes hard against a cruel Norman or a greedy abbot filled with cash. If only good Stutely's master had understood the dangers his man was facing, maybe he could have sent help to save him from his enemies."

"Ay, marry, that is true," cried the young man. "If Robin and his men be nigh this place, I wot right well they will strive to bring him forth from his peril. But fare thee well, thou good old man, and believe me, if Will Stutely die, he shall be right well avenged."

"Yeah, that’s true," the young man exclaimed. "If Robin and his guys are close by, I know they’ll do everything they can to get him out of danger. But take care, you good old man, and believe me, if Will Stutely dies, he’ll be avenged."

Then he turned and strode rapidly away; but the Palmer looked after him, muttering, "I wot that youth is no country hind that hath come to see a good man die. Well, well, perchance Robin Hood is not so far away but that there will be stout doings this day." So he went upon his way, muttering to himself.

Then he turned and walked away quickly; but the Palmer watched him, mumbling, "I know that guy isn't some country bumpkin here to see a good man die. Well, well, maybe Robin Hood isn't too far off, so there will be some good action today." So he continued on his way, mumbling to himself.

When David of Doncaster told Robin Hood what the Palmer had said to him, Robin called the band around him and spoke to them thus:

When David from Doncaster told Robin Hood what the Palmer had said to him, Robin gathered the group around him and spoke to them like this:

"Now let us get straightway into Nottingham Town and mix ourselves with the people there; but keep ye one another in sight, pressing as near the prisoner and his guards as ye can, when they come outside the walls. Strike no man without need, for I would fain avoid bloodshed, but if ye do strike, strike hard, and see that there be no need to strike again. Then keep all together until we come again to Sherwood, and let no man leave his fellows."

"Now let’s head straight to Nottingham Town and blend in with the people there; but keep an eye on each other, getting as close as possible to the prisoner and his guards when they come out of the walls. Don’t hit anyone unless it’s necessary, because I want to avoid bloodshed, but if you do strike, make it count, and make sure there’s no reason to hit again. Then stick together until we return to Sherwood, and don’t let anyone wander off from the group."



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007 (165K)

The sun was low in the western sky when a bugle note sounded from the castle wall. Then all was bustle in Nottingham Town and crowds filled the streets, for all knew that the famous Will Stutely was to be hanged that day. Presently the castle gates opened wide and a great array of men-at-arms came forth with noise and clatter, the Sheriff, all clad in shining mail of linked chain, riding at their head. In the midst of all the guard, in a cart, with a halter about his neck, rode Will Stutely. His face was pale with his wound and with loss of blood, like the moon in broad daylight, and his fair hair was clotted in points upon his forehead, where the blood had hardened. When he came forth from the castle he looked up and he looked down, but though he saw some faces that showed pity and some that showed friendliness, he saw none that he knew. Then his heart sank within him like a plummet of lead, but nevertheless he spoke up boldly.

The sun was low in the western sky when a bugle sounded from the castle wall. Then, the streets of Nottingham Town were filled with activity as crowds gathered; everyone knew that the famous Will Stutely was set to be hanged that day. Soon, the castle gates swung wide open, and a large group of armed men marched out with noise and clatter, led by the Sheriff, who was dressed in shining chainmail. In the middle of the guards, in a cart with a noose around his neck, rode Will Stutely. His face was pale from his wound and blood loss, resembling the moon in the daylight, and his fair hair was matted with dried blood in spots on his forehead. As he emerged from the castle, he looked around, seeing some faces that displayed pity and others that offered friendliness, but he recognized none. His heart sank within him like a heavy weight, yet he spoke out bravely.

"Give a sword into my hand, Sir Sheriff," said he, "and wounded man though I be, I will fight thee and all thy men till life and strength be gone."

"Hand me a sword, Sir Sheriff," he said, "and even though I'm wounded, I'll fight you and all your men until I've lost all my strength."

"Nay, thou naughty varlet," quoth the Sheriff, turning his head and looking right grimly upon Will Stutely, "thou shalt have no sword but shall die a mean death, as beseemeth a vile thief like thee."

"Come on, you naughty rascal," said the Sheriff, turning his head and looking sternly at Will Stutely, "you won't have a sword and will die a miserable death, just like a despicable thief like you deserves."

"Then do but untie my hands and I will fight thee and thy men with no weapon but only my naked fists. I crave no weapon, but let me not be meanly hanged this day."

"Then just untie my hands, and I will fight you and your men with nothing but my bare fists. I don’t want any weapon; I just don’t want to be disgracefully hanged today."

Then the Sheriff laughed aloud. "Why, how now," quoth he, "is thy proud stomach quailing? Shrive thyself, thou vile knave, for I mean that thou shalt hang this day, and that where three roads meet, so that all men shall see thee hang, for carrion crows and daws to peck at."

Then the Sheriff laughed out loud. "Well, well," he said, "is your proud stomach trembling now? Confess your sins, you wretched scoundrel, because I intend for you to hang today, right where three roads meet, so everyone can see you hanging there for the crows and ravens to pick at."

"O thou dastard heart!" cried Will Stutely, gnashing his teeth at the Sheriff. "Thou coward hind! If ever my good master meet thee thou shalt pay dearly for this day's work! He doth scorn thee, and so do all brave hearts. Knowest thou not that thou and thy name are jests upon the lips of every brave yeoman? Such a one as thou art, thou wretched craven, will never be able to subdue bold Robin Hood."

"O you cowardly heart!" cried Will Stutely, grinding his teeth at the Sheriff. "You coward! If my good master ever encounters you, you will pay dearly for today’s actions! He scorns you, and so do all brave hearts. Don't you know that you and your name are jokes on the lips of every brave yeoman? Someone like you, you miserable coward, will never be able to overcome bold Robin Hood."

"Ha!" cried the Sheriff in a rage, "is it even so? Am I a jest with thy master, as thou callest him? Now I will make a jest of thee and a sorry jest withal, for I will quarter thee limb from limb, after thou art hanged." Then he spurred his horse forward and said no more to Stutely.

"Ha!" yelled the Sheriff, furious, "is that really the case? Am I a joke to your master, as you call him? Well, I’ll turn you into a joke instead, and a pretty sad one at that, because I’ll tear you apart limb from limb after you’re hanged." Then he urged his horse forward and didn’t say anything else to Stutely.

At last they came to the great town gate, through which Stutely saw the fair country beyond, with hills and dales all clothed in verdure, and far away the dusky line of Sherwood's skirts. Then when he saw the slanting sunlight lying on field and fallow, shining redly here and there on cot and farmhouse, and when he heard the sweet birds singing their vespers, and the sheep bleating upon the hillside, and beheld the swallows flying in the bright air, there came a great fullness to his heart so that all things blurred to his sight through salt tears, and he bowed his head lest the folk should think him unmanly when they saw the tears in his eyes. Thus he kept his head bowed till they had passed through the gate and were outside the walls of the town. But when he looked up again he felt his heart leap within him and then stand still for pure joy, for he saw the face of one of his own dear companions of merry Sherwood; then glancing quickly around he saw well-known faces upon all sides of him, crowding closely upon the men-at-arms who were guarding him. Then of a sudden the blood sprang to his cheeks, for he saw for a moment his own good master in the press and, seeing him, knew that Robin Hood and all his band were there. Yet betwixt him and them was a line of men-at-arms.

At last, they reached the big town gate, through which Stutely could see the beautiful countryside beyond, with hills and valleys covered in greenery, and far off the shadowy outline of Sherwood's edge. When he saw the slanting sunlight hitting the fields and farmland, shining brightly on cottages and farmhouses here and there, and heard the sweet birds singing their evening songs, the sheep bleating on the hillside, and watched the swallows flying in the clear sky, a wave of emotion filled his heart, causing everything to blur in his vision from tears. He lowered his head so no one would think he was unmanly if they noticed the tears in his eyes. He kept his head down until they passed through the gate and were outside the town walls. But when he looked up again, his heart leaped with joy and then stood still, for he saw the face of one of his dear friends from merry Sherwood. Quickly glancing around, he recognized familiar faces all around him, crowded closely around the guards who were watching him. Suddenly, color rushed to his cheeks when he caught a glimpse of his good master in the crowd, and realizing that Robin Hood and all his followers were there. Yet between him and them was a line of guards.

"Now, stand back!" cried the Sheriff in a mighty voice, for the crowd pressed around on all sides. "What mean ye, varlets, that ye push upon us so? Stand back, I say!"

"Now, step back!" shouted the Sheriff in a powerful voice, as the crowd pushed in from all sides. "What are you doing, you knaves, crowding us like this? Step back, I say!"

Then came a bustle and a noise, and one strove to push between the men- at-arms so as to reach the cart, and Stutely saw that it was Little John that made all that stir.

Then there was a flurry and a commotion, and someone tried to squeeze past the men-at-arms to get to the cart, and Stutely noticed that it was Little John who was causing all the chaos.

"Now stand thou back!" cried one of the men-at-arms whom Little John pushed with his elbows.

"Now step back!" shouted one of the soldiers as Little John nudged him with his elbows.

"Now stand thou back thine own self," quoth Little John, and straightway smote the man a buffet beside his head that felled him as a butcher fells an ox, and then he leaped to the cart where Stutely sat.

"Now step back yourself," said Little John, and immediately hit the man a blow beside his head that knocked him down like a butcher brings down an ox, and then he jumped onto the cart where Stutely was sitting.

"I pray thee take leave of thy friends ere thou diest, Will," quoth he, "or maybe I will die with thee if thou must die, for I could never have better company." Then with one stroke he cut the bonds that bound the other's arms and legs, and Stutely leaped straightway from the cart.

"I urge you to say goodbye to your friends before you die, Will," he said, "or maybe I’ll die with you if you have to go, because I could never have better company." Then, with one swift motion, he cut the ropes that tied the other's arms and legs, and Stutely immediately jumped off the cart.

"Now as I live," cried the Sheriff, "yon varlet I know right well is a sturdy rebel! Take him, I bid you all, and let him not go!"

"Now as I live," shouted the Sheriff, "that guy I know very well is a tough rebel! Seize him, I command you all, and don’t let him escape!"

So saying, he spurred his horse upon Little John, and rising in his stirrups smote with might and main, but Little John ducked quickly underneath the horse's belly and the blow whistled harmlessly over his head.

So saying, he urged his horse towards Little John and, standing in his stirrups, struck with all his strength, but Little John quickly ducked under the horse's belly, and the blow whizzed harmlessly over his head.

"Nay, good Sir Sheriff," cried he, leaping up again when the blow had passed, "I must e'en borrow thy most worshipful sword." Thereupon he twitched the weapon deftly from out the Sheriff's hand, "Here, Stutely," he cried, "the Sheriff hath lent thee his sword! Back to back with me, man, and defend thyself, for help is nigh!"

"Nah, good Sheriff," he exclaimed, jumping up again after the blow had passed, "I need to borrow your esteemed sword." With that, he skillfully grabbed the weapon from the Sheriff's hand, "Here, Stutely," he shouted, "the Sheriff has lent you his sword! Stand back to back with me, man, and defend yourself, because help is close!"



008 (54K)



008 (54K)

"Down with them!" bellowed the Sheriff in a voice like an angry bull; and he spurred his horse upon the two who now stood back to back, forgetting in his rage that he had no weapon with which to defend himself.

"Down with them!" shouted the Sheriff in a voice like an angry bull; and he urged his horse toward the two who now stood back to back, forgetting in his rage that he had no weapon to defend himself.

"Stand back, Sheriff!" cried Little John; and even as he spoke, a bugle horn sounded shrilly and a clothyard shaft whistled within an inch of the Sheriff's head. Then came a swaying hither and thither, and oaths, cries, and groans, and clashing of steel, and swords flashed in the setting sun, and a score of arrows whistled through the air. And some cried, "Help, help!" and some, "A rescue, a rescue!"

"Step back, Sheriff!" shouted Little John; and just as he said this, a bugle horn blew sharply and an arrow whizzed just past the Sheriff's head. Then there was a chaotic flurry, filled with swearing, shouting, and groaning, as steel clashed and swords gleamed in the setting sun, while a dozen arrows zipped through the air. Some yelled, "Help, help!" and others called, "A rescue, a rescue!"

"Treason!" cried the Sheriff in a loud voice. "Bear back! Bear back! Else we be all dead men!" Thereupon he reined his horse backward through the thickest of the crowd.

"Treason!" shouted the Sheriff loudly. "Step back! Step back! Or we'll all be dead!" With that, he pulled his horse back through the thickest part of the crowd.

Now Robin Hood and his band might have slain half of the Sheriff's men had they desired to do so, but they let them push out of the press and get them gone, only sending a bunch of arrows after them to hurry them in their flight.

Now Robin Hood and his crew could have taken down half of the Sheriff’s men if they wanted to, but they let them break away from the crowd and get away, just shooting a few arrows after them to speed up their escape.

"Oh stay!" shouted Will Stutely after the Sheriff. "Thou wilt never catch bold Robin Hood if thou dost not stand to meet him face to face." But the Sheriff, bowing along his horse's back, made no answer but only spurred the faster.

"Oh wait!" shouted Will Stutely after the Sheriff. "You’ll never catch brave Robin Hood if you don’t confront him face to face." But the Sheriff, hunched over his horse's back, didn’t respond and just kicked his horse to go faster.

Then Will Stutely turned to Little John and looked him in the face till the tears ran down from his eyes and he wept aloud; and kissing his friend's cheeks, "O Little John!" quoth he, "mine own true friend, and he that I love better than man or woman in all the world beside! Little did I reckon to see thy face this day, or to meet thee this side Paradise." Little John could make no answer, but wept also.

Then Will Stutely turned to Little John and looked him in the face until tears rolled down his cheeks, and he cried out loud. Kissing his friend's cheeks, he said, "O Little John! my true friend, and the one I love more than anything or anyone else in the world! I never expected to see your face today or to meet you this side of Paradise." Little John couldn't respond but wept as well.

Then Robin Hood gathered his band together in a close rank, with Will Stutely in the midst, and thus they moved slowly away toward Sherwood, and were gone, as a storm cloud moves away from the spot where a tempest has swept the land. But they left ten of the Sheriff's men lying along the ground wounded—some more, some less—yet no one knew who smote them down.

Then Robin Hood gathered his group together in a tight formation, with Will Stutely in the center, and they moved slowly away toward Sherwood, disappearing like a storm cloud drifting away from the place where a tempest has ravaged the land. But they left ten of the Sheriff's men lying wounded on the ground—some more severely, some less—but no one knew who had taken them down.

Thus the Sheriff of Nottingham tried thrice to take Robin Hood and failed each time; and the last time he was frightened, for he felt how near he had come to losing his life; so he said, "These men fear neither God nor man, nor king nor king's officers. I would sooner lose mine office than my life, so I will trouble them no more." So he kept close within his castle for many a day and dared not show his face outside of his own household, and all the time he was gloomy and would speak to no one, for he was ashamed of what had happened that day.

So the Sheriff of Nottingham tried three times to capture Robin Hood and failed each time; the last time left him scared, as he realized how close he was to losing his life. He said, "These men fear neither God nor man, nor the king nor his officers. I’d rather lose my position than my life, so I’m not going to bother them anymore." For many days, he stayed hidden in his castle and didn’t dare show his face outside his own home. All the while, he was gloomy and wouldn’t talk to anyone, feeling ashamed of what had happened that day.

 

 

 

 



010b (55K)



010b (55K)

Robin Hood Turns Butcher

NOW AFTER all these things had happened, and it became known to Robin Hood how the Sheriff had tried three times to make him captive, he said to himself, "If I have the chance, I will make our worshipful Sheriff pay right well for that which he hath done to me. Maybe I may bring him some time into Sherwood Forest and have him to a right merry feast with us." For when Robin Hood caught a baron or a squire, or a fat abbot or bishop, he brought them to the greenwood tree and feasted them before he lightened their purses.

NOW AFTER all these things had happened, and Robin Hood learned that the Sheriff had tried three times to capture him, he thought to himself, "If I get the chance, I’ll make our esteemed Sheriff pay dearly for what he’s done to me. Maybe I can lure him into Sherwood Forest and throw him a proper fun feast with us." Because when Robin Hood captured a baron, a squire, or a fat abbot or bishop, he would bring them to the greenwood tree and feast them before he lightened their purses.

But in the meantime Robin Hood and his band lived quietly in Sherwood Forest, without showing their faces abroad, for Robin knew that it would not be wise for him to be seen in the neighborhood of Nottingham, those in authority being very wroth with him. But though they did not go abroad, they lived a merry life within the woodlands, spending the days in shooting at garlands hung upon a willow wand at the end of the glade, the leafy aisles ringing with merry jests and laughter: for whoever missed the garland was given a sound buffet, which, if delivered by Little John, never failed to topple over the unfortunate yeoman. Then they had bouts of wrestling and of cudgel play, so that every day they gained in skill and strength.

But in the meantime, Robin Hood and his group lived peacefully in Sherwood Forest, keeping to themselves because Robin knew it wouldn't be smart to be seen around Nottingham, where the authorities were very angry with him. Even though they stayed hidden, they enjoyed a cheerful life in the woods, spending their days shooting at garlands hung on a willow branch at the end of the glade, the leafy paths filled with laughter and jokes. If someone missed the garland, they got a good whack, and if it was delivered by Little John, it always knocked the unlucky archer over. They also had wrestling matches and played with sticks, so each day they improved their skills and strength.

Thus they dwelled for nearly a year, and in that time Robin Hood often turned over in his mind many means of making an even score with the Sheriff. At last he began to fret at his confinement; so one day he took up his stout cudgel and set forth to seek adventure, strolling blithely along until he came to the edge of Sherwood. There, as he rambled along the sunlit road, he met a lusty young butcher driving a fine mare and riding in a stout new cart, all hung about with meat. Merrily whistled the Butcher as he jogged along, for he was going to the market, and the day was fresh and sweet, making his heart blithe within him.

So they lived there for almost a year, and during that time, Robin Hood often thought about various ways to settle the score with the Sheriff. Eventually, he grew restless being cooped up; one day, he grabbed his sturdy club and set out in search of adventure, happily walking along until he reached the edge of Sherwood. There, as he strolled down the sunlit road, he encountered a cheerful young butcher driving a lovely mare and riding in a strong new cart, filled with meat. The Butcher whistled merrily as he went along, because he was headed to the market, and the day was bright and pleasant, filling his heart with joy.

"Good morrow to thee, jolly fellow," quoth Robin, "thou seemest happy this merry morn."

"Good morning to you, cheerful friend," said Robin, "you seem happy this joyful morning."

"Ay, that am I," quoth the jolly Butcher, "and why should I not be so? Am I not hale in wind and limb? Have I not the bonniest lass in all Nottinghamshire? And lastly, am I not to be married to her on Thursday next in sweet Locksley Town?"

"Yeah, that's me," said the cheerful Butcher, "and why shouldn't I be? Am I not healthy in body and mind? Don't I have the prettiest girl in all of Nottinghamshire? And finally, am I not getting married to her this Thursday in beautiful Locksley Town?"

"Ha," said Robin, "comest thou from Locksley Town? Well do I know that fair place for miles about, and well do I know each hedgerow and gentle pebbly stream, and even all the bright little fishes therein, for there I was born and bred. Now, where goest thou with thy meat, my fair friend?"

"Ha," said Robin, "are you from Locksley Town? I know that beautiful place very well, every hedgerow and gentle pebbly stream, even all the bright little fish in them, because that's where I was born and raised. Now, where are you headed with your food, my friend?"

"I go to the market at Nottingham Town to sell my beef and my mutton," answered the Butcher. "But who art thou that comest from Locksley Town?"

"I go to the market in Nottingham to sell my beef and my mutton," replied the Butcher. "But who are you that comes from Locksley?"

"A yeoman am I, and men do call me Robin Hood."

"I’m a commoner, and people call me Robin Hood."

"Now, by Our Lady's grace," cried the Butcher, "well do I know thy name, and many a time have I heard thy deeds both sung and spoken of. But Heaven forbid that thou shouldst take aught of me! An honest man am I, and have wronged neither man nor maid; so trouble me not, good master, as I have never troubled thee."

"Now, by Our Lady's grace," shouted the Butcher, "I know your name well, and many times I've heard your deeds praised and discussed. But God forbid that you should take anything from me! I'm an honest man, and I haven’t wronged anyone; so please don't bother me, good sir, as I have never bothered you."

"Nay, Heaven forbid, indeed," quoth Robin, "that I should take from such as thee, jolly fellow! Not so much as one farthing would I take from thee, for I love a fair Saxon face like thine right well—more especially when it cometh from Locksley Town, and most especially when the man that owneth it is to marry a bonny lass on Thursday next. But come, tell me for what price thou wilt sell me all of thy meat and thy horse and cart."

"Absolutely not, Heaven forbid," said Robin, "that I should take anything from you, jolly fellow! I wouldn't take a single penny from you because I really like a nice Saxon face like yours—especially when it comes from Locksley Town, and even more so when the man who owns it is about to marry a lovely girl this coming Thursday. But come on, tell me how much you want for all your meat and your horse and cart."

"At four marks do I value meat, cart, and mare," quoth the Butcher, "but if I do not sell all my meat I will not have four marks in value."

"At four marks, I value the meat, cart, and mare," said the Butcher, "but if I don't sell all my meat, I won't have four marks in value."

Then Robin Hood plucked the purse from his girdle, and quoth he, "Here in this purse are six marks. Now, I would fain be a butcher for the day and sell my meat in Nottingham Town. Wilt thou close a bargain with me and take six marks for thine outfit?"

Then Robin Hood took the purse from his belt and said, "In this purse are six marks. I want to be a butcher for the day and sell my meat in Nottingham Town. Will you make a deal with me and accept six marks for your outfit?"

"Now may the blessings of all the saints fall on thine honest head!" cried the Butcher right joyfully, as he leaped down from his cart and took the purse that Robin held out to him.

"Now may the blessings of all the saints be upon your honest head!" shouted the Butcher happily, as he jumped down from his cart and took the purse that Robin offered him.

"Nay," quoth Robin, laughing loudly, "many do like me and wish me well, but few call me honest. Now get thee gone back to thy lass, and give her a sweet kiss from me." So saying, he donned the Butcher's apron, and, climbing into the cart, he took the reins in his hand and drove off through the forest to Nottingham Town.

"Not at all," Robin said, laughing loudly, "many people like me and wish me well, but few call me honest. Now go back to your girl and give her a sweet kiss from me." With that, he put on the Butcher's apron, climbed into the cart, took the reins in his hands, and drove off through the forest to Nottingham Town.

When he came to Nottingham, he entered that part of the market where butchers stood, and took up his inn[Stand for selling] in the best place he could find. Next, he opened his stall and spread his meat upon the bench, then, taking his cleaver and steel and clattering them together, he trolled aloud in merry tones:

When he arrived in Nottingham, he walked into the section of the market where butchers were located and set up his stand in the best spot he could find. Then, he opened his stall and laid out his meat on the counter. After that, he grabbed his cleaver and steel, clanged them together, and sang cheerfully in a loud voice:


 "Now come, ye lasses, and eke ye dames,
     And buy your meat from me;
 For three pennyworths of meat I sell
     For the charge of one penny.

 "Lamb have I that hath fed upon nought
     But the dainty dames pied,
 And the violet sweet, and the daffodil
     That grow fair streams beside.

 "And beef have I from the heathery words,
     And mutton from dales all green,
 And veal as white as a maiden's brow,
     With its mother's milk, I ween.

 "Then come, ye lasses, and eke ye dames,
     Come, buy your meat from me,
 For three pennyworths of meat I sell
     For the charge of one penny."

"Come on, ladies, and you too, ma'ams,  
    And buy your meat from me;  
For three pence worth of meat I sell  
    For just one penny.  

"I have lamb that has fed on nothing  
    But the beautiful ladies' pie,  
And the sweet violet, and the daffodil  
    That grow by the lovely streams.  

"And I have beef from the heather-covered hills,  
    And mutton from all the green valleys,  
And veal as white as a maiden's skin,  
    With its mother's milk, I think.  

"So come on, ladies, and you too, ma'ams,  
    Come, buy your meat from me,  
For three pence worth of meat I sell  
    For just one penny."

Thus he sang blithely, while all who stood near listened amazedly. Then, when he had finished, he clattered the steel and cleaver still more loudly, shouting lustily, "Now, who'll buy? Who'll buy? Four fixed prices have I. Three pennyworths of meat I sell to a fat friar or priest for sixpence, for I want not their custom; stout aldermen I charge threepence, for it doth not matter to me whether they buy or not; to buxom dames I sell three pennyworths of meat for one penny for I like their custom well; but to the bonny lass that hath a liking for a good tight butcher I charge nought but one fair kiss, for I like her custom the best of all."

So he sang cheerfully while everyone nearby listened in amazement. Then, when he finished, he clanged the steel and cleaver even louder, shouting enthusiastically, "Now, who wants to buy? Who wants to buy? I have four set prices. I sell three pennies’ worth of meat to a fat friar or priest for sixpence, as I don’t want their business; I charge stout aldermen threepence because it doesn't matter to me if they buy or not; I sell three pennies’ worth of meat to lovely ladies for just one penny because I really appreciate their business; but to the pretty girl who fancies a good, strong butcher, I charge only one nice kiss, because I like her business the best of all."

Then all began to stare and wonder and crowd around, laughing, for never was such selling heard of in all Nottingham Town; but when they came to buy they found it as he had said, for he gave goodwife or dame as much meat for one penny as they could buy elsewhere for three, and when a widow or a poor woman came to him, he gave her flesh for nothing; but when a merry lass came and gave him a kiss, he charged not one penny for his meat; and many such came to his stall, for his eyes were as blue as the skies of June, and he laughed merrily, giving to each full measure. Thus he sold his meat so fast that no butcher that stood near him could sell anything.

Then everyone started to stare and wonder, gathering around and laughing, because they'd never seen such selling in all of Nottingham Town. But when they came to buy, they found it was just as he had said. He gave the goodwives or ladies as much meat for one penny as they could get elsewhere for three. When a widow or a poor woman came to him, he gave her meat for free; but when a cheerful girl came and gave him a kiss, he didn't charge her at all for his meat. Many such girls visited his stall, for his eyes were as blue as the June sky, and he laughed happily, giving each person a full serving. He sold his meat so quickly that no butcher standing nearby could sell anything.



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Then they began to talk among themselves, and some said, "This must be some thief who has stolen cart, horse, and meat"; but others said, "Nay, when did ye ever see a thief who parted with his goods so freely and merrily? This must be some prodigal who hath sold his father's land, and would fain live merrily while the money lasts." And these latter being the greater number, the others came round, one by one to their way of thinking.

Then they started discussing among themselves, and some said, "This must be a thief who has stolen the wagon, horse, and meat"; but others replied, "No, when have you ever seen a thief who gives away his stuff so freely and cheerfully? This must be some spendthrift who has sold his father's land and wants to live it up while the money lasts." And since the latter group was larger, the others gradually changed their minds to agree with them.

Then some of the butchers came to him to make his acquaintance. "Come, brother," quoth one who was the head of them all, "we be all of one trade, so wilt thou go dine with us? For this day the Sheriff hath asked all the Butcher Guild to feast with him at the Guild Hall. There will be stout fare and much to drink, and that thou likest, or I much mistake thee."

Then some of the butchers approached him to introduce themselves. "Come on, brother," said the leader of the group, "we're all in the same line of work, so why don't you join us for dinner? Today, the Sheriff has invited the entire Butcher Guild to feast with him at the Guild Hall. There will be plenty of hearty food and lots to drink, which I believe you enjoy, or I’m mistaken."

"Now, beshrew his heart," quoth jolly Robin, "that would deny a butcher. And, moreover, I will go dine with you all, my sweet lads, and that as fast as I can hie." Whereupon, having sold all his meat, he closed his stall and went with them to the great Guild Hall.

"Now, curse his heart," said jolly Robin, "who would refuse a butcher. And, besides, I'll go have dinner with all of you, my dear lads, as quickly as I can." With that, after he sold all his meat, he packed up his stall and went with them to the big Guild Hall.

There the Sheriff had already come in state, and with him many butchers. When Robin and those that were with him came in, all laughing at some merry jest he had been telling them, those that were near the Sheriff whispered to him, "Yon is a right mad blade, for he hath sold more meat for one penny this day than we could sell for three, and to whatsoever merry lass gave him a kiss he gave meat for nought." And others said, "He is some prodigal that hath sold his land for silver and gold, and meaneth to spend all right merrily."

There the Sheriff had already arrived in style, accompanied by many butchers. When Robin and his companions walked in, all laughing at a funny story he had been telling, those close to the Sheriff whispered to him, "That guy is quite the character, because he’s sold more meat for a penny today than we could sell for three. And to any cheerful girl who gave him a kiss, he gave away meat for free." Others added, "He’s probably some spendthrift who sold his land for cash and plans to enjoy it all in a carefree way."

Then the Sheriff called Robin to him, not knowing him in his butcher's dress, and made him sit close to him on his right hand; for he loved a rich young prodigal—especially when he thought that he might lighten that prodigal's pockets into his own most worshipful purse. So he made much of Robin, and laughed and talked with him more than with any of the others.

Then the Sheriff called Robin over, not recognizing him in his butcher's outfit, and made him sit right next to him on his right side; for he had a fondness for wealthy young spendthrifts—especially when he thought he could lighten that spendthrift's pockets into his own highly esteemed wallet. So he fawned over Robin, laughing and chatting with him more than with anyone else.

At last the dinner was ready to be served and the Sheriff bade Robin say grace, so Robin stood up and said, "Now Heaven bless us all and eke good meat and good sack within this house, and may all butchers be and remain as honest men as I am."

At last, dinner was ready to be served, and the Sheriff asked Robin to say grace. So Robin stood up and said, "Now may Heaven bless us all, along with good food and good wine in this house, and may all butchers be as honest as I am."

At this all laughed, the Sheriff loudest of all, for he said to himself, "Surely this is indeed some prodigal, and perchance I may empty his purse of some of the money that the fool throweth about so freely." Then he spake aloud to Robin, saying, "Thou art a jolly young blade, and I love thee mightily"; and he smote Robin upon the shoulder.

At this, everyone laughed, with the Sheriff laughing the loudest, thinking to himself, "This guy must be some big spender, and maybe I can take some of the cash he's throwing around so carelessly." Then he spoke out to Robin, saying, "You're quite the fun young man, and I really like you"; and he slapped Robin on the shoulder.

Then Robin laughed loudly too. "Yea," quoth he, "I know thou dost love a jolly blade, for didst thou not have jolly Robin Hood at thy shooting match and didst thou not gladly give him a bright golden arrow for his own?"

Then Robin laughed loudly too. "Yeah," he said, "I know you love a fun guy, because didn’t you have jolly Robin Hood at your shooting match and didn’t you happily give him a shiny golden arrow for himself?"

At this the Sheriff looked grave and all the guild of butchers too, so that none laughed but Robin, only some winked slyly at each other.

At this, the Sheriff looked serious, and so did all the butchers' guild, so no one laughed except for Robin, although some exchanged sly winks.

"Come, fill us some sack!" cried Robin. "Let us e'er be merry while we may, for man is but dust, and he hath but a span to live here till the worm getteth him, as our good gossip Swanthold sayeth; so let life be merry while it lasts, say I. Nay, never look down i' the mouth, Sir Sheriff. Who knowest but that thou mayest catch Robin Hood yet, if thou drinkest less good sack and Malmsey, and bringest down the fat about thy paunch and the dust from out thy brain. Be merry, man."

"Come on, pour us some wine!" shouted Robin. "Let’s be happy while we can, because life is short and we only have so much time before the end comes, just like our good friend Swanthold says; so let's enjoy life while we can, that’s what I say. No need to look glum, Sir Sheriff. Who knows, you might actually catch Robin Hood if you drink less good wine and sweet wine, and shed some of that belly fat and clear your mind. Cheer up, man."

Then the Sheriff laughed again, but not as though he liked the jest, while the butchers said, one to another, "Before Heaven, never have we seen such a mad rollicking blade. Mayhap, though, he will make the Sheriff mad."

Then the Sheriff laughed again, but not in a way that showed he appreciated the joke, while the butchers said to each other, "Honestly, we've never seen such a wild and crazy guy. Maybe he'll drive the Sheriff crazy."

"How now, brothers," cried Robin, "be merry! nay, never count over your farthings, for by this and by that I will pay this shot myself, e'en though it cost two hundred pounds. So let no man draw up his lip, nor thrust his forefinger into his purse, for I swear that neither butcher nor Sheriff shall pay one penny for this feast."

"Hey, brothers," shouted Robin, "let's cheer up! Don't count your coins, because I’ll cover the bill myself, even if it costs two hundred pounds. So no one should pout or dig their fingers into their wallet, because I promise that neither the butcher nor the Sheriff will pay a dime for this feast."

"Now thou art a right merry soul," quoth the Sheriff, "and I wot thou must have many a head of horned beasts and many an acre of land, that thou dost spend thy money so freely."

"Now you are a truly cheerful person," said the Sheriff, "and I know you must have plenty of cattle and a lot of land, if you spend your money so freely."

"Ay, that have I," quoth Robin, laughing loudly again, "five hundred and more horned beasts have I and my brothers, and none of them have we been able to sell, else I might not have turned butcher. As for my land, I have never asked my steward how many acres I have."

"Aye, I have that," said Robin, laughing loudly again, "me and my brothers have over five hundred horned animals, and we haven’t been able to sell any of them, or else I wouldn’t have become a butcher. As for my land, I’ve never asked my steward how many acres I own."

At this the Sheriff's eyes twinkled, and he chuckled to himself. "Nay, good youth," quoth he, "if thou canst not sell thy cattle, it may be I will find a man that will lift them from thy hands; perhaps that man may be myself, for I love a merry youth and would help such a one along the path of life. Now how much dost thou want for thy horned cattle?"

At this, the Sheriff’s eyes sparkled, and he smiled to himself. "No, good young man," he said, "if you can't sell your cattle, maybe I can find someone who will take them off your hands; perhaps that someone could be me, because I enjoy a cheerful young person and would like to help you on your journey through life. Now, how much do you want for your cattle?"

"Well," quoth Robin, "they are worth at least five hundred pounds."

"Well," said Robin, "they're worth at least five hundred pounds."

"Nay," answered the Sheriff slowly, and as if he were thinking within himself, "well do I love thee, and fain would I help thee along, but five hundred pounds in money is a good round sum; besides I have it not by me. Yet I will give thee three hundred pounds for them all, and that in good hard silver and gold."

"Not at all," replied the Sheriff slowly, almost as if he were thinking to himself, "I care for you a lot, and I really want to help you, but five hundred pounds is a hefty amount; besides, I don’t have that kind of money on hand. However, I will offer you three hundred pounds for everything, and it will be in solid silver and gold."

"Now thou old miser!" quoth Robin, "well thou knowest that so many horned cattle are worth seven hundred pounds and more, and even that is but small for them, and yet thou, with thy gray hairs and one foot in the grave, wouldst trade upon the folly of a wild youth."

"Now you old miser!" said Robin, "you know very well that so many horned cattle are worth seven hundred pounds or more, and even that's just a small amount for them, and yet you, with your gray hairs and one foot in the grave, would try to take advantage of the foolishness of a wild youth."

At this the Sheriff looked grimly at Robin. "Nay," quoth Robin, "look not on me as though thou hadst sour beer in thy mouth, man. I will take thine offer, for I and my brothers do need the money. We lead a merry life, and no one leads a merry life for a farthing, so I will close the bargain with thee. But mind that thou bringest a good three hundred pounds with thee, for I trust not one that driveth so shrewd a bargain."

At this, the Sheriff glared at Robin. "No," said Robin, "don’t look at me like you just tasted something sour, man. I’ll accept your offer, because my brothers and I need the money. We live a good life, and no one lives well on just a penny, so I’ll seal the deal with you. But make sure you bring a solid three hundred pounds, because I don’t trust someone who makes such a sharp bargain."

"I will bring the money," said the Sheriff. "But what is thy name, good youth?"

"I'll bring the money," said the Sheriff. "But what's your name, young man?"

"Men call me Robert o' Locksley," quoth bold Robin.

"Guys call me Robert of Locksley," said bold Robin.

"Then, good Robert o' Locksley," quoth the Sheriff, "I will come this day to see thy horned beasts. But first my clerk shall draw up a paper in which thou shalt be bound to the sale, for thou gettest not my money without I get thy beasts in return."

"Then, good Robert of Locksley," said the Sheriff, "I will come today to see your horned cattle. But first, my clerk will prepare a document that will commit you to the sale, because I won’t give you my money unless I get your cattle in return."

Then Robin Hood laughed again. "So be it," he said, smiting his palm upon the Sheriff's hand. "Truly my brothers will be thankful to thee for thy money."

Then Robin Hood laughed again. "Alright then," he said, slapping his palm against the Sheriff's hand. "Honestly, my friends will appreciate your money."

Thus the bargain was closed, but many of the butchers talked among themselves of the Sheriff, saying that it was but a scurvy trick to beguile a poor spendthrift youth in this way.

Thus the deal was finalized, but many of the butchers whispered to each other about the Sheriff, saying that it was a petty trick to deceive a young wasteful spender like him.

The afternoon had come when the Sheriff mounted his horse and joined Robin Hood, who stood outside the gateway of the paved court waiting for him, for he had sold his horse and cart to a trader for two marks. Then they set forth upon their way, the Sheriff riding upon his horse and Robin running beside him. Thus they left Nottingham Town and traveled forward along the dusty highway, laughing and jesting together as though they had been old friends. But all the time the Sheriff said within himself, "Thy jest to me of Robin Hood shall cost thee dear, good fellow, even four hundred pounds, thou fool." For he thought he would make at least that much by his bargain.

The afternoon arrived when the Sheriff got on his horse and met up with Robin Hood, who was waiting for him outside the gateway of the paved courtyard. Robin had sold his horse and cart to a trader for two marks. They then set off together, the Sheriff on his horse and Robin running beside him. They left Nottingham Town and traveled down the dusty road, laughing and joking as if they were old friends. However, the Sheriff was thinking to himself, "Your joke about Robin Hood is going to cost you a lot, my friend, even four hundred pounds, you fool." He believed he would profit at least that much from his deal.

So they journeyed onward till they came within the verge of Sherwood Forest, when presently the Sheriff looked up and down and to the right and to the left of him, and then grew quiet and ceased his laughter. "Now," quoth he, "may Heaven and its saints preserve us this day from a rogue men call Robin Hood."

So they continued on their journey until they reached the edge of Sherwood Forest. Suddenly, the Sheriff glanced around—looking up and down, then to his right and left—and then he fell silent and stopped laughing. "Now," he said, "may Heaven and its saints protect us today from a thief known as Robin Hood."

Then Robin laughed aloud. "Nay," said he, "thou mayst set thy mind at rest, for well do I know Robin Hood and well do I know that thou art in no more danger from him this day than thou art from me."

Then Robin laughed loudly. "No," he said, "you can relax, because I know Robin Hood well, and I know that you’re in no more danger from him today than you are from me."

At this the Sheriff looked askance at Robin, saying to himself, "I like not that thou seemest so well acquainted with this bold outlaw, and I wish that I were well out of Sherwood Forest."

At this, the Sheriff shot a wary glance at Robin, thinking, "I don't like how familiar you seem with this daring outlaw, and I wish I could get far away from Sherwood Forest."

But still they traveled deeper into the forest shades, and the deeper they went, the more quiet grew the Sheriff. At last they came to where the road took a sudden bend, and before them a herd of dun deer went tripping across the path. Then Robin Hood came close to the Sheriff and pointing his finger, he said, "These are my horned beasts, good Master Sheriff. How dost thou like them? Are they not fat and fair to see?"

But they continued deeper into the forest, and the further they went, the quieter the Sheriff became. Eventually, they reached a sudden turn in the road, where a group of deer gracefully crossed their path. Then Robin Hood moved closer to the Sheriff and pointed, saying, "These are my majestic animals, good Master Sheriff. What do you think of them? Aren't they plump and beautiful?"

At this the Sheriff drew rein quickly. "Now fellow," quoth he, "I would I were well out of this forest, for I like not thy company. Go thou thine own path, good friend, and let me but go mine."

At this, the Sheriff stopped his horse suddenly. "Now listen," he said, "I wish I were out of this forest because I don't like being around you. You go your way, good friend, and let me go my own."

But Robin only laughed and caught the Sheriff's bridle rein. "Nay," cried he, "stay awhile, for I would thou shouldst see my brothers, who own these fair horned beasts with me." So saying, he clapped his bugle to his mouth and winded three merry notes, and presently up the path came leaping fivescore good stout yeomen with Little John at their head.

But Robin just laughed and grabbed the Sheriff’s horse's reins. "No," he said, "wait a moment, because I want you to meet my friends, who share these fine horned beasts with me." With that, he raised his bugle to his lips and played three cheerful notes, and soon, down the path sprang fifty strong men with Little John leading the way.

"What wouldst thou have, good master?" quoth Little John.

"What do you want, good master?" said Little John.

"Why," answered Robin, "dost thou not see that I have brought goodly company to feast with us today? Fye, for shame! Do you not see our good and worshipful master, the Sheriff of Nottingham? Take thou his bridle, Little John, for he has honored us today by coming to feast with us."

"Why," Robin replied, "don’t you see that I’ve brought great company to feast with us today? Shame on you! Can’t you see our esteemed master, the Sheriff of Nottingham? Take his bridle, Little John, because he has honored us with his presence today."

Then all doffed their hats humbly, without smiling or seeming to be in jest, while Little John took the bridle rein and led the palfrey still deeper into the forest, all marching in order, with Robin Hood walking beside the Sheriff, hat in hand.

Then everyone quietly took off their hats, without smiling or appearing to joke around, while Little John held the bridle and led the horse further into the forest, all walking in line, with Robin Hood next to the Sheriff, hat in hand.

All this time the Sheriff said never a word but only looked about him like one suddenly awakened from sleep; but when he found himself going within the very depths of Sherwood his heart sank within him, for he thought, "Surely my three hundred pounds will be taken from me, even if they take not my life itself, for I have plotted against their lives more than once." But all seemed humble and meek and not a word was said of danger, either to life or money.

All this time, the Sheriff didn’t say a word; he just looked around like someone suddenly waking up from a dream. But when he found himself deep in Sherwood, his heart sank, because he thought, "Surely, I will lose my three hundred pounds, even if they don’t take my life, since I’ve plotted against them more than once." Yet everything seemed calm and submissive, and no one mentioned any threats to his life or money.

So at last they came to that part of Sherwood Forest where a noble oak spread its branches wide, and beneath it was a seat all made of moss, on which Robin sat down, placing the Sheriff at his right hand. "Now busk ye, my merry men all," quoth he, "and bring forth the best we have, both of meat and wine, for his worship the Sheriff hath feasted me in Nottingham Guild Hall today, and I would not have him go back empty."

So finally, they arrived at that part of Sherwood Forest where a magnificent oak tree spread its branches wide, and underneath it was a seat made entirely of moss, where Robin settled down, placing the Sheriff at his right side. "Now gather around, my merry men," he said, "and bring out the best we have, both food and drink, because the Sheriff has treated me to a feast in Nottingham Guild Hall today, and I don’t want him to leave empty-handed."

All this time nothing had been said of the Sheriff's money, so presently he began to pluck up heart. "For," said he to himself, "maybe Robin Hood hath forgotten all about it."

All this time, no one had mentioned the Sheriff's money, so eventually he started to feel more hopeful. "Because," he thought to himself, "maybe Robin Hood has forgotten all about it."

Then, while beyond in the forest bright fires crackled and savory smells of sweetly roasting venison and fat capons filled the glade, and brown pasties warmed beside the blaze, did Robin Hood entertain the Sheriff right royally. First, several couples stood forth at quarterstaff, and so shrewd were they at the game, and so quickly did they give stroke and parry, that the Sheriff, who loved to watch all lusty sports of the kind, clapped his hands, forgetting where he was, and crying aloud, "Well struck! Well struck, thou fellow with the black beard!" little knowing that the man he called upon was the Tinker that tried to serve his warrant upon Robin Hood.

Then, while in the forest bright fires crackled and delicious smells of roasting venison and plump capons filled the glade, and warm brown pasties sat by the fire, Robin Hood hosted the Sheriff in style. First, several couples took turns sparring with quarterstaffs, and they were so skilled and quick with their strikes and blocks that the Sheriff, who loved to watch lively sports like this, clapped his hands, forgetting where he was, and exclaimed, "Well struck! Well struck, you guy with the black beard!" not realizing that the man he called out was the Tinker who had tried to deliver a warrant to Robin Hood.

Then several yeomen came forward and spread cloths upon the green grass, and placed a royal feast; while others still broached barrels of sack and Malmsey and good stout ale, and set them in jars upon the cloth, with drinking horns about them. Then all sat down and feasted and drank merrily together until the sun was low and the half-moon glimmered with a pale light betwixt the leaves of the trees overhead.

Then several farmers came forward and spread cloths on the green grass, and laid out a royal feast. Others opened barrels of sherry and Malmsey wine and good strong ale, placing them in jars on the cloth with drinking horns around them. Everyone then sat down, enjoying their feast and drinking happily together until the sun was low and the half-moon shone softly through the leaves of the trees above.

Then the Sheriff arose and said, "I thank you all, good yeomen, for the merry entertainment ye have given me this day. Right courteously have ye used me, showing therein that ye have much respect for our glorious King and his deputy in brave Nottinghamshire. But the shadows grow long, and I must away before darkness comes, lest I lose myself within the forest."

Then the Sheriff stood up and said, "Thank you all, good folks, for the fun entertainment you've given me today. You have treated me very kindly, showing that you have a lot of respect for our great King and his representative in brave Nottinghamshire. But the daylight is fading, and I need to leave before it gets dark, or I might get lost in the forest."

Then Robin Hood and all his merry men arose also, and Robin said to the Sheriff, "If thou must go, worshipful sir, go thou must; but thou hast forgotten one thing."

Then Robin Hood and all his merry men got up too, and Robin said to the Sheriff, "If you have to go, respected sir, then you must go; but you’ve forgotten one thing."

"Nay, I forgot nought," said the Sheriff; yet all the same his heart sank within him.

"Nah, I didn't forget anything," said the Sheriff; still, his heart sank inside him.

"But I say thou hast forgot something," quoth Robin. "We keep a merry inn here in the greenwood, but whoever becometh our guest must pay his reckoning."

"But I say you have forgotten something," said Robin. "We run a cheerful inn here in the woods, but anyone who becomes our guest must settle their bill."

Then the Sheriff laughed, but the laugh was hollow. "Well, jolly boys," quoth he, "we have had a merry time together today, and even if ye had not asked me, I would have given you a score of pounds for the sweet entertainment I have had."

Then the Sheriff laughed, but it was an empty laugh. "Well, merry lads," he said, "we’ve had a fun time together today, and even if you hadn’t asked me, I would have given you a bunch of pounds for the enjoyable entertainment I've had."

"Nay," quoth Robin seriously, "it would ill beseem us to treat Your Worship so meanly. By my faith, Sir Sheriff, I would be ashamed to show my face if I did not reckon the King's deputy at three hundred pounds. Is it not so, my merry men all?"

"Nah," Robin said seriously, "it wouldn’t be right for us to treat you like that, Your Worship. Honestly, Sir Sheriff, I’d be embarrassed to show my face if I didn’t consider the King’s deputy worth three hundred pounds. Isn’t that right, my merry men?"

Then "Ay!" cried all, in a loud voice.

Then everyone cried, "Ay!" in a loud voice.

"Three hundred devils!" roared the Sheriff. "Think ye that your beggarly feast was worth three pounds, let alone three hundred?"

"Three hundred devils!" shouted the Sheriff. "Do you really think your pathetic feast was worth three pounds, much less three hundred?"

"Nay," quoth Robin gravely. "Speak not so roundly, Your Worship. I do love thee for the sweet feast thou hast given me this day in merry Nottingham Town; but there be those here who love thee not so much. If thou wilt look down the cloth thou wilt see Will Stutely, in whose eyes thou hast no great favor; then two other stout fellows are there here that thou knowest not, that were wounded in a brawl nigh Nottingham Town, some time ago—thou wottest when; one of them was sore hurt in one arm, yet he hath got the use of it again. Good Sheriff, be advised by me; pay thy score without more ado, or maybe it may fare ill with thee."

“No,” Robin said seriously. “Don’t speak so boldly, Your Worship. I do love you for the nice feast you’ve given me today in merry Nottingham Town; but there are those here who don’t love you as much. If you look down the table, you’ll see Will Stutely, in whose eyes you don’t have much favor; and there are two other strong guys here whom you don’t know, who were hurt in a fight near Nottingham Town some time ago—you know when it was; one of them was badly hurt in one arm, but he’s managed to get some use of it back. Good Sheriff, listen to me; settle your bill without delay, or things might not go well for you.”

As he spoke the Sheriff's ruddy cheeks grew pale, and he said nothing more but looked upon the ground and gnawed his nether lip. Then slowly he drew forth his fat purse and threw it upon the cloth in front of him.

As he spoke, the Sheriff's rosy cheeks turned pale, and he said nothing more but stared at the ground and bit his lower lip. Then, slowly, he pulled out his fat wallet and tossed it onto the cloth in front of him.

"Now take the purse, Little John," quoth Robin Hood, "and see that the reckoning be right. We would not doubt our Sheriff, but he might not like it if he should find he had not paid his full score."

"Now take the purse, Little John," said Robin Hood, "and make sure the bill is correct. We wouldn’t want to doubt our Sheriff, but he might not appreciate it if he finds out he hasn't paid his full amount."

Then Little John counted the money and found that the bag held three hundred pounds in silver and gold. But to the Sheriff it seemed as if every clink of the bright money was a drop of blood from his veins. And when he saw it all counted out in a heap of silver and gold, filling a wooden platter, he turned away and silently mounted his horse.

Then Little John counted the money and found that the bag had three hundred pounds in silver and gold. But to the Sheriff, it felt like every clink of the shiny coins was a drop of blood from his veins. And when he saw it all counted out in a pile of silver and gold, filling a wooden platter, he turned away and quietly got on his horse.

"Never have we had so worshipful a guest before!" quoth Robin, "and, as the day waxeth late, I will send one of my young men to guide thee out of the forest depths."

"Never have we had such an honored guest before!" Robin said, "and, as the day is getting late, I'll send one of my young men to lead you out of the depths of the forest."

"Nay, Heaven forbid!" cried the Sheriff hastily. "I can find mine own way, good man, without aid."

"Nah, heaven forbid!" the Sheriff said quickly. "I can find my own way, good man, without help."

"Then I will put thee on the right track mine own self," quoth Robin, and, taking the Sheriff's horse by the bridle rein, he led him into the main forest path. Then, before he let him go, he said, "Now, fare thee well, good Sheriff, and when next thou thinkest to despoil some poor prodigal, remember thy feast in Sherwood Forest. 'Ne'er buy a horse, good friend, without first looking into its mouth,' as our good gaffer Swanthold says. And so, once more, fare thee well." Then he clapped his hand to the horse's back, and off went nag and Sheriff through the forest glades.

"Then I'll get you on the right path myself," said Robin, and, taking the Sheriff's horse by the bridle, he led it into the main forest path. Before he let it go, he said, "Now, goodbye, good Sheriff, and the next time you think about robbing some poor soul, remember your feast in Sherwood Forest. 'Never buy a horse, my friend, without first checking its teeth,' as our good old man Swanthold says. So, once again, goodbye." Then he slapped the horse's back, and off went the nag and the Sheriff through the forest.

Then bitterly the Sheriff rued the day that first he meddled with Robin Hood, for all men laughed at him and many ballads were sung by folk throughout the country, of how the Sheriff went to shear and came home shorn to the very quick. For thus men sometimes overreach themselves through greed and guile.

Then the Sheriff bitterly regretted the day he got involved with Robin Hood, because everyone laughed at him and many songs were sung by people all over the country about how the Sheriff went out to do his job and came back completely humiliated. This shows how sometimes people can get too greedy and end up outsmarting themselves.

 

 

 

 

Little John Goes to Nottingham Fair

SPRING HAD GONE since the Sheriff's feast in Sherwood, and summer also, and the mellow month of October had come. All the air was cool and fresh; the harvests were gathered home, the young birds were full fledged, the hops were plucked, and apples were ripe. But though time had so smoothed things over that men no longer talked of the horned beasts that the Sheriff wished to buy, he was still sore about the matter and could not bear to hear Robin Hood's name spoken in his presence.

SPRING HAD PASSED since the Sheriff's feast in Sherwood, and summer too, and the pleasant month of October had arrived. The air was cool and fresh; the harvests were collected, the young birds had matured, the hops were harvested, and the apples were ripe. But even though time had eased the situation so that people no longer discussed the horned beasts the Sheriff wanted to buy, he was still upset about it and couldn't stand hearing Robin Hood's name mentioned in his presence.

With October had come the time for holding the great Fair which was celebrated every five years at Nottingham Town, to which folk came from far and near throughout the country. At such times archery was always the main sport of the day, for the Nottinghamshire yeomen were the best hand at the longbow in all merry England, but this year the Sheriff hesitated a long time before he issued proclamation of the Fair, fearing lest Robin Hood and his band might come to it. At first he had a great part of a mind not to proclaim the Fair, but second thought told him that men would laugh at him and say among themselves that he was afraid of Robin Hood, so he put that thought by. At last he fixed in his mind that he would offer such a prize as they would not care to shoot for. At such times it had been the custom to offer a half score of marks or a tun of ale, so this year he proclaimed that a prize of two fat steers should be given to the best bowman.

With October came the time for the big Fair celebrated every five years in Nottingham Town, where people gathered from all over the country. During these events, archery was always the main sport of the day, as the Nottinghamshire yeomen were the best longbow shooters in all of merry England. However, this year the Sheriff took a long time to announce the Fair, worried that Robin Hood and his gang might show up. At first, he considered not proclaiming the Fair at all, but then he thought people would laugh at him and say he was afraid of Robin Hood, so he dismissed that idea. Ultimately, he resolved to offer a prize that wouldn’t attract their interest. In previous years, it had been customary to offer a handful of marks or a cask of ale, but this year he announced that a prize of two fat steers would be given to the best archer.

When Robin Hood heard what had been proclaimed he was vexed, and said, "Now beshrew this Sheriff that he should offer such a prize that none but shepherd hinds will care to shoot for it! I would have loved nothing better than to have had another bout at merry Nottingham Town, but if I should win this prize nought would it pleasure or profit me."

When Robin Hood heard what had been announced, he was annoyed and said, "Curse this Sheriff for offering a prize that only common shepherds would bother to compete for! I would have loved nothing more than to have another fun time in merry Nottingham Town, but if I were to win this prize, it wouldn’t bring me any joy or benefit."

Then up spoke Little John: "Nay, but hearken, good master," said he, "only today Will Stutely, young David of Doncaster, and I were at the Sign of the Blue Boar, and there we heard all the news of this merry Fair, and also that the Sheriff hath offered this prize, that we of Sherwood might not care to come to the Fair; so, good master, if thou wilt, I would fain go and strive to win even this poor thing among the stout yeomen who will shoot at Nottingham Town."

Then Little John spoke up: "No, but listen, good master," he said, "just today Will Stutely, young David from Doncaster, and I were at the Sign of the Blue Boar, and there we heard all the news about this merry Fair, and that the Sheriff has offered a prize, hoping we from Sherwood wouldn’t want to come to the Fair; so, good master, if you agree, I’d really like to go and try to win this small thing among the strong yeomen who will be shooting at Nottingham Town."

"Nay, Little John," quoth Robin, "thou art a sound stout fellow, yet thou lackest the cunning that good Stutely hath, and I would not have harm befall thee for all Nottinghamshire. Nevertheless, if thou wilt go, take some disguise lest there be those there who may know thee."

"Not at all, Little John," Robin said, "you're a solid and strong guy, but you lack the cleverness that good Stutely has, and I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you for all of Nottinghamshire. Still, if you’re going to go, wear some kind of disguise just in case there are people who might recognize you."

"So be it, good master," quoth Little John, "yet all the disguise that I wish is a good suit of scarlet instead of this of Lincoln green. I will draw the cowl of my jacket about my head so that it will hide my brown hair and beard, and then, I trust, no one will know me."

"So be it, good master," said Little John, "but all I want is a nice red outfit instead of this Lincoln green one. I'll pull the hood of my jacket over my head to cover my brown hair and beard, and then, I hope, no one will recognize me."

"It is much against my will," said Robin Hood, "ne'ertheless, if thou dost wish it, get thee gone, but bear thyself seemingly, Little John, for thou art mine own right-hand man and I could ill bear to have harm befall thee."

"It’s really not what I want," said Robin Hood, "but if you want it, go ahead and leave. Just remember to act like you mean it, Little John, because you’re my right-hand man, and I would hate to see anything happen to you."

So Little John clad himself all in scarlet and started off to the Fair at Nottingham Town.

So Little John dressed in all red and set off for the Fair in Nottingham Town.

Right merry were these Fair days at Nottingham, when the green before the great town gate was dotted with booths standing in rows, with tents of many-colored canvas, hung about with streamers and garlands of flowers, and the folk came from all the countryside, both gentle and common. In some booths there was dancing to merry music, in others flowed ale and beer, and in others yet again sweet cakes and barley sugar were sold; and sport was going outside the booths also, where some minstrel sang ballads of the olden time, playing a second upon the harp, or where the wrestlers struggled with one another within the sawdust ring, but the people gathered most of all around a raised platform where stout fellows played at quarterstaff.

It was a joyful time during the Fair days in Nottingham when the green in front of the big town gate was filled with booths lined up in rows, with tents of colorful canvas adorned with streamers and flower garlands. People from all over the countryside, both aristocrats and commoners, came to enjoy the festivities. Some booths had dancing to cheerful music, others served ale and beer, and still more sold sweet cakes and barley sugar. Outside the booths, there were also games; a minstrel sang old ballads while playing the harp, and wrestlers competed in a sawdust ring. However, the biggest crowds gathered around a raised platform where burly men competed with quarterstaffs.

So Little John came to the Fair. All scarlet were his hose and jerkin, and scarlet was his cowled cap, with a scarlet feather stuck in the side of it. Over his shoulders was slung a stout bow of yew, and across his back hung a quiver of good round arrows. Many turned to look after such a stout, tall fellow, for his shoulders were broader by a palm's-breadth than any that were there, and he stood a head taller than all the other men. The lasses, also, looked at him askance, thinking they had never seen a lustier youth.

So Little John arrived at the Fair. He wore bright red leggings and a red tunic, and his hooded cap was also red, with a red feather sticking out of the side. He had a sturdy yew bow slung over his shoulders, and a quiver of well-made arrows hung across his back. Many people turned to look at such a strong, tall guy, as his shoulders were broader by a hand's width than anyone else there, and he stood a head taller than all the other men. The ladies also eyed him curiously, thinking they had never seen such a robust young man.

First of all he went to the booth where stout ale was sold and, standing aloft on a bench, he called to all that were near to come and drink with him. "Hey, sweet lads!" cried he "who will drink ale with a stout yeoman? Come, all! Come, all! Let us be merry, for the day is sweet and the ale is tingling. Come hither, good yeoman, and thou, and thou; for not a farthing shall one of you pay. Nay, turn hither, thou lusty beggar, and thou jolly tinker, for all shall be merry with me."

First, he went to the booth where they sold strong ale and, standing on a bench, he called out to everyone nearby to come and drink with him. "Hey, good guys!" he shouted, "who wants to drink ale with a stout yeoman? Come on, everyone! Let’s have some fun, because the day is nice and the ale is flowing. Come here, good yeoman, and you, and you; not a penny will any of you have to pay. No, come over here, you cheerful beggar, and you happy tinker, because everyone will join in the fun with me."

Thus he shouted, and all crowded around, laughing, while the brown ale flowed; and they called Little John a brave fellow, each swearing that he loved him as his own brother; for when one has entertainment with nothing to pay, one loves the man that gives it to one.

So he shouted, and everyone gathered around, laughing, while the brown ale flowed; and they called Little John a brave guy, each swearing that they loved him like their own brother; because when you’re having a good time without having to pay, you really appreciate the person who makes it happen.

Then he strolled to the platform where they were at cudgel play, for he loved a bout at quarterstaff as he loved meat and drink; and here befell an adventure that was sung in ballads throughout the mid-country for many a day.

Then he walked over to the platform where they were having a stick fight, because he enjoyed a good bout with a quarterstaff as much as he loved food and drink; and here an adventure occurred that was sung about in ballads all across the mid-country for many days.

One fellow there was that cracked crowns of everyone who threw cap into the ring. This was Eric o' Lincoln, of great renown, whose name had been sung in ballads throughout the countryside. When Little John reached the stand he found none fighting, but only bold Eric walking up and down the platform, swinging his staff and shouting lustily, "Now, who will come and strike a stroke for the lass he loves the best, with a good Lincolnshire yeoman? How now, lads? Step up! Step up! Or else the lasses' eyes are not bright hereabouts, or the blood of Nottingham youth is sluggish and cold. Lincoln against Nottingham, say I! For no one hath put foot upon the boards this day such as we of Lincoln call a cudgel player."

There was a guy there who challenged everyone who tossed their hat into the ring. This was Eric of Lincoln, well-known and celebrated, whose name had been sung in songs all over the area. When Little John reached the platform, he found no one fighting, just the bold Eric pacing back and forth, swinging his staff and shouting loudly, "Now, who will come and fight for the girl he loves most, alongside a good Lincolnshire guy? Come on, lads! Step up! Or are the girls' eyes not shining here, or is the blood of Nottingham's youth sluggish and cold? Lincoln against Nottingham, I say! Because no one has stood on this stage today that we of Lincoln would call a cudgel player."

At this, one would nudge another with his elbow, saying, "Go thou, Ned!" or "Go thou, Thomas!" but no lad cared to gain a cracked crown for nothing.

At this, someone would nudge another with his elbow, saying, "Go on, Ned!" or "Go on, Thomas!" but no kid wanted to risk a bump on the head for nothing.

Presently Eric saw where Little John stood among the others, a head and shoulders above them all, and he called to him loudly, "Halloa, thou long-legged fellow in scarlet! Broad are thy shoulders and thick thy head; is not thy lass fair enough for thee to take cudgel in hand for her sake? In truth, I believe that Nottingham men do turn to bone and sinew, for neither heart nor courage have they! Now, thou great lout, wilt thou not twirl staff for Nottingham?"

Right now, Eric noticed Little John standing out among the others, towering above them all, and he shouted, "Hey, you tall guy in red! You've got broad shoulders and a thick head; isn’t your girl pretty enough for you to take up a staff for her sake? Honestly, I think the men of Nottingham have turned to bone and muscle because they have neither heart nor courage! Now, you big guy, won’t you swing a staff for Nottingham?"

"Ay," quoth Little John, "had I but mine own good staff here, it would pleasure me hugely to crack thy knave's pate, thou saucy braggart! I wot it would be well for thee an thy cock's comb were cut!" Thus he spoke, slowly at first, for he was slow to move; but his wrath gathered headway like a great stone rolling down a hill, so that at the end he was full of anger.

"Yeah," said Little John, "if I had my own good staff here, I would really love to crack your head open, you arrogant braggart! I know it would be better for you if your feathers were ruffled!" He spoke slowly at first, as he was slow to react; but his anger built up like a heavy stone rolling down a hill, until by the end he was completely furious.

Then Eric o' Lincoln laughed aloud. "Well spoken for one who fears to meet me fairly, man to man," said he. "Saucy art thou thine own self, and if thou puttest foot upon these boards, I will make thy saucy tongue rattle within thy teeth!"

Then Eric of Lincoln laughed out loud. "Well said for someone who’s afraid to face me directly, man to man," he said. "You’re quite cheeky, and if you step onto this stage, I'll make your arrogant tongue rattle in your mouth!"

"Now," quoth Little John, "is there never a man here that will lend me a good stout staff till I try the mettle of yon fellow?" At this, half a score reached him their staves, and he took the stoutest and heaviest of them all. Then, looking up and down the cudgel, he said, "Now, I have in my hand but a splint of wood—a barley straw, as it were—yet I trow it will have to serve me, so here goeth." Thereupon he cast the cudgel upon the stand and, leaping lightly after it, snatched it up in his hand again.

"Now," said Little John, "is there anyone here who will lend me a good strong staff until I test the strength of that guy over there?" At this, several people handed him their staffs, and he picked the sturdiest and heaviest one. Then, examining the stick, he said, "Now, I have only a piece of wood in my hand—a mere twig, really—but I guess it will have to do, so here goes." With that, he threw the staff onto the stand and, jumping after it, grabbed it back in his hand.

Then each man stood in his place and measured the other with fell looks until he that directed the sport cried, "Play!" At this they stepped forth, each grasping his staff tightly in the middle. Then those that stood around saw the stoutest game of quarterstaff that e'er Nottingham Town beheld. At first Eric o' Lincoln thought that he would gain an easy advantage, so he came forth as if he would say, "Watch, good people, how that I carve you this cockerel right speedily"; but he presently found it to be no such speedy matter. Right deftly he struck, and with great skill of fence, but he had found his match in Little John. Once, twice, thrice, he struck, and three times Little John turned the blows to the left hand and to the right. Then quickly and with a dainty backhanded blow, he rapped Eric beneath his guard so shrewdly that it made his head ring again. Then Eric stepped back to gather his wits, while a great shout went up and all were glad that Nottingham had cracked Lincoln's crown; and thus ended the first bout of the game.

Then each man stood in his spot and eyed the other with fierce looks until the one running the game shouted, "Play!" At that, they stepped forward, each gripping his staff tightly in the middle. The onlookers saw the toughest quarterstaff match that Nottingham Town had ever witnessed. At first, Eric of Lincoln thought he’d easily get the upper hand, so he stepped up as if to say, "Watch, everyone, how quickly I take down this rooster"; but he soon realized it wasn't going to be that easy. He struck skillfully and with great technique, but he had met his match in Little John. Once, twice, three times, he swung, and three times Little John deflected the blows to the left and the right. Then, with a quick and precise backhanded strike, he caught Eric under his guard so effectively that it made his head ring. Eric then stepped back to collect himself, while a great cheer erupted, and everyone rejoiced that Nottingham had knocked Lincoln's crown. And so, the first round of the match came to an end.

Then presently the director of the sport cried, "Play!" and they came together again; but now Eric played warily, for he found his man was of right good mettle, and also he had no sweet memory of the blow that he had got; so this bout neither Little John nor the Lincoln man caught a stroke within his guard. Then, after a while, they parted again, and this made the second bout.

Then the director of the game shouted, "Play!" and they came together again; but now Eric played cautiously, as he realized his opponent was quite skilled, and he also remembered the hit he had taken earlier; so in this round, neither Little John nor the Lincoln man landed a blow past their defenses. After a while, they separated again, marking the start of the second round.

Then for the third time they came together, and at first Eric strove to be wary, as he had been before; but, growing mad at finding himself so foiled, he lost his wits and began to rain blows so fiercely and so fast that they rattled like hail on penthouse roof; but, in spite of all, he did not reach within Little John's guard. Then at last Little John saw his chance and seized it right cleverly. Once more, with a quick blow, he rapped Eric beside the head, and ere he could regain himself, Little John slipped his right hand down to his left and, with a swinging blow, smote the other so sorely upon the crown that down he fell as though he would never move again.

Then they came together for the third time, and at first, Eric tried to be cautious, just like before; but, frustrated by being outsmarted, he lost his temper and started throwing punches so wildly and quickly that they sounded like hail on a rooftop. Despite all of that, he still couldn't get past Little John's guard. Then finally, Little John spotted his opportunity and took it skillfully. Once again, with a quick strike, he hit Eric beside the head, and before Eric could recover, Little John brought his right hand down to his left and delivered a powerful blow to Eric's head that knocked him down as if he would never get up again.

Then the people shouted so loud that folk came running from all about to see what was the ado; while Little John leaped down from the stand and gave the staff back to him that had lent it to him. And thus ended the famous bout between Little John and Eric o' Lincoln of great renown.

Then the crowd shouted so loudly that people came running from all around to see what was happening; Little John jumped down from the stand and returned the staff to the person who had lent it to him. And so ended the famous match between Little John and Eric of Lincoln, who was widely known.

But now the time had come when those who were to shoot with the longbow were to take their places, so the people began flocking to the butts where the shooting was to be. Near the target, in a good place, sat the Sheriff upon a raised dais, with many gentlefolk around him. When the archers had taken their places, the herald came forward and proclaimed the rules of the game, and how each should shoot three shots, and to him that should shoot the best the prize of two fat steers was to belong. A score of brave shots were gathered there, and among them some of the keenest hands at the longbow in Lincoln and Nottinghamshire; and among them Little John stood taller than all the rest. "Who is yon stranger clad all in scarlet?" said some, and others answered, "It is he that hath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric o' Lincoln." Thus the people talked among themselves, until at last it reached even the Sheriff's ears.

But now the time had come for those who were going to shoot with the longbow to take their places, so people began gathering at the targets where the shooting was to happen. Near the target, in a good spot, sat the Sheriff on a raised platform, surrounded by many nobles. Once the archers had taken their positions, the herald stepped forward and announced the rules of the competition, stating that each person would shoot three arrows, and the best shot would win the prize of two fat steers. A score of brave archers had gathered there, including some of the top longbow experts from Lincoln and Nottinghamshire, and among them, Little John stood taller than the rest. "Who is that stranger dressed all in scarlet?" some asked, while others replied, "It’s the one who just soundly cracked the crown of Eric o' Lincoln." Thus, the crowd chatted among themselves until the talk eventually reached the Sheriff’s ears.

And now each man stepped forward and shot in turn; but though each shot well, Little John was the best of all, for three times he struck the clout, and once only the length of a barleycorn from the center. "Hey for the tall archer!" shouted the crowd, and some among them shouted, "Hey for Reynold Greenleaf!" for this was the name that Little John had called himself that day.

And now each man took a turn to shoot; even though everyone shot well, Little John was the best of all. He hit the target three times and was only a barleycorn's length from the center once. "Hooray for the tall archer!" shouted the crowd, and some of them yelled, "Hooray for Reynold Greenleaf!" because that was the name Little John had chosen for himself that day.

Then the Sheriff stepped down from the raised seat and came to where the archers stood, while all doffed their caps that saw him coming. He looked keenly at Little John but did not know him, though he said, after a while, "How now, good fellow, methinks there is that about thy face that I have seen erewhile."

Then the Sheriff got off his elevated seat and walked over to where the archers were standing, and everyone who saw him coming tipped their hats. He took a close look at Little John but didn't recognize him. After a moment, he said, "Hey there, good man, I feel like I've seen something in your face before."

"Mayhap it may be so," quoth Little John, "for often have I seen Your Worship." And, as he spoke, he looked steadily into the Sheriff's eyes so that the latter did not suspect who he was.

"Maybe it is so," said Little John, "because I have often seen you." And, as he spoke, he looked steadily into the Sheriff's eyes so that the Sheriff did not suspect who he was.

"A brave blade art thou, good friend," said the Sheriff, "and I hear that thou hast well upheld the skill of Nottinghamshire against that of Lincoln this day. What may be thy name, good fellow?"

"A brave warrior you are, good friend," said the Sheriff, "and I hear that you have skillfully defended Nottinghamshire against Lincoln today. What is your name, my friend?"

"Men do call me Reynold Greenleaf, Your Worship," said Little John; and the old ballad that tells of this, adds, "So, in truth, was he a green leaf, but of what manner of tree the Sheriff wotted not."

"People call me Reynold Greenleaf, Your Worship," said Little John; and the old ballad that mentions this adds, "So, in truth, was he a green leaf, but what kind of tree it was, the Sheriff did not know."

"Now, Reynold Greenleaf," quoth the Sheriff, "thou art the fairest hand at the longbow that mine eyes ever beheld, next to that false knave, Robin Hood, from whose wiles Heaven forfend me! Wilt thou join my service, good fellow? Thou shalt be paid right well, for three suits of clothes shalt thou have a year, with good food and as much ale as thou canst drink; and, besides this, I will pay thee forty marks each Michaelmastide."

"Now, Reynold Greenleaf," said the Sheriff, "you are the best archer I've ever seen, next to that dishonest thief, Robin Hood, from whose tricks may Heaven protect me! Will you join my service, good fellow? You'll be compensated well, as you'll receive three sets of clothes a year, good food, and as much ale as you can drink; and on top of that, I'll pay you forty marks each Michaelmas."

"Then here stand I a free man, and right gladly will I enter thy household," said Little John, for he thought he might find some merry jest, should he enter the Sheriff's service.

"Then here I stand as a free man, and I would gladly enter your household," said Little John, for he thought he might find some fun, should he join the Sheriff’s service.

"Fairly hast thou won the fat steers," said the Sheriff, "and hereunto I will add a butt of good March beer, for joy of having gotten such a man; for, I wot, thou shootest as fair a shaft as Robin Hood himself."

"You've done well to win the fine cattle," said the Sheriff, "and on top of that, I will add a barrel of good March beer, in celebration of having such a skilled man; because, I know, you shoot as well as Robin Hood himself."

"Then," said Little John, "for joy of having gotten myself into thy service, I will give fat steers and brown ale to all these good folk, to make them merry withal." At this arose a great shout, many casting their caps aloft, for joy of the gift.

"Then," said Little John, "to celebrate joining your service, I'm going to give juicy steaks and brown ale to everyone here, to make them happy." At this, a loud cheer went up, and many tossed their hats in the air out of joy for the gift.

Then some built great fires and roasted the steers, and others broached the butt of ale, with which all made themselves merry. Then, when they had eaten and drunk as much as they could, and when the day faded and the great moon arose, all red and round, over the spires and towers of Nottingham Town, they joined hands and danced around the fires, to the music of bagpipes and harps. But long before this merrymaking had begun, the Sheriff and his new servant Reynold Greenleaf were in the Castle of Nottingham.

Then some people built big fires and roasted the cattle, while others tapped into the keg of ale, and everyone had a great time. Once they had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted, and as the day turned into night and the large, red, full moon rose over the spires and towers of Nottingham, they joined hands and danced around the fires to the music of bagpipes and harps. But long before this celebration started, the Sheriff and his new servant, Reynold Greenleaf, were at the Castle of Nottingham.

 

 

 

 

How Little John Lived at the Sheriff's

THUS LITTLE JOHN entered into the Sheriff's service and found the life he led there easy enough, for the Sheriff made him his right-hand man and held him in great favor. He sat nigh the Sheriff at meat, and he ran beside his horse when he went a-hunting; so that, what with hunting and hawking a little, and eating rich dishes and drinking good sack, and sleeping until late hours in the morning, he grew as fat as a stall-fed ox. Thus things floated easily along with the tide, until one day when the Sheriff went a-hunting, there happened that which broke the smooth surface of things.

So Little John joined the Sheriff's service and found the life there pretty easy, since the Sheriff made him his right-hand man and held him in high regard. He sat next to the Sheriff at meals and raced alongside his horse when they went hunting; with all the hunting and hawking, along with indulging in rich food and good wine, and sleeping in late, he became as fat as a well-fed ox. Everything was going smoothly until one day when the Sheriff went hunting, and something happened that upset the calm.

This morning the Sheriff and many of his men set forth to meet certain lords, to go a-hunting. He looked all about him for his good man, Reynold Greenleaf, but, not finding him, was vexed, for he wished to show Little John's skill to his noble friends. As for Little John, he lay abed, snoring lustily, till the sun was high in the heavens. At last he opened his eyes and looked about him but did not move to arise. Brightly shone the sun in at the window, and all the air was sweet with the scent of woodbine that hung in sprays about the wall without, for the cold winter was past and spring was come again, and Little John lay still, thinking how sweet was everything on this fair morn. Just then he heard, faint and far away, a distant bugle note sounding thin and clear. The sound was small, but, like a little pebble dropped into a glassy fountain, it broke all the smooth surface of his thoughts, until his whole soul was filled with disturbance. His spirit seemed to awaken from its sluggishness, and his memory brought back to him all the merry greenwood life—how the birds were singing blithely there this bright morning, and how his loved companions and friends were feasting and making merry, or perhaps talking of him with sober speech; for when he first entered the Sheriff's service he did so in jest; but the hearthstone was warm during the winter, and the fare was full, and so he had abided, putting off from day to day his going back to Sherwood, until six long months had passed. But now he thought of his good master and of Will Stutely, whom he loved better than anyone in all the world, and of young David of Doncaster, whom he had trained so well in all manly sports, till there came over his heart a great and bitter longing for them all, so that his eyes filled with tears. Then he said aloud, "Here I grow fat like a stall-fed ox and all my manliness departeth from me while I become a sluggard and dolt. But I will arouse me and go back to mine own dear friends once more, and never will I leave them again till life doth leave my lips." So saying, he leaped from bed, for he hated his sluggishness now.

This morning, the Sheriff and many of his men set out to meet some lords for a hunt. He looked around for his good friend, Reynold Greenleaf, but not finding him, felt annoyed because he wanted to show Little John's skills to his noble friends. Meanwhile, Little John was still in bed, snoring loudly, until the sun was high in the sky. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked around, but didn’t get up. The sun shone brightly through the window, and the air smelled sweet with the scent of honeysuckle that hung in sprays around the outside wall, as winter had passed and spring had returned. Little John lay still, thinking about how lovely everything was on this fine morning. Just then, he heard a distant bugle sound, faint yet clear. The sound was small, but, like a pebble dropped into still water, it shattered the smooth surface of his thoughts, filling him with unease. His spirit seemed to wake from its sluggishness, and memories of the joyful life in the greenwood came flooding back—how the birds were singing merrily that bright morning and how his beloved friends were feasting and celebrating, or perhaps talking about him seriously; he had joined the Sheriff’s service as a joke, but the warmth of the hearth during winter and the abundance of food had kept him there, delaying his return to Sherwood day by day, until six long months had passed. But now he thought of his good master and Will Stutely, whom he loved more than anyone else in the world, and of young David of Doncaster, whom he had trained so well in all manly sports, and a deep, bitter longing for them all washed over him, filling his eyes with tears. Then he said aloud, "Here I grow fat like a stall-fed ox, and all my manliness is slipping away as I become a sluggard and fool. But I will wake up and go back to my dear friends once more, and I will never leave them again until life leaves my lips." With that, he jumped out of bed, for he now despised his laziness.

When he came downstairs he saw the Steward standing near the pantry door—a great, fat man, with a huge bundle of keys hanging to his girdle. Then Little John said, "Ho, Master Steward, a hungry man am I, for nought have I had for all this blessed morn. Therefore, give me to eat."

When he came downstairs, he saw the Steward standing near the pantry door—a big, heavyset man, with a massive bunch of keys hanging from his belt. Then Little John said, "Hey, Master Steward, I'm really hungry because I haven't eaten anything all morning. So, please give me something to eat."

Then the Steward looked grimly at him and rattled the keys in his girdle, for he hated Little John because he had found favor with the Sheriff. "So, Master Reynold Greenleaf, thou art anhungered, art thou?" quoth he. "But, fair youth, if thou livest long enough, thou wilt find that he who getteth overmuch sleep for an idle head goeth with an empty stomach. For what sayeth the old saw, Master Greenleaf? Is it not 'The late fowl findeth but ill faring'?"

Then the Steward looked at him with a stern expression and jingled the keys on his belt, because he despised Little John for being in the Sheriff’s good graces. "So, Master Reynold Greenleaf, you’re hungry, are you?" he said. "Well, young man, if you live long enough, you’ll learn that those who sleep in too much for being lazy end up with an empty stomach. What does the old saying tell us, Master Greenleaf? Is it not 'The late bird gets no worms'?"

"Now, thou great purse of fat!" cried Little John, "I ask thee not for fool's wisdom, but for bread and meat. Who art thou, that thou shouldst deny me to eat? By Saint Dunstan, thou hadst best tell me where my breakfast is, if thou wouldst save broken bones!"

"Now, you big bag of grease!" shouted Little John, "I'm not asking for foolish advice, but for something to eat. Who are you to deny me food? By Saint Dunstan, you'd better tell me where my breakfast is, or you'll end up with some broken bones!"

"Thy breakfast, Master Fireblaze, is in the pantry," answered the Steward.

"Your breakfast, Master Fireblaze, is in the pantry," answered the Steward.

"Then fetch it hither!" cried Little John, who waxed angry by this time.

"Then bring it here!" shouted Little John, who was getting angry by this point.

"Go thou and fetch it thine own self," quoth the Steward. "Am I thy slave, to fetch and carry for thee?"

"Go and get it yourself," said the Steward. "Am I your slave to fetch and carry for you?"

"I say, go thou, bring it me!"

"I said, go and bring it to me!"

"I say, go thou, fetch it for thyself!"

"I say, go ahead and get it yourself!"

"Ay, marry, that will I, right quickly!" quoth Little John in a rage. And, so saying, he strode to the pantry and tried to open the door but found it locked, whereat the Steward laughed and rattled his keys. Then the wrath of Little John boiled over, and, lifting his clenched fist, he smote the pantry door, bursting out three panels and making so large an opening that he could easily stoop and walk through it.

"Yeah, I'll do that, really fast!" Little John exclaimed angrily. As he said this, he walked over to the pantry and tried to open the door, but it was locked. The Steward laughed and jingled his keys. This made Little John's anger explode, and, raising his fist, he hit the pantry door, breaking out three panels and creating such a large opening that he could easily bend down and walk through it.

When the Steward saw what was done, he waxed mad with rage; and, as Little John stooped to look within the pantry, he seized him from behind by the nape of the neck, pinching him sorely and smiting him over the head with his keys till the yeoman's ears rang again. At this Little John turned upon the Steward and smote him such a buffet that the fat man fell to the floor and lay there as though he would never move again. "There," quoth Little John, "think well of that stroke and never keep a good breakfast from a hungry man again."

When the Steward saw what had happened, he got really angry; and as Little John bent down to look inside the pantry, the Steward grabbed him from behind by the neck, pinching him hard and hitting him over the head with his keys until Little John’s ears were ringing. Little John then turned on the Steward and delivered such a blow that the heavy man fell to the floor and seemed like he would never get up again. "There," said Little John, "remember that hit and don’t deny a good breakfast to a hungry man again."

So saying, he crept into the pantry and looked about him to see if he could find something to appease his hunger. He saw a great venison pasty and two roasted capons, beside which was a platter of plover's eggs; moreover, there was a flask of sack and one of canary—a sweet sight to a hungry man. These he took down from the shelves and placed upon a sideboard, and prepared to make himself merry.

So saying, he snuck into the pantry and looked around to see if he could find something to satisfy his hunger. He spotted a large venison pie and two roasted chickens, next to a plate of plover's eggs; also, there was a bottle of sherry and one of canary wine—a delightful sight for a hungry person. He took these down from the shelves and put them on a sideboard, ready to enjoy himself.

Now the Cook, in the kitchen across the courtyard, heard the loud talking between Little John and the Steward, and also the blow that Little John struck the other, so he came running across the court and up the stairway to where the Steward's pantry was, bearing in his hands the spit with the roast still upon it. Meanwhile the Steward had gathered his wits about him and risen to his feet, so that when the Cook came to the Steward's pantry he saw him glowering through the broken door at Little John, who was making ready for a good repast, as one dog glowers at another that has a bone. When the Steward saw the Cook, he came to him, and, putting one arm over his shoulder, "Alas, sweet friend!" quoth he—for the Cook was a tall, stout man—"seest thou what that vile knave Reynold Greenleaf hath done? He hath broken in upon our master's goods, and hath smitten me a buffet upon the ear, so that I thought I was dead. Good Cook, I love thee well, and thou shalt have a good pottle of our master's best wine every day, for thou art an old and faithful servant. Also, good Cook, I have ten shillings that I mean to give as a gift to thee. But hatest thou not to see a vile upstart like this Reynold Greenleaf taking it upon him so bravely?"

Now the Cook, in the kitchen across the courtyard, heard the loud talking between Little John and the Steward, as well as the hit that Little John gave the other, so he rushed across the court and up the stairs to the Steward's pantry, carrying the spit with the roast still on it. Meanwhile, the Steward had collected himself and gotten to his feet, so when the Cook arrived at the Steward's pantry, he saw him glaring through the broken door at Little John, who was getting ready for a good meal, like one dog glares at another over a bone. When the Steward saw the Cook, he approached him and, putting one arm over his shoulder, said, "Alas, dear friend!"—for the Cook was a tall, sturdy man—"do you see what that vile scoundrel Reynold Greenleaf has done? He has broken into our master's goods and struck me on the ear so hard that I thought I was dead. Good Cook, I care for you a lot, and you’ll get a good bottle of our master's best wine every day because you are an old and loyal servant. Also, good Cook, I have ten shillings that I intend to give as a gift to you. But do you not hate to see a contemptible upstart like Reynold Greenleaf acting so boldly?"

"Ay, marry, that do I," quoth the Cook boldly, for he liked the Steward because of his talk of the wine and of the ten shillings. "Get thee gone straightway to thy room, and I will bring out this knave by his ears." So saying, he laid aside his spit and drew the sword that hung by his side; whereupon the Steward left as quickly as he could, for he hated the sight of naked steel.

"Yeah, definitely," the Cook replied confidently, since he liked the Steward for his talk about wine and the ten shillings. "Go back to your room right now, and I'll drag this fool out by his ears." With that, he set down his spit and pulled out the sword that was hanging by his side; as a result, the Steward left as fast as he could because he couldn't stand the sight of a drawn sword.

Then the Cook walked straightway to the broken pantry door, through which he saw Little John tucking a napkin beneath his chin and preparing to make himself merry.

Then the Cook went straight to the broken pantry door, through which he saw Little John tucking a napkin under his chin and getting ready to have a good time.

"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf?" said the Cook, "thou art no better than a thief, I wot. Come thou straight forth, man, or I will carve thee as I would carve a sucking pig."

"Well, what’s up, Reynold Greenleaf?" said the Cook, "you’re no better than a thief, I know that. Come on out, man, or I’ll chop you up like I would a suckling pig."

"Nay, good Cook, bear thou thyself more seemingly, or else I will come forth to thy dole. At most times I am as a yearling lamb, but when one cometh between me and my meat, I am a raging lion, as it were."

"Please, good Cook, behave yourself a little better, or I will have to come out to your misfortune. Most of the time I’m as gentle as a young lamb, but when someone comes between me and my food, I turn into a raging lion, so to speak."

"Lion or no lion," quoth the valorous Cook, "come thou straight forth, else thou art a coward heart as well as a knavish thief."

"Lion or no lion," said the brave Cook, "come out right now, or you’re just a coward as well as a sneaky thief."

"Ha!" cried Little John, "coward's name have I never had; so, look to thyself, good Cook, for I come forth straight, the roaring lion I did speak of but now."

"Ha!" yelled Little John, "I've never been called a coward; so watch out, good Cook, because I'm coming out now, just like the roaring lion I mentioned a moment ago."

Then he, too, drew his sword and came out of the pantry; then, putting themselves into position, they came slowly together, with grim and angry looks; but suddenly Little John lowered his point. "Hold, good Cook!" said he. "Now, I bethink me it were ill of us to fight with good victuals standing so nigh, and such a feast as would befit two stout fellows such as we are. Marry, good friend, I think we should enjoy this fair feast ere we fight. What sayest thou, jolly Cook?"

Then he also drew his sword and stepped out of the pantry. Positioning themselves, they moved slowly toward each other, wearing grim and angry expressions. But suddenly, Little John lowered his sword. "Hold on, good Cook!" he said. "Now that I think about it, it wouldn't be right for us to fight with such good food so close by, especially a feast that would suit two strong guys like us. Truly, my friend, I think we should enjoy this nice feast before we fight. What do you say, jolly Cook?"

At this speech the Cook looked up and down, scratching his head in doubt, for he loved good feasting. At last he drew a long breath and said to Little John, "Well, good friend, I like thy plan right well; so, pretty boy, say I, let us feast, with all my heart, for one of us may sup in Paradise before nightfall."

At this speech, the Cook looked around, scratching his head in confusion, because he loved a good feast. Finally, he took a deep breath and said to Little John, "Well, my good friend, I really like your plan; so, my dear boy, let’s celebrate with all my heart, because one of us might dine in Paradise before nightfall."

So each thrust his sword back into the scabbard and entered the pantry. Then, after they had seated themselves, Little John drew his dagger and thrust it into the pie. "A hungry man must be fed," quoth he, "so, sweet chuck, I help myself without leave." But the Cook did not lag far behind, for straightway his hands also were deeply thrust within the goodly pasty. After this, neither of them spoke further, but used their teeth to better purpose. But though neither spoke, they looked at one another, each thinking within himself that he had never seen a more lusty fellow than the one across the board.

So each of them sheathed their sword and walked into the pantry. After they took their seats, Little John pulled out his dagger and jabbed it into the pie. "A hungry man needs to eat," he said, "so, my dear, I'm helping myself without asking." But the Cook was quick to follow, as he immediately plunged his hands into the delicious pie as well. After that, neither of them said anything more, but used their teeth more effectively. Even though they didn’t speak, they glanced at each other, each thinking to himself that he had never seen a more robust guy than the one sitting across from him.

At last, after a long time had passed, the Cook drew a full, deep breath, as though of much regret, and wiped his hands upon the napkin, for he could eat no more. Little John, also, had enough, for he pushed the pasty aside, as though he would say, "I want thee by me no more, good friend." Then he took the pottle of sack, and said he, "Now, good fellow, I swear by all that is bright, that thou art the stoutest companion at eating that ever I had. Lo! I drink thy health." So saying, he clapped the flask to his lips and cast his eyes aloft, while the good wine flooded his throat. Then he passed the pottle to the Cook, who also said, "Lo, I drink thy health, sweet fellow!" Nor was he behind Little John in drinking any more than in eating.

Finally, after a long time had passed, the Cook took a deep breath, as if filled with regret, and wiped his hands on the napkin because he couldn't eat anymore. Little John, too, had his fill, as he pushed the pasty aside, almost saying, "I don’t want you near me anymore, my friend." Then he grabbed the bottle of wine and said, "Now, my good buddy, I swear by everything bright that you are the best eating companion I've ever had. Cheers to you!" Saying this, he brought the flask to his lips and looked up as the good wine flowed down his throat. He then passed the bottle to the Cook, who also said, "Cheers to you, my sweet friend!" He wasn’t any less enthusiastic about drinking than he was about eating.

"Now," quoth Little John, "thy voice is right round and sweet, jolly lad. I doubt not thou canst sing a ballad most blithely; canst thou not?"

"Now," said Little John, "your voice is really full and sweet, cheerful guy. I have no doubt you can sing a song very happily; can you not?"

"Truly, I have trolled one now and then," quoth the Cook, "yet I would not sing alone."

"Honestly, I've dragged a few in every now and then," said the Cook, "but I wouldn't sing by myself."

"Nay, truly," said Little John, "that were but ill courtesy. Strike up thy ditty, and I will afterward sing one to match it, if I can.

"No, really," said Little John, "that would be pretty rude. Start your song, and I’ll sing one to match it afterward, if I can."

"So be it, pretty boy," quoth the Cook. "And hast thou e'er heard the song of the Deserted Shepherdess?"

"So be it, pretty boy," said the Cook. "Have you ever heard the song of the Deserted Shepherdess?"

"Truly, I know not," answered Little John, "but sing thou and let me hear."

"Honestly, I don't know," Little John replied, "but you should sing and let me hear."

Then the Cook took another draught from the pottle, and, clearing his throat, sang right sweetly:

Then the Cook took another sip from the bottle and, clearing his throat, sang very nicely:

THE SONG OF THE DESERTED SHEPHERDESS

THE SONG OF THE DESERTED SHEPHERDESS

 "In Lententime, when leaves wax green,
     And pretty birds begin to mate,
 When lark cloth sing, and thrush, I ween,
     And stockdove cooeth soon and late,
 Fair Phillis sat beside a stone,
 And thus I heard her make her moan:
     'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
 I'll take me of thy branches fair
 And twine a wreath to deck my hair.

 "'The thrush hath taken him a she,
     The robin, too, and eke the dove;
 My Robin hath deserted me,
     And left me for another love.
 So here, by brookside, all alone,
 I sit me down and make my moan.
     O willow, willow, willow, willow!
 I'll take me of thy branches fair
 And twine a wreath to deck my hair.'

 "But ne'er came herring from the sea,
     But good as he were in the tide;
 Young Corydon came o'er the lea,
     And sat him Phillis down beside.
 So, presently, she changed her tone,
 And 'gan to cease her from her moan,
     'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
 Thou mayst e'en keep thy garlands fair,
 I want them not to deck my hair.'"
During Lent, when the leaves turn green,  
    And lovely birds start to pair up,  
When the lark sings and the thrush, I believe,  
    And the stock dove coos both day and night,  
Fair Phillis sat by a stone,  
And I heard her express her sorrow:  
    'Oh willow, willow, willow, willow!  
I'll take some of your beautiful branches  
And weave a wreath to adorn my hair.  

'The thrush has found a mate,  
    The robin, too, and so has the dove;  
My Robin has left me,  
    And chosen another love.  
So here, by the brookside, all alone,  
I sit down and express my sadness.  
    Oh willow, willow, willow, willow!  
I'll take some of your beautiful branches  
And weave a wreath to adorn my hair.'  

But no herring ever came from the sea,  
    As good as it might be in the tide;  
Young Corydon came over the field,  
    And sat down next to Phillis.  
So, soon, she changed her tune,  
And began to stop her lamenting,  
    'Oh willow, willow, willow, willow!  
You can keep your lovely garlands,  
I don’t want them to decorate my hair.

"Now, by my faith," cried Little John, "that same is a right good song, and hath truth in it, also."

"Now, by my faith," shouted Little John, "that's a really good song, and it has truth in it too."

"Glad am I thou likest it, sweet lad," said the Cook. "Now sing thou one also, for ne'er should a man be merry alone, or sing and list not."

"Glad to hear that you like it, sweet boy," said the Cook. "Now you sing one too, because no one should be happy alone, or sing without listening."

"Then I will sing thee a song of a right good knight of Arthur's court, and how he cured his heart's wound without running upon the dart again, as did thy Phillis; for I wot she did but cure one smart by giving herself another. So, list thou while I sing:

"Then I will sing you a song about a truly good knight from Arthur's court, and how he healed his heart's wound without getting hurt again, like your Phillis did; because I know she only healed one pain by choosing to feel another. So, listen while I sing:"

THE GOOD KNIGHT AND HIS LOVE

THE GOOD KNIGHT AND HIS LOVE

 "When Arthur, King, did rule this land,
     A goodly king was he,
 And had he of stout knights a band
     Of merry company.

 "Among them all, both great and small,
     A good stout knight was there,
 A lusty childe, and eke a tall,
     That loved a lady fair.

 "But nought would she to do with he,
     But turned her face away;
 So gat he gone to far countrye,
     And left that lady gay.

 "There all alone he made his moan,
     And eke did sob and sigh,
 And weep till it would move a stone,
     And he was like to die.

 "But still his heart did feel the smart,
     And eke the dire distress,
 And rather grew his pain more sharp
     As grew his body less.

 "Then gat he back where was good sack
     And merry com panye,
 And soon did cease to cry 'Alack!'
     When blithe and gay was he.

 "From which I hold, and feel full bold
     To say, and eke believe,
 That gin the belly go not cold
     The heart will cease to grieve."
When King Arthur ruled this land,  
    He was a great king,  
And he had a strong band of knights  
    Who were a lively group.  

"Among them all, both big and small,  
    There was a brave knight,  
A lively young man, tall as well,  
    Who loved a beautiful lady.  

"But she wanted nothing to do with him,  
    Turning her face away;  
So he went off to a far country,  
    Leaving that lovely lady.  

"There, all alone, he mourned,  
    And sighed and cried,  
Weeping until it could move a stone,  
    And he felt like he might die.  

"But still, his heart felt the pain,  
    And the deep distress,  
And his suffering grew sharper  
    As his body got weaker.  

"Then he came back where there was good wine  
    And cheerful company,  
And soon he stopped crying 'Oh no!'  
    When he felt happy and lively.  

"From this, I believe it's safe to say,  
    And I truly believe,  
That if the belly isn’t cold,  
    The heart will stop grieving.

"Now, by my faith," cried the Cook, as he rattled the pottle against the sideboard, "I like that same song hugely, and eke the motive of it, which lieth like a sweet kernel in a hazelnut"

"Now, I swear," exclaimed the Cook, as he banged the bottle against the sideboard, "I really enjoy that song a lot, and the meaning behind it is like a sweet kernel inside a hazelnut."

"Now thou art a man of shrewd opinions," quoth Little John, "and I love thee truly as thou wert my brother."

"Now you are a man with sharp insights," said Little John, "and I truly love you like you're my brother."

"And I love thee, too. But the day draweth on, and I have my cooking to do ere our master cometh home; so let us e'en go and settle this brave fight we have in hand."

"And I love you, too. But the day is getting late, and I need to finish my cooking before our master comes home; so let's go and settle this great fight we have on our hands."

"Ay, marry," quoth Little John, "and that right speedily. Never have I been more laggard in fighting than in eating and drinking. So come thou straight forth into the passageway, where there is good room to swing a sword, and I will try to serve thee."

"Yeah, definitely," said Little John, "and quickly too. I've never been slower in fighting than when it comes to eating and drinking. So come out into the hallway, where there's plenty of space to swing a sword, and I'll give it my best shot."

Then they both stepped forth into the broad passage that led to the Steward's pantry, where each man drew his sword again and without more ado fell upon the other as though he would hew his fellow limb from limb. Then their swords clashed upon one another with great din, and sparks flew from each blow in showers. So they fought up and down the hall for an hour and more, neither striking the other a blow, though they strove their best to do so; for both were skillful at the fence; so nothing came of all their labor. Ever and anon they rested, panting; then, after getting their wind, at it they would go again more fiercely than ever. At last Little John cried aloud, "Hold, good Cook!" whereupon each rested upon his sword, panting.

Then they both stepped into the wide hall that led to the Steward's pantry, where each man drew his sword again and immediately attacked the other as if he intended to chop his opponent into pieces. Their swords clashed loudly against each other, and sparks flew with every strike. They fought back and forth in the hall for over an hour, neither landing a hit, though they tried their hardest to do so; both were skilled with their blades, so all their effort resulted in nothing. Every now and then, they paused to catch their breath; then, after regaining their energy, they would charge at each other even more fiercely. Finally, Little John shouted, "Hold on, good Cook!" and they both leaned on their swords, panting.

"Now will I make my vow," quoth Little John, "thou art the very best swordsman that ever mine eyes beheld. Truly, I had thought to carve thee ere now."

"Now I will make my vow," said Little John, "you are the best swordsman I have ever seen. Honestly, I thought I would have cut you down by now."

"And I had thought to do the same by thee," quoth the Cook, "but I have missed the mark somehow."

"And I had planned to do the same with you," said the Cook, "but I seem to have missed the target somehow."

"Now I have been thinking within myself," quoth Little John, "what we are fighting for; but albeit I do not rightly know."

"Now I've been thinking to myself," said Little John, "about what we're fighting for; although I still don't really know."

"Why, no more do I," said the Cook. "I bear no love for that pursy Steward, but I thought that we had engaged to fight with one another and that it must be done."

"Not anymore," said the Cook. "I have no affection for that fat Steward, but I believed we had agreed to battle each other and that it had to happen."

"Now," quoth Little John, "it doth seem to me that instead of striving to cut one another's throats, it were better for us to be boon companions. What sayst thou, jolly Cook, wilt thou go with me to Sherwood Forest and join with Robin Hood's band? Thou shalt live a merry life within the woodlands, and sevenscore good companions shalt thou have, one of whom is mine own self. Thou shalt have three suits of Lincoln green each year, and forty marks in pay."

"Now," said Little John, "it seems to me that instead of trying to harm each other, it would be better for us to be good friends. What do you say, jolly Cook? Will you come with me to Sherwood Forest and join Robin Hood's group? You’ll live a happy life in the woods, and you'll have seventy good companions, including me. You’ll get three outfits of Lincoln green every year and forty marks in pay."

"Now, thou art a man after mine own heart!" cried the Cook right heartily, "and, as thou speakest of it, that is the very service for me. I will go with thee, and that right gladly. Give me thy palm, sweet fellow, and I will be thine own companion from henceforth. What may be thy name, lad?"

"Now, you're a man after my own heart!" shouted the Cook enthusiastically, "and since you're bringing it up, that's the perfect job for me. I'll go with you, and I'm really looking forward to it. Give me your hand, my friend, and I'll be your companion from now on. What's your name, kid?"

"Men do call me Little John, good fellow."

"Guys call me Little John, my friend."

"How? And art thou indeed Little John, and Robin Hood's own right-hand man? Many a time and oft I heard of thee, but never did I hope to set eyes upon thee. And thou art indeed the famous Little John!" And the Cook seemed lost in amazement, and looked upon his companion with open eyes.

"How? Are you really Little John, Robin Hood's right-hand man? I've heard about you many times, but I never expected to actually see you. You really are the famous Little John!" The Cook looked completely amazed and stared at his companion with wide eyes.

"I am Little John, indeed, and I will bring to Robin Hood this day a right stout fellow to join his merry band. But ere we go, good friend, it seemeth to me to be a vast pity that, as we have had so much of the Sheriff's food, we should not also carry off some of his silver plate to Robin Hood, as a present from his worship."

"I am Little John, for sure, and today I'll bring Robin Hood a really strong guy to join his merry crew. But before we head out, my good friend, it seems like a big shame that since we've had plenty of the Sheriff's food, we shouldn't also take some of his silverware to give to Robin Hood as a gift from him."

"Ay, marry is it," said the Cook. And so they began hunting about, and took as much silver as they could lay hands upon, clapping it into a bag, and when they had filled the sack they set forth to Sherwood Forest.

"Yeah, it really is," said the Cook. So they started searching around and grabbed as much silver as they could find, putting it into a bag. Once they filled the sack, they headed off to Sherwood Forest.

Plunging into the woods, they came at last to the greenwood tree, where they found Robin Hood and threescore of his merry men lying upon the fresh green grass. When Robin and his men saw who it was that came, they leaped to their feet. "Now welcome!" cried Robin Hood. "Now welcome, Little John! For long hath it been since we have heard from thee, though we all knew that thou hadst joined the Sheriff's service. And how hast thou fared all these long days?"

Plunging into the woods, they finally reached the greenwood tree, where they found Robin Hood and sixty of his merry men lounging on the fresh green grass. When Robin and his men saw who it was that arrived, they jumped to their feet. "Welcome!" shouted Robin Hood. "Welcome, Little John! It's been a long time since we heard from you, though we all knew you had joined the Sheriff's service. How have you been all these days?"

"Right merrily have I lived at the Lord Sheriff's," answered Little John, "and I have come straight thence. See, good master! I have brought thee his cook, and even his silver plate." Thereupon he told Robin Hood and his merry men that were there, all that had befallen him since he had left them to go to the Fair at Nottingham Town. Then all shouted with laughter, except Robin Hood; but he looked grave.

"Right happily I’ve lived at the Lord Sheriff’s," replied Little John, "and I came straight from there. Look, good master! I brought you his cook, and even his silver plate." Then he told Robin Hood and his merry men what had happened to him since he left them to go to the Fair in Nottingham Town. Everyone laughed out loud, except Robin Hood; he looked serious.

"Nay, Little John," said he, "thou art a brave blade and a trusty fellow. I am glad thou hast brought thyself back to us, and with such a good companion as the Cook, whom we all welcome to Sherwood. But I like not so well that thou hast stolen the Sheriff's plate like some paltry thief. The Sheriff hath been punished by us, and hath lost three hundred pounds, even as he sought to despoil another; but he hath done nought that we should steal his household plate from him."

"No, Little John," he said, "you're a brave guy and a reliable friend. I'm glad you came back to us, especially with such a good companion as the Cook, whom we all welcome to Sherwood. But I don't like that you've stolen the Sheriff's plate like some petty thief. We've already punished the Sheriff and he’s lost three hundred pounds, just as he tried to take from others; but he hasn't done anything that justifies us stealing his household items."

Though Little John was vexed with this, he strove to pass it off with a jest. "Nay, good master," quoth he, "if thou thinkest the Sheriff gave us not the plate, I will fetch him, that he may tell us with his own lips he giveth it all to us." So saying he leaped to his feet, and was gone before Robin could call him back.

Though Little John was annoyed by this, he tried to brush it off with a joke. "No, good master," he said, "if you think the Sheriff didn’t give us the plate, I’ll go get him so he can tell us himself that he’s giving it all to us." With that, he jumped to his feet and left before Robin could call him back.

Little John ran for full five miles till he came to where the Sheriff of Nottingham and a gay company were hunting near the forest. When Little John came to the Sheriff he doffed his cap and bent his knee. "God save thee, good master," quoth he.

Little John ran for a full five miles until he reached the spot where the Sheriff of Nottingham and a lively group were hunting near the forest. When Little John approached the Sheriff, he took off his hat and knelt down. "God save you, good sir," he said.

"Why, Reynold Greenleaf!" cried the Sheriff, "whence comest thou and where hast thou been?"

"Why, Reynold Greenleaf!" shouted the Sheriff, "where have you been and where did you come from?"

"I have been in the forest," answered Little John, speaking amazedly, "and there I saw a sight such as ne'er before man's eyes beheld! Yonder I saw a young hart all in green from top to toe, and about him was a herd of threescore deer, and they, too, were all of green from head to foot. Yet I dared not shoot, good master, for fear lest they should slay me."

"I've been in the forest," replied Little John, speaking in awe, "and there I saw a sight like nothing anyone has ever seen! I saw a young stag completely covered in green, and around him was a herd of sixty deer, all dressed in green from head to toe. But I didn't dare shoot, good master, for fear they would kill me."

"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf," cried the Sheriff, "art thou dreaming or art thou mad, that thou dost bring me such, a tale?"

"Why, what’s going on, Reynold Greenleaf," shouted the Sheriff, "are you dreaming or are you crazy to bring me such a story?"

"Nay, I am not dreaming nor am I mad," said Little John, "and if thou wilt come with me, I will show thee this fair sight, for I have seen it with mine own eyes. But thou must come alone, good master, lest the others frighten them and they get away."

"No, I'm not dreaming or crazy," said Little John, "and if you come with me, I'll show you this beautiful sight, because I've seen it with my own eyes. But you have to come alone, good master, or the others will scare them off and they'll escape."

So the party all rode forward, and Little John led them downward into the forest.

So the group all rode ahead, and Little John guided them down into the forest.

"Now, good master," quoth he at last, "we are nigh where I saw this herd."

"Now, good sir," he finally said, "we're close to where I saw this group."

Then the Sheriff descended from his horse and bade them wait for him until he should return; and Little John led him forward through a close copse until suddenly they came to a great open glade, at the end of which Robin Hood sat beneath the shade of the great oak tree, with his merry men all about him. "See, good Master Sheriff," quoth Little John, "yonder is the hart of which I spake to thee."

Then the Sheriff got off his horse and told them to wait for him until he returned; Little John guided him through a thick grove until they unexpectedly reached a large clearing, where Robin Hood was sitting under the shade of a big oak tree, surrounded by his merry men. "Look, good Sheriff," said Little John, "there is the deer I was telling you about."

At this the Sheriff turned to Little John and said bitterly, "Long ago I thought I remembered thy face, but now I know thee. Woe betide thee, Little John, for thou hast betrayed me this day."

At this, the Sheriff turned to Little John and said bitterly, "I thought I recognized your face long ago, but now I know who you are. Trouble is coming for you, Little John, because you have betrayed me today."

In the meantime Robin Hood had come to them. "Now welcome, Master Sheriff," said he. "Hast thou come today to take another feast with me?"

In the meantime, Robin Hood had arrived. "Welcome, Sheriff," he said. "Have you come today to enjoy another feast with me?"

"Nay, Heaven forbid!" said the Sheriff in tones of deep earnest. "I care for no feast and have no hunger today."

"Nah, heaven forbid!" said the Sheriff earnestly. "I don't care about any feast and I'm not hungry today."

"Nevertheless," quoth Robin, "if thou hast no hunger, maybe thou hast thirst, and well I know thou wilt take a cup of sack with me. But I am grieved that thou wilt not feast with me, for thou couldst have victuals to thy liking, for there stands thy Cook."

"Still," said Robin, "if you're not hungry, maybe you're thirsty, and I know you'll join me for a drink. But I'm sorry you won't share a meal with me, because you could have food that you like, since your cook is right there."

Then he led the Sheriff, willy-nilly, to the seat he knew so well beneath the greenwood tree.

Then he took the Sheriff, whether he wanted to or not, to the spot he was so familiar with under the greenwood tree.

"Ho, lads!" cried Robin, "fill our good friend the Sheriff a right brimming cup of sack and fetch it hither, for he is faint and weary."

"Hey, guys!" shouted Robin, "fill our good friend the Sheriff a full cup of wine and bring it here, since he is tired and worn out."

Then one of the band brought the Sheriff a cup of sack, bowing low as he handed it to him; but the Sheriff could not touch the wine, for he saw it served in one of his own silver flagons, on one of his own silver plates.

Then one of the band brought the Sheriff a cup of wine, bowing low as he handed it to him; but the Sheriff couldn't drink the wine, because he saw it served in one of his own silver flagons, on one of his own silver plates.

"How now," quoth Robin, "dost thou not like our new silver service? We have gotten a bag of it this day." So saying, he held up the sack of silver that Little John and the Cook had brought with them.

"Hey there," said Robin, "don’t you like our new silverware? We just got a whole bag of it today." With that, he held up the sack of silver that Little John and the Cook had brought with them.

Then the Sheriff's heart was bitter within him; but, not daring to say anything, he only gazed upon the ground. Robin looked keenly at him for a time before he spoke again. Then said he, "Now, Master Sheriff, the last time thou camest to Sherwood Forest thou didst come seeking to despoil a poor spendthrift, and thou wert despoiled thine own self; but now thou comest seeking to do no harm, nor do I know that thou hast despoiled any man. I take my tithes from fat priests and lordly squires, to help those that they despoil and to raise up those that they bow down; but I know not that thou hast tenants of thine own whom thou hast wronged in any way. Therefore, take thou thine own again, nor will I dispossess thee today of so much as one farthing. Come with me, and I will lead thee from the forest back to thine own party again."

Then the Sheriff felt a deep bitterness in his heart; but, not wanting to say anything, he just stared at the ground. Robin studied him closely for a moment before speaking again. "Now, Sheriff, the last time you came to Sherwood Forest, you tried to take advantage of a poor spender, and you ended up losing your own wealth; but now you come with no intention to harm, nor do I know that you've wronged anyone. I take my share from wealthy priests and noble squires to help those they exploit and to lift up those they oppress; but I don't know of any tenants you've mistreated in any way. So take back what is yours, as I won't take a single penny from you today. Come with me, and I'll guide you back to your own group."

Then, slinging the bag upon his shoulder, he turned away, the Sheriff following him, all too perplexed in mind to speak. So they went forward until they came to within a furlong of the spot where the Sheriff's companions were waiting for him. Then Robin Hood gave the sack of silver back to the Sheriff. "Take thou thine own again," he said, "and hearken to me, good Sheriff, take thou a piece of advice with it. Try thy servants well ere thou dost engage them again so readily." Then, turning, he left the other standing bewildered, with the sack in his hands.

Then, throwing the bag over his shoulder, he walked away, the Sheriff following him, too confused to say anything. They continued until they were about a furlong away from where the Sheriff’s friends were waiting. Then Robin Hood handed the sack of silver back to the Sheriff. "Take your own back," he said, "and listen to me, good Sheriff, take this piece of advice with you. Test your servants properly before you hire them again so easily." Then, turning around, he left the Sheriff standing there, stunned, with the sack in his hands.

The company that waited for the Sheriff were all amazed to see him come out of the forest bearing a heavy sack upon his shoulders; but though they questioned him, he answered never a word, acting like one who walks in a dream. Without a word, he placed the bag across his nag's back and then, mounting, rode away, all following him; but all the time there was a great turmoil of thoughts within his head, tumbling one over the other. And thus ends the merry tale of Little John and how he entered the Sheriff's service.

The company waiting for the Sheriff were all surprised to see him come out of the forest with a heavy sack on his shoulders; but even though they asked him questions, he didn’t say a word, acting like someone lost in a dream. Without a word, he set the bag on his horse's back and then, mounting, rode away, with everyone following him. But all the while, there was a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts in his mind, racing over one another. And so ends the cheerful story of Little John and how he joined the Sheriff's service.

 

 

 

 

Little John and the Tanner of Blyth

ONE FINE DAY, not long after Little John had left abiding with the Sheriff and had come back, with his worship's cook, to the merry greenwood, as has just been told, Robin Hood and a few chosen fellows of his band lay upon the soft sward beneath the greenwood tree where they dwelled. The day was warm and sultry, so that while most of the band were scattered through the forest upon this mission and upon that, these few stout fellows lay lazily beneath the shade of the tree, in the soft afternoon, passing jests among themselves and telling merry stories, with laughter and mirth.

ONE FINE DAY, not long after Little John had returned to the merry greenwood with the Sheriff’s cook, as has just been mentioned, Robin Hood and a few select members of his band were lying on the soft grass beneath the greenwood tree where they lived. It was a warm and humid day, so while most of the band was scattered throughout the forest on various missions, these few strong guys relaxed in the shade of the tree in the soft afternoon, exchanging jokes and sharing cheerful stories, filled with laughter and joy.

All the air was laden with the bitter fragrance of the May, and all the bosky shades of the woodlands beyond rang with the sweet song of birds— the throstle cock, the cuckoo, and the wood pigeon—and with the song of birds mingled the cool sound of the gurgling brook that leaped out of the forest shades, and ran fretting amid its rough, gray stones across the sunlit open glade before the trysting tree. And a fair sight was that halfscore of tall, stout yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green, lying beneath the broad-spreading branches of the great oak tree, amid the quivering leaves of which the sunlight shivered and fell in dancing patches upon the grass.

The air was filled with the sharp scent of May, and the wooded areas beyond echoed with the sweet melodies of birds—the thrush, the cuckoo, and the wood pigeon—blending with the refreshing sound of the gurgling brook that burst forth from the forest shadows, flowing over its rough, gray stones across the sunlit clearing in front of the meeting tree. It was a lovely sight to see a dozen tall, strong men, all dressed in Lincoln green, lounging beneath the wide-spreading branches of the great oak tree, as the sunlight filtered through the quivering leaves, creating dancing patches on the grass.

Suddenly Robin Hood smote his knee.

Suddenly, Robin Hood hit his knee.

"By Saint Dunstan," quoth he, "I had nigh forgot that quarter-day cometh on apace, and yet no cloth of Lincoln green in all our store. It must be looked to, and that in quick season. Come, busk thee, Little John! Stir those lazy bones of thine, for thou must get thee straightway to our good gossip, the draper Hugh Longshanks of Ancaster. Bid him send us straightway twentyscore yards of fair cloth of Lincoln green; and mayhap the journey may take some of the fat from off thy bones, that thou hast gotten from lazy living at our dear Sheriff's."

"By Saint Dunstan," he said, "I almost forgot that quarter-day is coming up fast, and we don’t have any Lincoln green cloth in stock. We need to take care of that quickly. Come on, Little John! Move those lazy bones of yours, because you need to head straight to our good friend, the draper Hugh Longshanks of Ancaster. Ask him to send us right away twenty yards of nice Lincoln green cloth; and maybe the trip will help shed some of the weight you've gained from lounging at our dear Sheriff’s."

"Nay," muttered Little John (for he had heard so much upon this score that he was sore upon the point), "nay, truly, mayhap I have more flesh upon my joints than I once had, yet, flesh or no flesh, I doubt not that I could still hold my place and footing upon a narrow bridge against e'er a yeoman in Sherwood, or Nottinghamshire, for the matter of that, even though he had no more fat about his bones than thou hast, good master."

"Not really," muttered Little John (because he had heard so much about this that it really bothered him), "no, honestly, maybe I have more weight on me than I did before, but whether I do or not, I’m sure I could still hold my ground on a narrow bridge against any arrow-carrying bloke in Sherwood or Nottinghamshire, even if he had no more meat on his bones than you do, good sir."

At this reply a great shout of laughter went up, and all looked at Robin Hood, for each man knew that Little John spake of a certain fight that happened between their master and himself, through which they first became acquainted.

At this response, a loud burst of laughter erupted, and everyone turned to Robin Hood, as each man knew that Little John was referring to a particular fight that took place between their master and him, which was how they first met.

"Nay," quoth Robin Hood, laughing louder than all. "Heaven forbid that I should doubt thee, for I care for no taste of thy staff myself, Little John. I must needs own that there are those of my band can handle a seven-foot staff more deftly than I; yet no man in all Nottinghamshire can draw gray goose shaft with my fingers. Nevertheless, a journey to Ancaster may not be ill for thee; so go thou, as I bid, and thou hadst best go this very evening, for since thou hast abided at the Sheriff's many know thy face, and if thou goest in broad daylight, thou mayst get thyself into a coil with some of his worship's men-at-arms. Bide thou here till I bring thee money to pay our good Hugh. I warrant he hath no better customers in all Nottinghamshire than we." So saying, Robin left them and entered the forest.

“No,” said Robin Hood, laughing louder than anyone else. “Heaven forbid I should doubt you, because I have no desire to feel the impact of your staff myself, Little John. I must admit there are some in my group who can handle a seven-foot staff better than I can; yet no one in all of Nottinghamshire can shoot an arrow with my fingers. Still, a trip to Ancaster might not be a bad idea for you; so go as I say, and you’d better go this very evening, because since you’ve been at the Sheriff’s, many recognize your face, and if you go out in broad daylight, you might run into trouble with some of his men. Stay here until I bring you money to pay our good Hugh. I’m sure he doesn’t have better customers in all of Nottinghamshire than us." With that, Robin left them and went into the forest.

Not far from the trysting tree was a great rock in which a chamber had been hewn, the entrance being barred by a massive oaken door two palms'- breadth in thickness, studded about with spikes, and fastened with a great padlock. This was the treasure house of the band, and thither Robin Hood went and, unlocking the door, entered the chamber, from which he brought forth a bag of gold which he gave to Little John, to pay Hugh Longshanks withal, for the cloth of Lincoln green.

Not far from the meeting tree was a large rock that had been carved out to create a chamber. The entrance was secured by a heavy oak door, two palm widths thick, covered in spikes and locked with a big padlock. This was the band’s treasure house. Robin Hood went there, unlocked the door, and entered the chamber, from which he took out a bag of gold and handed it to Little John to pay Hugh Longshanks for the Lincoln green fabric.

Then up got Little John, and, taking the bag of gold, which he thrust into his bosom, he strapped a girdle about his loins, took a stout pikestaff full seven feet long in his hand, and set forth upon his journey.

Then Little John got up, and, taking the bag of gold that he stuffed into his shirt, he tied a belt around his waist, grabbed a sturdy seven-foot-long staff in his hand, and set off on his journey.

So he strode whistling along the leafy forest path that led to Fosse Way, turning neither to the right hand nor the left, until at last he came to where the path branched, leading on the one hand onward to Fosse Way, and on the other, as well Little John knew, to the merry Blue Boar Inn. Here Little John suddenly ceased whistling and stopped in the middle of the path. First he looked up and then he looked down, and then, tilting his cap over one eye, he slowly scratched the back part of his head. For thus it was: at the sight of these two roads, two voices began to alarum within him, the one crying, "There lies the road to the Blue Boar Inn, a can of brown October, and a merry night with sweet companions such as thou mayst find there"; the other, "There lies the way to Ancaster and the duty thou art sent upon." Now the first of these two voices was far the louder, for Little John had grown passing fond of good living through abiding at the Sheriff's house; so, presently, looking up into the blue sky, across which bright clouds were sailing like silver boats, and swallows skimming in circling flight, quoth he, "I fear me it will rain this evening, so I'll e'en stop at the Blue Boar till it passes by, for I know my good master would not have me wet to the skin." So, without more ado, off he strode down the path that lay the way of his likings. Now there was no sign of any foul weather, but when one wishes to do a thing, as Little John did, one finds no lack of reasons for the doing.

So he walked along the leafy forest path that led to Fosse Way, not turning to the right or the left, until he finally reached a fork in the path—one way continued to Fosse Way, and the other, as Little John knew, led to the cheerful Blue Boar Inn. Here, Little John suddenly stopped whistling and paused in the middle of the path. First, he looked up, then down, and then, tilting his cap over one eye, he slowly scratched the back of his head. Because this was the situation: at the sight of these two paths, two voices started to argue within him, one saying, "That way leads to the Blue Boar Inn, a can of brown October ale, and a fun night with good friends you'll find there"; the other said, "That way leads to Ancaster and the duty you were sent on." Now the first voice was much louder, since Little John had grown quite fond of good food and drink while staying at the Sheriff's house; so, looking up at the blue sky, where bright clouds were drifting like silver boats and swallows were flying in circles, he said, "I fear it might rain this evening, so I'll just stay at the Blue Boar until it passes, because I know my good master wouldn’t want me getting soaked." So, without further thought, he headed down the path that suited his fancy. There were no signs of bad weather, but when one wants to do something, as Little John did, they can always find plenty of reasons to go for it.

Four merry wags were at the Blue Boar Inn; a butcher, a beggar, and two barefoot friars. Little John heard them singing from afar, as he walked through the hush of the mellow twilight that was now falling over hill and dale. Right glad were they to welcome such a merry blade as Little John. Fresh cans of ale were brought, and with jest and song and merry tales the hours slipped away on fleeting wings. None thought of time or tide till the night was so far gone that Little John put by the thought of setting forth upon his journey again that night, and so bided at the Blue Boar Inn until the morrow.

Four cheerful jokesters were at the Blue Boar Inn: a butcher, a beggar, and two barefoot friars. Little John heard them singing from a distance as he strolled through the quiet of the soft twilight that was now settling over the hills and valleys. They were very happy to welcome such a lively guy as Little John. Fresh pitchers of ale were brought, and with jokes, songs, and cheerful stories, the hours flew by quickly. No one thought about time or the tide until it got so late that Little John decided against continuing his journey that night, so he stayed at the Blue Boar Inn until the next day.

Now it was an ill piece of luck for Little John that he left his duty for his pleasure, and he paid a great score for it, as we are all apt to do in the same case, as you shall see.

Now it was bad luck for Little John that he neglected his duty for his own enjoyment, and he faced serious consequences for it, just like we all tend to do in similar situations, as you will see.

Up he rose at the dawn of the next day, and, taking his stout pikestaff in his hand, he set forth upon his journey once more, as though he would make up for lost time.

Up he got at dawn the next day, and, grabbing his sturdy walking stick, he set off on his journey again, as if he were trying to make up for lost time.

In the good town of Blyth there lived a stout tanner, celebrated far and near for feats of strength and many tough bouts at wrestling and the quarterstaff. For five years he had held the mid-country champion belt for wrestling, till the great Adam o' Lincoln cast him in the ring and broke one of his ribs; but at quarterstaff he had never yet met his match in all the country about. Besides all this, he dearly loved the longbow, and a sly jaunt in the forest when the moon was full and the dun deer in season; so that the King's rangers kept a shrewd eye upon him and his doings, for Arthur a Bland's house was apt to have aplenty of meat in it that was more like venison than the law allowed.

In the good town of Blyth, there lived a sturdy tanner, known far and wide for his strength and numerous tough wrestling matches and quarterstaff competitions. For five years, he held the mid-country champion title for wrestling until the great Adam o' Lincoln beat him in the ring and broke one of his ribs; however, he had never encountered a rival in quarterstaff across the surrounding region. In addition to all this, he had a great passion for the longbow and enjoyed sneaky trips in the forest during the full moon when the deer were in season. Because of this, the King’s rangers kept a close watch on him and his activities, as Arthur a Bland's house often had plenty of meat that was more like venison than what the law permitted.

Now Arthur had been to Nottingham Town the day before Little John set forth on his errand, there to sell a halfscore of tanned cowhides. At the dawn of the same day that Little John left the inn, he started from Nottingham, homeward for Blyth. His way led, all in the dewy morn, past the verge of Sherwood Forest, where the birds were welcoming the lovely day with a great and merry jubilee. Across the Tanner's shoulders was slung his stout quarterstaff, ever near enough to him to be gripped quickly, and on his head was a cap of doubled cowhide, so tough that it could hardly be cloven even by a broadsword.

Now, Arthur had been to Nottingham the day before Little John set out on his mission to sell a dozen tanned cowhides. At the break of the same day that Little John left the inn, he started from Nottingham, heading back to Blyth. His route took him, in the dewy morning, past the edge of Sherwood Forest, where the birds were celebrating the beautiful day with a joyful chorus. Over his shoulder was slung his sturdy quarterstaff, always close enough for him to grab quickly, and on his head was a tough cap made of double-layered cowhide, so durable that it could hardly be cut even by a broadsword.

"Now," quoth Arthur a Bland to himself, when he had come to that part of the road that cut through a corner of the forest, "no doubt at this time of year the dun deer are coming from the forest depths nigher to the open meadow lands. Mayhap I may chance to catch a sight of the dainty brown darlings thus early in the morn." For there was nothing he loved better than to look upon a tripping herd of deer, even when he could not tickle their ribs with a clothyard shaft. Accordingly, quitting the path, he went peeping this way and that through the underbrush, spying now here and now there, with all the wiles of a master of woodcraft, and of one who had more than once donned a doublet of Lincoln green.

"Now," Arthur a Bland said to himself, as he reached the part of the road that stretched through a corner of the forest, "there's no doubt that at this time of year the brown deer are coming from deeper in the woods closer to the open meadows. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of those lovely little brown creatures this early in the morning." He loved nothing more than watching a lively herd of deer, even when he couldn’t shoot them with an arrow. So, leaving the path, he began to peek around through the underbrush, looking this way and that, using all the tricks of a skilled woodsman and someone who had worn a green tunic more than once.

Now as Little John stepped blithely along, thinking of nothing but of such things as the sweetness of the hawthorn buds that bedecked the hedgerows, or gazing upward at the lark, that, springing from the dewy grass, hung aloft on quivering wings in the yellow sunlight, pouring forth its song that fell like a falling star from the sky, his luck led him away from the highway, not far from the spot where Arthur a Bland was peeping this way and that through the leaves of the thickets. Hearing a rustling of the branches, Little John stopped and presently caught sight of the brown cowhide cap of the Tanner moving among the bushes.

As Little John walked happily along, not thinking about anything except the sweetness of the hawthorn buds decorating the hedgerows, or looking up at the lark that, rising from the dewy grass, hovered on fluttering wings in the yellow sunlight, singing a song that fell like a shooting star from the sky, his luck took him away from the main road, not far from where Arthur a Bland was peeking around through the leaves of the thickets. Hearing a rustling of the branches, Little John stopped and soon spotted the brown cowhide cap of the Tanner moving among the bushes.

"I do much wonder," quoth Little John to himself, "what yon knave is after, that he should go thus peeping and peering about I verily believe that yon scurvy varlet is no better than a thief, and cometh here after our own and the good King's dun deer." For by much roving in the forest, Little John had come to look upon all the deer in Sherwood as belonging to Robin Hood and his band as much as to good King Harry. "Nay," quoth he again, after a time, "this matter must e'en be looked into." So, quitting the highroad, he also entered the thickets, and began spying around after stout Arthur a Bland.

"I really wonder," said Little John to himself, "what that guy is up to, sneaking around like that. I truly believe that scummy character is nothing but a thief, and he's here trying to steal from us and the good King's deer." After spending so much time in the forest, Little John had come to see all the deer in Sherwood as belonging to Robin Hood and his crew just as much as they belonged to good King Harry. "Well," he said again after a moment, "this needs to be checked out." So, leaving the main road, he entered the underbrush and started looking around for stout Arthur a Bland.

So for a long time they both of them went hunting about, Little John after the Tanner, and the Tanner after the deer. At last Little John trod upon a stick, which snapped under his foot, whereupon, hearing the noise, the Tanner turned quickly and caught sight of the yeoman. Seeing that the Tanner had spied him out, Little John put a bold face upon the matter.

So for a long time, both of them were out hunting, Little John chasing the Tanner and the Tanner chasing the deer. Finally, Little John stepped on a stick that snapped under his foot. Hearing the noise, the Tanner quickly turned and spotted the yeoman. Realizing that the Tanner had seen him, Little John put on a brave front.

"Hilloa," quoth he, "what art thou doing here, thou naughty fellow? Who art thou that comest ranging Sherwood's paths? In very sooth thou hast an evil cast of countenance, and I do think, truly, that thou art no better than a thief, and comest after our good King's deer."

"Hilloa," he said, "what are you doing here, you naughty fellow? Who are you roaming the paths of Sherwood? Honestly, you have a bad look about you, and I truly believe that you’re nothing better than a thief, here to steal our good King's deer."

"Nay," quoth the Tanner boldly—for, though taken by surprise, he was not a man to be frightened by big words—"thou liest in thy teeth. I am no thief, but an honest craftsman. As for my countenance, it is what it is; and, for the matter of that, thine own is none too pretty, thou saucy fellow."

"No," said the Tanner boldly—although he was caught off guard, he wasn't someone who would be intimidated by grand words—"you’re lying. I’m not a thief, but an honest craftsman. As for my appearance, it is what it is; and frankly, yours isn’t exactly flattering either, you cheeky guy."

"Ha!" quoth Little John in a great loud voice, "wouldst thou give me backtalk? Now I have a great part of a mind to crack thy pate for thee. I would have thee know, fellow, that I am, as it were, one of the King's foresters. Leastwise," muttered he to himself, "I and my friends do take good care of our good sovereign's deer."

"Ha!" shouted Little John in a loud voice, "are you talking back to me? Now I’m seriously considering giving you a good whack. I want you to know, buddy, that I’m, sort of, one of the King’s foresters. At least," he muttered to himself, "my friends and I make sure to take good care of our good sovereign’s deer."

"I care not who thou art," answered the bold Tanner, "and unless thou hast many more of thy kind by thee, thou canst never make Arthur a Bland cry 'A mercy.'"

"I don't care who you are," replied the fearless Tanner, "and unless you have a lot more people like you around, you’ll never make Arthur a Bland shout 'Have mercy.'"

"Is it so?" cried Little John in a rage. "Now, by my faith, thou saucy rogue, thy tongue hath led thee into a pit thou wilt have a sorry time getting out of; for I will give thee such a drubbing as ne'er hast thou had in all thy life before. Take thy staff in thy hand, fellow, for I will not smite an unarmed man.

"Is that so?" shouted Little John in anger. "Now, I swear, you cheeky rascal, your tongue has gotten you into a mess you're going to struggle to escape from; because I'm going to give you a beating like you've never had in your life. Grab your staff, buddy, because I won’t hit an unarmed man."

"Marry come up with a murrain!" cried the Tanner, for he, too, had talked himself into a fume. "Big words ne'er killed so much as a mouse. Who art thou that talkest so freely of cracking the head of Arthur a Bland? If I do not tan thy hide this day as ne'er I tanned a calf's hide in all my life before, split my staff into skewers for lamb's flesh and call me no more brave man! Now look to thyself, fellow!"

"Just get out of here!" shouted the Tanner, who had worked himself up into a rage. "Big words never hurt more than a mouse. Who do you think you are, talking so casually about taking Arthur a Bland's head? If I don’t beat you today like I've never beaten a calf’s hide in my life, then turn my staff into skewers for lamb and call me no longer a brave man! Now watch yourself, buddy!"

"Stay!" said Little John. "Let us first measure our cudgels. I do reckon my staff longer than thine, and I would not take vantage of thee by even so much as an inch."

"Wait!" said Little John. "Let's first compare our clubs. I think my staff is longer than yours, and I wouldn't want to take advantage of you by even an inch."

"Nay, I pass not for length," answered the Tanner. "My staff is long enough to knock down a calf; so look to thyself, fellow, I say again."

"Nah, I’m not worried about the length," replied the Tanner. "My staff is long enough to take down a calf; so watch yourself, buddy, I say it again."

So, without more ado, each gripped his staff in the middle, and, with fell and angry looks, they came slowly together.

So, without further hesitation, each gripped his staff in the middle, and, with fierce and angry expressions, they slowly approached each other.

Now news had been brought to Robin Hood how that Little John, instead of doing his bidding, had passed by duty for pleasure, and so had stopped overnight with merry company at the Blue Boar Inn, instead of going straight to Ancaster. So, being vexed to his heart by this, he set forth at dawn of day to seek Little John at the Blue Boar, or at least to meet the yeoman on the way, and ease his heart of what he thought of the matter. As thus he strode along in anger, putting together the words he would use to chide Little John, he heard, of a sudden, loud and angry voices, as of men in a rage, passing fell words back and forth from one to the other. At this, Robin Hood stopped and listened. "Surely," quoth he to himself, "that is Little John's voice, and he is talking in anger also. Methinks the other is strange to my ears. Now Heaven forfend that my good trusty Little John should have fallen into the hands of the King's rangers. I must see to this matter, and that quickly."

Now word had reached Robin Hood that Little John, instead of following his orders, had chosen pleasure over duty and spent the night with merry company at the Blue Boar Inn instead of heading straight to Ancaster. Upset by this, he set out at dawn to find Little John at the Blue Boar or at least catch up with him on the way to share his thoughts on the matter. As he walked in anger, preparing the words he would use to scold Little John, he suddenly heard loud and angry voices, like men in a rage, exchanging harsh words. At this, Robin Hood stopped and listened. "Surely," he said to himself, "that is Little John's voice, and he's angry too. The other voice is unfamiliar to me. God forbid that my good, loyal Little John should have fallen into the hands of the King's rangers. I need to check on this right away."

Thus spoke Robin Hood to himself, all his anger passing away like a breath from the windowpane, at the thought that perhaps his trusty right-hand man was in some danger of his life. So cautiously he made his way through the thickets whence the voices came, and, pushing aside the leaves, peeped into the little open space where the two men, staff in hand, were coming slowly together.

Thus spoke Robin Hood to himself, letting all his anger fade away like a breath on a windowpane, considering the possibility that his loyal right-hand man might be in danger. So, he carefully navigated through the bushes where the voices were coming from, and, pushing aside the leaves, peeked into the small clearing where the two men, with staffs in hand, were slowly approaching each other.

"Ha!" quoth Robin to himself, "here is merry sport afoot. Now I would give three golden angels from my own pocket if yon stout fellow would give Little John a right sound drubbing! It would please me to see him well thumped for having failed in my bidding. I fear me, though, there is but poor chance of my seeing such a pleasant sight." So saying, he stretched himself at length upon the ground, that he might not only see the sport the better, but that he might enjoy the merry sight at his ease.

"Ha!" Robin said to himself, "here's some fun happening. I'd give three gold coins from my own pocket if that big guy would give Little John a good beating! It would make me happy to see him get a solid whacking for not following my orders. But I fear there's little chance of seeing such an entertaining sight." With that, he lay down on the ground, not only to get a better view of the fun but also to enjoy the cheerful scene comfortably.

As you may have seen two dogs that think to fight, walking slowly round and round each other, neither cur wishing to begin the combat, so those two stout yeomen moved slowly around, each watching for a chance to take the other unaware, and so get in the first blow. At last Little John struck like a flash, and—"rap!"—the Tanner met the blow and turned it aside, and then smote back at Little John, who also turned the blow; and so this mighty battle began. Then up and down and back and forth they trod, the blows falling so thick and fast that, at a distance, one would have thought that half a score of men were fighting. Thus they fought for nigh a half an hour, until the ground was all plowed up with the digging of their heels, and their breathing grew labored like the ox in the furrow. But Little John suffered the most, for he had become unused to such stiff labor, and his joints were not as supple as they had been before he went to dwell with the Sheriff.

As you might have seen with two dogs that look like they're about to fight, circling each other slowly, neither one wanting to start the fight, so these two strong countrymen moved slowly around, each waiting for a chance to catch the other off guard and land the first hit. Finally, Little John struck out quickly, and—“bang!”—the Tanner blocked the blow and deflected it, and then countered with a hit at Little John, who also managed to deflect that blow; thus began this fierce battle. They paced up and down and back and forth, the strikes coming down so rapidly that, from a distance, it would seem like a crowd of men was fighting. They battled for nearly half an hour, until the ground was all churned up from their stomping, and their breathing became heavy like that of an ox in the field. But Little John struggled the most, as he was no longer used to such hard work, and his joints weren’t as flexible as they had been before he began living with the Sheriff.

All this time Robin Hood lay beneath the bush, rejoicing at such a comely bout of quarterstaff. "By my faith!" quoth he to himself, "never had I thought to see Little John so evenly matched in all my life. Belike, though, he would have overcome yon fellow before this had he been in his former trim."

All this time, Robin Hood was lying under the bush, enjoying such a nice match of quarterstaff. "Honestly!" he said to himself, "I never thought I’d see Little John so evenly matched in my life. If he were in his usual shape, he would probably have defeated that guy by now."

At last Little John saw his chance, and, throwing all the strength he felt going from him into one blow that might have felled an ox, he struck at the Tanner with might and main. And now did the Tanner's cowhide cap stand him in good stead, and but for it he might never have held staff in hand again. As it was, the blow he caught beside the head was so shrewd that it sent him staggering across the little glade, so that, if Little John had had the strength to follow up his vantage, it would have been ill for stout Arthur. But he regained himself quickly and, at arm's length, struck back a blow at Little John, and this time the stroke reached its mark, and down went Little John at full length, his cudgel flying from his hand as he fell. Then, raising his staff, stout Arthur dealt him another blow upon the ribs.

At last, Little John saw his opportunity and, putting all the strength he had into one blow that could have knocked down an ox, he swung at the Tanner with everything he had. The Tanner's cowhide cap really helped him, and without it, he might have never been able to hold a weapon again. As it was, the blow he took to the side of his head was so hard that it sent him staggering across the small clearing. If Little John had enough strength to capitalize on this advantage, it would have been bad for tough Arthur. But he quickly regained his balance and, reaching out, retaliated with a strike at Little John. This time, the hit found its target, and Little John went down flat, his cudgel flying from his hand as he fell. Then, raising his staff, tough Arthur delivered another blow to Little John's ribs.

"Hold!" roared Little John. "Wouldst thou strike a man when he is down?"

"Stop!" yelled Little John. "Are you really going to hit a man when he's down?"

"Ay, marry would I," quoth the Tanner, giving him another thwack with his staff.

"Yeah, I definitely would," said the Tanner, hitting him again with his staff.

"Stop!" roared Little John. "Help! Hold, I say! I yield me! I yield me, I say, good fellow!"

"Stop!" shouted Little John. "Help! Wait, I said! I give up! I give up, I said, friend!"

"Hast thou had enough?" asked the Tanner grimly, holding his staff aloft.

"Have you had enough?" asked the Tanner grimly, holding his staff up high.

"Ay, marry, and more than enough."

"Aye, really, and more than enough."

"And thou dost own that I am the better man of the two?"

"And you admit that I'm the better man of the two?"

"Yea, truly, and a murrain seize thee!" said Little John, the first aloud and the last to his beard.

"Yeah, really, and may a plague take you!" said Little John, the first to speak out loud and the last to touch his beard.

"Then thou mayst go thy ways; and thank thy patron saint that I am a merciful man," said the Tanner.

"Then you can go on your way; and thank your patron saint that I'm a merciful man," said the Tanner.

"A plague o' such mercy as thine!" said Little John, sitting up and feeling his ribs where the Tanner had cudgeled him. "I make my vow, my ribs feel as though every one of them were broken in twain. I tell thee, good fellow, I did think there was never a man in all Nottinghamshire could do to me what thou hast done this day."

"A plague of such mercy as yours!" said Little John, sitting up and feeling his ribs where the Tanner had hit him. "I swear, my ribs feel like they’re all broken in half. I’m telling you, good friend, I really thought no man in all of Nottinghamshire could do to me what you’ve done today."

"And so thought I, also," cried Robin Hood, bursting out of the thicket and shouting with laughter till the tears ran down his cheeks. "O man, man!" said he, as well as he could for his mirth, "'a didst go over like a bottle knocked from a wall. I did see the whole merry bout, and never did I think to see thee yield thyself so, hand and foot, to any man in all merry England. I was seeking thee, to chide thee for leaving my bidding undone; but thou hast been paid all I owed thee, full measure, pressed down and overflowing, by this good fellow. Marry, 'a did reach out his arm full length while thou stood gaping at him, and, with a pretty rap, tumbled thee over as never have I seen one tumbled before." So spoke bold Robin, and all the time Little John sat upon the ground, looking as though he had sour curds in his mouth. "What may be thy name, good fellow?" said Robin, next, turning to the Tanner.

"And so I thought too," shouted Robin Hood, bursting out of the bushes and laughing until tears streamed down his face. "Oh man, man!" he said, struggling to catch his breath between laughs, "you went down like a bottle knocked off a shelf. I saw the whole fun and never thought I’d see you give in like that, completely, to anyone in all of merry England. I was looking for you to scold you for not doing what I asked; but you’ve been paid back everything I owed you, fully, and then some, by this good fellow. Honestly, he reached out his arm while you were just standing there, and with a quick tap, he knocked you over like I’ve never seen anyone get knocked over before." So spoke bold Robin, while Little John sat on the ground, looking as if he had just tasted something sour. "What’s your name, good fellow?" Robin asked next, turning to the Tanner.

"Men do call me Arthur a Bland," spoke up the Tanner boldly, "and now what may be thy name?"

"People call me Arthur a Bland," the Tanner said confidently, "and now what’s your name?"

"Ha, Arthur a Bland!" quoth Robin, "I have heard thy name before, good fellow. Thou didst break the crown of a friend of mine at the fair at Ely last October. The folk there call him Jock o' Nottingham; we call him Will Scathelock. This poor fellow whom thou hast so belabored is counted the best hand at the quarterstaff in all merry England. His name is Little John, and mine Robin Hood."

"Ha, Arthur a Bland!" said Robin, "I've heard your name before, good man. You broke the crown of a friend of mine at the fair in Ely last October. The folks there call him Jock o' Nottingham; we call him Will Scathelock. This poor guy you've been beating up is considered the best quarterstaff fighter in all of merry England. His name is Little John, and I'm Robin Hood."

"How!" cried the Tanner, "art thou indeed the great Robin Hood, and is this the famous Little John? Marry, had I known who thou art, I would never have been so bold as to lift my hand against thee. Let me help thee to thy feet, good Master Little John, and let me brush the dust from off thy coat."

"Wow!" exclaimed the Tanner, "are you really the great Robin Hood, and is this the legendary Little John? Honestly, if I had known who you were, I would never have been so daring as to raise my hand against you. Let me help you up, good Master Little John, and let me wipe the dust off your coat."

"Nay," quoth Little John testily, at the same time rising carefully, as though his bones had been made of glass, "I can help myself, good fellow, without thy aid; and let me tell thee, had it not been for that vile cowskin cap of thine, it would have been ill for thee this day."

"Nah," Little John said sharply, carefully getting up as if his bones were made of glass, "I can manage on my own, my friend, without your help; and let me tell you, if it weren't for that terrible cowskin cap of yours, things would have gone badly for you today."

At this Robin laughed again, and, turning to the Tanner, he said, "Wilt thou join my band, good Arthur? For I make my vow thou art one of the stoutest men that ever mine eyes beheld."

At this, Robin laughed again and turned to the Tanner, saying, "Will you join my team, good Arthur? I swear you are one of the bravest men I've ever seen."

"Will I join thy band?" cried the Tanner joyfully. "Ay, marry, will I! Hey for a merry life!" cried he, leaping aloft and snapping his fingers, "and hey for the life I love! Away with tanbark and filthy vats and foul cowhides! I will follow thee to the ends of the earth, good master, and not a herd of dun deer in all the forest but shall know the sound of the twang of my bowstring."

"Will I join your group?" shouted the Tanner excitedly. "Absolutely, I will! Here’s to a joyful life!" he exclaimed, jumping up and snapping his fingers, "and here’s to the life I love! Forget about tanbark and nasty vats and disgusting cowhides! I will follow you to the ends of the earth, my good master, and not a herd of deer in the entire forest will be unaware of the sound of my bowstring."

"As for thee, Little John," said Robin, turning to him and laughing, "thou wilt start once more for Ancaster, and we will go part way with thee, for I will not have thee turn again to either the right hand or the left till thou hast fairly gotten away from Sherwood. There are other inns that thou knowest yet, hereabouts." Thereupon, leaving the thickets, they took once more to the highway and departed upon their business.

"As for you, Little John," said Robin, turning to him and laughing, "you'll head out again for Ancaster, and we'll walk part of the way with you, because I won’t let you turn back to the right or left until you’ve really gotten away from Sherwood. There are other inns that you know around here." Then, leaving the thickets, they returned to the highway and went on with their business.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood and Will Scarlet

THUS THEY traveled along the sunny road, three stout fellows such as you could hardly match anywhere else in all merry England. Many stopped to gaze after them as they strode along, so broad were their shoulders and so sturdy their gait.

SO THEY traveled down the sunny road, three strong guys that you could hardly find anywhere else in all of cheerful England. Many people stopped to watch them as they walked by, their shoulders so broad and their stride so solid.

Quoth Robin Hood to Little John, "Why didst thou not go straight to Ancaster, yesterday, as I told thee? Thou hadst not gotten thyself into such a coil hadst thou done as I ordered."

Quoth Robin Hood to Little John, "Why didn't you go straight to Ancaster yesterday like I told you? You wouldn't have gotten yourself into such a mess if you had done what I said."

"I feared the rain that threatened," said Little John in a sullen tone, for he was vexed at being so chaffed by Robin with what had happened to him.

"I was worried about the rain that was coming," said Little John in a gloomy tone, because he was annoyed at being teased by Robin about what had happened to him.

"The rain!" cried Robin, stopping of a sudden in the middle of the road, and looking at Little John in wonder. "Why, thou great oaf! not a drop of rain has fallen these three days, neither has any threatened, nor hath there been a sign of foul weather in earth or sky or water."

"The rain!" shouted Robin, suddenly stopping in the middle of the road and looking at Little John in amazement. "You big oaf! Not a single drop of rain has fallen in three days, there hasn't been any sign of rain, and the weather has been clear in every direction."

"Nevertheless," growled Little John, "the holy Saint Swithin holdeth the waters of the heavens in his pewter pot, and he could have poured them out, had he chosen, even from a clear sky; and wouldst thou have had me wet to the skin?"

"Still," growled Little John, "the holy Saint Swithin holds the waters of the heavens in his pewter pot, and he could have poured them out, if he wanted, even from a clear sky; and would you have wanted me soaked to the skin?"

At this Robin Hood burst into a roar of laughter. "O Little John!" said he, "what butter wits hast thou in that head of thine! Who could hold anger against such a one as thou art?"

At this, Robin Hood burst into laughter. "Oh, Little John!" he said, "what clever ideas you have in that head of yours! Who could be angry at someone like you?"

So saying, they all stepped out once more, with the right foot foremost, as the saying is.

So saying, they all stepped out again, with the right foot first, as the saying goes.

After they had traveled some distance, the day being warm and the road dusty, Robin Hood waxed thirsty; so, there being a fountain of water as cold as ice, just behind the hedgerow, they crossed the stile and came to where the water bubbled up from beneath a mossy stone. Here, kneeling and making cups of the palms of their hands, they drank their fill, and then, the spot being cool and shady, they stretched their limbs and rested them for a space.

After they had traveled a while, with the day being warm and the road dusty, Robin Hood became thirsty; so, since there was a fountain of water as cold as ice just behind the hedgerow, they crossed the stile and reached the spot where the water bubbled up from under a mossy stone. There, kneeling and cupping their hands, they drank their fill, and then, since the area was cool and shady, they stretched out and rested for a bit.

In front of them, over beyond the hedge, the dusty road stretched away across the plain; behind them the meadow lands and bright green fields of tender young corn lay broadly in the sun, and overhead spread the shade of the cool, rustling leaves of the beechen tree. Pleasantly to their nostrils came the tender fragrance of the purple violets and wild thyme that grew within the dewy moisture of the edge of the little fountain, and pleasantly came the soft gurgle of the water. All was so pleasant and so full of the gentle joy of the bright Maytime, that for a long time no one of the three cared to speak, but each lay on his back, gazing up through the trembling leaves of the trees to the bright sky overhead. At last, Robin, whose thoughts were not quite so busy wool- gathering as those of the others, and who had been gazing around him now and then, broke the silence.

In front of them, beyond the hedge, the dusty road stretched out across the plain; behind them, the meadows and bright green fields of tender young corn lay basking in the sun, and overhead, the cool, rustling leaves of the beech tree offered shade. The gentle scent of purple violets and wild thyme from the dewy edge of the little fountain filled the air, along with the soft sound of the water gurgling. Everything was so pleasant and full of the gentle joy of bright May that for a long time, the three of them didn't feel like talking; they just lay on their backs, looking up through the trembling tree leaves at the bright sky above. Finally, Robin, whose mind wasn’t as caught up in daydreams as the others and who had been occasionally looking around, broke the silence.

"Heyday!" quoth he, "yon is a gaily feathered bird, I take my vow."

"Wow!" he said, "that’s a pretty colorful bird, I swear."

The others looked and saw a young man walking slowly down the highway. Gay was he, indeed, as Robin had said, and a fine figure he cut, for his doublet was of scarlet silk and his stockings also; a handsome sword hung by his side, the embossed leathern scabbard being picked out with fine threads of gold; his cap was of scarlet velvet, and a broad feather hung down behind and back of one ear. His hair was long and yellow and curled upon his shoulders, and in his hand he bore an early rose, which he smelled at daintily now and then.

The others looked and saw a young man walking slowly down the highway. He was indeed as flamboyant as Robin had said, and he made quite an impression, with his scarlet silk doublet and matching stockings; a handsome sword dangled by his side, with an embossed leather scabbard highlighted by fine gold threads; his cap was made of scarlet velvet, featuring a broad feather that hung down behind one ear. His long, yellow hair was curled over his shoulders, and in his hand, he held an early rose, which he occasionally smelled delicately.

"By my life!" quoth Robin Hood, laughing, "saw ye e'er such a pretty, mincing fellow?"

"By my life!" Robin Hood said, laughing, "have you ever seen such a charming, dainty guy?"

"Truly, his clothes have overmuch prettiness for my taste," quoth Arthur a Bland, "but, ne'ertheless, his shoulders are broad and his loins are narrow, and seest thou, good master, how that his arms hang from his body? They dangle not down like spindles, but hang stiff and bend at the elbow. I take my vow, there be no bread and milk limbs in those fine clothes, but stiff joints and tough thews."

"Honestly, his clothes are a bit too flashy for my taste," said Arthur a Bland, "but still, his shoulders are broad and his waist is slim, and look, good sir, how his arms hang from his body? They don't dangle down like skinny sticks; they hang straight and bend at the elbow. I swear, there are no weak, flimsy limbs in those nice clothes, but strong joints and tough muscles."

"Methinks thou art right, friend Arthur," said Little John. "I do verily think that yon is no such roseleaf and whipped-cream gallant as he would have one take him to be."

"I think you're right, friend Arthur," said Little John. "I truly believe that he's not the charming, sweet guy he wants everyone to think he is."

"Pah!" quoth Robin Hood, "the sight of such a fellow doth put a nasty taste into my mouth! Look how he doth hold that fair flower betwixt his thumb and finger, as he would say, 'Good rose, I like thee not so ill but I can bear thy odor for a little while.' I take it ye are both wrong, and verily believe that were a furious mouse to run across his path, he would cry, 'La!' or 'Alack-a-day!' and fall straightway into a swoon. I wonder who he may be."

"Pah!" said Robin Hood. "Just looking at that guy gives me a bad taste! Look how he's holding that beautiful flower between his thumb and finger, like he’s saying, 'Good rose, I don’t dislike you too much, but I can only stand your smell for a bit.' I think you’re both mistaken, and I truly believe that if a wild mouse crossed his path, he’d exclaim, 'Oh!' or 'Good grief!' and faint right then and there. I wonder who he is."

"Some great baron's son, I doubt not," answered Little John, "with good and true men's money lining his purse."

"Some wealthy baron's son, I'm sure," replied Little John, "with honest men's money filling his wallet."

"Ay, marry, that is true, I make no doubt," quoth Robin. "What a pity that such men as he, that have no thought but to go abroad in gay clothes, should have good fellows, whose shoes they are not fit to tie, dancing at their bidding. By Saint Dunstan, Saint Alfred, Saint Withold, and all the good men in the Saxon calendar, it doth make me mad to see such gay lordlings from over the sea go stepping on the necks of good Saxons who owned this land before ever their great-grandsires chewed rind of brawn! By the bright bow of Heaven, I will have their ill-gotten gains from them, even though I hang for it as high as e'er a forest tree in Sherwood!"

"Yeah, that’s true, I have no doubt," Robin said. "What a shame that guys like him, who only care about showing off in fancy clothes, can have decent folks, who aren’t even worthy of tying their shoes, dancing to their command. By Saint Dunstan, Saint Alfred, Saint Withold, and all the good men in the Saxon calendar, it drives me crazy to see such flashy lords from across the sea stepping on the backs of good Saxons who owned this land long before their great-grandfathers even thought about it! By the bright arch of Heaven, I will take back their stolen riches from them, even if I have to hang for it as high as any tree in Sherwood!"

"Why, how now, master," quoth Little John, "what heat is this? Thou dost set thy pot a-boiling, and mayhap no bacon to cook! Methinks yon fellow's hair is overlight for Norman locks. He may be a good man and true for aught thou knowest."

"Hey there, master," said Little John, "what's going on here? You're getting your pot boiling, and maybe there's no bacon to cook! I think that guy's hair is too light for Norman hair. He could be a good man and true for all you know."

"Nay," said Robin, "my head against a leaden farthing, he is what I say. So, lie ye both here, I say, till I show you how I drub this fellow." So saying, Robin Hood stepped forth from the shade of the beech tree, crossed the stile, and stood in the middle of the road, with his hands on his hips, in the stranger's path.

"Not at all," said Robin, "I bet a heavy penny that he's exactly what I say he is. So, you both stay right here until I show you how I take care of this guy." With that, Robin Hood stepped out from the shade of the beech tree, crossed the stile, and stood in the middle of the road, his hands on his hips, blocking the stranger's path.

Meantime the stranger, who had been walking so slowly that all this talk was held before he came opposite the place where they were, neither quickened his pace nor seemed to see that such a man as Robin Hood was in the world. So Robin stood in the middle of the road, waiting while the other walked slowly forward, smelling his rose, and looking this way and that, and everywhere except at Robin.

Meanwhile, the stranger, who had been walking so slowly that all this conversation happened before he reached the spot where they were, neither sped up nor seemed to notice that someone like Robin Hood existed. So, Robin stood in the middle of the road, waiting while the other walked slowly ahead, smelling his rose, and looking this way and that, everywhere except at Robin.

"Hold!" cried Robin, when at last the other had come close to him. "Hold! Stand where thou art!"

"Stop!" shouted Robin when the other finally got close to him. "Stop! Stay where you are!"

"Wherefore should I hold, good fellow?" said the stranger in soft and gentle voice. "And wherefore should I stand where I am? Ne'ertheless, as thou dost desire that I should stay, I will abide for a short time, that I may hear what thou mayst have to say to me."

"Why should I stay, my friend?" said the stranger in a soft and gentle voice. "And why should I remain where I am? However, since you want me to stay, I'll stick around for a little while to hear what you have to say."

"Then," quoth Robin, "as thou dost so fairly do as I tell thee, and dost give me such soft speech, I will also treat thee with all due courtesy. I would have thee know, fair friend, that I am, as it were, a votary at the shrine of Saint Wilfred who, thou mayst know, took, willy-nilly, all their gold from the heathen, and melted it up into candlesticks. Wherefore, upon such as come hereabouts, I levy a certain toll, which I use for a better purpose, I hope, than to make candlesticks withal. Therefore, sweet chuck, I would have thee deliver to me thy purse, that I may look into it, and judge, to the best of my poor powers, whether thou hast more wealth about thee than our law allows. For, as our good Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, 'He who is fat from overliving must needs lose blood.'"

"Then," said Robin, "since you're being so kind and following my instructions, I'll treat you with all due respect. I want you to know, dear friend, that I am, in a way, a devotee at the shrine of Saint Wilfred who, as you might know, took all their gold from the heathens and melted it down into candlesticks. Because of this, I collect a certain toll from those who pass through here, which I hope is used for a better purpose than just making candlesticks. So, my dear, I would like you to hand over your purse so I can check it and see, to the best of my ability, whether you have more wealth on you than our laws allow. As our good Gaffer Swanthold says, 'Those who are well-fed must inevitably lose some blood.'"

All this time the youth had been sniffing at the rose that he held betwixt his thumb and finger. "Nay," said he with a gentle smile, when Robin Hood had done, "I do love to hear thee talk, thou pretty fellow, and if, haply, thou art not yet done, finish, I beseech thee. I have yet some little time to stay."

All this time the young man had been smelling the rose he held between his thumb and finger. "No," he said with a gentle smile, when Robin Hood finished, "I really enjoy listening to you talk, you charming guy, and if you haven't finished yet, please go on. I still have a bit of time to stay."

"I have said all," quoth Robin, "and now, if thou wilt give me thy purse, I will let thee go thy way without let or hindrance so soon as I shall see what it may hold. I will take none from thee if thou hast but little."

"I've said everything," Robin said, "and now, if you give me your purse, I'll let you go on your way without any trouble as soon as I see what it contains. I won't take anything from you if you don't have much."

"Alas! It doth grieve me much," said the other, "that I cannot do as thou dost wish. I have nothing to give thee. Let me go my way, I prythee. I have done thee no harm."

"Unfortunately, it really saddens me," said the other, "that I can't do what you want. I have nothing to give you. Please let me go on my way. I haven't hurt you."

"Nay, thou goest not," quoth Robin, "till thou hast shown me thy purse."

"Nah, you're not going anywhere," said Robin, "until you show me your wallet."

"Good friend," said the other gently, "I have business elsewhere. I have given thee much time and have heard thee patiently. Prythee, let me depart in peace."

"Good friend," the other said softly, "I have things to take care of elsewhere. I've spent a lot of time listening to you patiently. Please, let me leave in peace."

"I have spoken to thee, friend," said Robin sternly, "and I now tell thee again, that thou goest not one step forward till thou hast done as I bid thee." So saying, he raised his quarterstaff above his head in a threatening way.

"I've talked to you, friend," Robin said firmly, "and I'm telling you again that you’re not moving another step until you do as I ask." With that, he lifted his quarterstaff over his head in a menacing manner.

"Alas!" said the stranger sadly, "it doth grieve me that this thing must be. I fear much that I must slay thee, thou poor fellow!" So saying, he drew his sword.

"Alas!" said the stranger sadly, "it grieves me that this has to happen. I'm afraid I must kill you, poor fellow!" With that, he drew his sword.

"Put by thy weapon," quoth Robin. "I would take no vantage of thee. Thy sword cannot stand against an oaken staff such as mine. I could snap it like a barley straw. Yonder is a good oaken thicket by the roadside; take thee a cudgel thence and defend thyself fairly, if thou hast a taste for a sound drubbing."

"Put away your weapon," said Robin. "I won't take any advantage over you. Your sword can’t compete with a strong oak staff like mine. I could break it like a piece of straw. There's a good oak thicket by the roadside; go grab a club from there and defend yourself properly if you're in the mood for a good beating."

First the stranger measured Robin with his eye, and then he measured the oaken staff. "Thou art right, good fellow," said he presently, "truly, my sword is no match for that cudgel of thine. Bide thee awhile till I get me a staff." So saying, he threw aside the rose that he had been holding all this time, thrust his sword back into the scabbard, and, with a more hasty step than he had yet used, stepped to the roadside where grew the little clump of ground oaks Robin had spoken of. Choosing among them, he presently found a sapling to his liking. He did not cut it, but, rolling up his sleeves a little way, he laid hold of it, placed his heel against the ground, and, with one mighty pull, plucked the young tree up by the roots from out the very earth. Then he came back, trimming away the roots and tender stems with his sword as quietly as if he had done nought to speak of.

First, the stranger sized up Robin and then took a look at the sturdy oak staff. "You're right, my friend," he said after a moment, "my sword can’t compete with that club of yours. Wait a moment while I get a staff." With that, he tossed aside the rose he had been holding, sheathed his sword, and, stepping more briskly than before, walked over to the edge of the road where the small cluster of oak trees Robin had mentioned grew. After looking them over, he soon found a sapling he liked. Instead of cutting it down, he rolled up his sleeves a bit, grabbed it, pressed his heel into the ground, and with one powerful pull, yanked the young tree out by its roots. Then he returned, casually trimming away the roots and delicate branches with his sword as if he hadn’t done anything unusual.

Little John and the Tanner had been watching all that passed, but when they saw the stranger drag the sapling up from the earth, and heard the rending and snapping of its roots, the Tanner pursed his lips together, drawing his breath between them in a long inward whistle.

Little John and the Tanner had been watching everything that was happening, but when they saw the stranger pull the sapling up from the ground and heard the roots cracking and snapping, the Tanner pressed his lips together, taking a long, quiet breath between them.

"By the breath of my body!" said Little John, as soon as he could gather his wits from their wonder, "sawest thou that, Arthur? Marry, I think our poor master will stand but an ill chance with yon fellow. By Our Lady, he plucked up yon green tree as it were a barley straw."

"By the breath of my body!" said Little John, as soon as he could collect his thoughts from their astonishment, "Did you see that, Arthur? Honestly, I think our poor master will have a tough time against that guy. By Our Lady, he pulled up that green tree like it was a piece of straw."

Whatever Robin Hood thought, he stood his ground, and now he and the stranger in scarlet stood face to face.

Whatever Robin Hood thought, he held his ground, and now he and the stranger in red stood face to face.

Well did Robin Hood hold his own that day as a mid-country yeoman. This way and that they fought, and back and forth, Robin's skill against the stranger's strength. The dust of the highway rose up around them like a cloud, so that at times Little John and the Tanner could see nothing, but only hear the rattle of the staves against one another. Thrice Robin Hood struck the stranger; once upon the arm and twice upon the ribs, and yet had he warded all the other's blows, only one of which, had it met its mark, would have laid stout Robin lower in the dust than he had ever gone before. At last the stranger struck Robin's cudgel so fairly in the middle that he could hardly hold his staff in his hand; again he struck, and Robin bent beneath the blow; a third time he struck, and now not only fairly beat down Robin's guard, but gave him such a rap, also, that down he tumbled into the dusty road.

Robin Hood really held his own that day as a country farmer. They fought this way and that, back and forth, with Robin's skill going up against the stranger's strength. The dust of the road rose up around them like a cloud, so that at times Little John and the Tanner could see nothing, only hear the sound of their staffs clashing. Robin Hood hit the stranger three times; once on the arm and twice on the ribs, and he managed to block all of the stranger's hits—only one of which, if it had landed, would have taken strong Robin down into the dust harder than he had ever fallen before. Finally, the stranger struck Robin's staff so hard in the center that he could hardly hold onto it; again he swung, and Robin ducked under the blow; a third time the stranger hit, and this time not only did he break through Robin's defense, but he also knocked him down, sending him tumbling into the dusty road.

"Hold!" cried Robin Hood, when he saw the stranger raising his staff once more. "I yield me!"

"Wait!" shouted Robin Hood when he saw the stranger lifting his staff again. "I give up!"

"Hold!" cried Little John, bursting from his cover, with the Tanner at his heels. "Hold! give over, I say!"

"Stop!" shouted Little John, bursting out of his hiding spot, with the Tanner right behind him. "Stop! I’m telling you to quit!"

"Nay," answered the stranger quietly, "if there be two more of you, and each as stout as this good fellow, I am like to have my hands full. Nevertheless, come on, and I will strive my best to serve you all."

"No," the stranger replied quietly, "if there are two more of you, and each as strong as this good man, I'm likely to have my hands full. Still, let's go, and I'll do my best to help you all."

"Stop!" cried Robin Hood, "we will fight no more. I take my vow, this is an ill day for thee and me, Little John. I do verily believe that my wrist, and eke my arm, are palsied by the jar of the blow that this stranger struck me."

"Stop!" yelled Robin Hood, "we won't fight anymore. I swear, this is a bad day for both of us, Little John. I honestly believe that my wrist, and even my arm, are numb from the impact of the blow that this stranger gave me."

Then Little John turned to Robin Hood. "Why, how now, good master," said he. "Alas! Thou art in an ill plight. Marry, thy jerkin is all befouled with the dust of the road. Let me help thee to arise."

Then Little John turned to Robin Hood. "Hey there, good master," he said. "Wow! You're in a bad way. Your jacket is all dirty from the road. Let me help you up."

"A plague on thy aid!" cried Robin angrily. "I can get to my feet without thy help, good fellow."

"A pox on your help!" shouted Robin angrily. "I can get up on my own, thanks."

"Nay, but let me at least dust thy coat for thee. I fear thy poor bones are mightily sore," quoth Little John soberly, but with a sly twinkle in his eyes.

"Come on, let me at least clean your coat for you. I’m worried your poor body is really aching," said Little John seriously, but with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Give over, I say!" quoth Robin in a fume. "My coat hath been dusted enough already, without aid of thine." Then, turning to the stranger, he said, "What may be thy name, good fellow?"

"Stop it, I say!" Robin exclaimed angrily. "My coat has been brushed off enough already, without your help." Then, turning to the stranger, he asked, "What is your name, my good man?"

"My name is Gamwell," answered the other.

"My name is Gamwell," the other person replied.

"Ha!" cried Robin, "is it even so? I have near kin of that name. Whence camest thou, fair friend?"

"Ha!" cried Robin, "is that really true? I have close relatives with that name. Where did you come from, my friend?"

"From Maxfield Town I come," answered the stranger. "There was I born and bred, and thence I come to seek my mother's young brother, whom men call Robin Hood. So, if perchance thou mayst direct me—"

" I'm from Maxfield Town," replied the stranger. "That's where I was born and raised, and I'm here looking for my mother's younger brother, who people call Robin Hood. So, if you could point me in the right direction—"

"Ha! Will Gamwell!" cried Robin, placing both hands upon the other's shoulders and holding him off at arm's length. "Surely, it can be none other! I might have known thee by that pretty maiden air of thine—that dainty, finicking manner of gait. Dost thou not know me, lad? Look upon me well."

"Ha! Will Gamwell!" shouted Robin, putting both hands on the other’s shoulders and holding him at arm's length. "It must be you! I should have recognized you by that charming way you have—that delicate, fussy way of walking. Don’t you know who I am, buddy? Take a good look at me."

"Now, by the breath of my body!" cried the other, "I do believe from my heart that thou art mine own Uncle Robin. Nay, certain it is so!" And each flung his arms around the other, kissing him upon the cheek.

"Now, by my word!" exclaimed the other, "I truly believe from the bottom of my heart that you are my Uncle Robin. It must be true!" And they both wrapped their arms around each other, kissing each other on the cheek.

Then once more Robin held his kinsman off at arm's length and scanned him keenly from top to toe. "Why, how now," quoth he, "what change is here? Verily, some eight or ten years ago I left thee a stripling lad, with great joints and ill-hung limbs, and lo! here thou art, as tight a fellow as e'er I set mine eyes upon. Dost thou not remember, lad, how I showed thee the proper way to nip the goose feather betwixt thy fingers and throw out thy bow arm steadily? Thou gayest great promise of being a keen archer. And dost thou not mind how I taught thee to fend and parry with the cudgel?"

Then once again, Robin held his cousin at arm's length and looked him over carefully from head to toe. "Well, what’s this?" he said. "What’s changed here? Honestly, about eight or ten years ago, I left you as a gangly kid with big joints and awkward limbs, and now look at you — you’re as fit a guy as I’ve ever seen. Don’t you remember, kid, how I showed you the right way to grip the goose feather between your fingers and extend your bow arm smoothly? You showed such potential to be a great archer. And do you recall how I taught you to block and strike with the stick?"

"Yea," said young Gamwell, "and I did so look up to thee, and thought thee so above all other men that, I make my vow, had I known who thou wert, I would never have dared to lift hand against thee this day. I trust I did thee no great harm."

"Yeah," said young Gamwell, "and I really looked up to you and thought you were so much better than all the other guys that, I swear, if I had known who you were, I would never have dared to raise my hand against you today. I hope I didn't hurt you too badly."

"No, no," quoth Robin hastily, and looking sideways at Little John, "thou didst not harm me. But say no more of that, I prythee. Yet I will say, lad, that I hope I may never feel again such a blow as thou didst give me. By'r Lady, my arm doth tingle yet from fingernail to elbow. Truly, I thought that I was palsied for life. I tell thee, coz, that thou art the strongest man that ever I laid mine eyes upon. I take my vow, I felt my stomach quake when I beheld thee pluck up yon green tree as thou didst. But tell me, how camest thou to leave Sir Edward and thy mother?"

"No, no," Robin said quickly, glancing at Little John, "you didn't hurt me. But let's not talk about that anymore, please. Still, I have to say, my friend, I hope I never feel a blow like that again. By my Lady, my arm still tingles from my fingertips to my elbow. Honestly, I thought I'd be paralyzed for life. I swear, cousin, you are the strongest man I've ever seen. I really felt my stomach drop when I saw you lift that green tree like you did. But tell me, how did you end up leaving Sir Edward and your mother?"

"Alas!" answered young Gamwell, "it is an ill story, uncle, that I have to tell thee. My father's steward, who came to us after old Giles Crookleg died, was ever a saucy varlet, and I know not why my father kept him, saving that he did oversee with great judgment. It used to gall me to hear him speak up so boldly to my father, who, thou knowest, was ever a patient man to those about him, and slow to anger and harsh words. Well, one day—and an ill day it was for that saucy fellow—he sought to berate my father, I standing by. I could stand it no longer, good uncle, so, stepping forth, I gave him a box o' the ear, and— wouldst thou believe it?—the fellow straightway died o't. I think they said I broke his neck, or something o' the like. So off they packed me to seek thee and escape the law. I was on my way when thou sawest me, and here I am."

"Unfortunately!" replied young Gamwell, "I have a messed-up story to share, uncle. My father's steward, who came to us after old Giles Crookleg passed away, was always a cheeky jerk, and I don't know why my father kept him, except that he did manage the estate well. It used to drive me crazy to hear him speak so boldly to my father, who, as you know, was always patient with those around him, slow to anger and harsh words. Well, one day—and it was a terrible day for that cocky guy—he tried to scold my father while I was standing there. I couldn't take it anymore, good uncle, so I stepped in and slapped him, and—can you believe it?—the guy dropped dead right then and there. I think they said I broke his neck or something like that. So they sent me off to find you and escape the law. I was on my way when you saw me, and here I am."

"Well, by the faith of my heart," quoth Robin Hood, "for anyone escaping the law, thou wast taking it the most easily that ever I beheld in all my life. Whenever did anyone in all the world see one who had slain a man, and was escaping because of it, tripping along the highway like a dainty court damsel, sniffing at a rose the while?"

"Well, by the faith in my heart," said Robin Hood, "for someone trying to escape the law, you were doing it more casually than anyone I've ever seen in my life. When has anyone in the world seen a person who has killed someone, and is on the run because of it, casually strolling down the road like a graceful court lady, sniffing a rose the whole time?"

"Nay, uncle," answered Will Gamwell, "overhaste never churned good butter, as the old saying hath it. Moreover, I do verily believe that this overstrength of my body hath taken the nimbleness out of my heels. Why, thou didst but just now rap me thrice, and I thee never a once, save by overbearing thee by my strength."

"Not at all, Uncle," replied Will Gamwell, "haste never made great butter, as the old saying goes. Besides, I truly believe that this extra strength of mine has made me less agile. Look, you just tapped me three times, and I didn’t touch you once, except by overpowering you with my strength."

"Nay," quoth Robin, "let us say no more on that score. I am right glad to see thee, Will, and thou wilt add great honor and credit to my band of merry fellows. But thou must change thy name, for warrants will be out presently against thee; so, because of thy gay clothes, thou shalt henceforth and for aye be called Will Scarlet."

"No," said Robin, "let's not discuss that anymore. I'm really happy to see you, Will, and you'll bring a lot of honor and respect to my group of merry men. But you need to change your name because there will be warrants out for you soon; so, because of your colorful clothes, you will henceforth and forever be known as Will Scarlet."

"Will Scarlet," quoth Little John, stepping forward and reaching out his great palm, which the other took, "Will Scarlet, the name fitteth thee well. Right glad am I to welcome thee among us. I am called Little John; and this is a new member who has just joined us, a stout tanner named Arthur a Bland. Thou art like to achieve fame, Will, let me tell thee, for there will be many a merry ballad sung about the country, and many a merry story told in Sherwood of how Robin Hood taught Little John and Arthur a Bland the proper way to use the quarterstaff; likewise, as it were, how our good master bit off so large a piece of cake that he choked on it."

"Will Scarlet," said Little John, stepping forward and reaching out his large hand, which the other took, "Will Scarlet, that name suits you well. I'm really glad to welcome you among us. I'm called Little John; and this is a new member who just joined us, a strong tanner named Arthur a Bland. You’re going to gain fame, Will, let me tell you, because there will be many cheerful songs sung around the country, and many lively stories told in Sherwood about how Robin Hood taught Little John and Arthur a Bland the right way to use the quarterstaff; similarly, as it goes, how our good master took such a big bite of cake that he choked on it."

"Nay, good Little John," quoth Robin gently, for he liked ill to have such a jest told of him. "Why should we speak of this little matter? Prythee, let us keep this day's doings among ourselves."

"Nah, good Little John," said Robin softly, because he didn’t like having such a joke told about him. "Why should we talk about this little thing? Please, let’s keep today’s events to ourselves."

"With all my heart," quoth Little John. "But, good master, I thought that thou didst love a merry story, because thou hast so often made a jest about a certain increase of fatness on my joints, of flesh gathered by my abiding with the Sheriff of—"

"With all my heart," said Little John. "But, good master, I thought you enjoyed a good story, since you've often joked about how much weight I've gained on my joints from hanging out with the Sheriff of—"

"Nay, good Little John," said Robin hastily, "I do bethink me I have said full enough on that score."

"Nah, good Little John," said Robin quickly, "I believe I've said enough about that."

"It is well," quoth Little John, "for in truth I myself have tired of it somewhat. But now I bethink me, thou didst also seem minded to make a jest of the rain that threatened last night; so—"

"It’s good," said Little John, "because honestly, I’ve kind of grown tired of it myself. But now that I think about it, you also seemed to want to joke about the rain that was threatening last night; so—"

"Nay, then," said Robin Hood testily, "I was mistaken. I remember me now it did seem to threaten rain."

"Nah, then," said Robin Hood irritatedly, "I was wrong. I remember now it did look like it was going to rain."

"Truly, I did think so myself," quoth Little John, "therefore, no doubt, thou dost think it was wise of me to abide all night at the Blue Boar Inn, instead of venturing forth in such stormy weather; dost thou not?"

"Honestly, I thought the same," said Little John, "so, you probably think it was smart for me to stay all night at the Blue Boar Inn instead of going out in this terrible weather; don’t you?"

"A plague of thee and thy doings!" cried Robin Hood. "If thou wilt have it so, thou wert right to abide wherever thou didst choose."

"A curse on you and your actions!" shouted Robin Hood. "If that's what you want, then you were right to stay wherever you chose."

"Once more, it is well," quoth Little John. "As for myself, I have been blind this day. I did not see thee drubbed; I did not see thee tumbled heels over head in the dust; and if any man says that thou wert, I can with a clear conscience rattle his lying tongue betwixt his teeth."

"Once again, it’s all good," said Little John. "As for me, I was blind today. I didn’t see you get beaten; I didn’t see you fall over in the dirt; and if anyone says you did, I can confidently shut them up with the truth."

"Come," cried Robin, biting his nether lip, while the others could not forbear laughing. "We will go no farther today, but will return to Sherwood, and thou shalt go to Ancaster another time, Little John."

"Come on," Robin said, biting his lower lip, while the others couldn't help but laugh. "We're not going any farther today; we'll head back to Sherwood, and you can go to Ancaster another time, Little John."

So said Robin, for now that his bones were sore, he felt as though a long journey would be an ill thing for him. So, turning their backs, they retraced their steps whence they came.

So said Robin, because now that his bones were sore, he felt like a long journey would be a bad idea for him. So, turning their backs, they retraced their steps back to where they came from.

 

 

 

 

The Adventure with Midge the Miller's Son

WHEN THE four yeomen had traveled for a long time toward Sherwood again, high noontide being past, they began to wax hungry. Quoth Robin Hood, "I would that I had somewhat to eat. Methinks a good loaf of white bread, with a piece of snow-white cheese, washed down with a draught of humming ale, were a feast for a king."

WHEN the four yeomen had traveled for a long time toward Sherwood again, the high noon having passed, they started to feel hungry. Robin Hood said, "I wish I had something to eat. I think a nice loaf of white bread, with a chunk of fresh white cheese, washed down with a drink of sweet ale, would be a feast fit for a king."

"Since thou speakest of it," said Will Scarlet, "methinks it would not be amiss myself. There is that within me crieth out, 'Victuals, good friend, victuals!'"

"Since you mention it," said Will Scarlet, "I think it wouldn’t hurt me either. There's something inside me shouting, 'Food, good friend, food!'"

"I know a house near by," said Arthur a Bland, "and, had I but the money, I would bring ye that ye speak of; to wit, a sweet loaf of bread, a fair cheese, and a skin of brown ale."

"I know a house nearby," said Arthur Bland, "and if I had the money, I would get you what you mentioned: a nice loaf of bread, a good cheese, and a barrel of brown ale."

"For the matter of that, thou knowest I have money by me, good master," quoth Little John.

"For that matter, you know I have money with me, good master," said Little John.

"Why, so thou hast, Little John," said Robin. "How much money will it take, good Arthur, to buy us meat and drink?"

"Well, you do have a point, Little John," said Robin. "How much money do we need, good Arthur, to get us food and drink?"

"I think that six broad pennies will buy food enow for a dozen men," said the Tanner.

"I think six big pennies are enough to buy food for a dozen men," said the Tanner.

"Then give him six pennies, Little John," quoth Robin, "for methinks food for three men will about fit my need. Now get thee gone, Arthur, with the money, and bring the food here, for there is a sweet shade in that thicket yonder, beside the road, and there will we eat our meal."

"Then give him six pennies, Little John," said Robin, "because I think food for three men will about cover what I need. Now go, Arthur, with the money, and bring the food here, for there's a nice shady spot in that thicket over there, next to the road, and that's where we will have our meal."

So Little John gave Arthur the money, and the others stepped to the thicket, there to await the return of the Tanner.

So Little John gave Arthur the money, and the others moved to the thicket to wait for the Tanner to come back.

After a time he came back, bearing with him a great brown loaf of bread, and a fair, round cheese, and a goatskin full of stout March beer, slung over his shoulders. Then Will Scarlet took his sword and divided the loaf and the cheese into four fair portions, and each man helped himself. Then Robin Hood took a deep pull at the beer. "Aha!" said he, drawing in his breath, "never have I tasted sweeter drink than this."

After a while, he returned with a large brown loaf of bread, a nice round cheese, and a goatskin filled with rich March beer slung over his shoulders. Then Will Scarlet took his sword and cut the loaf and cheese into four equal portions, and everyone helped themselves. Robin Hood took a big swig of the beer. "Aha!" he said, breathing in, "I've never tasted a sweeter drink than this."

After this no man spake more, but each munched away at his bread and cheese lustily, with ever and anon a pull at the beer.

After this, no one spoke anymore, but everyone happily munched on their bread and cheese, occasionally taking a sip of beer.

At last Will Scarlet looked at a small piece of bread he still held in his hand, and quoth he, "Methinks I will give this to the sparrows." So, throwing it from him, he brushed the crumbs from his jerkin.

At last, Will Scarlet looked at a small piece of bread he still held in his hand and said, "I think I’ll give this to the sparrows." So, tossing it away, he brushed the crumbs off his jacket.

"I, too," quoth Robin, "have had enough, I think." As for Little John and the Tanner, they had by this time eaten every crumb of their bread and cheese.

"I, too," said Robin, "have had enough, I think." As for Little John and the Tanner, they had by this time eaten every crumb of their bread and cheese.

"Now," quoth Robin, "I do feel myself another man, and would fain enjoy something pleasant before going farther upon our journey. I do bethink me, Will, that thou didst use to have a pretty voice, and one that tuned sweetly upon a song. Prythee, give us one ere we journey farther."

"Now," said Robin, "I feel like a new man, and I’d like to enjoy something nice before we continue our journey. I remember, Will, that you used to have a lovely voice, and you sang sweetly. Please, give us a song before we go any further."

"Truly, I do not mind turning a tune," answered Will Scarlet, "but I would not sing alone."

"Honestly, I don't mind playing a song," replied Will Scarlet, "but I wouldn't want to sing by myself."

"Nay, others will follow. Strike up, lad," quoth Robin.

"Yeah, others will follow. Start playing, kid," said Robin.

"In that case, 'tis well," said Will Scarlet. "I do call to mind a song that a certain minstrel used to sing in my father's hall, upon occasion. I know no name for it and so can give you none; but thus it is." Then, clearing his throat, he sang:

"In that case, that's good," said Will Scarlet. "I remember a song that a minstrel used to sing in my father's hall sometimes. I don't know the name of it, so I can't give you one; but here's how it goes." Then, clearing his throat, he sang:

 "In the merry blossom time,
     When love longings food the breast,
 When the flower is on the lime,
     When the small fowl builds her nest,
 Sweetly sings the nightingale
     And the throstle cock so bold;
 Cuckoo in the dewy dale
 And the turtle in the word.
 But the robin I love dear,
 For he singeth through the year.
          Robin! Robin!
          Merry Robin!
 So I'd have my true love be:
          Not to fly
          At the nigh
 Sign of cold adversity.
 "When the spring brings sweet delights,
     When aloft the lark doth rise,
 Lovers woo o' mellow nights,
     And youths peep in maidens' eyes,
 That time blooms the eglantine,
     Daisies pied upon the hill,
 Cowslips fair and columbine,
     Dusky violets by the rill.
 But the ivy green cloth grow
 When the north wind bringeth snow.
          Ivy! Ivy!
          Stanch and true!
 Thus I'd have her love to be:
          Not to die
          At the nigh
 Breath of cold adversity."
"In the joyful springtime,  
     When love fills the heart,  
 When the flowers bloom on the lime,  
     When the little birds build their nests,  
 Sweetly sings the nightingale  
     And the bold thrush;  
 The cuckoo in the dewy valley  
     And the turtle dove in the woods.  
 But I love the robin dear,  
 For he sings throughout the year.  
          Robin! Robin!  
          Merry Robin!  
 So I’d want my true love to be:  
          Not to fly  
          At the sign  
 Of cold adversity.
When spring brings sweet delights,  
     When the lark soars high,  
 Lovers court on gentle nights,  
     And young men gaze into maidens' eyes,  
 That time brings forth the sweetbriar,  
     Daisies spotted on the hill,  
 Cowslips fair and columbine,  
     Dark violets by the stream.  
 But the green ivy grows  
 When the north wind brings snow.  
          Ivy! Ivy!  
          Steadfast and true!  
 Thus I’d want her love to be:  
          Not to fade  
          At the breath  
 Of cold adversity."

"'Tis well sung," quoth Robin, "but, cousin, I tell thee plain, I would rather hear a stout fellow like thee sing some lusty ballad than a finicking song of flowers and birds, and what not. Yet, thou didst sing it fair, and 'tis none so bad a snatch of a song, for the matter of that. Now, Tanner, it is thy turn."

"'It's well sung,' said Robin, 'but, cousin, I’ll be straightforward with you: I’d rather hear a strong guy like you sing a lively ballad than a fussy song about flowers and birds and all that. Still, you sang it well, and it’s not such a bad snippet of a song, for what it is. Now, Tanner, it's your turn.'"

"I know not," quoth Arthur, smiling, with his head on one side, like a budding lass that is asked to dance, "I know not that I can match our sweet friend's song; moreover, I do verily think that I have caught a cold and have a certain tickling and huskiness in the windpipe."

"I don’t know," Arthur said with a smile, tilting his head like a shy girl asked to dance, "I don't think I can match our sweet friend’s song; besides, I honestly think I've caught a cold and there's a tickle and hoarseness in my throat."

"Nay, sing up, friend," quoth Little John, who sat next to him, patting him upon the shoulder. "Thou hast a fair, round, mellow voice; let us have a touch of it."

"Come on, sing up, buddy," said Little John, who was sitting next to him, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "You've got a nice, rich voice; let's hear a bit of it."

"Nay, an ye will ha' a poor thing," said Arthur, "I will do my best. Have ye ever heard of the wooing of Sir Keith, the stout young Cornish knight, in good King Arthur's time?"

"Nah, if you want a sad story," said Arthur, "I'll do my best. Have you ever heard about the courtship of Sir Keith, the brave young knight from Cornwall, during the reign of King Arthur?"

"Methinks I have heard somewhat of it," said Robin; "but ne'ertheless strike up thy ditty and let us hear it, for, as I do remember me, it is a gallant song; so out with it, good fellow."

"I think I've heard a bit about it," said Robin. "But still, go ahead and sing it for us, because if I remember correctly, it's a great song; so come on, my friend."

Thereupon, clearing his throat, the Tanner, without more ado, began to sing:

Thereupon, clearing his throat, the Tanner, without further delay, started to sing:

THE WOOING OF SIR KEITH

Seducing Sir Keith

 "King Arthur sat in his royal hall,
     And about on either hand
 Was many a noble lordling tall,
     The greatest in the land.

 "Sat  Lancelot with raven locks,
     Gawaine with golden hair,
 Sir Tristram, Kay who kept the locks,
     And many another there.

 "And through the stained windows bright,
     From o'er the red-tiled eaves,
 The sunlight blazed with colored light
     On golden helms and greaves.

 "But suddenly a silence came
     About the Table Round,
 For up the hall there walked a dame
     Bent nigh unto the ground.

 "Her nose was hooked, her eyes were bleared,
     Her locks were lank and white;
 Upon her chin there grew a beard;
     She was a gruesome sight.

 "And so with crawling step she came
     And kneeled at Arthur's feet;
 Quoth Kay, 'She is the foulest dame
     That e'er my sight did greet.'

 "'O mighty King! of thee I crave
     A boon on bended knee';
 'Twas thus she spoke. 'What wouldst thou have.'
     Quoth Arthur, King, 'of me?'

 "Quoth she, 'I have a foul disease
     Doth gnaw my very heart,
 And but one thing can bring me ease
     Or cure my bitter smart.

 "'There is no rest, no ease for me
     North, east, or west, or south,
 Till Christian knight will willingly
     Thrice kiss me on the mouth.

 "'Nor wedded may this childe have been
     That giveth ease to me;
 Nor may he be constrained, I ween,
     But kiss me willingly.

 "'So is there here one Christian knight
     Of such a noble strain
 That he will give a tortured wight
     Sweet ease of mortal pain?'

 "'A wedded man,' quoth Arthur, King,
     'A wedded man I be
 Else would I deem it noble thing
     To kiss thee willingly.

 "'Now, Lancelot, in all men's sight
     Thou art the head and chief
 Of chivalry. Come, noble knight,
     And give her quick relief.'

 "But Lancelot he turned aside
     And looked upon the ground,
 For it did sting his haughty pride
     To hear them laugh around.

 "'Come thou, Sir Tristram,' quoth the King.
     Quoth he, 'It cannot be,
 For ne'er can I my stomach bring
     To do it willingly.'

 "'Wilt thou, Sir Kay, thou scornful wight?'
     Quoth Kay, 'Nay, by my troth!
 What noble dame would kiss a knight
     That kissed so foul a mouth?'

 "'Wilt thou, Gawaine?' 'I cannot, King.'
     'Sir Geraint?' 'Nay, not I;
 My kisses no relief could bring,
     For sooner would I die.'

 "Then up and spake the youngest man
     Of all about the board,
 'Now such relief as Christian can
     I'll give to her, my lord.'

 "It was Sir Keith, a youthful knight,
     Yet strong of limb and bold,
 With beard upon his chin as light
     As finest threads of gold.

 "Quoth Kay, 'He hath no mistress yet
     That he may call his own,
 But here is one that's quick to get,
     As she herself has shown.'

 "He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,
     He kissed her three times o'er,
 A wondrous change came in a trice,
     And she was foul no more.

 "Her cheeks grew red as any rose,
     Her brow as white as lawn,
 Her bosom like the winter snows,
     Her eyes like those of fawn.

 "Her breath grew sweet as summer breeze
     That blows the meadows o'er;
 Her voice grew soft as rustling trees,
     And cracked and harsh no more.

 "Her hair grew glittering, like the gold,
     Her hands as white as milk;
 Her filthy rags, so foul and old,
     Were changed to robes of silk.

 "In great amaze the knights did stare.
     Quoth Kay, 'I make my vow
 If it will please thee, lady fair,
     I'll gladly kiss thee now.'

 "But young Sir Keith kneeled on one knee
     And kissed her robes so fair.
 'O let me be thy slave,' said he,
     'For none to thee compare.'

 "She bent her down, she kissed his brow,
     She kissed his lips and eyes.
 Quoth she, 'Thou art my master now,
     My lord, my love, arise!

 "'And all the wealth that is mine own,
     My lands, I give to thee,
 For never knight hath lady shown
     Such noble courtesy.

 "'Bewitched was I, in bitter pain,
     But thou hast set me free,
 So now I am myself again,
     I give myself to thee.'"
King Arthur sat in his royal hall,  
     And around him on either side  
 Were many tall noble lords,  
     The greatest in the land.  

 "Lancelot sat with his raven hair,  
     Gawaine with his golden locks,  
 Sir Tristram, Kay who held the keys,  
     And many others there.  

 "And through the stained glass windows,  
     From over the red-tiled roof,  
 The sunlight shone with colored light  
     On golden helmets and greaves.  

 "But suddenly, silence fell  
     Around the Round Table,  
 For a lady walked into the hall,  
     Nearly bent to the ground.  

 "Her nose was hooked, her eyes were dim,  
     Her hair was thin and white;  
 A beard grew on her chin;  
     She was a horrifying sight.  

 "With a slow, crawling step, she came  
     And knelt at Arthur's feet;  
 Kay said, 'She is the ugliest woman  
     That I have ever seen.'  

 "'O mighty King! I beg of you  
     A favor on bended knee';  
 So she spoke. 'What do you want?'  
     Arthur asked, the King.  

 "'I have a horrible illness  
     That eats at my very heart,  
 And only one thing can bring me relief  
     Or cure my bitter pain.  

 "'There is no rest, no ease for me  
     North, east, south, or west,  
 Until a Christian knight will willingly  
     Kiss me on the mouth three times.  

 "'And this knight must not be married  
     To grant me my relief;  
 Nor may he be forced, I think,  
     But kiss me willingly.  

 "'Is there a Christian knight here  
     Of such noble lineage  
 That will grant a tortured soul  
     Sweet relief from mortal pain?'  

 "'A married man,' said Arthur, King,  
     'I am a married man  
 Or I would consider it a noble thing  
     To kiss you willingly.  

 "'Now, Lancelot, in front of everyone,  
     You are the head and chief  
 Of chivalry. Come, noble knight,  
     And give her quick relief.'  

 "But Lancelot turned away  
     And looked down at the ground,  
 For it stung his haughty pride  
     To hear them laugh around.  

 "'Come on, Sir Tristram,' said the King.  
     He replied, 'It can't be,  
 For I can never bring myself  
     To do it willingly.'  

 "'Will you, Sir Kay, you scornful man?'  
     Kay answered, 'No, I swear!  
 What noble lady would kiss a knight  
     Who kissed such a foul mouth?'  

 "'Will you, Gawaine?' 'I can't, King.'  
     'Sir Geraint?' 'Not me;  
 My kisses would bring no relief,  
     For I would rather die.'  

 "Then spoke the youngest man  
     Of all at the table,  
 'Now, such relief as a Christian can  
     I'll give to her, my lord.'  

 "It was Sir Keith, a young knight,  
     Yet strong and bold,  
 With a beard on his chin as light  
     As the finest threads of gold.  

 "Kay said, 'He has no mistress yet  
     That he can call his own,  
 But here is one who's quick to get,  
     As she herself has shown.'  

 "He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,  
     He kissed her three times over,  
 A wondrous change happened in an instant,  
     And she was no longer ugly.  

 "Her cheeks turned red as any rose,  
     Her forehead as white as linen,  
 Her chest like winter snow,  
     Her eyes like those of a fawn.  

 "Her breath became sweet as a summer breeze  
     That blows over the meadows;  
 Her voice became soft as rustling trees,  
     No longer harsh and cracked.  

 "Her hair grew shiny, like gold,  
     Her hands as white as milk;  
 Her filthy rags, so foul and worn,  
     Were turned into silk robes.  

 "In great amazement, the knights stared.  
     Kay said, 'I swear  
 If it pleases you, fair lady,  
     I'll gladly kiss you now.'  

 "But young Sir Keith knelt on one knee  
     And kissed her beautiful robes.  
 'Let me be your servant,' he said,  
     'For no one compares to you.'  

 "She bent down, she kissed his brow,  
     She kissed his lips and eyes.  
 She said, 'You are my master now,  
     My lord, my love, arise!  

 "'And all the wealth that is mine,  
     My lands, I give to you,  
 For never has a knight been shown  
     Such noble courtesy.  

 "'I was bewitched, in bitter pain,  
     But you have set me free,  
 So now I am myself again,  
     I give myself to you.'

"Yea, truly," quoth Robin Hood, when the Tanner had made an end of singing, "it is as I remember it, a fair ditty, and a ballad with a pleasing tune of a song."

"Yeah, really," said Robin Hood, when the Tanner finished singing, "it's just as I remember it, a nice little song, and a ballad with a catchy tune."

"It hath oftentimes seemed to me," said Will Scarlet, "that it hath a certain motive in it, e'en such as this: That a duty which seemeth to us sometimes ugly and harsh, when we do kiss it fairly upon the mouth, so to speak, is no such foul thing after all."

"It has often seemed to me," said Will Scarlet, "that there's a certain reason behind it, just like this: That a duty which sometimes seems ugly and harsh to us, when we embrace it fully, so to speak, is not such a terrible thing after all."

"Methinks thou art right," quoth Robin, "and, contrariwise, that when we kiss a pleasure that appeareth gay it turneth foul to us; is it not so, Little John? Truly such a thing hath brought thee sore thumps this day. Nay, man, never look down in the mouth. Clear thy pipes and sing us a ditty."

"I think you're right," said Robin, "and on the other hand, when we kiss something that seems enjoyable, it ends up being unpleasant for us, doesn't it, Little John? Honestly, that kind of thing has caused you some serious trouble today. Come on, man, don’t look so down. Clear your throat and sing us a song."

"Nay," said Little John, "I have none as fair as that merry Arthur has trolled. They are all poor things that I know. Moreover, my voice is not in tune today, and I would not spoil even a tolerable song by ill singing."

"Nah," said Little John, "I don't have anything as nice as that cheerful Arthur has sung. They're all pretty terrible that I know of. Plus, my voice isn't in tune today, and I wouldn't want to ruin even a decent song with bad singing."

Upon this all pressed Little John to sing, so that when he had denied them a proper length of time, such as is seemly in one that is asked to sing, he presently yielded. Quoth he, 'Well, an ye will ha' it so, I will give you what I can. Like to fair Will, I have no title to my ditty, but thus it runs:

Upon this, everyone urged Little John to sing. After he had declined for a reasonable amount of time—like anyone would do when asked to sing—he finally gave in. He said, "Alright, if that's what you want, I'll share what I can. Like fair Will, I don’t have a title for my song, but here it goes:

 "O Lady mine, the spring is here,
     With a hey nonny nonny;
 The sweet love season of the year,
     With a ninny ninny nonny;
          Now lad and lass
          Lie in the grass
          That groweth green
          With flowers between.
          The buck doth rest
          The leaves do start,
          The cock doth crow,
          The breeze doth blow,
          And all things laugh in—"
"Oh my lady, spring is here,  
     With a hey nonny nonny;  
The sweet love season of the year,  
     With a ninny ninny nonny;  
          Now, boys and girls  
          Lie in the grass  
          That’s growing green  
          With flowers in between.  
          The buck is resting  
          The leaves are budding,  
          The rooster crows,  
          The breeze is blowing,  
          And everything rejoices in—"

"Who may yon fellow be coming along the road?" said Robin, breaking into the song.

"Who is that guy coming down the road?" said Robin, interrupting the song.

"I know not," quoth Little John in a surly voice. "But this I do know, that it is an ill thing to do to check the flow of a good song."

"I don't know," said Little John in a grumpy voice. "But I do know that it's a bad thing to interrupt a good song."

"Nay, Little John," said Robin, "be not vexed, I prythee; but I have been watching him coming along, bent beneath that great bag over his shoulder, ever since thou didst begin thy song. Look, Little John, I pray, and see if thou knowest him."

"Nah, Little John," said Robin, "don’t be upset, please; I’ve been watching him walk over, hunched under that big bag on his shoulder, ever since you started your song. Look, Little John, and see if you recognize him."

Little John looked whither Robin Hood pointed. "Truly," quoth he, after a time, "I think yon fellow is a certain young miller I have seen now and then around the edge of Sherwood; a poor wight, methinks, to spoil a good song about."

Little John looked where Robin Hood pointed. "Honestly," he said after a moment, "I think that guy is a young miller I've seen now and then around the edge of Sherwood; seems like a poor guy to mess up a good song."

"Now thou speakest of him," quoth Robin Hood, "methinks I myself have seen him now and then. Hath he not a mill over beyond Nottingham Town, nigh to the Salisbury road?"

"Now you're talking about him," said Robin Hood, "I think I’ve seen him around here and there. Doesn’t he have a mill over by Nottingham Town, near the Salisbury road?"

"Thou art right; that is the man," said Little John.

"You’re right; that’s the guy," said Little John.

"A good stout fellow," quoth Robin. "I saw him crack Ned o' Bradford's crown about a fortnight since, and never saw I hair lifted more neatly in all my life before."

"A good stout guy," said Robin. "I saw him crack Ned from Bradford’s head about two weeks ago, and I've never seen anyone handle something so skillfully in my life before."

By this time the young miller had come so near that they could see him clearly. His clothes were dusted with flour, and over his back he carried a great sack of meal, bending so as to bring the whole weight upon his shoulders, and across the sack was a thick quarterstaff. His limbs were stout and strong, and he strode along the dusty road right sturdily with the heavy sack across his shoulders. His cheeks were ruddy as a winter hip, his hair was flaxen in color, and on his chin was a downy growth of flaxen beard.

By this time, the young miller had gotten close enough for them to see him clearly. His clothes were dusted with flour, and he carried a large sack of meal on his back, bending to put the full weight on his shoulders, with a thick staff resting across the sack. His limbs were stout and strong, and he walked confidently down the dusty road with the heavy sack over his shoulders. His cheeks were as red as a winter hip, his hair was a light golden color, and there was a soft, light beard on his chin.

"A good honest fellow," quoth Robin Hood, "and such an one as is a credit to English yeomanrie. Now let us have a merry jest with him. We will forth as though we were common thieves and pretend to rob him of his honest gains. Then will we take him into the forest and give him a feast such as his stomach never held in all his life before. We will flood his throat with good canary and send him home with crowns in his purse for every penny he hath. What say ye, lads?"

"A good honest guy," said Robin Hood, "and one who truly represents English yeomanry. Now let’s have some fun with him. We’ll go out as if we’re just ordinary thieves and pretend to rob him of his hard-earned money. Then we’ll take him into the forest and throw him a feast like he’s never had before. We’ll fill his glass with great canary wine and send him home with a bunch of coins for every penny he has. What do you think, guys?"

"Truly, it is a merry thought," said Will Scarlet.

"Honestly, it's a cheerful thought," said Will Scarlet.

"It is well planned," quoth Little John, "but all the saints preserve us from any more drubbings this day! Marry, my poor bones ache so that I—"

"It’s well planned," said Little John, "but may all the saints protect us from any more beatings today! Honestly, my poor bones ache so much that I—"

"Prythee peace, Little John," quoth Robin. "Thy foolish tongue will get us both well laughed at yet."

"Pretend peace, Little John," said Robin. "Your foolish talk is going to get us both laughed at."

"My foolish tongue, forsooth," growled Little John to Arthur a Bland. "I would it could keep our master from getting us into another coil this day."

"My foolish tongue, for sure," grumbled Little John to Arthur a Bland. "I wish it could keep our master from getting us into another mess today."

But now the Miller, plodding along the road, had come opposite to where the yeomen lay hidden, whereupon all four of them ran at him and surrounded him.

But now the Miller, trudging along the road, had come to where the yeomen were hiding, and all four of them ran at him and surrounded him.

"Hold, friend!" cried Robin to the Miller; whereupon he turned slowly, with the weight of the bag upon his shoulder, and looked at each in turn all bewildered, for though a good stout man his wits did not skip like roasting chestnuts.

"Wait, friend!" shouted Robin to the Miller; then he turned slowly, the heavy bag on his shoulder, and looked at each of them in confusion, for although he was a strong man, he wasn't quick-witted like roasting chestnuts.

"Who bids me stay?" said the Miller in a voice deep and gruff, like the growl of a great dog.

"Who is telling me to stay?" said the Miller in a deep, gruff voice, like the growl of a big dog.

"Marry, that do I," quoth Robin; "and let me tell thee, friend, thou hadst best mind my bidding."

"Sure, I do," said Robin; "and let me tell you, friend, you’d better do as I say."

"And who art thou, good friend?" said the Miller, throwing the great sack of meal from his shoulder to the ground, "and who are those with thee?"

"And who are you, good friend?" said the Miller, dropping the heavy sack of flour from his shoulder to the ground. "And who are those with you?"

"We be four good Christian men," quoth Robin, "and would fain help thee by carrying part of thy heavy load."

"We're four good Christian men," said Robin, "and we’d be happy to help you by carrying some of your heavy load."

"I give you all thanks," said the Miller, "but my bag is none that heavy that I cannot carry it e'en by myself."

"I thank you all," said the Miller, "but my bag isn't so heavy that I can't carry it by myself."

"Nay, thou dost mistake," quoth Robin, "I meant that thou mightest perhaps have some heavy farthings or pence about thee, not to speak of silver and gold. Our good Gaffer Swanthold sayeth that gold is an overheavy burden for a two-legged ass to carry; so we would e'en lift some of this load from thee."

"No, you're mistaken," Robin said. "I meant that you might have some heavy coins or pennies on you, not to mention silver and gold. Our good Gaffer Swanthold says that gold is too heavy a burden for a two-legged mule to carry, so we would just help lighten your load."

"Alas!" cried the Miller, "what would ye do to me? I have not about me so much as a clipped groat. Do me no harm, I pray you, but let me depart in peace. Moreover, let me tell you that ye are upon Robin Hood's ground, and should he find you seeking to rob an honest craftsman, he will clip your ears to your heads and scourge you even to the walls of Nottingham.

"Please!" shouted the Miller, "what do you want from me? I don't even have a single penny on me. Don't hurt me, I beg you, just let me go in peace. Also, I should warn you that you’re on Robin Hood's territory, and if he catches you trying to rob an honest worker, he’ll cut off your ears and whip you all the way to the walls of Nottingham."

"In truth I fear Robin Hood no more than I do myself," quoth jolly Robin. "Thou must this day give up to me every penny thou hast about thee. Nay, if thou dost budge an inch I will rattle this staff about thine ears."

"In truth, I fear Robin Hood no more than I fear myself," said jolly Robin. "You must give me every penny you have on you today. And if you move even an inch, I will swing this staff around your ears."

"Nay, smite me not!" cried the Miller, throwing up his elbow as though he feared the blow. "Thou mayst search me if thou wilt, but thou wilt find nothing upon me, pouch, pocket, or skin."

"Please, don’t hit me!" the Miller shouted, raising his elbow as if to protect himself from a blow. "You can search me if you want, but you won’t find anything on me—no pouch, no pocket, and no hidden stuff."

"Is it so?" quoth Robin Hood, looking keenly upon him. "Now I believe that what thou tellest is no true tale. If I am not much mistook thou hast somewhat in the bottom of that fat sack of meal. Good Arthur, empty the bag upon the ground; I warrant thou wilt find a shilling or two in the flour."

"Is that so?" Robin Hood said, looking sharply at him. "I now believe that what you’re saying isn’t true. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got something hidden in that big sack of flour. Come on, Arthur, dump the bag on the ground; I bet you’ll find a shilling or two in there."

"Alas!" cried the Miller, falling upon his knees, "spoil not all my good meal! It can better you not, and will ruin me. Spare it, and I will give up the money in the bag."

"Please!" shouted the Miller, dropping to his knees, "don’t ruin all my good flour! It won’t help you and it will destroy me. Spare it, and I’ll give you the money in the bag."

"Ha!" quoth Robin, nudging Will Scarlet. "Is it so? And have I found where thy money lies? Marry, I have a wondrous nose for the blessed image of good King Harry. I thought that I smelled gold and silver beneath the barley meal. Bring it straight forth, Miller."

"Ha!" said Robin, nudging Will Scarlet. "Is it true? Have I discovered where your money is hidden? Wow, I have an amazing nose for the blessed image of good King Harry. I could smell gold and silver under the barley meal. Bring it out right away, Miller."

Then slowly the Miller arose to his feet, and slowly and unwillingly he untied the mouth of the bag, and slowly thrust his hands into the meal and began fumbling about with his arms buried to the elbows in the barley flour. The others gathered round him, their heads together, looking and wondering what he would bring forth.

Then slowly the Miller got to his feet, and reluctantly he untied the bag's opening, hesitantly putting his hands into the flour and started searching around with his arms buried up to the elbows in the barley flour. The others gathered around him, their heads close together, looking on and wondering what he would pull out.

So they stood, all with their heads close together gazing down into the sack. But while he pretended to be searching for the money, the Miller gathered two great handfuls of meal. "Ha," quoth he, "here they are, the beauties." Then, as the others leaned still more forward to see what he had, he suddenly cast the meal into their faces, filling their eyes and noses and mouths with the flour, blinding and half choking them. Arthur a Bland was worse off than any, for his mouth was open, agape with wonder of what was to come, so that a great cloud of flour flew down his throat, setting him a-coughing till he could scarcely stand.

So they stood there, all with their heads close together, peering into the sack. But while he acted like he was looking for the money, the Miller scooped up two big handfuls of flour. "Ha," he said, "here it is, the good stuff." Then, as the others leaned in closer to see what he had, he suddenly threw the flour in their faces, filling their eyes, noses, and mouths with it, blinding and nearly choking them. Arthur a Bland was the worst off, as his mouth was wide open in surprise at what was happening, causing a huge cloud of flour to go down his throat, making him cough so hard he could barely stand.

Then, while all four stumbled about, roaring with the smart of the meal in their eyeballs, and while they rubbed their eyes till the tears made great channels on their faces through the meal, the Miller seized another handful of flour and another and another, throwing it in their faces, so that even had they had a glimmering of light before they were now as blind as ever a beggar in Nottinghamshire, while their hair and beards and clothes were as white as snow.

Then, while all four stumbled around, roaring with the sting of the meal in their eyes, and while they rubbed their eyes until tears carved deep channels down their faces from the meal, the Miller grabbed another handful of flour and another and another, throwing it in their faces, so that even if they had caught a hint of light before, they were now as blind as any beggar in Nottinghamshire, while their hair and beards and clothes were as white as snow.

Then catching up his great crabstaff, the Miller began laying about him as though he were clean gone mad. This way and that skipped the four, like peas on a drumhead, but they could see neither to defend themselves nor to run away. Thwack! thwack! went the Miller's cudgel across their backs, and at every blow great white clouds of flour rose in the air from their jackets and went drifting down the breeze.

Then picking up his big cane, the Miller started swinging it around as if he had completely lost his mind. The four jumped around like peas bouncing on a drum, but they couldn’t find a way to defend themselves or escape. Thwack! Thwack! went the Miller's stick across their backs, and with each hit, large clouds of flour burst into the air from their jackets and floated away in the breeze.

"Stop!" roared Robin at last. "Give over, good friend, I am Robin Hood!"

"Stop!" shouted Robin finally. "Come on, my good friend, I am Robin Hood!"

"Thou liest, thou knave," cried the Miller, giving him a rap on the ribs that sent up a great cloud of flour like a puff of smoke. "Stout Robin never robbed an honest tradesman. Ha! thou wouldst have my money, wouldst thou?" And he gave him another blow. "Nay, thou art not getting thy share, thou long-legged knave. Share and share alike." And he smote Little John across the shoulders so that he sent him skipping half across the road. "Nay, fear not, it is thy turn now, black beard." And he gave the Tanner a crack that made him roar for all his coughing. "How now, red coat, let me brush the dust from thee!" cried he, smiting Will Scarlet. And so he gave them merry words and blows until they could scarcely stand, and whenever he saw one like to clear his eyes he threw more flour in his face. At last Robin Hood found his horn and clapping it to his lips, blew three loud blasts upon it.

"You’re lying, you scoundrel," shouted the Miller, hitting him in the ribs, sending up a huge cloud of flour like a puff of smoke. "Stout Robin never robbed an honest trader. Ha! So, you want my money, do you?" And he hit him again. "No, you’re not getting your cut, you long-legged rascal. Share and share alike." Then he struck Little John across the shoulders, making him stumble halfway across the road. "Now, don’t be scared, it’s your turn now, black beard." And he gave the Tanner a hit that made him roar despite his coughing. "How about you, red coat, let me dust you off!" he exclaimed, hitting Will Scarlet. He continued to exchange cheerful words and blows until they could barely stand, and whenever he noticed one of them trying to clear his eyes, he threw more flour in their face. Finally, Robin Hood found his horn and, placing it to his lips, blew three loud blasts on it.

Now it chanced that Will Stutely and a party of Robin's men were in the glade not far from where this merry sport was going forward. Hearing the hubbub of voices, and blows that sounded like the noise of a flail in the barn in wintertime, they stopped, listening and wondering what was toward. Quoth Will Stutely, "Now if I mistake not there is some stout battle with cudgels going forward not far hence. I would fain see this pretty sight." So saying, he and the whole party turned their steps whence the noise came. When they had come near where all the tumult sounded they heard the three blasts of Robin's bugle horn.

Will Stutely and a group of Robin's men happened to be in the glade not far from where the lively action was taking place. They heard the commotion of voices and blows that sounded like a flail hitting hay in the barn during winter, so they paused, curious about what was happening. Will Stutely said, "If I’m not mistaken, there’s some serious fighting with clubs going on nearby. I really want to see this interesting scene." With that, he and the whole group headed towards the source of the noise. As they got closer to where all the chaos was happening, they heard three blasts from Robin's bugle horn.

"Quick!" cried young David of Doncaster. "Our master is in sore need!" So, without stopping a moment, they dashed forward with might and main and burst forth from the covert into the highroad.

"Quick!" shouted young David from Doncaster. "Our master really needs help!" So, without pausing for a second, they rushed forward with all their strength and burst out from the brush onto the main road.

But what a sight was that which they saw! The road was all white with meal, and five men stood there also white with meal from top to toe, for much of the barley flour had fallen back upon the Miller.

But what a sight it was that they saw! The road was completely covered in flour, and five men stood there covered in flour from head to toe, as a lot of the barley flour had fallen back onto the Miller.

"What is thy need, master?" cried Will Stutely. "And what doth all this mean?"

"What do you need, master?" shouted Will Stutely. "And what does all this mean?"

"Why," quoth Robin in a mighty passion, "yon traitor felt low hath come as nigh slaying me as e'er a man in all the world. Hadst thou not come quickly, good Stutely, thy master had been dead."

"Why," Robin said angrily, "that traitor almost killed me like no other man in the world. If you hadn't arrived quickly, good Stutely, your master would be dead."

Hereupon, while he and the three others rubbed the meal from their eyes, and Will Stutely and his men brushed their clothes clean, he told them all; how that he had meant to pass a jest upon the Miller, which same had turned so grievously upon them.

Here, as he and the three others wiped the meal from their eyes, and Will Stutely and his men brushed off their clothes, he explained everything to them; how he had intended to pull a prank on the Miller, which had gone so horribly wrong.

"Quick, men, seize the vile Miller!" cried Stutely, who was nigh choking with laughter as were the rest; whereupon several ran upon the stout fellow and seizing him, bound his arms behind his back with bowstrings.

"Quick, guys, grab that nasty Miller!" shouted Stutely, nearly choking with laughter just like the others; then several rushed at the hefty man and grabbed him, tying his arms behind his back with bowstrings.

"Ha!" cried Robin, when they brought the trembling Miller to him. "Thou wouldst murder me, wouldst thou? By my faith"—Here he stopped and stood glaring upon the, Miller grimly. But Robin's anger could not hold, so first his eyes twinkled, and then in spite of all he broke into a laugh.

"Ha!" Robin exclaimed when they brought the shaking Miller to him. "You would try to kill me, would you? I swear"—Here he paused and glared at the Miller grimly. But Robin's anger couldn't last, so first his eyes sparkled, and then despite everything, he burst into laughter.

Now when they saw their master laugh, the yeomen who stood around could contain themselves no longer, and a mighty shout of laughter went up from all. Many could not stand, but rolled upon the ground from pure merriment.

Now when they saw their master laugh, the men standing around couldn't hold back any longer, and a loud cheer of laughter erupted from everyone. Many couldn't stay upright and rolled on the ground from sheer joy.

"What is thy name, good fellow?" said Robin at last to the Miller, who stood gaping and as though he were in amaze.

"What’s your name, good man?" Robin finally asked the Miller, who stood there staring as if he were in shock.

"Alas, sir, I am Midge, the Miller's son," said he in a frightened voice.

"Unfortunately, sir, I’m Midge, the Miller's son," he said in a scared voice.

"I make my vow," quoth merry Robin, smiting him upon the shoulder, "thou art the mightiest Midge that e'er mine eyes beheld. Now wilt thou leave thy dusty mill and come and join my band? By my faith, thou art too stout a man to spend thy days betwixt the hopper and the till."

"I make my vow," said merry Robin, patting him on the shoulder, "you are the strongest Midge I've ever seen. Will you leave your dusty mill and come join my band? Honestly, you’re too strong of a man to spend your days trapped between the hopper and the till."

"Then truly, if thou dost forgive me for the blows I struck, not knowing who thou wast, I will join with thee right merrily," said the Miller.

"Then really, if you forgive me for the hits I landed, not knowing who you were, I'll happily join you," said the Miller.

"Then have I gained this day," quoth Robin, "the three stoutest yeomen in all Nottinghamshire. We will get us away to the greenwood tree, and there hold a merry feast in honor of our new friends, and mayhap a cup or two of good sack and canary may mellow the soreness of my poor joints and bones, though I warrant it will be many a day before I am again the man I was." So saying, he turned and led the way, the rest following, and so they entered the forest once more and were lost to sight.

"Then I’ve gained today," said Robin, "the three strongest guys in all of Nottinghamshire. We’ll head to the greenwood tree and have a fun feast to celebrate our new friends, and maybe a drink or two of good wine will ease the pain in my old joints and bones, though I bet it’ll be a long time before I’m back to who I used to be.” With that, he turned and led the way, the others following, and they entered the forest once more and disappeared from view.

So that night all was ablaze with crackling fires in the woodlands, for though Robin and those others spoken of, only excepting Midge, the Miller's son, had many a sore bump and bruise here and there on their bodies, they were still not so sore in the joints that they could not enjoy a jolly feast given all in welcome to the new members of the band. Thus with songs and jesting and laughter that echoed through the deeper and more silent nooks of the forest, the night passed quickly along, as such merry times are wont to do, until at last each man sought his couch and silence fell on all things and all things seemed to sleep.

So that night, everything was lit up with crackling fires in the woods. Even though Robin and the others mentioned, except for Midge, the Miller's son, had plenty of cuts and bruises on their bodies, they weren't so sore that they couldn't enjoy a fun feast to welcome the new members of the group. With songs, jokes, and laughter echoing through the quieter parts of the forest, the night flew by, as happy times often do, until finally, each man found his bed, and a quiet settled over everything, making it seem like all was asleep.

But Little John's tongue was ever one that was not easy of guidance, so that, inch by inch, the whole story of his fight with the Tanner and Robin's fight with Will Scarlet leaked out. And so I have told it that you may laugh at the merry tale along with me.

But Little John always had a hard time keeping his mouth shut, so little by little, the entire story of his fight with the Tanner and Robin's fight with Will Scarlet came out. And I've shared it here so you can laugh at the funny tale with me.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood and Allan a Dale

IT HAS just been told how three unlucky adventures fell upon Robin Hood and Little John all in one day bringing them sore ribs and aching bones. So next we will tell how they made up for those ill happenings by a good action that came about not without some small pain to Robin.

IT HAS just been said how three unfortunate adventures happened to Robin Hood and Little John all in one day, leaving them with sore ribs and aching bones. So next, we will share how they made up for those misfortunes with a good deed that came about not without some minor pain to Robin.

Two days had passed by, and somewhat of the soreness had passed away from Robin Hood's joints, yet still, when he moved of a sudden and without thinking, pain here and there would, as it were, jog him, crying, "Thou hast had a drubbing, good fellow."

Two days had gone by, and some of the soreness had faded from Robin Hood's joints, but still, when he moved suddenly and without thinking, pain would catch him off guard, saying, "You've been through a tough time, my friend."

The day was bright and jocund, and the morning dew still lay upon the grass. Under the greenwood tree sat Robin Hood; on one side was Will Scarlet, lying at full length upon his back, gazing up into the clear sky, with hands clasped behind his head; upon the other side sat Little John, fashioning a cudgel out of a stout crab-tree limb; elsewhere upon the grass sat or lay many others of the band.

The day was bright and cheerful, and the morning dew still rested on the grass. Under the green tree sat Robin Hood; on one side was Will Scarlet, lying flat on his back, staring up at the clear sky with his hands clasped behind his head; on the other side sat Little John, shaping a cudgel out of a sturdy crabapple branch; nearby, many others from the band were sitting or lying on the grass.

"By the faith of my heart," quoth merry Robin, "I do bethink me that we have had no one to dine with us for this long time. Our money groweth low in the purse, for no one hath come to pay a reckoning for many a day. Now busk thee, good Stutely, and choose thee six men, and get thee gone to Fosse Way or thereabouts, and see that thou bringest someone to eat with us this evening. Meantime we will prepare a grand feast to do whosoever may come the greater honor. And stay, good Stutely. I would have thee take Will Scarlet with thee, for it is meet that he should become acquaint with the ways of the forest."

"By the faith in my heart," said merry Robin, "I realize that we haven't had anyone to dine with us for a long time. Our money is running low in the purse because no one has come to settle up for quite a while. Now, get ready, good Stutely, and pick six men to join you. Head to Fosse Way or somewhere nearby, and make sure you bring someone back to eat with us this evening. In the meantime, we’ll prepare a grand feast to honor whoever may come. And hold on, good Stutely. I want you to take Will Scarlet with you because it's fitting for him to become familiar with the ways of the forest."

"Now do I thank thee, good master," quoth Stutely, springing to his feet, "that thou hast chosen me for this adventure. Truly, my limbs do grow slack through abiding idly here. As for two of my six, I will choose Midge the Miller and Arthur a Bland, for, as well thou knowest, good master, they are stout fists at the quarterstaff. Is it not so, Little John?"

"Now I thank you, good master," said Stutely, jumping to his feet, "for choosing me for this adventure. Honestly, my limbs are getting weak from sitting around here. As for two of my six, I will pick Midge the Miller and Arthur a Bland, because, as you know, good master, they are strong with the quarterstaff. Isn’t that right, Little John?"

At this all laughed but Little John and Robin, who twisted up his face. "I can speak for Midge," said he, "and likewise for my cousin Scarlet. This very blessed morn I looked at my ribs and found them as many colors as a beggar's cloak."

At this, everyone laughed except Little John and Robin, who frowned. "I can speak for Midge," he said, "and also for my cousin Scarlet. This very morning, I looked at my ribs and found them as colorful as a beggar's cloak."

So, having chosen four more stout fellows, Will Stutely and his band set forth to Fosse Way, to find whether they might not come across some rich guest to feast that day in Sherwood with Robin and his band.

So, after picking four more strong guys, Will Stutely and his crew headed to Fosse Way to see if they could run into some wealthy traveler to join Robin and his gang for a feast in Sherwood that day.

For all the livelong day they abided near this highway. Each man had brought with him a good store of cold meat and a bottle of stout March beer to stay his stomach till the homecoming. So when high noontide had come they sat them down upon the soft grass, beneath a green and wide- spreading hawthorn bush, and held a hearty and jovial feast. After this, one kept watch while the others napped, for it was a still and sultry day.

All day long, they stayed near this highway. Each man had brought along a good supply of cold cuts and a bottle of strong March beer to keep his appetite at bay until they got home. So when noon rolled around, they sat down on the soft grass under a broad, leafy hawthorn bush and had a hearty, cheerful feast. After that, one person kept watch while the others napped, since it was a calm and warm day.

Thus they passed the time pleasantly enow, but no guest such as they desired showed his face in all the time that they lay hidden there. Many passed along the dusty road in the glare of the sun: now it was a bevy of chattering damsels merrily tripping along; now it was a plodding tinker; now a merry shepherd lad; now a sturdy farmer; all gazing ahead along the road, unconscious of the seven stout fellows that lay hidden so near them. Such were the travelers along the way; but fat abbot, rich esquire, or money-laden usurer came there none.

So they spent their time pleasantly enough, but no guest they were hoping for ever showed up while they were hiding there. Many people passed along the dusty road in the bright sunlight: first there was a group of chattering girls happily walking by; then a hardworking tinker; next a cheerful shepherd boy; and after that a strong farmer, all looking ahead along the road, unaware of the seven burly guys hiding so close to them. Those were the travelers on the road, but there were no fat abbots, wealthy squires, or money-hungry loan sharks in sight.

At last the sun began to sink low in the heavens; the light grew red and the shadows long. The air grew full of silence, the birds twittered sleepily, and from afar came, faint and clear, the musical song of the milkmaid calling the kine home to the milking.

At last, the sun started to set in the sky; the light turned a reddish hue and the shadows stretched longer. The air was filled with silence, the birds chirped drowsily, and from a distance, the sweet sound of the milkmaid calling the cows home for milking came through, faint but clear.

Then Stutely arose from where he was lying. "A plague of such ill luck!" quoth he. "Here have we abided all day, and no bird worth the shooting, so to speak, hath come within reach of our bolt. Had I gone forth on an innocent errand, I had met a dozen stout priests or a score of pursy money-lenders. But it is ever thus: the dun deer are never so scarce as when one has a gray goose feather nipped betwixt the fingers. Come, lads, let us pack up and home again, say I."

Then Stutely got up from where he was lying. "What bad luck!" he said. "We've been here all day, and not a single bird worth shooting has come within range. If I had gone out on a regular errand, I would have run into a dozen tough priests or a bunch of fat money-lenders. But it's always like this: the deer are never so scarce as when you've got a bow in hand. Come on, guys, let’s pack up and head home."

Accordingly, the others arose, and, coming forth from out the thicket, they all turned their toes back again to Sherwood. After they had gone some distance, Will Stutely, who headed the party, suddenly stopped. "Hist!" quoth he, for his ears were as sharp as those of a five-year-old fox. "Hark, lads! Methinks I hear a sound." At this all stopped and listened with bated breath, albeit for a time they could hear nothing, their ears being duller than Stutely's. At length they heard a faint and melancholy sound, like someone in lamentation.

So, the others got up, and as they came out of the thicket, they all turned their feet back toward Sherwood. After walking for a while, Will Stutely, who was leading the group, suddenly stopped. "Listen!" he said, since his hearing was as sharp as that of a five-year-old fox. "Hey, guys! I think I hear something." At this, everyone stopped and listened intently, even though for a while they couldn’t hear anything, their ears not being as sharp as Stutely's. Finally, they heard a faint and sorrowful sound, like someone crying.

"Ha!" quoth Will Scarlet, "this must be looked into. There is someone in distress nigh to us here."

"Ha!" said Will Scarlet, "this needs to be checked out. Someone nearby is in trouble."

"I know not," quoth Will Stutely, shaking his head doubtfully, "our master is ever rash about thrusting his finger into a boiling pot; but, for my part, I see no use in getting ourselves into mischievous coils. Yon is a man's voice, if I mistake not, and a man should be always ready to get himself out from his own pothers."

"I don't know," said Will Stutely, shaking his head doubtfully, "our leader is always quick to poke his finger into a boiling pot; but as for me, I don't see any point in getting us into trouble. That's a man's voice, if I'm not mistaken, and a man should always be prepared to get himself out of his own mess."

Then out spake Will Scarlet boldly. "Now out upon thee, to talk in that manner, Stutely! Stay, if thou dost list. I go to see what may be the trouble of this poor creature."

Then Will Scarlet spoke up boldly. "Now come on, Stutely, don't talk like that! Stay if you want. I'm going to see what's wrong with this poor person."

"Nay," quoth Stutely, "thou dost leap so quickly, thou'lt tumble into the ditch. Who said I would not go? Come along, say I." Thus saying, he led the way, the others following, till, after they had gone a short distance, they came to a little opening in the woodland, whence a brook, after gurgling out from under the tangle of overhanging bushes, spread out into a broad and glassy-pebbled pool. By the side of this pool, and beneath the branches of a willow, lay a youth upon his face, weeping aloud, the sound of which had first caught the quick ears of Stutely. His golden locks were tangled, his clothes were all awry, and everything about him betokened sorrow and woe. Over his head, from the branches of the osier, hung a beautiful harp of polished wood inlaid with gold and silver in fantastic devices. Beside him lay a stout ashen bow and half a score of fair, smooth arrows.

"No," said Stutely, "you jump around so much that you'll fall into the ditch. Who said I wouldn't go? Come on, I say." With that, he took the lead, and the others followed until, after a short walk, they reached a small clearing in the woods, where a brook bubbled out from beneath a tangle of overhanging bushes and spread into a wide, glassy pool. Next to this pool, under the branches of a willow tree, lay a young man face down, crying out loud, the sound of which had first caught Stutely's sharp ears. His golden hair was tangled, his clothes were a mess, and everything about him showed signs of sadness and despair. Above him, from the branches of the willow, hung a beautiful harp made of polished wood, inlaid with gold and silver in intricate designs. Next to him lay a sturdy ash bow and about a dozen smooth arrows.

"Halloa!" shouted Will Stutely, when they had come out from the forest into the little open spot. "Who art thou, fellow, that liest there killing all the green grass with salt water?"

"Hey!" shouted Will Stutely, when they had come out from the forest into the little open spot. "Who are you, lying there killing all the green grass with salt water?"

Hearing the voice, the stranger sprang to his feet and; snatching up his bow and fitting a shaft, held himself in readiness for whatever ill might befall him.

Hearing the voice, the stranger jumped to his feet and, grabbing his bow and nocking an arrow, prepared himself for whatever trouble might come his way.

"Truly," said one of the yeomen, when they had seen the young stranger's face, "I do know that lad right well. He is a certain minstrel that I have seen hereabouts more than once. It was only a week ago I saw him skipping across the hill like a yearling doe. A fine sight he was then, with a flower at his ear and a cock's plume stuck in his cap; but now, methinks, our cockerel is shorn of his gay feathers."

"Honestly," said one of the men, after they'd seen the young stranger's face, "I know that guy pretty well. He's a minstrel I've spotted around here more than once. Just last week, I saw him hopping across the hill like a young deer. He looked great back then, with a flower in his ear and a feather from a rooster in his cap; but now, I think our rooster has lost his bright feathers."

"Pah!" cried Will Stutely, coming up to the stranger, "wipe thine eyes, man! I do hate to see a tall, stout fellow so sniveling like a girl of fourteen over a dead tomtit. Put down thy bow, man! We mean thee no harm."

"Pah!" shouted Will Stutely, approaching the stranger, "wipe your eyes, man! I can't stand to see a tall, sturdy guy crying like a fourteen-year-old girl over a dead bird. Put down your bow, man! We don't mean you any harm."

But Will Scarlet, seeing how the stranger, who had a young and boyish look, was stung by the words that Stutely had spoken, came to him and put his hand upon the youth's shoulder. "Nay, thou art in trouble, poor boy!" said he kindly. "Mind not what these fellows have said. They are rough, but they mean thee well. Mayhap they do not understand a lad like thee. Thou shalt come with us, and perchance we may find a certain one that can aid thee in thy perplexities, whatsoever they may be."

But Will Scarlet, noticing how the stranger, who looked young and boyish, was hurt by Stutely's words, approached him and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Hey, you're in trouble, poor boy!" he said kindly. "Don't worry about what these guys have said. They can be rough, but they mean well. Maybe they just don't understand someone like you. You should come with us, and maybe we can find someone who can help you with whatever's bothering you."

"Yea, truly, come along," said Will Stutely gruffly. "I meant thee no harm, and may mean thee some good. Take down thy singing tool from off this fair tree, and away with us."

"Yeah, really, come on," said Will Stutely roughly. "I didn't mean you any harm, and I might actually do you some good. Take your singing stuff down from this nice tree, and let’s go."

The youth did as he was bidden and, with bowed head and sorrowful step, accompanied the others, walking beside Will Scarlet. So they wended their way through the forest. The bright light faded from the sky and a glimmering gray fell over all things. From the deeper recesses of the forest the strange whispering sounds of night-time came to the ear; all else was silent, saving only for the rattling of their footsteps amid the crisp, dry leaves of the last winter. At last a ruddy glow shone before them here and there through the trees; a little farther and they came to the open glade, now bathed in the pale moonlight. In the center of the open crackled a great fire, throwing a red glow on all around. At the fire were roasting juicy steaks of venison, pheasants, capons, and fresh fish from the river. All the air was filled with the sweet smell of good things cooking.

The young man did as he was told and, with his head down and a sad step, joined the others, walking next to Will Scarlet. They made their way through the forest. The bright light faded from the sky, and a shimmering gray fell over everything. From the deeper parts of the forest, strange nighttime whispers reached their ears; everything else was silent except for the crunching of their feet on the crisp, dry leaves from last winter. Finally, a warm glow appeared here and there through the trees; a little further and they arrived at the open clearing, now drenched in soft moonlight. In the center, a large fire crackled, casting a red glow all around. By the fire, juicy steaks of venison, pheasants, capons, and fresh fish from the river were roasting. The air was filled with the delicious scent of good food cooking.

The little band made its way across the glade, many yeomen turning with curious looks and gazing after them, but none speaking or questioning them. So, with Will Scarlet upon one side and Will Stutely upon the other, the stranger came to where Robin Hood sat on a seat of moss under the greenwood tree, with Little John standing beside him.

The small group crossed the clearing, with many of the local men turning to watch them curiously, but none spoke or questioned them. So, with Will Scarlet on one side and Will Stutely on the other, the stranger approached where Robin Hood was sitting on a moss-covered seat under the greenwood tree, with Little John standing beside him.

"Good even, fair friend," said Robin Hood, rising as the other drew near. "And hast thou come to feast with me this day?"

"Good evening, my friend," Robin Hood said, standing up as the other approached. "Have you come to join me for a meal today?"

"Alas! I know not," said the lad, looking around him with dazed eyes, for he was bewildered with all that he saw. "Truly, I know not whether I be in a dream," said he to himself in a low voice.

"Wow! I have no idea," said the boy, looking around with confused eyes, overwhelmed by everything he saw. "Honestly, I don't know if I'm dreaming," he muttered to himself quietly.

"Nay, marry," quoth Robin, laughing, "thou art awake, as thou wilt presently find, for a fine feast is a-cooking for thee. Thou art our honored guest this day."

"Nah, seriously," said Robin, laughing, "you are awake, as you'll soon see, because a great feast is being prepared for you. You are our special guest today."

Still the young stranger looked about him, as though in a dream. Presently he turned to Robin. "Methinks," said he, "I know now where I am and what hath befallen me. Art not thou the great Robin Hood?"

Still, the young stranger looked around, as if he were in a dream. After a moment, he turned to Robin. "I think," he said, "I now know where I am and what has happened to me. Aren't you the famous Robin Hood?"

"Thou hast hit the bull's eye," quoth Robin, clapping him upon the shoulder. "Men hereabouts do call me by that name. Sin' thou knowest me, thou knowest also that he who feasteth with me must pay his reckoning. I trust thou hast a full purse with thee, fair stranger."

"You've hit the mark," said Robin, patting him on the shoulder. "People around here call me that. Since you know me, you also know that anyone who dines with me has to settle the bill. I hope you have a well-filled wallet with you, kind stranger."

"Alas!" said the stranger, "I have no purse nor no money either, saving only the half of a sixpence, the other half of which mine own dear love doth carry in her bosom, hung about her neck by a strand of silken thread."

"Unfortunately!" said the stranger, "I have no wallet or any money either, except for half of a sixpence, the other half of which my beloved carries in her bosom, hanging around her neck by a thread of silk."

At this speech a great shout of laughter went up from those around, whereat the poor boy looked as he would die of shame; but Robin Hood turned sharply to Will Stutely. "Why, how now," quoth he, "is this the guest that thou hast brought us to fill our purse? Methinks thou hast brought but a lean cock to the market."

At this speech, everyone around burst into laughter, making the poor boy look like he would die of shame; but Robin Hood quickly turned to Will Stutely. "What’s this?" he said, "Is this the guest you brought us to fill our purse? It seems you've only brought a skinny bird to the market."

"Nay, good master," answered Will Stutely, grinning, "he is no guest of mine; it was Will Scarlet that brought him thither."

"Nah, good master," replied Will Stutely, grinning, "he's not my guest; it was Will Scarlet who brought him here."

Then up spoke Will Scarlet, and told how they had found the lad in sorrow, and how he had brought him to Robin, thinking that he might perchance aid him in his trouble. Then Robin Hood turned to the youth, and, placing his hand upon the other's shoulder, held him off at arm's length, scanning his face closely.

Then Will Scarlet spoke up and shared how they had found the kid in distress, and how he had brought him to Robin, hoping that he might help him with his troubles. Then Robin Hood turned to the young man, placed his hand on his shoulder, and held him at arm's length, examining his face closely.

"A young face," quoth he in a low voice, half to himself, "a kind face, a good face. 'Tis like a maiden's for purity, and, withal, the fairest that e'er mine eyes did see; but, if I may judge fairly by thy looks, grief cometh to young as well as to old." At these words, spoken so kindly, the poor lad's eyes brimmed up with tears. "Nay, nay," said Robin hastily, "cheer up, lad; I warrant thy case is not so bad that it cannot be mended. What may be thy name?"

"A young face," he said in a low voice, mostly to himself, "a kind face, a good face. It's as pure as a maiden's, and honestly, it's the prettiest I've ever seen; but if I can read your expression, it looks like grief hits the young just as much as it does the old." At these kind words, the poor boy's eyes filled with tears. "No, no," Robin said quickly, "cheer up, lad; I'm sure your situation isn't so bad that it can't be fixed. What's your name?"

"Allen a Dale is my name, good master."

"Allen a Dale is my name, good sir."

"Allen a Dale," repeated Robin, musing. "Allen a Dale. It doth seem to me that the name is not altogether strange to mine ears. Yea, surely thou art the minstrel of whom we have been hearing lately, whose voice so charmeth all men. Dost thou not come from the Dale of Rotherstream, over beyond Stavely?"

"Allen a Dale," Robin repeated, thinking. "Allen a Dale. That name sounds familiar to me. Yes, you must be the minstrel we've been hearing about lately, whose voice delights everyone. Don’t you come from the Dale of Rotherstream, over past Stavely?"

"Yea, truly," answered Allan, "I do come thence."

"Yeah, really," Allan replied, "I do come from there."

"How old art thou, Allan?" said Robin.

"How old are you, Allan?" said Robin.

"I am but twenty years of age."

"I am only twenty years old."

"Methinks thou art overyoung to be perplexed with trouble," quoth Robin kindly; then, turning to the others, he cried, "Come, lads, busk ye and get our feast ready; only thou, Will Scarlet, and thou, Little John, stay here with me."

"I think you're too young to be dealing with problems," Robin said kindly. Then, turning to the others, he shouted, "Come on, guys, get ready and prepare our feast; just you, Will Scarlet, and you, Little John, stay here with me."

Then, when the others had gone, each man about his business, Robin turned once more to the youth. "Now, lad," said he, "tell us thy troubles, and speak freely. A flow of words doth ever ease the heart of sorrows; it is like opening the waste weir when the mill dam is overfull. Come, sit thou here beside me, and speak at thine ease."

Then, when the others had left, each man going about his business, Robin turned once more to the young man. "Now, young man," he said, "tell us your troubles, and speak openly. Letting your feelings out can really help lighten your sorrows; it’s like opening the floodgates when the mill pond is too full. Come, sit here beside me, and share what’s on your mind."

Then straightway the youth told the three yeomen all that was in his heart; at first in broken words and phrases, then freely and with greater ease when he saw that all listened closely to what he said. So he told them how he had come from York to the sweet vale of Rother, traveling the country through as a minstrel, stopping now at castle, now at hall, and now at farmhouse; how he had spent one sweet evening in a certain broad, low farmhouse, where he sang before a stout franklin and a maiden as pure and lovely as the first snowdrop of spring; how he had played and sung to her, and how sweet Ellen o' the Dale had listened to him and had loved him. Then, in a low, sweet voice, scarcely louder than a whisper, he told how he had watched for her and met her now and then when she went abroad, but was all too afraid in her sweet presence to speak to her, until at last, beside the banks of Rother, he had spoken of his love, and she had whispered that which had made his heartstrings quiver for joy. Then they broke a sixpence between them, and vowed to be true to one another forever.

Then right away the young man told the three yeomen everything in his heart; at first in awkward words and phrases, then more freely and easily when he saw that they were listening closely to him. He shared how he had traveled from York to the beautiful valley of Rother as a minstrel, stopping at castles, halls, and farmhouses; how he had spent one lovely evening in a broad, low farmhouse, where he sang for a stout landowner and a maiden as pure and lovely as the first snowdrop of spring; how he had played and sung for her, and how sweet Ellen of the Dale had listened and loved him. Then, in a soft, sweet voice, barely louder than a whisper, he recounted how he had watched for her and met her occasionally when she went out, but he had been too afraid in her gentle presence to speak to her, until finally, beside the banks of Rother, he had confessed his love, and she whispered something that made his heart leap for joy. Then they broke a sixpence between them and vowed to be true to one another forever.

Next he told how her father had discovered what was a-doing, and had taken her away from him so that he never saw her again, and his heart was sometimes like to break; how this morn, only one short month and a half from the time that he had seen her last, he had heard and knew it to be so, that she was to marry old Sir Stephen of Trent, two days hence, for Ellen's father thought it would be a grand thing to have his daughter marry so high, albeit she wished it not; nor was it wonder that a knight should wish to marry his own sweet love, who was the most beautiful maiden in all the world.

Next, he explained how her father had found out what was happening and had taken her away from him, so he never saw her again. His heart sometimes felt like it was breaking. Just this morning, only a month and a half since he last saw her, he heard that she was going to marry old Sir Stephen of Trent in two days. Ellen's father thought it would be a great thing for his daughter to marry someone so high-ranking, even though she didn’t want it. It’s no surprise that a knight would want to marry his true love, who was the most beautiful maiden in the world.

To all this the yeomen listened in silence, the clatter of many voices, jesting and laughing, sounding around them, and the red light of the fire shining on their faces and in their eyes. So simple were the poor boy's words, and so deep his sorrow, that even Little John felt a certain knotty lump rise in his throat.

The yeomen listened quietly to all of this, surrounded by the chatter of many voices, joking and laughing, with the red glow of the fire lighting up their faces and eyes. The boy's words were so simple, yet his sorrow was so profound that even Little John felt a lump form in his throat.

"I wonder not," said Robin, after a moment's silence, "that thy true love loved thee, for thou hast surely a silver cross beneath thy tongue, even like good Saint Francis, that could charm the birds of the air by his speech."

"I’m not surprised," said Robin, after a moment of silence, "that your true love cared for you, because you must have a silver cross under your tongue, just like good Saint Francis, who could charm the birds in the air with his words."

"By the breath of my body," burst forth Little John, seeking to cover his feelings with angry words, "I have a great part of a mind to go straightway and cudgel the nasty life out of the body of that same vile Sir Stephen. Marry, come up, say I—what a plague—does an old weazen think that tender lasses are to be bought like pullets o' a market day? Out upon him!—I—but no matter, only let him look to himself."

"By the breath of my body," shouted Little John, trying to hide his feelings with angry words, "I really feel like going straight over and beating the life out of that vile Sir Stephen. Seriously, what does an old, wrinkly man think—does he believe that young women can be bought like chickens at the market? Shame on him!—I—but never mind, he better watch himself."

Then up spoke Will Scarlet. "Methinks it seemeth but ill done of the lass that she should so quickly change at others' bidding, more especially when it cometh to the marrying of a man as old as this same Sir Stephen. I like it not in her, Allan."

Then Will Scarlet spoke up. "I think it’s pretty wrong of the girl to change her mind so quickly at someone else's request, especially when it comes to marrying a man as old as this Sir Stephen. I don't like it at all, Allan."

"Nay," said Allan hotly, "thou dost wrong her. She is as soft and gentle as a stockdove. I know her better than anyone in all the world. She may do her father's bidding, but if she marries Sir Stephen, her heart will break and she will die. My own sweet dear, I—" He stopped and shook his head, for he could say nothing further.

"No," Allan said passionately, "you’re wrong about her. She’s as gentle and tender as a dove. I know her better than anyone else in the world. She might follow her father’s wishes, but if she marries Sir Stephen, her heart will break and she will die. My own sweet dear, I—" He stopped and shook his head, unable to say anything more.

While the others were speaking, Robin Hood had been sunk in thought. "Methinks I have a plan might fit thy case, Allan," said he. "But tell me first, thinkest thou, lad, that thy true love hath spirit enough to marry thee were ye together in church, the banns published, and the priest found, even were her father to say her nay?"

While the others were talking, Robin Hood was deep in thought. "I think I have a plan that might work for you, Allan," he said. "But first, tell me, do you think your true love has the courage to marry you if you were together in church, with the banns announced and the priest ready, even if her father said no?"

"Ay, marry would she," cried Allan eagerly.

"Ay, she definitely would," Allan exclaimed eagerly.

"Then, if her father be the man that I take him to be, I will undertake that he shall give you both his blessing as wedded man and wife, in the place of old Sir Stephen, and upon his wedding morn. But stay, now I bethink me, there is one thing reckoned not upon—the priest. Truly, those of the cloth do not love me overmuch, and when it comes to doing as I desire in such a matter, they are as like as not to prove stiff- necked. As to the lesser clergy, they fear to do me a favor because of abbot or bishop.

"Then, if her father is the man I think he is, I can promise that he will give you both his blessing as husband and wife, in place of old Sir Stephen, on his wedding morning. But wait, I just remembered, there's one thing I hadn't considered—the priest. Honestly, those in the clergy don't have much love for me, and when it comes to doing what I want in a situation like this, they’re likely to be stubborn. As for the lower clergy, they’re afraid to help me out because of the abbot or bishop."

"Nay," quoth Will Scarlet, laughing, "so far as that goeth, I know of a certain friar that, couldst thou but get on the soft side of him, would do thy business even though Pope Joan herself stood forth to ban him. He is known as the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey, and dwelleth in Fountain Dale."

"No," said Will Scarlet, laughing, "as far as that goes, I know a certain friar who, if you could win him over, would help you even if Pope Joan herself showed up to forbid it. He's known as the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey, and he lives in Fountain Dale."

"But," quoth Robin, "Fountain Abbey is a good hundred miles from here. An we would help this lad, we have no time to go thither and back before his true love will be married. Nought is to be gained there, coz."

"But," said Robin, "Fountain Abbey is a good hundred miles away from here. If we want to help this guy, we won’t have time to go there and back before his true love gets married. There's nothing to be gained there, cousin."

"Yea," quoth Will Scarlet, laughing again, "but this Fountain Abbey is not so far away as the one of which thou speakest, uncle. The Fountain Abbey of which I speak is no such rich and proud place as the other, but a simple little cell; yet, withal, as cosy a spot as ever stout anchorite dwelled within. I know the place well, and can guide thee thither, for, though it is a goodly distance, yet methinks a stout pair of legs could carry a man there and back in one day."

"Yeah," Will Scarlet said, laughing again, "but this Fountain Abbey isn't as far away as the one you're talking about, uncle. The Fountain Abbey I'm talking about isn't nearly as rich and fancy as the other one, but it's a simple little place; still, it's as cozy a spot as any sturdy monk could live in. I know the place well and can lead you there because, even though it’s a good distance, I think a strong pair of legs could get a person there and back in one day."

"Then give me thy hand, Allan," cried Robin, "and let me tell thee, I swear by the bright hair of Saint AElfrida that this time two days hence Ellen a Dale shall be thy wife. I will seek this same Friar of Fountain Abbey tomorrow day, and I warrant I will get upon the soft side of him, even if I have to drub one soft."

"Then give me your hand, Allan," Robin exclaimed, "and let me tell you, I swear by the bright hair of Saint AElfrida that in two days, Ellen a Dale will be your wife. I will seek out this same Friar of Fountain Abbey tomorrow, and I guarantee I will win him over, even if I have to force the issue."

At this Will Scarlet laughed again. "Be not too sure of that, good uncle," quoth he, "nevertheless, from what I know of him, I think this Curtal Friar will gladly join two such fair lovers, more especially if there be good eating and drinking afoot thereafter."

At this, Will Scarlet laughed again. "Don't be too sure of that, good uncle," he said. "Still, from what I know of him, I think this Curtal Friar will happily join two such lovely lovers, especially if there's good food and drink planned afterwards."

But now one of the band came to say that the feast was spread upon the grass; so, Robin leading the way, the others followed to where the goodly feast was spread. Merry was the meal. Jest and story passed freely, and all laughed till the forest rang again. Allan laughed with the rest, for his cheeks were flushed with the hope that Robin Hood had given him.

But now one of the group came to say that the feast was laid out on the grass; so, with Robin leading the way, the others followed to where the delicious spread was ready. The meal was joyful. Jokes and stories flowed easily, and everyone laughed until the forest echoed with their joy. Allan laughed along with the others, his cheeks flushed with the hope that Robin Hood had inspired in him.

At last the feast was done, and Robin Hood turned to Allan, who sat beside him. "Now, Allan," quoth he, "so much has been said of thy singing that we would fain have a taste of thy skill ourselves. Canst thou not give us something?"

At last, the feast was over, and Robin Hood turned to Allan, who was sitting next to him. "Now, Allan," he said, "there has been so much talk about your singing that we would love to hear you show off your talent. Can you give us something?"

"Surely," answered Allan readily; for he was no third-rate songster that must be asked again and again, but said "yes" or "no" at the first bidding; so, taking up his harp, he ran his fingers lightly over the sweetly sounding strings, and all was hushed about the cloth. Then, backing his voice with sweet music on his harp, he sang:

"Sure," Allan replied quickly; he wasn't a mediocre singer who needed to be prompted multiple times. He said "yes" or "no" at the first call. So, picking up his harp, he gently strummed the beautifully sounding strings, and everything around the cloth fell silent. Then, with the soft music from his harp, he sang:

MAY ELLEN'S WEDDING

MAY ELLEN'S WEDDING

(Giving an account of how she was beloved by a fairy prince, who took her to his own home.)

(Giving an account of how she was loved by a fairy prince, who took her to his home.)

 "May Ellen sat beneath a thorn
     And in a shower around
 The blossoms fell at every breeze
     Like snow upon the ground,
 And in a lime tree near was heard
 The sweet song of a strange, wild bird.

 "O sweet, sweet, sweet, O piercing sweet,
     O lingering sweet the strain!
 May Ellen's heart within her breast
     Stood still with blissful pain:
 And so, with listening, upturned face,
 She sat as dead in that fair place.

 "'Come down from out the blossoms, bird!
     Come down from out the tree,
 And on my heart I'll let thee lie,
     And love thee tenderly!'
 Thus cried May Ellen, soft and low,
 From where the hawthorn shed its snow.

 "Down dropped the bird on quivering wing,
     From out the blossoming tree,
 And nestled in her snowy breast.
     'My love! my love!' cried she;
 Then straightway home, 'mid sun and flower,
 She bare him to her own sweet bower.

 "The day hath passed to mellow night,
     The moon floats o'er the lea,
 And in its solemn, pallid light
     A youth stands silently:
 A youth of beauty strange and rare,
 Within May Ellen's bower there.

 "He stood where o'er the pavement cold
     The glimmering moonbeams lay.
 May Ellen gazed with wide, scared eyes,
     Nor could she turn away,
 For, as in mystic dreams we see
 A spirit, stood he silently.

 "All in a low and breathless voice,
     'Whence comest thou?' said she;
 'Art thou the creature of a dream,
     Or a vision that I see?'
 Then soft spake he, as night winds shiver
 Through straining reeds beside the river.

     "'I came, a bird on feathered wing,
     From distant Faeryland
 Where murmuring waters softly sing
     Upon the golden strand,
 Where sweet trees are forever green;
 And there my mother is the queen.'

         . . . . . . .

 "No more May Ellen leaves her bower
     To grace the blossoms fair;
 But in the hushed and midnight hour
     They hear her talking there,
 Or, when the moon is shining white,
 They hear her singing through the night.

 "'Oh, don thy silks and jewels fine,'
     May Ellen's mother said,
 'For hither comes the Lord of Lyne
     And thou this lord must wed.'
 May Ellen said, 'It may not be.
 He ne'er shall find his wife in me.'

 "Up spoke her brother, dark and grim:
     'Now by the bright blue sky,
 E'er yet a day hath gone for him
     Thy wicked bird shall die!
 For he hath wrought thee bitter harm,
 By some strange art or cunning charm.'

 "Then, with a sad and mournful song,
     Away the bird did fly,
 And o'er the castle eaves, and through
     The gray and windy sky.
 'Come forth!' then cried the brother grim,
 'Why dost thou gaze so after him?'

 "It is May Ellen's wedding day,
     The sky is blue and fair,
 And many a lord and lady gay
     In church are gathered there.
 The bridegroom was Sir Hugh the Bold,
 All clad in silk and cloth of gold.

 "In came the bride in samite white
     With a white wreath on her head;
 Her eyes were fixed with a glassy look,
     Her face was as the dead,
 And when she stood among the throng,
 She sang a wild and wondrous song.

 "Then came a strange and rushing sound
     Like the coming wind doth bring,
 And in the open windows shot
     Nine swans on whistling wing,
 And high above the heads they flew,
 In gleaming fight the darkness through.

 "Around May Ellen's head they flew
     In wide and windy fight,
 And three times round the circle drew.
     The guests shrank in affright,
 And the priest beside the altar there,
 Did cross himself with muttered prayer.

 "But the third time they flew around,
     Fair Ellen straight was gone,
 And in her place, upon the ground,
     There stood a snow-white swan.
 Then, with a wild and lovely song,
 It joined the swift and winged throng.

 "There's ancient men at weddings been,
     For sixty years and more,
 But such a wondrous wedding day,
     They never saw before.
 But none could check and none could stay,
 The swans that bore the bride away."
May Ellen sat beneath a thorn tree  
     And in a shower around  
The blossoms fell with every breeze  
     Like snow upon the ground,  
And in a lime tree nearby was heard  
The sweet song of a strange, wild bird.  

"O sweet, sweet, sweet, O piercing sweet,  
     O lingering sweet the strain!  
May Ellen's heart within her chest  
     Stood still with blissful pain:  
And so, with listening, upturned face,  
She sat as still as could be in that lovely place.  

"'Come down from out the blossoms, bird!  
     Come down from out the tree,  
And on my heart I'll let you lie,  
     And love you tenderly!'  
Thus cried May Ellen, soft and low,  
From where the hawthorn shed its snow.  

"Down dropped the bird on quivering wing,  
     From out the blossoming tree,  
And nestled in her snowy chest.  
     'My love! my love!' cried she;  
Then straightway home, 'mid sun and flower,  
She took him to her own sweet bower.  

"The day has passed to mellow night,  
     The moon floats o'er the lea,  
And in its solemn, pallid light  
     A young man stands silently:  
A young man of beauty strange and rare,  
Within May Ellen's bower there.  

"He stood where the glimmering moonbeams lay  
     Over the cold pavement.  
May Ellen gazed with wide, scared eyes,  
     Nor could she look away,  
For, as in mystic dreams we see  
A spirit, he stood silently.  

"In a low and breathless voice,  
     'Where do you come from?' said she;  
'Are you the creature of a dream,  
     Or a vision that I see?'  
Then softly he spoke, as night winds shiver  
Through straining reeds beside the river.  

     "'I came, a bird on feathered wing,  
     From distant Faeryland  
Where murmuring waters softly sing  
     Upon the golden strand,  
Where sweet trees are forever green;  
And there my mother is the queen.'  

         . . . . . . .  

"No more May Ellen leaves her bower  
     To grace the fair blossoms;  
But in the hushed and midnight hour  
     They hear her talking there,  
Or, when the moon is shining bright,  
They hear her singing through the night.  

"'Oh, put on your silks and jewels fine,'  
     May Ellen's mother said,  
'For here comes the Lord of Lyne  
     And you must wed this lord.'  
May Ellen said, 'It can't be.  
He'll never find his wife in me.'  

"Then spoke her brother, dark and grim:  
     'By the bright blue sky,  
Before a day has gone for him  
     Your wicked bird shall die!  
For he has caused you bitter harm,  
By some strange art or cunning charm.'  

"Then, with a sad and mournful song,  
     Away the bird did fly,  
And over the castle eaves, and through  
     The gray and windy sky.  
'Come forth!' then cried the brother grim,  
'Why do you gaze so after him?'  

"It is May Ellen's wedding day,  
     The sky is blue and fair,  
And many a lord and lady gay  
     In church are gathered there.  
The bridegroom was Sir Hugh the Bold,  
All clad in silk and cloth of gold.  

"In came the bride in white samite  
     With a white wreath on her head;  
Her eyes were fixed with a glassy look,  
     Her face was like the dead,  
And when she stood among the crowd,  
She sang a wild and wondrous song.  

"Then came a strange and rushing sound  
     Like the coming wind does bring,  
And in the open windows shot  
     Nine swans on whistling wing,  
And high above the heads they flew,  
In gleaming flight through the darkness.  

"Around May Ellen's head they flew  
     In wide and windy flight,  
And three times round the circle drew.  
     The guests shrank in fright,  
And the priest beside the altar there,  
Did cross himself with a muttered prayer.  

"But the third time they flew around,  
     Fair Ellen was gone,  
And in her place, upon the ground,  
     There stood a snow-white swan.  
Then, with a wild and lovely song,  
It joined the swift and winged throng.  

"There's ancient men at weddings been,  
     For sixty years and more,  
But such a wondrous wedding day,  
     They never saw before.  
But none could stop and none could stay,  
The swans that took the bride away."

Not a sound broke the stillness when Allan a Dale had done, but all sat gazing at the handsome singer, for so sweet was his voice and the music that each man sat with bated breath, lest one drop more should come and he should lose it.

Not a sound broke the silence when Allan a Dale finished, but everyone sat looking at the handsome singer, because his voice and the music were so sweet that each person held their breath, afraid to let anything interrupt and miss a note.

"By my faith and my troth," quoth Robin at last, drawing a deep breath, "lad, thou art—Thou must not leave our company, Allan! Wilt thou not stay with us here in the sweet green forest? Truly, I do feel my heart go out toward thee with great love."

"By my faith and my word," said Robin at last, taking a deep breath, "man, you are—You must not leave us, Allan! Will you not stay with us here in the beautiful green forest? Truly, I feel a strong affection for you."

Then Allan took Robin's hand and kissed it. "I will stay with thee always, dear master," said he, "for never have I known such kindness as thou hast shown me this day."

Then Allan took Robin's hand and kissed it. "I will stay with you always, dear master," he said, "for I've never known such kindness as you've shown me today."

Then Will Scarlet stretched forth his hand and shook Allan's in token of fellowship, as did Little John likewise. And thus the famous Allan a Dale became one of Robin Hood's band.

Then Will Scarlet reached out his hand and shook Allan's as a sign of friendship, just like Little John did. And so, the well-known Allan a Dale joined Robin Hood's group.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood Seeks the Curtal Friar

THE STOUT YEOMEN of Sherwood Forest were ever early risers of a morn, more especially when the summertime had come, for then in the freshness of the dawn the dew was always the brightest, and the song of the small birds the sweetest.

THE STRONG FARMERS of Sherwood Forest were always early risers in the morning, especially when summer arrived, because then the dew was at its brightest in the fresh dawn, and the songs of the little birds were the sweetest.

Quoth Robin, "Now will I go to seek this same Friar of Fountain Abbey of whom we spake yesternight, and I will take with me four of my good men, and these four shall be Little John, Will Scarlet, David of Doncaster, and Arthur a Bland. Bide the rest of you here, and Will Stutely shall be your chief while I am gone." Then straightway Robin Hood donned a fine steel coat of chain mail, over which he put on a light jacket of Lincoln green. Upon his head he clapped a steel cap, and this he covered by one of soft white leather, in which stood a nodding cock's plume. By his side he hung a good broadsword of tempered steel, the bluish blade marked all over with strange figures of dragons, winged women, and what not. A gallant sight was Robin so arrayed, I wot, the glint of steel showing here and there as the sunlight caught brightly the links of polished mail that showed beneath his green coat.

Robin said, "I'm going to find this Friar of Fountain Abbey we talked about last night, and I’ll take four of my good men with me: Little John, Will Scarlet, David of Doncaster, and Arthur a Bland. The rest of you stay here, and Will Stutely will be your leader while I'm gone." Then Robin Hood quickly put on a nice steel chain mail coat, over which he wore a light Lincoln green jacket. On his head, he placed a steel cap, which he covered with a soft white leather hat that had a cock's plume sticking out. At his side, he carried a sharp broadsword made of tempered steel, its bluish blade adorned with strange designs of dragons, winged women, and other figures. Robin looked quite impressive in his gear, the steel gleaming in the sunlight as it caught the polished links of mail beneath his green coat.

So, having arrayed himself, he and the four yeomen set forth upon their way, Will Scarlet taking the lead, for he knew better than the others whither to go. Thus, mile after mile, they strode along, now across a brawling stream, now along a sunlit road, now adown some sweet forest path, over which the trees met in green and rustling canopy, and at the end of which a herd of startled deer dashed away, with rattle of leaves and crackle of branches. Onward they walked with song and jest and laughter till noontide was passed, when at last they came to the banks of a wide, glassy, and lily-padded stream. Here a broad, beaten path stretched along beside the banks, on which path labored the horses that tugged at the slow-moving barges, laden with barley meal or what not, from the countryside to the many-towered town. But now, in the hot silence of the midday, no horse was seen nor any man besides themselves. Behind them and before them stretched the river, its placid bosom ruffled here and there by the purple dusk of a small breeze.

So, after getting ready, he and the four yeomen set off on their journey, with Will Scarlet leading the way since he knew better than the others where to go. They walked mile after mile, crossing a rushing stream, walking along a sunlit road, and through a lovely forest path where the trees formed a green and rustling canopy. At the end of the path, a herd of startled deer dashed away, making leaves rustle and branches crackle. They continued on, singing, joking, and laughing until past noon when they finally reached the banks of a wide, smooth stream covered in lily pads. A broad, worn path ran alongside the banks, where horses struggled to pull slow-moving barges loaded with barley meal and other goods from the countryside to the towered town. But now, in the heat and silence of midday, there were no horses or anyone else around but them. The river stretched out behind and in front of them, its calm surface disturbed here and there by a gentle breeze.

"Now, good uncle," quoth Will Scarlet at last, when they had walked for a long time beside this sweet, bright river, "just beyond yon bend ahead of us is a shallow ford which in no place is deeper than thy mid-thigh, and upon the other side of the stream is a certain little hermitage hidden amidst the bosky tangle of the thickets wherein dwelleth the Friar of Fountain Dale. Thither will I lead thee, for I know the way; albeit it is not overhard to find."

"Now, good uncle," Will Scarlet finally said after they had walked for a long time next to the sweet, bright river, "just beyond that bend up ahead is a shallow crossing that’s no deeper than your mid-thigh, and on the other side of the stream is a small hermitage hidden among the dense thickets where the Friar of Fountain Dale lives. I’ll take you there, as I know the way; although, it’s not too hard to find."

"Nay," quoth jolly Robin, stopping suddenly, "had I thought that I should have had to wade water, even were it so crystal a stream as this, I had donned other clothes than I have upon me. But no matter now, for after all a wetting will not wash the skin away, and what must be, must. But bide ye here, lads, for I would enjoy this merry adventure alone. Nevertheless, listen well, and if ye hear me sound upon my bugle horn, come quickly." So saying, he turned and left them, striding onward alone.

“Nah,” said jolly Robin, stopping abruptly, “if I had known I’d have to wade through water, even if it's as clear as this stream, I would’ve worn different clothes. But it doesn’t matter now, because in the end, getting wet won’t wash away my skin, and what has to happen, happens. But wait here, guys, because I want to enjoy this fun adventure by myself. However, pay attention, and if you hear me blow my horn, come quickly.” With that, he turned and walked away alone.

Robin had walked no farther than where the bend of the road hid his good men from his view, when he stopped suddenly, for he thought that he heard voices. He stood still and listened, and presently heard words passed back and forth betwixt what seemed to be two men, and yet the two voices were wondrously alike. The sound came from over behind the bank, that here was steep and high, dropping from the edge of the road a half a score of feet to the sedgy verge of the river.

Robin had walked only as far as the corner of the road that obscured his men from sight when he suddenly stopped, thinking he heard voices. He stood still and listened, and soon heard words exchanged between what seemed like two men, though their voices were surprisingly similar. The sound came from behind the bank, which was steep and high here, dropping about twenty feet from the edge of the road to the lush edge of the river.

"'Tis strange," muttered Robin to himself after a space, when the voices had ceased their talking, "surely there be two people that spoke the one to the other, and yet methinks their voices are mightily alike. I make my vow that never have I heard the like in all my life before. Truly, if this twain are to be judged by their voices, no two peas were ever more alike. I will look into this matter." So saying, he came softly to the river bank and laying him down upon the grass, peered over the edge and down below.

"It's strange," Robin muttered to himself after a while, when the voices stopped talking, "there were definitely two people speaking to each other, yet their voices sound incredibly alike. I swear I've never heard anything like it in my life. Honestly, if these two are to be judged by their voices, no two peas have ever been more similar. I need to look into this." With that, he quietly approached the riverbank, lay down on the grass, and peered over the edge to see below.

All was cool and shady beneath the bank. A stout osier grew, not straight upward, but leaning across the water, shadowing the spot with its soft foliage. All around grew a mass of feathery ferns such as hide and nestle in cool places, and up to Robin's nostrils came the tender odor of the wild thyme, that loves the moist verges of running streams. Here, with his broad back against the rugged trunk of the willow tree, and half hidden by the soft ferns around him, sat a stout, brawny fellow, but no other man was there. His head was as round as a ball, and covered with a mat of close-clipped, curly black hair that grew low down on his forehead. But his crown was shorn as smooth as the palm of one's hand, which, together with his loose robe, cowl, and string of beads, showed that which his looks never would have done, that he was a friar. His cheeks were as red and shining as a winter crab, albeit they were nearly covered over with a close curly black beard, as were his chin and upper lip likewise. His neck was thick like that of a north country bull, and his round head closely set upon shoulders e'en a match for those of Little John himself. Beneath his bushy black brows danced a pair of little gray eyes that could not stand still for very drollery of humor. No man could look into his face and not feel his heartstrings tickled by the merriment of their look. By his side lay a steel cap, which he had laid off for the sake of the coolness to his crown. His legs were stretched wide apart, and betwixt his knees he held a great pasty compounded of juicy meats of divers kinds made savory with tender young onions, both meat and onions being mingled with a good rich gravy. In his right fist he held a great piece of brown crust at which he munched sturdily, and every now and then he thrust his left hand into the pie and drew it forth full of meat; anon he would take a mighty pull at a great bottle of Malmsey that lay beside him.

Everything was cool and shady under the bank. A sturdy willow grew not straight up, but leaning over the water, casting a shadow over the spot with its soft leaves. All around, a bunch of feathery ferns flourished in the cool shade, and the gentle scent of wild thyme, which thrives by the moist edges of streams, drifted to Robin's nose. Here, with his broad back against the rough trunk of the willow tree, and partially hidden by the soft ferns, sat a stout, muscular man, but he was the only person there. His head was round like a ball, covered with a thick mat of closely cropped, curly black hair that grew low on his forehead. However, the top of his head was shaved smooth like the palm of a hand, which, along with his loose robe, cowl, and string of beads, indicated—something his appearance alone wouldn’t have revealed—that he was a friar. His cheeks were as red and shiny as a winter crab, though they were nearly covered by a close, curly black beard, as were his chin and upper lip. His neck was thick like that of a northern bull, and his round head was set squarely on shoulders that could rival even those of Little John himself. Beneath his bushy black brows danced a pair of lively gray eyes that couldn’t stay still for the sheer fun of it. No one could look at his face and not feel their heartstrings tugged by the joy in his eyes. Beside him lay a steel cap, which he had taken off to cool his head. His legs were spread wide apart, and between his knees, he held a large pie filled with juicy meats of various kinds seasoned with tender young onions, both the meat and the onions mixed with a rich gravy. In his right hand, he held a big piece of brown crust that he munched on heartily, and now and then, he would plunge his left hand into the pie, pulling out a handful of meat; occasionally, he would take a big swig from a large bottle of Malmsey that lay next to him.

"By my faith," quoth Robin to himself, "I do verily believe that this is the merriest feast, the merriest wight, the merriest place, and the merriest sight in all merry England. Methought there was another here, but it must have been this holy man talking to himself."

"By my faith," Robin said to himself, "I truly believe this is the happiest feast, the happiest person, the happiest place, and the happiest sight in all of merry England. I thought there was someone else here, but it must have been this holy man talking to himself."

So Robin lay watching the Friar, and the Friar, all unknowing that he was so overlooked, ate his meal placidly. At last he was done, and, having first wiped his greasy hands upon the ferns and wild thyme (and sweeter napkin ne'er had king in all the world), he took up his flask and began talking to himself as though he were another man, and answering himself as though he were somebody else.

So Robin lay there watching the Friar, who, completely unaware that he was being observed, ate his meal calmly. Finally finished, he wiped his greasy hands on the ferns and wild thyme (and no cleaner napkin ever belonged to a king in all the world), then picked up his flask and started talking to himself as if he were someone else, responding as if he were a different person.

"Dear lad, thou art the sweetest fellow in all the world, I do love thee as a lover loveth his lass. La, thou dost make me shamed to speak so to me in this solitary place, no one being by, and yet if thou wilt have me say so, I do love thee as thou lovest me. Nay then, wilt thou not take a drink of good Malmsey? After thee, lad, after thee. Nay, I beseech thee, sweeten the draught with thy lips (here he passed the flask from his right hand to his left). An thou wilt force it on me so, I must needs do thy bidding, yet with the more pleasure do I so as I drink thy very great health (here he took a long, deep draught). And now, sweet lad, 'tis thy turn next (here he passed the bottle from his left hand back again to his right). I take it, sweet chuck, and here's wishing thee as much good as thou wishest me." Saying this, he took another draught, and truly he drank enough for two.

"Dear buddy, you’re the sweetest guy in the whole world, and I love you like a lover loves his girl. Wow, you’re making me blush talking like this in this quiet place with no one around, but if you want me to say it, I love you just as you love me. So, how about a drink of good Malmsey? After you, my friend, after you. Please, sweeten the drink with your lips (here he passed the flask from his right hand to his left). If you insist on this, I have to do what you say, but I enjoy it even more as I drink to your great health (here he took a long, deep sip). And now, sweet buddy, it’s your turn next (here he passed the bottle from his left hand back to his right). I’ll take it, sweetie, and I hope you get as much good as you wish for me." Saying this, he took another sip, and honestly, he drank enough for two.

All this time merry Robin lay upon the bank and listened, while his stomach so quaked with laughter that he was forced to press his palm across his mouth to keep it from bursting forth; for, truly, he would not have spoiled such a goodly jest for the half of Nottinghamshire.

All this time, cheerful Robin lay on the bank and listened, while his stomach shook with laughter so much that he had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud; truly, he wouldn’t have ruined such a great joke for half of Nottinghamshire.

Having gotten his breath from his last draught, the Friar began talking again in this wise: "Now, sweet lad, canst thou not sing me a song? La, I know not, I am but in an ill voice this day; prythee ask me not; dost thou not hear how I croak like a frog? Nay, nay, thy voice is as sweet as any bullfinch; come, sing, I prythee, I would rather hear thee sing than eat a fair feast. Alas, I would fain not sing before one that can pipe so well and hath heard so many goodly songs and ballads, ne'ertheless, an thou wilt have it so, I will do my best. But now methinks that thou and I might sing some fair song together; dost thou not know a certain dainty little catch called 'The Loving Youth and the Scornful Maid'? Why, truly, methinks I have heard it ere now. Then dost thou not think that thou couldst take the lass's part if I take the lad's? I know not but I will try; begin thou with the lad and I will follow with the lass."

Having caught his breath from his last drink, the Friar started talking again like this: "Now, sweet boy, can’t you sing me a song? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just not feeling well enough to sing today; please don’t ask me; can’t you hear how I croak like a frog? No, no, your voice is as sweet as any bullfinch; come on, please sing for me, I’d rather hear you sing than enjoy a nice feast. Alas, I really don’t want to sing in front of someone who plays so beautifully and has heard so many good songs and ballads, but if you really want it, I’ll do my best. But now it seems that you and I could sing a nice song together; don’t you know a lovely little tune called 'The Loving Youth and the Scornful Maid'? Why, I think I’ve heard it before. So, don’t you think you could take the girl’s part while I take the boy’s? I’m not sure, but I’ll give it a try; you start with the boy, and I’ll follow with the girl."

Then, singing first with a voice deep and gruff, and anon in one high and squeaking, he blithely trolled the merry catch of

Then, singing first in a deep and rough voice, and then in a high and squeaky tone, he happily sang the cheerful tune of

THE LOVING YOUTH AND THE SCORNFUL MAID

THE LOVING YOUTH AND THE SCORNFUL MAID

HE
 "Ah, it's wilt thou come with me, my love?
     And it's wilt thou, love, he mine?
 For I will give unto thee, my love,
     Gay knots and ribbons so fine.
 I'll woo thee, love, on my bended knee,
 And I'll pipe sweet songs to none but thee.
          Then it's hark! hark! hark!
               To the winged lark
          And it's hark to the cooing dove!
               And the bright daffodil
               Groweth down by the rill,
          So come thou and be my love.

HE
 "Oh, will you come with me, my love?
     And will you be mine, love?
 For I will give you, my love,
     Beautiful ribbons and bows.
 I'll court you, love, on my knees,
 And I'll sing sweet songs just for you.
          So listen! listen! listen!
               To the singing lark
          And listen to the cooing dove!
               And the bright daffodil
               Grows down by the stream,
          So come and be my love.

SHE
 "Now get thee away, young man so fine;
     Now get thee away, I say;
 For my true love shall never be thine,
     And so thou hadst better not stay.
 Thou art not a fine enough lad for me,
 So I'll wait till a better young man I see.
          For it's hark! hark! hark!
               To the winged lark,
          And it's hark to the cooing dove!
               And the bright daffodil
               Groweth down by the rill,
          Yet never I'll be thy love.

SHE
 "Now go away, handsome young man;
     Now go away, I mean it;
 For my true love will never be yours,
     So you'd better not stick around.
 You're not good enough for me,
 So I'll wait for a better young man to come along.
          For listen! listen! listen!
               To the singing lark,
          And listen to the cooing dove!
               And the bright daffodil
               Grows down by the stream,
          Yet I'll never be your love.

HE
 "Then straight will I seek for another fair she,
     For many a maid can be found,
 And as thou wilt never have aught of me,
     By thee will I never be bound.
 For never is a blossom in the field so rare,
 But others are found that are just as fair.
          So it's hark! hark! hark!
               To the joyous lark
          And it's hark to the cooing dove!
               And the bright daffodil
               Groweth down by the rill,
          And I'll seek me another dear love.

HE
 "Then I’ll look for another beautiful girl,
     Since many a maiden can be found,
 And since you will never have anything to do with me,
     I won’t let you tie me down.
 For there’s never a flower in the field so rare,
 But others are out there that are just as fair.
          So listen! listen! listen!
               To the cheerful lark,
          And listen to the cooing dove!
               And the bright daffodil
               Grows down by the stream,
          And I’ll find myself another dear love.

SHE
 "Young man, turn not so very quick away
     Another fair lass to find.
 Methinks I have spoken in haste today,
     Nor have I made up my mind,

         And if thou only wilt stay with me,
          I'll love no other, sweet lad, but thee."

SHE
 "Young man, don’t turn away so quickly
     To find another girl.
 I think I’ve spoken too soon today,
     And I haven’t made up my mind,

         And if you’ll just stay with me,
          I’ll love no one else, sweet boy, but you."

Here Robin could contain himself no longer but burst forth into a mighty roar of laughter; then, the holy Friar keeping on with the song, he joined in the chorus, and together they sang, or, as one might say, bellowed:

Here Robin couldn't hold back any longer and let out a huge roar of laughter; then, with the holy Friar continuing the song, he joined in the chorus, and together they sang, or as one might say, belted:

          "So it's hark! hark! hark!
               To the joyous lark
          And it's hark to the cooing dove!
               For the bright daffodil
               Groweth down by the rill
          And I'll be thine own true love."
          "So listen! listen! listen!
               To the cheerful lark
          And listen to the cooing dove!
               For the bright daffodil
               Grows down by the stream
          And I'll be your true love."

So they sang together, for the stout Friar did not seem to have heard Robin's laughter, neither did he seem to know that the yeoman had joined in with the song, but, with eyes half closed, looking straight before him and wagging his round head from side to side in time to the music, he kept on bravely to the end, he and Robin finishing up with a mighty roar that might have been heard a mile. But no sooner had the last word been sung than the holy man seized his steel cap, clapped it on his head, and springing to his feet, cried in a great voice, "What spy have we here? Come forth, thou limb of evil, and I will carve thee into as fine pudding meat as e'er a wife in Yorkshire cooked of a Sunday." Hereupon he drew from beneath his robes a great broadsword full as stout as was Robin's.

So they sang together, because the stout Friar didn’t seem to hear Robin's laughter, nor did he realize that the yeoman had joined in the song. With his eyes half closed, looking straight ahead and swaying his round head from side to side to the beat of the music, he confidently carried on until the end. He and Robin finished with a loud roar that could have been heard a mile away. But as soon as the last word was sung, the holy man grabbed his steel cap, put it on his head, and jumped to his feet, shouting in a loud voice, "What spy do we have here? Come forth, you wicked one, and I will turn you into fine pudding meat like any wife in Yorkshire would cook on a Sunday." With that, he pulled out a big broadsword as sturdy as Robin's from under his robes.

"Nay, put up thy pinking iron, friend," quoth Robin, standing up with the tears of laughter still on his cheeks. "Folk who have sung so sweetly together should not fight thereafter." Hereupon he leaped down the bank to where the other stood. "I tell thee, friend," said he, "my throat is as parched with that song as e'er a barley stubble in October. Hast thou haply any Malmsey left in that stout pottle?"

"Come on, put away your sword, my friend," said Robin, standing up with tears of laughter still on his cheeks. "People who have sung so beautifully together shouldn’t fight after that." With that, he jumped down the bank to where the other stood. "I tell you, my friend," he said, "my throat is as dry from that song as a barley field in October. Do you happen to have any Malmsey left in that sturdy bottle?"

"Truly," said the Friar in a glum voice, "thou dost ask thyself freely where thou art not bidden. Yet I trust I am too good a Christian to refuse any man drink that is athirst. Such as there is o't thou art welcome to a drink of the same." And he held the pottle out to Robin.

"Honestly," said the Friar in a gloomy voice, "you’re asking yourself questions where you weren't invited. Still, I believe I'm too good of a Christian to deny anyone a drink if they’re thirsty. Whatever I have, you’re welcome to share a drink." And he held the flask out to Robin.

Robin took it without more ado and putting it to his lips, tilted his head back, while that which was within said "glug! lug! glug!" for more than three winks, I wot. The stout Friar watched Robin anxiously the while, and when he was done took the pottle quickly. He shook it, held it betwixt his eyes and the light, looked reproachfully at the yeoman, and straightway placed it at his own lips. When it came away again there was nought within it.

Robin took it without hesitation and, putting it to his lips, tilted his head back, while what was inside made a "glug! lug! glug!" sound for more than three winks, I know. The stout Friar watched Robin anxiously the whole time, and when he was finished, he quickly took the bottle. He shook it, held it between his eyes and the light, looked reproachfully at the yeoman, and immediately placed it to his own lips. When he took it away again, it was completely empty.

"Doss thou know the country hereabouts, thou good and holy man?" asked Robin, laughing.

"Do you know this area, you good and holy man?" asked Robin, laughing.

"Yea, somewhat," answered the other dryly.

"Yeah, a bit," the other replied dryly.

"And dost thou know of a certain spot called Fountain Abbey?"

"And do you know of a place called Fountain Abbey?"

"Yea, somewhat."

"Yeah, sort of."

"Then perchance thou knowest also of a certain one who goeth by the name of the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey."

"Then perhaps you also know of a certain person who goes by the name of the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey."

"Yea, somewhat."

"Yeah, kind of."

"Well then, good fellow, holy father, or whatever thou art," quoth Robin, "I would know whether this same Friar is to be found upon this side of the river or the other."

"Well then, good man, holy father, or whatever you are," said Robin, "I’d like to know if this Friar can be found on this side of the river or the other."

"That," quoth the Friar, "is a practical question upon which the cunning rules appertaining to logic touch not. I do advise thee to find that out by the aid of thine own five senses; sight, feeling, and what not."

"That," said the Friar, "is a practical question that the clever rules of logic don't address. I suggest you figure that out using your own five senses: sight, touch, and so on."

"I do wish much," quoth Robin, looking thoughtfully at the stout priest, "to cross yon ford and strive to find this same good Friar."

"I really want," said Robin, looking thoughtfully at the stout priest, "to cross that ford and try to find this good Friar."

"Truly," said the other piously, "it is a goodly wish on the part of one so young. Far be it from me to check thee in so holy a quest. Friend, the river is free to all."

"Honestly," the other said earnestly, "it's a noble wish coming from someone so young. I would never want to discourage you in such a sacred pursuit. My friend, the river is open to everyone."

"Yea, good father," said Robin, "but thou seest that my clothes are of the finest and I fain would not get them wet. Methinks thy shoulders are stout and broad; couldst thou not find it in thy heart to carry me across?"

"Yeah, good father," said Robin, "but you see that my clothes are the finest and I really don't want to get them wet. I think your shoulders are strong and broad; couldn't you find it in your heart to carry me across?"

"Now, by the white hand of the holy Lady of the Fountain!" burst forth the Friar in a mighty rage, "dost thou, thou poor puny stripling, thou kiss-my-lady-la poppenjay; thou—thou What shall I call thee? Dost thou ask me, the holy Tuck, to carry thee? Now I swear—" Here he paused suddenly, then slowly the anger passed from his face, and his little eyes twinkled once more. "But why should I not?" quoth he piously.

"Now, by the white hand of the holy Lady of the Fountain!" exclaimed the Friar in a fit of rage, "do you, you poor helpless kid, you kiss-my-lady-la fool; you—what should I even call you? Do you really ask me, the holy Tuck, to carry you? Now I swear—" He suddenly stopped, and then slowly the anger faded from his face, his small eyes sparkling again. "But why shouldn’t I?" he said piously.

"Did not the holy Saint Christopher ever carry the stranger across the river? And should I, poor sinner that I am, be ashamed to do likewise? Come with me, stranger, and I will do thy bidding in an humble frame of mind." So saying, he clambered up the bank, closely followed by Robin, and led the way to the shallow pebbly ford, chuckling to himself the while as though he were enjoying some goodly jest within himself.

"Didn't the holy Saint Christopher carry the stranger across the river? And should I, a poor sinner, be ashamed to do the same? Come with me, stranger, and I'll help you with an open heart." With that, he climbed up the bank, closely followed by Robin, and led the way to the shallow, pebbly crossing, chuckling to himself as if he were enjoying a good joke.

Having come to the ford, he girded up his robes about his loins, tucked his good broadsword beneath his arm, and stooped his back to take Robin upon it. Suddenly he straightened up. "Methinks," quoth he, "thou'lt get thy weapon wet. Let me tuck it beneath mine arm along with mine own."

Having reached the shallow crossing, he pulled up his robes, tucked his sword under his arm, and bent down to lift Robin onto his back. Suddenly, he straightened up. "I think you'll get your weapon wet. Let me hold it under my arm along with mine."

"Nay, good father," said Robin, "I would not burden thee with aught of mine but myself."

"Nah, good father," said Robin, "I wouldn't want to burden you with anything of mine except for myself."

"Dost thou think," said the Friar mildly, "that the good Saint Christopher would ha' sought his own ease so? Nay, give me thy tool as I bid thee, for I would carry it as a penance to my pride."

"Do you think," said the Friar gently, "that the good Saint Christopher would have sought his own comfort like that? No, give me your tool as I ask you, for I want to carry it as a penance for my pride."

Upon this, without more ado, Robin Hood unbuckled his sword from his side and handed it to the other, who thrust it with his own beneath his arm. Then once more the Friar bent his back, and, Robin having mounted upon it, he stepped sturdily into the water and so strode onward, splashing in the shoal, and breaking all the smooth surface into ever- widening rings. At last he reached the other side and Robin leaped lightly from his back.

Upon this, without hesitation, Robin Hood unbuckled his sword from his side and handed it to the other, who tucked it under his arm. Then, once again, the Friar bent down, and with Robin mounted on his back, he confidently stepped into the water and walked forward, splashing in the shallow area and breaking the smooth surface into ever-widening rings. Finally, he reached the other side, and Robin jumped lightly off his back.

"Many thanks, good father," quoth he. "Thou art indeed a good and holy man. Prythee give me my sword and let me away, for I am in haste."

"Thank you so much, good father," he said. "You are truly a good and holy man. Please give me my sword and let me go, as I am in a hurry."

At this the stout Friar looked upon Robin for a long time, his head on one side, and with a most waggish twist to his face; then he slowly winked his right eye. "Nay, good youth," said he gently, "I doubt not that thou art in haste with thine affairs, yet thou dost think nothing of mine. Thine are of a carnal nature; mine are of a spiritual nature, a holy work, so to speak; moreover, mine affairs do lie upon the other side of this stream. I see by thy quest of this same holy recluse that thou art a good young man and most reverent to the cloth. I did get wet coming hither, and am sadly afraid that should I wade the water again I might get certain cricks and pains i' the joints that would mar my devotions for many a day to come. I know that since I have so humbly done thy bidding thou wilt carry me back again. Thou seest how Saint Godrick, that holy hermit whose natal day this is, hath placed in my hands two swords and in thine never a one. Therefore be persuaded, good youth, and carry me back again."

At this, the chubby Friar looked at Robin for a long moment, tilting his head to one side and with a playful twist on his face; then he slowly winked his right eye. "Now, good young man," he said gently, "I don't doubt that you're in a hurry with your matters, but you don't think about mine at all. Yours are of a physical nature; mine are of a spiritual kind, a kind of holy work, if you will; besides, my matters are on the other side of this stream. I can tell by your quest for this same holy recluse that you are a good young man and very respectful to the clergy. I got wet coming here and I'm really worried that if I wade through the water again, I might end up with cramps and pains in my joints that would ruin my prayers for many days to come. I know that since I've humbly done your bidding, you will carry me back again. You can see how Saint Godrick, that holy hermit whose birthday it is today, has placed two swords in my hands and not a single one in yours. So please, good youth, take me back again."

Robin Hood looked up and he looked down, biting his nether lip. Quoth he, "Thou cunning Friar, thou hast me fair and fast enow. Let me tell thee that not one of thy cloth hath so hoodwinked me in all my life before. I might have known from thy looks that thou wert no such holy man as thou didst pretend to be."

Robin Hood looked up and down, biting his lower lip. He said, "You clever Friar, you've got me good and tight. Let me tell you that no one like you has ever tricked me before. I should have known from your looks that you weren't the holy man you pretended to be."

"Nay," interrupted the Friar, "I bid thee speak not so scurrilously neither, lest thou mayst perchance feel the prick of an inch or so of blue steel."

"Nah," interrupted the Friar, "I advise you not to speak so rudely either, or you might just feel the sting of a bit of blue steel."

"Tut, tut," said Robin, "speak not so, Friar; the loser hath ever the right to use his tongue as he doth list. Give me my sword; I do promise to carry thee back straightway. Nay, I will not lift the weapon against thee."

"Tut, tut," said Robin, "don’t talk like that, Friar; the one who loses always has the right to speak as they wish. Give me my sword; I promise I'll bring you back right away. No, I won’t raise the weapon against you."

"Marry, come up," quoth the Friar, "I fear thee not, fellow. Here is thy skewer; and get thyself presently ready, for I would hasten back."

"Come on up," said the Friar, "I'm not afraid of you, buddy. Here is your skewer; and get yourself ready right away, because I want to hurry back."

So Robin took his sword again and buckled it at his side; then he bent his stout back and took the Friar upon it.

So Robin grabbed his sword again and strapped it to his side; then he bent down and gave the Friar a ride on his back.

Now I wot Robin Hood had a heavier load to carry in the Friar than the Friar had in him. Moreover he did not know the ford, so he went stumbling among the stones, now stepping into a deep hole, and now nearly tripping over a boulder, while the sweat ran down his face in beads from the hardness of his journey and the heaviness of his load. Meantime, the Friar kept digging his heels into Robin's sides and bidding him hasten, calling him many ill names the while. To all this Robin answered never a word, but, having softly felt around till he found the buckle of the belt that held the Friar's sword, he worked slyly at the fastenings, seeking to loosen them. Thus it came about that, by the time he had reached the other bank with his load, the Friar's sword belt was loose albeit he knew it not; so when Robin stood on dry land and the Friar leaped from his back, the yeoman gripped hold of the sword so that blade, sheath, and strap came away from the holy man, leaving him without a weapon.

Now I realize that Robin Hood had a tougher burden to bear with the Friar than the Friar had with him. Plus, he didn't know the way across, so he stumbled over the rocks, stepping into deep holes and almost tripping over boulders, while sweat poured down his face from the difficulty of his journey and the heaviness of his load. Meanwhile, the Friar kept digging his heels into Robin's sides, urging him to hurry and calling him all sorts of names. To all of this, Robin said nothing, but he quietly felt around until he found the buckle of the belt that held the Friar's sword, and he quietly worked at the fastenings to loosen them. By the time he reached the other side with his load, the Friar's sword belt was loose, though he didn’t realize it; so when Robin stood on dry land and the Friar jumped off his back, the yeoman grabbed the sword, which along with the sheath and strap came away from the holy man, leaving him unarmed.

"Now then," quoth merry Robin, panting as he spake and wiping the sweat from his brow, "I have thee, fellow. This time that same saint of whom thou didst speak but now hath delivered two swords into my hand and hath stripped thine away from thee. Now if thou dost not carry me back, and that speedily, I swear I will prick thy skin till it is as full of holes as a slashed doublet."

"Alright then," said cheerful Robin, panting as he spoke and wiping the sweat from his forehead, "I've got you now, buddy. This time that same saint you just mentioned has given me two swords and taken yours away. Now, if you don’t take me back quickly, I swear I’ll poke you until your skin is as full of holes as a ripped-up doublet."

The good Friar said not a word for a while, but he looked at Robin with a grim look. "Now," said he at last, "I did think that thy wits were of the heavy sort and knew not that thou wert so cunning. Truly, thou hast me upon the hip. Give me my sword, and I promise not to draw it against thee save in self-defense; also, I promise to do thy bidding and take thee upon my back and carry thee."

The good Friar stayed silent for a moment, looking at Robin with a serious expression. "Well," he finally said, "I thought you were a bit slow, but I see now you're quite clever. You've really got me in a tough spot. Give me my sword, and I promise I won't use it against you unless it's in self-defense; I'll also do what you ask and carry you on my back."

So jolly Robin gave him his sword again, which the Friar buckled to his side, and this time looked to it that it was more secure in its fastenings; then tucking up his robes once more, he took Robin Hood upon his back and without a word stepped into the water, and so waded on in silence while Robin sat laughing upon his back. At last he reached the middle of the ford where the water was deepest. Here he stopped for a moment, and then, with a sudden lift of his hand and heave of his shoulders, fairly shot Robin over his head as though he were a sack of grain.

So happy Robin gave him his sword again, which the Friar strapped to his side, and this time he made sure it was secured properly. Then, lifting up his robes once more, he picked up Robin Hood and, without saying anything, stepped into the water, quietly wading along as Robin laughed on his back. Finally, he reached the middle of the ford where the water was deepest. Here he paused for a moment, and then, with a quick lift of his hand and a heave of his shoulders, launched Robin over his head as if he were a sack of grain.

Down went Robin into the water with a mighty splash. "There," quoth the holy man, calmly turning back again to the shore, "let that cool thy hot spirit, if it may."

Down went Robin into the water with a big splash. "There," said the holy man, calmly turning back to the shore, "let that cool your hot spirit, if it can."

Meantime, after much splashing, Robin had gotten to his feet and stood gazing about him all bewildered, the water running from him in pretty little rills. At last he shot the water out of his ears and spat some out of his mouth, and, gathering his scattered wits together, saw the stout Friar standing on the bank and laughing. Then, I wot, was Robin Hood a mad man. "Stay, thou villain!" roared he, "I am after thee straight, and if I do not carve thy brawn for thee this day, may I never lift finger again!" So saying, he dashed, splashing, to the bank.

In the meantime, after a lot of splashing, Robin managed to get to his feet and stood there, looking around in confusion, with water dripping off him in little streams. Finally, he blew the water out of his ears and spat some out of his mouth. Gathering his thoughts, he saw the hefty Friar standing on the bank, laughing. At that moment, Robin Hood was furious. "Hold on, you scoundrel!" he shouted, "I'm coming for you right now, and if I don't take you down today, may I never be able to lift a finger again!" Saying this, he ran, splashing, toward the bank.

"Thou needst not hasten thyself unduly," quoth the stout Friar. "Fear not; I will abide here, and if thou dost not cry 'Alack-a-day' ere long time is gone, may I never more peep through the brake at a fallow deer."

"You don't need to rush," said the sturdy Friar. "Don't worry; I’ll stay here, and if you don’t say 'Oh no' before too long, may I never again peek through the bushes at a deer."

And now Robin, having reached the bank, began, without more ado, to roll up his sleeves above his wrists. The Friar, also, tucked his robes more about him, showing a great, stout arm on which the muscles stood out like humps of an aged tree. Then Robin saw, what he had not wotted of before, that the Friar had also a coat of chain mail beneath his gown.

And now Robin, having reached the riverbank, started rolling up his sleeves above his wrists without any delay. The Friar also adjusted his robes, revealing a strong, sturdy arm with well-defined muscles, resembling the bumps on an old tree. Then Robin noticed, something he hadn't realized before, that the Friar was also wearing a chain mail shirt beneath his gown.

"Look to thyself," cried Robin, drawing his good sword.

"Look out for yourself," shouted Robin, pulling out his good sword.

"Ay, marry," quoth the Friar, who held his already in his hand. So, without more ado, they came together, and thereupon began a fierce and mighty battle. Right and left, and up and down and back and forth they fought. The swords flashed in the sun and then met with a clash that sounded far and near. I wot this was no playful bout at quarterstaff, but a grim and serious fight of real earnest. Thus they strove for an hour or more, pausing every now and then to rest, at which times each looked at the other with wonder, and thought that never had he seen so stout a fellow; then once again they would go at it more fiercely than ever. Yet in all this time neither had harmed the other nor caused his blood to flow. At last merry Robin cried, "Hold thy hand, good friend!" whereupon both lowered their swords.

"Hey, sure," said the Friar, already holding his sword in hand. So, without further delay, they came together, and then a fierce and intense battle began. They fought right and left, up and down, back and forth. The swords flashed in the sunlight and clashed with a sound that echoed far and wide. I can tell this was no playful sparring match, but a serious and earnest fight. They struggled for an hour or more, taking breaks here and there, during which each looked at the other in amazement, thinking that he had never seen such a strong opponent; then they would jump back in with even more intensity. Yet throughout all this time, neither had injured the other nor caused any blood to spill. Finally, merry Robin called out, "Stop for a moment, good friend!" and both lowered their swords.

"Now I crave a boon ere we begin again," quoth Robin, wiping the sweat from his brow; for they had striven so long that he began to think that it would be an ill-done thing either to be smitten himself or to smite so stout and brave a fellow.

"Now I need a favor before we start again," said Robin, wiping the sweat from his brow; they had been at it for so long that he began to feel it would be wrong to either get hit himself or to hit such a strong and courageous guy.

"What wouldst thou have of me?" asked the Friar.

"What do you want from me?" asked the Friar.

"Only this," quoth Robin; "that thou wilt let me blow thrice upon my bugle horn."

"Just this," said Robin; "that you'll let me blow three times on my bugle horn."

The Friar bent his brows and looked shrewdly at Robin Hood. "Now I do verily think that thou hast some cunning trick in this," quoth he. "Ne'ertheless, I fear thee not, and will let thee have thy wish, providing thou wilt also let me blow thrice upon this little whistle."

The Friar frowned and looked keenly at Robin Hood. "I truly believe you have some clever trick up your sleeve," he said. "Still, I’m not afraid of you, and I’ll grant you your wish, as long as you let me blow on this little whistle three times."

"With all my heart," quoth Robin, "so, here goes for one." So saying, he raised his silver horn to his lips and blew thrice upon it, clear and high.

"With all my heart," said Robin, "so, here goes for one." Saying this, he lifted his silver horn to his lips and blew on it three times, loud and clear.

Meantime, the Friar stood watching keenly for what might come to pass, holding in his fingers the while a pretty silver whistle, such as knights use for calling their hawks back to their wrists, which whistle always hung at his girdle along with his rosary.

In the meantime, the Friar stood watching closely for what might happen, holding a nice silver whistle in his fingers, like the ones knights use to call their hawks back to their wrists. This whistle always hung at his waist, along with his rosary.

Scarcely had the echo of the last note of Robin's bugle come winding back from across the river, when four tall men in Lincoln green came running around the bend of the road, each with a bow in his hand and an arrow ready nocked upon the string.

As soon as the sound of the last note from Robin's bugle faded away across the river, four tall guys in Lincoln green came sprinting around the bend of the road, each holding a bow with an arrow already nocked on the string.

"Ha! Is it thus, thou traitor knave!" cried the Friar. "Then, marry, look to thyself!" So saying, he straightway clapped the hawk's whistle to his lips and blew a blast that was both loud and shrill. And now there came a crackling of the bushes that lined the other side of the road, and presently forth from the covert burst four great, shaggy hounds. "At 'em, Sweet Lips! At 'em, Bell Throat! At 'em, Beauty! At 'em, Fangs!" cried the Friar, pointing at Robin.

"Ha! Is that how it is, you treacherous fool!" yelled the Friar. "Well then, watch yourself!" With that, he immediately put the hawk's whistle to his lips and blew a loud, piercing blast. Suddenly, there was a rustling in the bushes on the other side of the road, and out sprang four large, shaggy dogs. "Go get them, Sweet Lips! Go get them, Bell Throat! Go get them, Beauty! Go get them, Fangs!" shouted the Friar, pointing at Robin.

And now it was well for that yeoman that a tree stood nigh him beside the road, else had he had an ill chance of it. Ere one could say "Gaffer Downthedale" the hounds were upon him, and he had only time to drop his sword and leap lightly into the tree, around which the hounds gathered, looking up at him as though he were a cat on the eaves. But the Friar quickly called off his dogs. "At 'em!" cried he, pointing down the road to where the yeomen were standing stock still with wonder of what they saw. As the hawk darts down upon its quarry, so sped the four dogs at the yeomen; but when the four men saw the hounds so coming, all with one accord, saving only Will Scarlet, drew each man his goose feather to his ear and let fly his shaft.

And now it was lucky for that farmer that a tree stood nearby beside the road, or he would have been in big trouble. Before anyone could say "Gaffer Downthedale," the hounds were after him, and he only had time to drop his sword and leap nimbly into the tree, around which the hounds gathered, looking up at him like he was a cat on the roof. But the Friar quickly called off his dogs. "Get them!" he shouted, pointing down the road to where the farmers stood frozen in shock at what they were seeing. Just like a hawk swoops down on its prey, the four dogs raced towards the farmers; but when the four men saw the hounds rushing at them, they all, except for Will Scarlet, pulled their goose feathers to their ears and let their arrows fly.

And now the old ballad telleth of a wondrous thing that happened, for thus it says, that each dog so shot at leaped lightly aside, and as the arrow passed him whistling, caught it in his mouth and bit it in twain. Now it would have been an ill day for these four good fellows had not Will Scarlet stepped before the others and met the hounds as they came rushing. "Why, how now, Fangs!" cried he sternly. "Down, Beauty! Down, sirrah! What means this?"

And now the old ballad tells of a marvelous thing that happened, for it says that each dog that was shot at jumped lightly aside, and as the arrow whistled past, caught it in its mouth and snapped it in two. It would have been a bad day for these four good friends if Will Scarlet hadn't stepped in front of the others and confronted the hounds as they came charging in. "Well, what’s going on, Fangs!" he shouted firmly. "Down, Beauty! Down, you rogue! What’s the meaning of this?"

At the sound of his voice each dog shrank back quickly and then straightway came to him and licked his hands and fawned upon him, as is the wont of dogs that meet one they know. Then the four yeomen came forward, the hounds leaping around Will Scarlet joyously. "Why, how now!" cried the stout Friar, "what means this? Art thou wizard to turn those wolves into lambs? Ha!" cried he, when they had come still nearer, "can I trust mine eyes? What means it that I see young Master William Gamwell in such company?"

At the sound of his voice, each dog quickly backed away before running up to him, licking his hands and fawning over him, just like dogs do when they see someone they recognize. Then the four bowmen stepped forward, the hounds jumping around Will Scarlet happily. "Well, what's this?" exclaimed the burly Friar, "Are you some kind of wizard who can turn those wolves into lambs? Ha!" he laughed when they got even closer, "Can I believe my eyes? What does it mean that I see young Master William Gamwell in such company?"

"Nay, Tuck," said the young man, as the four came forward to where Robin was now clambering down from the tree in which he had been roosting, he having seen that all danger was over for the time; "nay, Tuck, my name is no longer Will Gamwell, but Will Scarlet; and this is my good uncle, Robin Hood, with whom I am abiding just now."

"Nah, Tuck," said the young man as the four approached Robin, who was now climbing down from the tree where he had been perched, having seen that all danger had passed for the moment. "Nah, Tuck, my name is no longer Will Gamwell, but Will Scarlet; and this is my good uncle, Robin Hood, with whom I'm staying right now."

"Truly, good master," said the Friar, looking somewhat abashed and reaching out his great palm to Robin, "I ha' oft heard thy name both sung and spoken of, but I never thought to meet thee in battle. I crave thy forgiveness, and do wonder not that I found so stout a man against me."

"Honestly, good sir," said the Friar, looking a bit embarrassed and extending his large hand to Robin, "I've often heard your name both sung and talked about, but I never expected to meet you in a fight. I ask for your forgiveness, and I’m not surprised to find such a strong man standing against me."

"Truly, most holy father," said Little John, "I am more thankful than e'er I was in all my life before that our good friend Scarlet knew thee and thy dogs. I tell thee seriously that I felt my heart crumble away from me when I saw my shaft so miss its aim, and those great beasts of thine coming straight at me."

"Honestly, most holy father," said Little John, "I am more grateful than I have ever been in my life that our good friend Scarlet knows you and your dogs. I’m serious when I say my heart sank when I saw my arrow completely miss its target, and those big dogs of yours running straight at me."

"Thou mayst indeed be thankful, friend," said the Friar gravely. "But, Master Will, how cometh it that thou dost now abide in Sherwood?"

"You should definitely be thankful, my friend," the Friar said seriously. "But, Master Will, why are you now staying in Sherwood?"

"Why, Tuck, dost thou not know of my ill happening with my father's steward?" answered Scarlet.

"Why, Tuck, don't you know about the trouble I had with my father's steward?" answered Scarlet.

"Yea, truly, yet I knew not that thou wert in hiding because of it. Marry, the times are all awry when a gentleman must lie hidden for so small a thing."

"Yeah, really, I didn't know you were in hiding because of it. Honestly, times are messed up when a gentleman has to hide for such a minor issue."

"But we are losing time," quoth Robin, "and I have yet to find that same Curtal Friar."

"But we are running out of time," said Robin, "and I still haven't found that same Curtailed Friar."

"Why, uncle, thou hast not far to go," said Will Scarlet, pointing to the Friar, "for there he stands beside thee."

"Why, uncle, you don't have far to go," said Will Scarlet, pointing to the Friar, "because there he is standing right next to you."

"How?" quoth Robin, "art thou the man that I have been at such pains to seek all day, and have got such a ducking for?"

"How?" said Robin, "are you the person I’ve been trying so hard to find all day, and got soaking wet for?"

"Why, truly," said the Friar demurely, "some do call me the Curtal Friar of Fountain Dale; others again call me in jest the Abbot of Fountain Abbey; others still again call me simple Friar Tuck."

"Well, really," said the Friar modestly, "some people call me the Curtal Friar of Fountain Dale; others jokingly refer to me as the Abbot of Fountain Abbey; and still others call me plain Friar Tuck."

"I like the last name best," quoth Robin, "for it doth slip more glibly off the tongue. But why didst thou not tell me thou wert he I sought, instead of sending me searching for black moonbeams?"

"I like the last name best," Robin said, "because it rolls off the tongue more easily. But why didn't you tell me you were the one I was looking for instead of making me search for black moonbeams?"

"Why, truly, thou didst not ask me, good master," quoth stout Tuck; "but what didst thou desire of me?"

"Why, honestly, you didn't ask me, good master," said stout Tuck; "but what did you want from me?"

"Nay," quoth Robin, "the day groweth late, and we cannot stand longer talking here. Come back with us to Sherwood, and I will unfold all to thee as we travel along."

"No," said Robin, "the day is getting late, and we can't keep talking here. Come back with us to Sherwood, and I’ll tell you everything as we walk."

So, without tarrying longer, they all departed, with the stout dogs at their heels, and wended their way back to Sherwood again; but it was long past nightfall ere they reached the greenwood tree.

So, without wasting any more time, they all left, with the strong dogs following them, and made their way back to Sherwood; but it was well after dark by the time they got to the greenwood tree.

Now listen, for next I will tell how Robin Hood compassed the happiness of two young lovers, aided by the merry Friar Tuck of Fountain Dale.

Now listen, because next I'll share how Robin Hood helped two young lovers find happiness, with the help of the cheerful Friar Tuck from Fountain Dale.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood Compasses a Marriage

AND NOW had come the morning when fair Ellen was to be married, and on which merry Robin had sworn that Allan a Dale should, as it were, eat out of the platter that had been filled for Sir Stephen of Trent. Up rose Robin Hood, blithe and gay, up rose his merry men one and all, and up rose last of all stout Friar Tuck, winking the smart of sleep from out his eyes. Then, while the air seemed to brim over with the song of many birds, all blended together and all joying in the misty morn, each man raved face and hands in the leaping brook, and so the day began.

AND NOW the morning had arrived when fair Ellen was set to be married, and on this day, merry Robin had promised that Allan a Dale would, figuratively speaking, feast from the platter meant for Sir Stephen of Trent. Up rose Robin Hood, cheerful and lively, up rose his merry men one and all, and last of all, stout Friar Tuck got up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Then, as the air seemed to overflow with the songs of many birds, all singing together and celebrating the misty morning, each man washed his face and hands in the bubbling brook, and thus the day began.

"Now," quoth Robin, when they had broken their fast, and each man had eaten his fill, "it is time for us to set forth upon the undertaking that we have in hand for today. I will choose me one score of my good men to go with me, for I may need aid; and thou, Will Scarlet, wilt abide here and be the chief while I am gone." Then searching through all the band, each man of whom crowded forward eager to be chosen, Robin called such as he wished by name, until he had a score of stout fellows, the very flower of his yeomanrie. Besides Little John and Will Stutely were nigh all those famous lads of whom I have already told you. Then, while those so chosen ran leaping, full of joy, to arm themselves with bow and shaft and broadsword, Robin Hood stepped aside into the covert, and there donned a gay, beribboned coat such as might have been worn by some strolling minstrel, and slung a harp across his shoulder, the better to carry out that part.

"Alright," said Robin, after they had finished breakfast and everyone had eaten their fill, "it's time for us to get started on the task we have for today. I will pick twenty of my best men to join me, as I might need some help; and you, Will Scarlet, will stay here and lead while I’m gone." Then, looking over the group, each man stepped forward eager to be chosen. Robin called out the names of those he wanted until he had gathered a group of strong guys, the very best of his men. Besides Little John and Will Stutely, almost all the famous lads I’ve already told you about were there. As those selected eagerly ran to gear up with their bows, arrows, and broadswords, Robin Hood stepped into the bushes and put on a bright coat with ribbons, something a wandering minstrel might wear, and slung a harp over his shoulder to better play that part.

All the band stared and many laughed, for never had they seen their master in such a fantastic guise before.

All the band stared and many laughed, for they had never seen their master in such a fantastic outfit before.

"Truly," quoth Robin, holding up his arms and looking down at himself, "I do think it be somewhat of a gay, gaudy, grasshopper dress; but it is a pretty thing for all that, and doth not ill befit the turn of my looks, albeit I wear it but for the nonce. But stay, Little John, here are two bags that I would have thee carry in thy pouch for the sake of safekeeping. I can ill care for them myself beneath this motley."

"Honestly," said Robin, raising his arms and looking down at himself, "I really think this is quite a flashy, extravagant outfit; but it’s nice anyway, and it suits my appearance, even if I’m only wearing it for now. But wait, Little John, here are two bags that I’d like you to carry in your pouch for safekeeping. I can’t take care of them myself while I’m in this getup."

"Why, master," quoth Little John, taking the bags and weighing them in his hand, "here is the chink of gold."

"Why, master," said Little John, picking up the bags and feeling their weight, "here's the sound of gold."

"Well, what an there be," said Robin, "it is mine own coin and the band is none the worse for what is there. Come, busk ye, lads," and he turned quickly away. "Get ye ready straightway." Then gathering the score together in a close rank, in the midst of which were Allan a Dale and Friar Tuck, he led them forth upon their way from the forest shades.

"Well, what can I say," said Robin, "it's my own coin, and the group is none the worse for what's there. Come on, get ready, guys," and he turned quickly away. "Get ready right away." Then, gathering the group together in a close formation, in the middle of which were Allan a Dale and Friar Tuck, he led them out on their way from the forest shadows.

So they walked on for a long time till they had come out of Sherwood and to the vale of Rotherstream. Here were different sights from what one saw in the forest; hedgerows, broad fields of barley corn, pasture lands rolling upward till they met the sky and all dotted over with flocks of white sheep, hayfields whence came the odor of new-mown hay that lay in smooth swathes over which skimmed the swifts in rapid flight; such they saw, and different was it, I wot, from the tangled depths of the sweet woodlands, but full as fair. Thus Robin led his band, walking blithely with chest thrown out and head thrown back, snuffing the odors of the gentle breeze that came drifting from over the hayfields.

So they walked for a long time until they came out of Sherwood and into the valley of Rotherstream. Here, the scenery was different from what they saw in the forest; there were hedgerows, wide fields of barley, and rolling pastures that rose up to meet the sky, all dotted with flocks of white sheep. They caught the scent of freshly cut hay from the fields, lying in neat swathes where swift birds zipped by. It was quite different from the tangled depths of the sweet woodlands, but just as beautiful. Robin led his group, walking cheerfully with his chest out and head held high, enjoying the scents of the gentle breeze drifting over the hayfields.

"Truly," quoth he, "the dear world is as fair here as in the woodland shades. Who calls it a vale of tears? Methinks it is but the darkness in our minds that bringeth gloom to the world. For what sayeth that merry song thou singest, Little John? Is it not thus?

"Honestly," he said, "the world is just as beautiful here as in the wooded areas. Who calls it a valley of tears? I think it's just the darkness in our minds that brings gloom to the world. What does that cheerful song you’re singing, Little John, say? Isn't it like this?

    "
		For when my love's eyes do thine, do thine,
		   And when her lips smile so rare,
		The day it is jocund and fine, so fine,
		   Though let it be wet or be fair
		And when the stout ale is all flowing so fast,
		   Our sorrows and troubles are things of the past."

		For when my love's eyes meet yours, meet yours,
		   And when her lips smile so beautifully,
		The day is cheerful and bright, so bright,
		   Whether it’s rainy or sunny.
		And when the strong ale is flowing freely,
		   Our sorrows and troubles become history.

"Nay," said Friar Tuck piously, "ye do think of profane things and of nought else; yet, truly, there be better safeguards against care and woe than ale drinking and bright eyes, to wit, fasting and meditation. Look upon me, have I the likeness of a sorrowful man?"

"Nah," said Friar Tuck earnestly, "you only think about unholy things and nothing else; but really, there are better ways to protect yourself from worry and sadness than drinking ale and chasing pretty faces. Just take a look at me—do I look like a sad man?"

At this a great shout of laughter went up from all around, for the night before the stout Friar had emptied twice as many canakins of ale as any one of all the merry men.

At this, a loud laugh erupted from everyone around, because the night before, the hefty Friar had downed twice as many tankards of ale as any of the jolly men.

"Truly," quoth Robin, when he could speak for laughter, "I should say that thy sorrows were about equal to thy goodliness."

"Honestly," Robin said, once he could stop laughing, "I would say that your troubles match your charm."

So they stepped along, talking, singing, jesting, and laughing, until they had come to a certain little church that belonged to the great estates owned by the rich Priory of Emmet. Here it was that fair Ellen was to be married on that morn, and here was the spot toward which the yeomen had pointed their toes. On the other side of the road from where the church stood with waving fields of barley around, ran a stone wall along the roadside. Over the wall from the highway was a fringe of young trees and bushes, and here and there the wall itself was covered by a mass of blossoming woodbine that filled all the warm air far and near with its sweet summer odor. Then straightway the yeomen leaped over the wall, alighting on the tall soft grass upon the other side, frightening a flock of sheep that lay there in the shade so that they scampered away in all directions. Here was a sweet cool shadow both from the wall and from the fair young trees and bushes, and here sat the yeomen down, and glad enough they were to rest after their long tramp of the morning.

So they walked along, chatting, singing, joking, and laughing, until they reached a small church that was part of the vast estates owned by the wealthy Priory of Emmet. This was where fair Ellen was supposed to get married that morning, and this was the place the yeomen had pointed their toes toward. On the opposite side of the road from the church, surrounded by waving fields of barley, there was a stone wall alongside the roadside. Beyond the wall, a line of young trees and bushes grew, and here and there the wall itself was covered with a mass of blooming honeysuckle that filled the warm air all around with its sweet summer scent. Then, without hesitation, the yeomen jumped over the wall, landing on the soft tall grass on the other side, startling a flock of sheep that were resting in the shade, causing them to scatter in all directions. Here, there was a lovely cool shade from both the wall and the young trees and bushes, and the yeomen sat down, happy to rest after their long walk that morning.

"Now," quoth Robin, "I would have one of you watch and tell me when he sees anyone coming to the church, and the one I choose shall be young David of Doncaster. So get thee upon the wall, David, and hide beneath the woodbine so as to keep watch."

"Now," said Robin, "I want one of you to keep an eye out and let me know when you see anyone coming to the church, and the one I pick is young David of Doncaster. So climb up on the wall, David, and hide under the woodbine to keep watch."

Accordingly young David did as he was bidden, the others stretching themselves at length upon the grass, some talking together and others sleeping. Then all was quiet save only for the low voices of those that talked together, and for Allan's restless footsteps pacing up and down, for his soul was so full of disturbance that he could not stand still, and saving, also, for the mellow snoring of Friar Tuck, who enjoyed his sleep with a noise as of one sawing soft wood very slowly. Robin lay upon his back and gazed aloft into the leaves of the trees, his thought leagues away, and so a long time passed.

So young David did as he was told, while the others sprawled out on the grass, some chatting and others asleep. Then everything was quiet except for the soft voices of those who were talking and Allan's restless footsteps as he walked back and forth. He was so troubled that he couldn’t stay still, and there was also the mellow snoring of Friar Tuck, who was sleeping loudly, like someone sawing soft wood very slowly. Robin lay on his back, staring up into the leaves of the trees, his mind far away, and so a long time went by.

Then up spoke Robin, "Now tell us, young David of Doncaster, what dost thou see?"

Then Robin spoke up, "Now tell us, young David of Doncaster, what do you see?"

Then David answered, "I see the white clouds floating and I feel the wind a-blowing and three black crows are flying over the wold; but nought else do I see, good master."

Then David replied, "I see the white clouds floating and I feel the wind blowing, and three black crows are flying overhead; but I don’t see anything else, good master."

So silence fell again and another time passed, broken only as I have said, till Robin, growing impatient, spake again. "Now tell me, young David, what dost thou see by this?"

So silence fell again and more time passed, only interrupted as I mentioned, until Robin, getting impatient, spoke again. "Now tell me, young David, what do you see by this?"

And David answered, "I see the windmills swinging and three tall poplar trees swaying against the sky, and a flock of fieldfares are flying over the hill; but nought else do I see, good master."

And David replied, "I see the windmills turning and three tall poplar trees swaying against the sky, and a flock of fieldfares flying over the hill; but I don't see anything else, good master."

So another time passed, till at last Robin asked young David once more what he saw; and David said, "I hear the cuckoo singing, and I see how the wind makes waves in the barley field; and now over the hill to the church cometh an old friar, and in his hands he carries a great bunch of keys; and lo! Now he cometh to the church door."

So after some time, Robin asked young David again what he could see. David replied, "I hear the cuckoo singing, and I see how the wind creates waves in the barley field; and now over the hill toward the church comes an old friar carrying a big bunch of keys; and look! Now he’s at the church door."

Then up rose Robin Hood and shook Friar Tuck by the shoulder. "Come, rouse thee, holy man!" cried he; whereupon, with much grunting, the stout Tuck got to his feet. "Marry, bestir thyself," quoth Robin, "for yonder, in the church door, is one of thy cloth. Go thou and talk to him, and so get thyself into the church, that thou mayst be there when thou art wanted; meantime, Little John, Will Stutely, and I will follow thee anon."

Then Robin Hood got up and shook Friar Tuck by the shoulder. "Come on, wake up, holy man!" he said, and after a lot of grunting, the hefty Tuck stood up. "Come on, get moving," said Robin, "because over there, in the church doorway, is someone from your group. Go talk to him, and get yourself into the church so you'll be there when needed; meanwhile, Little John, Will Stutely, and I will follow you shortly."

So Friar Tuck clambered over the wall, crossed the road, and came to the church, where the old friar was still laboring with the great key, the lock being somewhat rusty and he somewhat old and feeble.

So Friar Tuck climbed over the wall, crossed the road, and arrived at the church, where the old friar was still struggling with the large key, the lock being a bit rusty and he a bit old and frail.

"Hilloa, brother," quoth Tuck, "let me aid thee." So saying, he took the key from the other's hand and quickly opened the door with a turn of it.

"Hilloa, brother," said Tuck, "let me help you." With that, he took the key from the other man's hand and quickly unlocked the door with a twist.

"Who art thou, good brother?" asked the old friar, in a high, wheezing voice. "Whence comest thou, and whither art thou going?" And he winked and blinked at stout Friar Tuck like an owl at the sun.

"Who are you, good brother?" asked the old friar, in a high, wheezing voice. "Where do you come from, and where are you going?" And he winked and blinked at stout Friar Tuck like an owl at the sun.

"Thus do I answer thy questions, brother," said the other. "My name is Tuck, and I go no farther than this spot, if thou wilt haply but let me stay while this same wedding is going forward. I come from Fountain Dale and, in truth, am a certain poor hermit, as one may say, for I live in a cell beside the fountain blessed by that holy Saint Ethelrada. But, if I understand aught, there is to be a gay wedding here today; so, if thou mindest not, I would fain rest me in the cool shade within, for I would like to see this fine sight."

"That's how I answer your questions, brother," said the other. "My name is Tuck, and I won't go any further than this spot if you’ll let me stay while the wedding is happening. I come from Fountain Dale and, honestly, I'm a bit of a poor hermit, you could say, because I live in a small cell next to the fountain blessed by that holy Saint Ethelrada. But if I understand correctly, there's a nice wedding happening here today; so, if you don't mind, I'd like to rest in the cool shade inside, as I want to see this lovely event."

"Truly, thou art welcome, brother," said the old man, leading the way within. Meantime, Robin Hood, in his guise of harper, together with Little John and Will Stutely, had come to the church. Robin sat him down on a bench beside the door, but Little John, carrying the two bags of gold, went within, as did Will Stutely.

"You're really welcome, brother," said the old man, leading the way inside. Meanwhile, Robin Hood, disguised as a harper, along with Little John and Will Stutely, had arrived at the church. Robin sat down on a bench by the door, but Little John, carrying the two bags of gold, went inside, as did Will Stutely.

So Robin sat by the door, looking up the road and down the road to see who might come, till, after a time, he saw six horsemen come riding sedately and slowly, as became them, for they were churchmen in high orders. Then, when they had come nearer, Robin saw who they were, and knew them. The first was the Bishop of Hereford, and a fine figure he cut, I wot. His vestments were of the richest silk, and around his neck was a fair chain of beaten gold. The cap that hid his tonsure was of black velvet, and around the edges of it were rows of jewels that flashed in the sunlight, each stone being set in gold. His hose were of flame-colored silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the long, pointed toes being turned up and fastened to his knees, and on either instep was embroidered a cross in gold thread. Beside the Bishop rode the Prior of Emmet upon a mincing palfrey. Rich were his clothes also, but not so gay as the stout Bishop's. Behind these were two of the higher brethren of Emmet, and behind these again two retainers belonging to the Bishop; for the Lord Bishop of Hereford strove to be as like the great barons as was in the power of one in holy orders.

So, Robin sat by the door, looking up and down the road to see who might come, until eventually, he spotted six horsemen riding slowly and calmly, as was fitting for churchmen of high rank. As they got closer, Robin recognized them. The first was the Bishop of Hereford, who made quite an impression. His robes were made of the finest silk, and around his neck was a beautiful gold chain. The cap covering his shaved head was made of black velvet, and around the edges were rows of jewels that sparkled in the sunlight, each stone set in gold. His tights were flame-colored silk, and his shoes were black velvet, with long, pointed toes turned up and fastened to his knees, and on each instep was a cross embroidered in gold thread. Next to the Bishop rode the Prior of Emmet on a finicky little horse. His clothes were also rich, but not as flashy as the robust Bishop's. Following them were two higher-ranking members of Emmet, and behind them were two attendants belonging to the Bishop; for the Lord Bishop of Hereford aimed to resemble the great barons as much as possible for someone in holy orders.

When Robin saw this train drawing near, with flash of jewels and silk and jingle of silver bells on the trappings of the nags, he looked sourly upon them. Quoth he to himself, "Yon Bishop is overgaudy for a holy man. I do wonder whether his patron, who, methinks, was Saint Thomas, was given to wearing golden chains about his neck, silk clothing upon his body, and pointed shoes upon his feet; the money for all of which, God wot, hath been wrung from the sweat of poor tenants. Bishop, Bishop, thy pride may have a fall ere thou wottest of it."

When Robin saw the train approaching, adorned with jewels and silk, and the sound of silver bells jingling from the horses' gear, he scowled at them. He said to himself, "That Bishop is way too flashy for a holy man. I wonder if his patron, who I think was Saint Thomas, used to wear gold chains around his neck, silk clothes on his body, and pointed shoes on his feet; all of which, God knows, has been taken from the sweat of poor tenants. Bishop, Bishop, your pride may come crashing down before you even realize it."

So the holy men came to the church; the Bishop and the Prior jesting and laughing between themselves about certain fair dames, their words more befitting the lips of laymen, methinks, than holy clerks. Then they dismounted, and the Bishop, looking around, presently caught sight of Robin standing in the doorway. "Hilloa, good fellow," quoth he in a jovial voice, "who art thou that struttest in such gay feathers?"

So the holy men arrived at the church; the Bishop and the Prior were joking and laughing together about some pretty ladies, their words seemed more suitable for regular guys than for holy clerics, I think. Then they got off their horses, and the Bishop, looking around, soon noticed Robin standing in the doorway. "Hey there, good fellow," he said in a cheerful voice, "who are you strutting around in such fancy feathers?"

"A harper am I from the north country," quoth Robin, "and I can touch the strings, I wot, as never another man in all merry England can do. Truly, good Lord Bishop, many a knight and burgher, clerk and layman, have danced to my music, willy-nilly, and most times greatly against their will; such is the magic of my harping. Now this day, my Lord Bishop, if I may play at this wedding, I do promise that I will cause the fair bride to love the man she marries with a love that shall last as long as that twain shall live together."

"I'm a harp player from the north," said Robin, "and I can play the strings, I swear, better than any man in all of merry England. Truly, good Lord Bishop, many a knight and townsman, scholar and common folk, have danced to my music, whether they wanted to or not, and most times, it was against their will; such is the magic of my playing. Now today, my Lord Bishop, if I may perform at this wedding, I promise that I will make the lovely bride love the man she marries with a love that will last as long as they both shall live together."

"Ha! is it so?" cried the Bishop. "Meanest thou this in sooth?" And he looked keenly at Robin, who gazed boldly back again into his eyes. "Now, if thou wilt cause this maiden (who hath verily bewitched my poor cousin Stephen) thus to love the man she is to marry, as thou sayst thou canst, I will give thee whatsoever thou wilt ask me in due measure. Let me have a taste of thy skill, fellow."

"Ha! Is that true?" cried the Bishop. "Do you really mean that?" And he looked sharply at Robin, who boldly met his gaze. "Now, if you can make this maiden (who has truly enchanted my poor cousin Stephen) love the man she is supposed to marry, as you say you can, I will give you whatever you ask for. Let me see a bit of your skill, friend."

"Nay," quoth Robin, "my music cometh not without I choose, even at a lord bishop's bidding. In sooth, I will not play until the bride and bridegroom come."

"No," said Robin, "I won't play my music unless I decide to, even if a lord bishop asks me to. Honestly, I won't play until the bride and groom arrive."

"Now, thou art a saucy varlet to speak so to my crest," quoth the Bishop, frowning on Robin. "Yet, I must needs bear with thee. Look, Prior, hither cometh our cousin Sir Stephen, and his ladylove."

"Now, you’re quite the cheeky guy to talk to me like that," said the Bishop, frowning at Robin. "But I have to put up with you. Look, Prior, here comes our cousin Sir Stephen, along with his lady."

And now, around the bend of the highroad, came others, riding upon horses. The first of all was a tall, thin man, of knightly bearing, dressed all in black silk, with a black velvet cap upon his head, turned up with scarlet. Robin looked, and had no doubt that this was Sir Stephen, both because of his knightly carriage and of his gray hairs. Beside him rode a stout Saxon franklin, Ellen's father, Edward of Deirwold; behind those two came a litter borne by two horses, and therein was a maiden whom Robin knew must be Ellen. Behind this litter rode six men-at-arms, the sunlight flashing on their steel caps as they came jingling up the dusty road.

And now, around the curve of the main road, others appeared, riding on horseback. The first was a tall, lean man with a noble presence, dressed entirely in black silk, wearing a black velvet cap turned up with red. Robin looked and had no doubt this was Sir Stephen, both because of his noble demeanor and his gray hair. Next to him rode a sturdy Saxon landowner, Ellen's father, Edward of Deirwold; behind these two was a litter carried by two horses, and inside was a young woman whom Robin recognized as Ellen. Following this litter were six soldiers, their steel helmets shining in the sunlight as they jingled up the dusty road.

So these also came to the church, and there Sir Stephen leaped from his horse and, coming to the litter, handed fair Ellen out therefrom. Then Robin Hood looked at her, and could wonder no longer how it came about that so proud a knight as Sir Stephen of Trent wished to marry a common franklin's daughter; nor did he wonder that no ado was made about the matter, for she was the fairest maiden that ever he had beheld. Now, however, she was all pale and drooping, like a fair white lily snapped at the stem; and so, with bent head and sorrowful look, she went within the church, Sir Stephen leading her by the hand.

So they also arrived at the church, and there Sir Stephen jumped off his horse and helped fair Ellen out of the litter. Then Robin Hood looked at her and could no longer wonder why a proud knight like Sir Stephen of Trent wanted to marry the daughter of a common franklin; he also understood why there was no fuss about it, since she was the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen. However, now she looked all pale and drooping, like a lovely white lily broken at the stem; with her head bent and a sad expression, she walked into the church, with Sir Stephen holding her hand.

"Why dost thou not play, fellow?" quoth the Bishop, looking sternly at Robin.

"Why don’t you play, friend?" said the Bishop, looking sternly at Robin.

"Marry," said Robin calmly, "I will play in greater wise than Your Lordship thinks, but not till the right time hath come."

"Marry," Robin said calmly, "I'll play it smarter than you think I will, but not until the right time comes."

Said the Bishop to himself, while he looked grimly at Robin, "When this wedding is gone by I will have this fellow well whipped for his saucy tongue and bold speech."

Said the Bishop to himself, while he looked grimly at Robin, "Once this wedding is over, I’m going to have this guy thoroughly whipped for his disrespectful words and bold attitude."

And now fair Ellen and Sir Stephen stood before the altar, and the Bishop himself came in his robes and opened his book, whereat fair Ellen looked up and about her in bitter despair, like the fawn that finds the hounds on her haunch. Then, in all his fluttering tags and ribbons of red and yellow, Robin Hood strode forward. Three steps he took from the pillar whereby he leaned, and stood between the bride and bridegroom.

And now beautiful Ellen and Sir Stephen stood before the altar, and the Bishop himself arrived in his robes and opened his book. At that moment, beautiful Ellen looked up and around her in deep despair, like a fawn that discovers the hounds on her trail. Then, in all his fluttering red and yellow ribbons, Robin Hood stepped forward. He took three steps from the pillar where he had been leaning and stood between the bride and groom.

"Let me look upon this lass," he said in a loud voice. "Why, how now! What have we here? Here be lilies in the cheeks, and not roses such as befit a bonny bride. This is no fit wedding. Thou, Sir Knight, so old, and she so young, and thou thinkest to make her thy wife? I tell thee it may not be, for thou art not her own true love."

"Let me see this girl," he said loudly. "Well, well! What do we have here? She has lilies on her cheeks, not the roses that suit a beautiful bride. This is not a proper wedding. You, Sir Knight, so old, and she so young, and you think you can make her your wife? I'm telling you, it can't happen because you're not her true love."

At this all stood amazed, and knew not where to look nor what to think or say, for they were all bewildered with the happening; so, while everyone looked at Robin as though they had been changed to stone, he clapped his bugle horn to his lips and blew three blasts so loud and clear, they echoed from floor to rafter as though they were sounded by the trump of doom. Then straightway Little John and Will Stutely came leaping and stood upon either side of Robin Hood, and quickly drew their broadswords, the while a mighty voice rolled over the heads of all, "Here be I, good master, when thou wantest me"; for it was Friar Tuck that so called from the organ loft.

At this, everyone was amazed, not knowing where to look or what to think or say, because they were all confused by what had just happened. While everyone stared at Robin as if they had turned to stone, he raised his bugle to his lips and blew three blasts so loud and clear that they echoed from the floor to the rafters, as if they were sounded by the trump of doom. Immediately, Little John and Will Stutely came jumping in and stood on either side of Robin Hood, quickly drawing their broadswords, while a powerful voice boomed over everyone's heads, "Here I am, good master, whenever you need me"; it was Friar Tuck calling from the organ loft.

And now all was hubbub and noise. Stout Edward strode forward raging, and would have seized his daughter to drag her away, but Little John stepped between and thrust him back. "Stand back, old man," said he, "thou art a hobbled horse this day."

And now everything was chaos and noise. Stout Edward marched forward angrily and tried to grab his daughter to pull her away, but Little John stepped in and pushed him back. "Back off, old man," he said, "you're a crippled horse today."

"Down with the villains!" cried Sir Stephen, and felt for his sword, but it hung not beside him on his wedding day.

"Down with the villains!" shouted Sir Stephen, reaching for his sword, but it wasn't by his side on his wedding day.

Then the men-at-arms drew their swords, and it seemed like that blood would wet the stones; but suddenly came a bustle at the door and loud voices, steel flashed in the light, and the crash of blows sounded. The men-at-arms fell back, and up the aisle came leaping eighteen stout yeomen all clad in Lincoln green, with Allan a Dale at their head. In his hand he bore Robin Hood's good stout trusty bow of yew, and this he gave to him, kneeling the while upon one knee.

Then the soldiers drew their swords, and it looked like blood would stain the stones; but suddenly there was a commotion at the door and loud voices, steel glimmered in the light, and the sound of clashing blows filled the air. The soldiers fell back, and down the aisle charged eighteen strong yeomen, all dressed in Lincoln green, with Allan a Dale leading them. In his hand, he held Robin Hood's reliable, sturdy yew bow, which he presented to him while kneeling on one knee.

Then up spake Edward of Deirwold in a deep voice of anger, "Is it thou, Allan a Dale, that hath bred all this coil in a church?"

Then Edward of Deirwold spoke up in an angry deep voice, "Is it you, Allan a Dale, who has caused all this commotion in a church?"

"Nay," quoth merry Robin, "that have I done, and I care not who knoweth it, for my name is Robin Hood."

"Nah," said cheerful Robin, "I've done that, and I don't care who knows it, because my name is Robin Hood."

At this name a sudden silence fell. The Prior of Emmet and those that belonged to him gathered together like a flock of frightened sheep when the scent of the wolf is nigh, while the Bishop of Hereford, laying aside his book, crossed himself devoutly. "Now Heaven keep us this day," said he, "from that evil man!"

At the sound of that name, a sudden silence fell. The Prior of Emmet and his followers huddled together like a flock of scared sheep sensing the wolf nearby, while the Bishop of Hereford, putting down his book, crossed himself reverently. "May Heaven protect us today," he said, "from that wicked man!"

"Nay," quoth Robin, "I mean you no harm; but here is fair Ellen's betrothed husband, and she shall marry him or pain will be bred to some of you."

"Nah," said Robin, "I don't mean any harm; but here's fair Ellen's fiancé, and she will marry him or some of you are going to be in trouble."

Then up spake stout Edward in a loud and angry voice, "Now I say nay! I am her father, and she shall marry Sir Stephen and none other."

Then stout Edward spoke up in a loud and angry voice, "Now I say no! I am her father, and she will marry Sir Stephen and no one else."

Now all this time, while everything was in turmoil about him, Sir Stephen had been standing in proud and scornful silence. "Nay, fellow," said he coldly, "thou mayst take thy daughter back again; I would not marry her after this day's doings could I gain all merry England thereby. I tell thee plainly, I loved thy daughter, old as I am, and would have taken her up like a jewel from the sty, yet, truly, I knew not that she did love this fellow, and was beloved by him. Maiden, if thou dost rather choose a beggarly minstrel than a high-born knight, take thy choice. I do feel it shame that I should thus stand talking amid this herd, and so I will leave you." Thus saying, he turned and, gathering his men about him, walked proudly down the aisle. Then all the yeomen were silenced by the scorn of his words. Only Friar Tuck leaned over the edge of the choir loft and called out to him ere he had gone, "Good den, Sir Knight. Thou wottest old bones must alway make room for young blood." Sir Stephen neither answered nor looked up, but passed out from the church as though he had heard nought, his men following him.

Now all this time, while everything around him was chaotic, Sir Stephen had been standing in proud and scornful silence. "No, my friend," he said coldly, "you can take your daughter back; I wouldn't marry her after what happened today, even if I could gain all of merry England. I’ll be honest with you, I loved your daughter, old as I am, and would have picked her up like a jewel from the mud, but honestly, I didn’t know she loved this guy and that he loved her. Young lady, if you would rather choose a poor minstrel over a noble knight, go ahead, make your choice. I find it shameful to be talking like this among this crowd, so I will take my leave." With that, he turned, gathered his men around him, and walked down the aisle with pride. The yeomen fell silent, struck by the scorn in his words. Only Friar Tuck leaned over the choir loft and called out to him before he left, "Good day, Sir Knight. You know old bones must always make way for young blood." Sir Stephen neither answered nor looked up but walked out of the church as if he hadn’t heard anything, his men following him.

Then the Bishop of Hereford spoke hastily, "I, too, have no business here, and so will depart." And he made as though he would go. But Robin Hood laid hold of his clothes and held him. "Stay, my Lord Bishop," said he, "I have yet somewhat to say to thee." The Bishop's face fell, but he stayed as Robin bade him, for he saw he could not go.

Then the Bishop of Hereford quickly said, "I also have no reason to be here, so I will leave." And he pretended to walk away. But Robin Hood grabbed his clothes and stopped him. "Wait, my Lord Bishop," he said, "I still have something to say to you." The Bishop looked troubled, but he stayed as Robin asked him to, knowing he couldn't leave.

Then Robin Hood turned to stout Edward of Deirwold, and said he, "Give thy blessing on thy daughter's marriage to this yeoman, and all will be well. Little John, give me the bags of gold. Look, farmer. Here are two hundred bright golden angels; give thy blessing, as I say, and I will count them out to thee as thy daughter's dower. Give not thy blessing, and she shall be married all the same, but not so much as a cracked farthing shall cross thy palm. Choose."

Then Robin Hood turned to the strong Edward of Deirwold and said, "Give your blessing on your daughter's marriage to this yeoman, and everything will be fine. Little John, hand me the bags of gold. Look, farmer. Here are two hundred shiny golden angels; give your blessing, as I said, and I will count them out to you as your daughter's dowry. If you don’t give your blessing, she'll still get married, but not a single penny will come your way. Choose."

Then Edward looked upon the ground with bent brows, turning the matter over and over in his mind; but he was a shrewd man and one, withal, that made the best use of a cracked pipkin; so at last he looked up and said, but in no joyous tone, "If the wench will go her own gait, let her go. I had thought to make a lady of her; yet if she chooses to be what she is like to be, I have nought to do with her henceforth. Ne'ertheless I will give her my blessing when she is duly wedded."

Then Edward stared at the ground with furrowed brows, weighing the situation in his mind; but he was a clever man and adept at making the most of a bad situation. Finally, he looked up and said, though not happily, "If the girl wants to do things her way, let her do it. I had hoped to elevate her status, but if she prefers to remain as she is, that's her choice, and I have nothing more to do with her from now on. However, I will still give her my blessing when she gets married."

"It may not be," spake up one of those of Emmet. "The banns have not been duly published, neither is there any priest here to marry them."

"It might not be," one of Emmet's group said. "The announcements haven't been properly made, and there's no priest here to marry them."

"How sayst thou?" roared Tuck from the choir loft. "No priest? Marry, here stands as holy a man as thou art, any day of the week, a clerk in orders, I would have thee know. As for the question of banns, stumble not over that straw, brother, for I will publish them." So saying, he called the banns; and, says the old ballad, lest three times should not be enough, he published them nine times o'er. Then straightway he came down from the loft and forthwith performed the marriage service; and so Allan and Ellen were duly wedded.

"How do you say that?" Tuck shouted from the choir loft. "No priest? Well, here stands a man as holy as you are, any day of the week, a clerk in orders, just so you know. As for the question of banns, don’t trip over that little detail, brother, because I will announce them." With that, he called the banns; and, according to the old ballad, to make sure three times wasn't too few, he announced them nine times instead. Then he came down from the loft and immediately performed the marriage service; and so Allan and Ellen were officially married.

And now Robin counted out two hundred golden angels to Edward of Deirwold, and he, upon his part, gave his blessing, yet not, I wot, as though he meant it with overmuch good will. Then the stout yeomen crowded around and grasped Allan's palm, and he, holding Ellen's hand within his own, looked about him all dizzy with his happiness.

And now Robin counted out two hundred gold coins to Edward of Deirwold, and he, for his part, gave his blessing, though it didn’t seem like he meant it with too much enthusiasm. Then the strong yeomen gathered around and shook Allan's hand, and he, holding Ellen's hand in his own, looked around him feeling dizzy with happiness.

Then at last jolly Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford, who had been looking on at all that passed with a grim look. "My Lord Bishop," quoth he, "thou mayst bring to thy mind that thou didst promise me that did I play in such wise as to cause this fair lass to love her husband, thou wouldst give me whatsoever I asked in reason. I have played my play, and she loveth her husband, which she would not have done but for me; so now fulfill thy promise. Thou hast upon thee that which, methinks, thou wouldst be the better without; therefore, I prythee, give me that golden chain that hangeth about thy neck as a wedding present for this fair bride."

Then at last, cheerful Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford, who had been watching everything with a stern expression. "My Lord Bishop," he said, "you might remember that you promised me that if I managed to make this lovely lady love her husband, you would give me whatever I asked for, as long as it was reasonable. I have done my part, and she loves her husband, which wouldn’t have happened without me; so now, keep your promise. You have something on you that I think you’d be better off without; so, I kindly ask you to give me that golden chain hanging around your neck as a wedding gift for this beautiful bride."

Then the Bishop's cheeks grew red with rage and his eyes flashed. He looked at Robin with a fell look, but saw that in the yeoman's face which bade him pause. Then slowly he took the chain from about his neck and handed it to Robin, who flung it over Ellen's head so that it hung glittering about her shoulders. Then said merry Robin, "I thank thee, on the bride's part, for thy handsome gift, and truly thou thyself art more seemly without it. Now, shouldst thou ever come nigh to Sherwood I much hope that I shall give thee there such a feast as thou hast ne'er had in all thy life before."

Then the Bishop's cheeks turned red with anger, and his eyes sparked. He looked at Robin with a threatening glare but saw something in the yeoman's face that made him hesitate. Slowly, he took the chain off his neck and handed it to Robin, who draped it over Ellen's head so it sparkled around her shoulders. Then merry Robin said, "On behalf of the bride, I thank you for this lovely gift, and honestly, you look better without it. If you ever come close to Sherwood, I really hope to host a feast for you like you've never experienced in your life."

"May Heaven forfend!" cried the Bishop earnestly; for he knew right well what manner of feast it was that Robin Hood gave his guests in Sherwood Forest.

"May Heaven forbid!" cried the Bishop earnestly; for he knew very well what kind of feast Robin Hood provided for his guests in Sherwood Forest.

But now Robin Hood gathered his men together, and, with Allan and his young bride in their midst, they all turned their footsteps toward the woodlands. On the way thither Friar Tuck came close to Robin and plucked him by the sleeve. "Thou dost lead a merry life, good master," quoth he, "but dost thou not think that it would be for the welfare of all your souls to have a good stout chaplain, such as I, to oversee holy matters? Truly, I do love this life mightily." At this merry Robin Hood laughed amain, and bade him stay and become one of their band if he wished.

But now Robin Hood gathered his men together, and with Allan and his young bride in the middle, they all headed toward the woods. On the way, Friar Tuck came up to Robin and tugged at his sleeve. "You sure live a carefree life, good master," he said, "but don't you think it would be good for all your souls to have a solid chaplain, like me, to handle the holy stuff? Honestly, I really enjoy this life." At this, cheerful Robin Hood laughed heartily and told him to stick around and join their group if he wanted.

That night there was such a feast held in the greenwood as Nottinghamshire never saw before. To that feast you and I were not bidden, and pity it is that we were not; so, lest we should both feel the matter the more keenly, I will say no more about it.

That night there was a feast in the woods like Nottinghamshire had never seen before. You and I weren't invited, and it's a shame we weren't; so, to avoid making us feel worse about it, I won't say anything more.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood Aids a Sorrowful Knight

SO PASSED the gentle springtime away in budding beauty; its silver showers and sunshine, its green meadows and its flowers. So, likewise, passed the summer with its yellow sunlight, its quivering heat and deep, bosky foliage, its long twilights and its mellow nights, through which the frogs croaked and fairy folk were said to be out on the hillsides. All this had passed and the time of fall had come, bringing with it its own pleasures and joyousness; for now, when the harvest was gathered home, merry bands of gleaners roamed the country about, singing along the roads in the daytime, and sleeping beneath the hedgerows and the hay-ricks at night. Now the hips burned red in the tangled thickets and the hews waxed black in the hedgerows, the stubble lay all crisp and naked to the sky, and the green leaves were fast turning russet and brown. Also, at this merry season, good things of the year are gathered in in great store. Brown ale lies ripening in the cellar, hams and bacon hang in the smoke-shed, and crabs are stowed away in the straw for roasting in the wintertime, when the north wind piles the snow in drifts around the gables and the fire crackles warm upon the hearth.

So the gentle spring passed by in budding beauty; its silver showers and sunshine, its green meadows and flowers. Then summer also passed with its golden sunlight, its sweltering heat, and thick, leafy trees, its long twilights and warm nights where frogs croaked and mystical beings were said to roam the hillsides. All this had gone by, and autumn arrived, bringing its own joys and delights; for now, as the harvest was collected, cheerful groups of gleaners wandered through the countryside, singing along the roads during the day and sleeping under the hedgerows and haystacks at night. Now the rose hips glowed red in the tangled thickets and the berries turned dark in the hedgerows, the stubble lay all crisp and bare under the sky, and the green leaves were quickly turning russet and brown. Also, during this joyful season, the good things of the year are gathered up in abundance. Brown ale ages in the cellar, hams and bacon hang in the smokehouse, and crabs are tucked away in the straw to roast in the winter when the north wind piles the snow in drifts around the eaves and the fire crackles warmly on the hearth.

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

So the seasons went by then, just like they do now, and they will continue to go by in the future, while we come and go like leaves from a tree that fall and are quickly forgotten.

Quoth Robin Hood, snuffing the air, "Here is a fair day, Little John, and one that we can ill waste in idleness. Choose such men as thou dost need, and go thou east while I will wend to the west, and see that each of us bringeth back some goodly guest to dine this day beneath the greenwood tree."

"Robin Hood said, taking a deep breath, 'It's a nice day, Little John, and we can't waste it sitting around. Pick the men you need, and you head east while I go west. Let’s make sure we both bring back a good guest to eat with us today under the green tree.'"

"Marry," cried Little John, clapping his palms together for joy, "thy bidding fitteth my liking like heft to blade. I'll bring thee back a guest this day, or come not back mine own self."

"Come on," shouted Little John, clapping his hands together in excitement, "your request suits me perfectly, like a hilt to a sword. I'll bring you back a guest today, or I won't return myself."

Then they each chose such of the band as they wished, and so went forth by different paths from the forest.

Then they each picked the members of the group they wanted and set off on different paths out of the forest.

Now, you and I cannot go two ways at the same time while we join in these merry doings; so we will e'en let Little John follow his own path while we tuck up our skirts and trudge after Robin Hood. And here is good company, too; Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, Will Scathelock, Midge, the Miller's son, and others. A score or more of stout fellows had abided in the forest, with Friar Tuck, to make ready for the homecoming, but all the rest were gone either with Robin Hood or Little John.

Now, you and I can't go in two different directions at the same time while we're enjoying these fun activities; so let's allow Little John to follow his own path while we roll up our sleeves and head after Robin Hood. And we have great company, too: Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, Will Scathelock, Midge, the miller's son, and others. A score or more of strong men had stayed in the forest with Friar Tuck to prepare for the return, but everyone else had either gone with Robin Hood or Little John.

They traveled onward, Robin following his fancy and the others following Robin. Now they wended their way through an open dale with cottage and farm lying therein, and now again they entered woodlands once more. Passing by fair Mansfield Town, with its towers and battlements and spires all smiling in the sun, they came at last out of the forest lands. Onward they journeyed, through highway and byway, through villages where goodwives and merry lasses peeped through the casements at the fine show of young men, until at last they came over beyond Alverton in Derbyshire. By this time high noontide had come, yet they had met no guest such as was worth their while to take back to Sherwood; so, coming at last to a certain spot where a shrine stood at the crossing of two roads, Robin called upon them to stop, for here on either side was shelter of high hedgerows, behind which was good hiding, whence they could watch the roads at their ease, while they ate their midday meal. Quoth merry Robin, "Here, methinks, is good lodging, where peaceful folk, such as we be, can eat in quietness; therefore we will rest here, and see what may, perchance, fall into our luck-pot." So they crossed a stile and came behind a hedgerow where the mellow sunlight was bright and warm, and where the grass was soft, and there sat them down. Then each man drew from the pouch that hung beside him that which he had brought to eat, for a merry walk such as this had been sharpens the appetite till it is as keen as a March wind. So no more words were spoken, but each man saved his teeth for better use—munching at brown crust and cold meat right lustily.

They traveled on, Robin doing what he pleased and the others following him. They made their way through an open valley with cottages and farms, then entered the woods again. Passing the beautiful Mansfield Town, with its towers, battlements, and spires all shining in the sun, they finally came out of the forests. They continued their journey along highways and back roads, through villages where good women and cheerful young ladies peeked out their windows at the sight of the young men, until they eventually crossed over beyond Alverton in Derbyshire. By this time, it was high noon, yet they had not encountered any guests worth bringing back to Sherwood. So, coming to a spot where a shrine stood at the intersection of two roads, Robin called for them to stop because there was shelter from the tall hedgerows on either side, offering good hiding where they could watch the roads comfortably while they had their lunch. Merry Robin said, "Here seems to be a nice place where peaceful folks like us can eat in peace; so let's rest here and see what luck brings us." They climbed over a stile and settled behind a hedgerow where the warm sunlight shone brightly, and the grass was soft. Each man then pulled from his pouch what he had brought to eat because a cheerful walk like this sharpens the appetite till it’s as strong as a March wind. No more words were exchanged, as each man saved his energy for better use—digging into their brown bread and cold meat with gusto.

In front of them, one of the highroads crawled up the steep hill and then dipped suddenly over its crest, sharp-cut with hedgerow and shaggy grass against the sky. Over the top of the windy hill peeped the eaves of a few houses of the village that fell back into the valley behind; there, also, showed the top of a windmill, the sails slowly rising and dipping from behind the hill against the clear blue sky, as the light wind moved them with creaking and labored swing.

In front of them, one of the main roads snaked up the steep hill and then abruptly dropped over the edge, sharply outlined with hedgerows and shaggy grass against the sky. The eaves of a few houses from the village peeked over the top of the windy hill, looking down into the valley behind; there, the top of a windmill was also visible, its sails slowly rising and falling against the clear blue sky as the light wind moved them with a creaking, labored motion.

So the yeomen lay behind the hedge and finished their midday meal; but still the time slipped along and no one came. At last, a man came slowly riding over the hill and down the stony road toward the spot where Robin and his band lay hidden. He was a good stout knight, but sorrowful of face and downcast of mien. His clothes were plain and rich, but no chain of gold, such as folk of his stand in life wore at most times, hung around his neck, and no jewel was about him; yet no one could mistake him for aught but one of proud and noble blood. His head was bowed upon his breast and his hands drooped limp on either side; and so he came slowly riding, as though sunk in sad thoughts, while even his good horse, the reins loose upon his neck, walked with hanging head, as though he shared his master's grief.

So the yeomen stayed behind the hedge and finished their lunch; but time kept passing and no one showed up. Finally, a man rode slowly over the hill and down the rocky road toward the spot where Robin and his group were hiding. He was a sturdy knight, but had a sorrowful expression and a downcast demeanor. His clothes were simple yet elegant, but he wore no gold chain around his neck, as most men of his status typically did, and he had no jewels on him; yet no one could mistake him for anything other than someone of proud and noble heritage. His head was bowed, and his hands hung limply at his sides; he rode slowly, as if lost in sad thoughts, while even his good horse, with the reins hanging loose around its neck, walked with its head down, as if it shared its master's sorrow.

Quoth Robin Hood, "Yon is verily a sorry-looking gallant, and doth seem to have donned ill-content with his jerkin this morning; nevertheless, I will out and talk with him, for there may be some pickings here for a hungry daw. Methinks his dress is rich, though he himself is so downcast. Bide ye here till I look into this matter." So saying, he arose and left them, crossed the road to the shrine, and there stood, waiting for the sorrowful knight to come near him. So, presently, when the knight came riding slowly along, jolly Robin stepped forward and laid his hand upon the bridle rein. "Hold, Sir Knight," quoth he. "I prythee tarry for a short time, for I have a few words to say to thee."

Robin Hood said, "That guy over there looks pretty miserable, and it seems like he's not happy with his outfit this morning; still, I want to go talk to him, because there might be something I can get from him. His clothes look fancy, even though he looks so depressed. Wait here while I check this out." With that, he got up and left them, crossed the road to the shrine, and stood there, waiting for the sad knight to get closer. Soon enough, when the knight came riding slowly by, cheerful Robin stepped forward and grabbed the reins of the horse. "Stop, Sir Knight," he said. "Please wait a moment, because I have a few things I want to say to you."

"What art thou, friend, who dost stop a traveler in this manner upon his most gracious Majesty's highway?" said the Knight.

"What are you, friend, who stops a traveler like this on his Majesty's highway?" said the Knight.

"Marry," quoth Robin, "that is a question hard to answer. One man calleth me kind, another calleth me cruel; this one calleth me good honest fellow, and that one, vile thief. Truly, the world hath as many eyes to look upon a man withal as there are spots on a toad; so, with what pair of eyes thou regardest me lieth entirely with thine own self. My name is Robin Hood."

"Marry," said Robin, "that's a tough question to answer. One person calls me kind, another calls me cruel; this one says I'm a good honest guy, and that one calls me a vile thief. Honestly, the world sees a man in as many ways as there are spots on a toad; so, how you view me depends entirely on your own perspective. My name is Robin Hood."

"Truly, good Robin," said the Knight, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, "thou hast a quaint conceit. As for the pair of eyes with which I regard thee, I would say that they are as favorable as may be, for I hear much good of thee and little ill. What is thy will of me?"

"Really, good Robin," said the Knight, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "you have a unique way of thinking. As for the pair of eyes with which I look at you, I’d say they are quite favorable, since I hear a lot of good things about you and very little bad. What do you want from me?"

"Now, I make my vow, Sir Knight," quoth Robin, "thou hast surely learned thy wisdom of good Gaffer Swanthold, for he sayeth, 'Fair words are as easy spoke as foul, and bring good will in the stead of blows.' Now I will show thee the truth of this saying; for, if thou wilt go with me this day to Sherwood Forest, I will give thee as merry a feast as ever thou hadst in all thy life."

"Now, I make my promise, Sir Knight," Robin said, "you've definitely learned your wisdom from good Gaffer Swanthold, because he says, 'Kind words are just as easy to say as harsh ones, and they create goodwill instead of conflict.' Now I’ll show you the truth of this saying; if you come with me today to Sherwood Forest, I’ll give you the best feast you’ve ever had in your life."

"Thou art indeed kind," said the Knight, "but methinks thou wilt find me but an ill-seeming and sorrowful guest. Thou hadst best let me pass on my way in peace."

"You are really kind," said the Knight, "but I think you'll find me to be a rather unpleasant and sad guest. It would be better for you to let me continue on my way in peace."

"Nay," quoth Robin, "thou mightst go thine own way but for one thing, and that I will tell thee. We keep an inn, as it were, in the very depths of Sherwood, but so far from highroads and beaten paths that guests do not often come nigh us; so I and my friends set off merrily and seek them when we grow dull of ourselves. Thus the matter stands, Sir Knight; yet I will furthermore tell thee that we count upon our guests paying a reckoning."

"No," said Robin, "you could go your own way if it weren't for one thing, and that I'm going to tell you. We run an inn, sort of, deep in Sherwood, but it's so far from the main roads and common paths that guests rarely come near us. So my friends and I cheerfully head out to find them whenever we get bored. That's how it is, Sir Knight; but I'll also tell you that we expect our guests to settle their bills."

"I take thy meaning, friend," said the Knight gravely, "but I am not thy man, for I have no money by me."

"I understand what you mean, friend," the Knight said seriously, "but I'm not your guy, because I don't have any money on me."

"Is it sooth?" said Robin, looking at the Knight keenly. "I can scarce choose but believe thee; yet, Sir Knight, there be those of thy order whose word is not to be trusted as much as they would have others believe. Thou wilt think no ill if I look for myself in this matter." Then, still holding the horse by the bridle rein, he put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle, whereupon fourscore yeomen came leaping over the stile and ran to where the Knight and Robin stood. "These," said Robin, looking upon them proudly, "are some of my merry men. They share and share alike with me all joys and troubles, gains and losses. Sir Knight, I prythee tell me what money thou hast about thee."

"Is that true?" Robin asked, looking at the Knight intently. "I can hardly help but believe you; however, Sir Knight, there are those in your order whose words are not as trustworthy as they would have others think. You won't mind if I investigate this for myself." Then, still holding the horse by the bridle, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle, at which point eighty yeomen came leaping over the fence and ran to where the Knight and Robin stood. "These," Robin said proudly, looking at them, "are some of my merry men. They share everything with me—every joy and trouble, every gain and loss. Sir Knight, please tell me what money you have with you."

For a time the Knight said not a word, but a slow red arose into his cheeks; at last he looked Robin in the face and said, "I know not why I should be ashamed, for it should be no shame to me; but, friend, I tell thee the truth, when I say that in my purse are ten shillings, and that that is every groat that Sir Richard of the Lea hath in all the wide world."

For a while, the Knight didn't say anything, but a slow blush crept into his cheeks; finally, he looked Robin in the face and said, "I don't know why I should feel ashamed, since I shouldn't be ashamed at all; but, my friend, I’m being honest when I say that I have ten shillings in my purse, and that is every penny that Sir Richard of the Lea has in the entire world."

When Sir Richard ended a silence fell, until at last Robin said, "And dost thou pledge me thy knightly word that this is all thou hast with thee?"

When Sir Richard finished speaking, there was a silence until Robin finally said, "Do you give me your knightly word that this is all you have with you?"

"Yea," answered Sir Richard, "I do pledge thee my most solemn word, as a true knight, that it is all the money I have in the world. Nay, here is my purse, ye may find for yourselves the truth of what I say." And he held his purse out to Robin.

"Yes," replied Sir Richard, "I give you my solemn word, as a true knight, that this is all the money I have in the world. No, here is my purse; you can see for yourself that I speak the truth." And he held out his purse to Robin.

"Put up thy purse, Sir Richard," quoth Robin. "Far be it from me to doubt the word of so gentle a knight. The proud I strive to bring low, but those that walk in sorrow I would aid if I could. Come, Sir Richard, cheer up thy heart and go with us into the greenwood. Even I may perchance aid thee, for thou surely knowest how the good Athelstane was saved by the little blind mole that digged a trench over which he that sought the king's life stumbled."

"Put away your money, Sir Richard," said Robin. "I would never doubt the word of such a noble knight. I aim to bring down the proud, but I want to help those who are suffering if I can. Come on, Sir Richard, lift your spirits and join us in the forest. I might even be able to help you, because you know how the good Athelstane was saved by the little blind mole that dug a trench over which the one who was after the king's life tripped."

"Truly, friend," said Sir Richard, "methinks thou meanest kindness in thine own way; nevertheless my troubles are such that it is not likely that thou canst cure them. But I will go with thee this day into Sherwood." Hereupon he turned his horse's head, and they all wended their way to the woodlands, Robin walking on one side of the Knight and Will Scarlet on the other, while the rest of the band trudged behind.

"Really, my friend," said Sir Richard, "I think you mean well in your own way; however, my troubles are such that it's unlikely you can fix them. But I will join you today in Sherwood." With that, he turned his horse and they all made their way to the woods, with Robin walking on one side of the Knight and Will Scarlet on the other, while the rest of the group followed behind.

After they had traveled thus for a time Robin Hood spake. "Sir Knight," said he, "I would not trouble thee with idle questions; but dost thou find it in thy heart to tell me thy sorrows?"

After they had traveled for a while, Robin Hood spoke. "Sir Knight," he said, "I don't want to bother you with pointless questions; but do you feel comfortable sharing your troubles with me?"

"Truly, Robin," quoth the Knight, "I see no reason why I should not do so. Thus it is: My castle and my lands are in pawn for a debt that I owe. Three days hence the money must be paid or else all mine estate is lost forever, for then it falls into the hands of the Priory of Emmet, and what they swallow they never give forth again."

"Really, Robin," said the Knight, "I don't see why I shouldn't do that. Here's the deal: My castle and my lands are mortgaged for a debt I owe. In three days, the money needs to be paid, or else I lose everything for good because it will go to the Priory of Emmet, and once they take it, they never give it back."

Quoth Robin, "I understand not why those of thy kind live in such a manner that all their wealth passeth from them like snow beneath the springtide sun."

Quoth Robin, "I don’t understand why people like you live in a way that all your wealth disappears like snow under the spring sun."

"Thou wrongest me, Robin," said the Knight, "for listen: I have a son but twenty winters old, nevertheless he has won his spurs as knight. Last year, on a certain evil day, the jousts were held at Chester, and thither my son went, as did I and my lady wife. I wot it was a proud time for us, for he unhorsed each knight that he tilted against. At last he ran a course with a certain great knight, Sir Walter of Lancaster, yet, though my son was so youthful, he kept his seat, albeit both spears were shivered to the heft; but it happened that a splinter of my boy's lance ran through the visor of Sir Walter's helmet and pierced through his eye into his brain, so that he died ere his esquire could unlace his helm. Now, Robin, Sir Walter had great friends at court, therefore his kinsmen stirred up things against my son so that, to save him from prison, I had to pay a ransom of six hundred pounds in gold. All might have gone well even yet, only that, by ins and outs and crookedness of laws, I was shorn like a sheep that is clipped to the quick. So it came that I had to pawn my lands to the Priory of Emmet for more money, and a hard bargain they drove with me in my hour of need. Yet I would have thee understand I grieve so for my lands only because of my dear lady wife."

"You've wronged me, Robin," said the Knight, "so listen: I have a son who's only twenty, yet he's already become a knight. Last year, on a terrible day, there were jousts at Chester, and my wife and I went along with him. It was a proud moment for us, as he unhorsed every knight he faced. Finally, he competed against a powerful knight, Sir Walter of Lancaster. Even though my son was so young, he stayed in the saddle, even while both of their spears shattered. But then, a piece of my son's lance went through the visor of Sir Walter's helmet and pierced his eye, killing him before his squire could remove his helmet. Now, Robin, Sir Walter had many influential friends at court, and his relatives stirred up trouble against my son. To keep him out of prison, I had to pay a ransom of six hundred pounds in gold. Everything might have turned out alright, but due to the twists and turns of the law, I ended up in a terrible position financially. I had to mortgage my lands to the Priory of Emmet for even more money, and they didn't give me a fair deal in my time of need. Still, I want you to know that I mourn for my lands only because of my dear wife."

"But where is thy son now?" asked Robin, who had listened closely to all the Knight had said.

"But where is your son now?" asked Robin, who had listened closely to everything the Knight had said.

"In Palestine," said Sir Richard, "battling like a brave Christian soldier for the cross and the holy sepulcher. Truly, England was an ill place for him because of Sir Walter's death and the hate of the Lancastrian's kinsmen."

"In Palestine," said Sir Richard, "fighting like a brave Christian soldier for the cross and the holy tomb. Honestly, England was a terrible place for him because of Sir Walter's death and the resentment from the Lancastrian's relatives."

"Truly," said Robin, much moved, "thine is a hard lot. But tell me, what is owing to Emmet for thine estates?"

"Really," said Robin, feeling very touched, "yours is a tough situation. But tell me, what do you owe Emmet for your properties?"

"Only four hundred pounds," said Sir Richard.

"Just four hundred pounds," said Sir Richard.

At this, Robin smote his thigh in anger. "O the bloodsuckers!" cried he. "A noble estate to be forfeit for four hundred pounds! But what will befall thee if thou dost lose thy lands, Sir Richard?"

At this, Robin hit his thigh in frustration. "Those bloodsuckers!" he exclaimed. "A whole estate sacrificed for four hundred pounds! But what will happen to you if you lose your lands, Sir Richard?"

"It is not mine own lot that doth trouble me in that case," said the Knight, "but my dear lady's; for should I lose my land she will have to betake herself to some kinsman and there abide in charity, which, methinks, would break her proud heart. As for me, I will over the salt sea, and so to Palestine to join my son in fight for the holy sepulcher."

"It’s not my situation that bothers me in this case," said the Knight, "but my dear lady's; if I lose my land, she’ll have to go to some relative and live off their charity, which I think would break her proud heart. As for me, I’ll be crossing the sea to Palestine to join my son in the fight for the holy sepulcher."

Then up spake Will Scarlet. "But hast thou no friend that will help thee in thy dire need?"

Then Will Scarlet spoke up. "But do you have no friend who can help you in your time of need?"

"Never a man," said Sir Richard. "While I was rich enow at home, and had friends, they blew great boasts of how they loved me. But when the oak falls in the forest the swine run from beneath it lest they should be smitten down also. So my friends have left me; for not only am I poor but I have great enemies."

"Never a man," said Sir Richard. "When I was wealthy and had friends, they made big claims about how much they loved me. But when the big tree falls in the forest, the pigs run away from underneath it so they won't get crushed too. That's how my friends have left me; not only am I broke, but I also have many enemies."

Then Robin said, "Thou sayst thou hast no friends, Sir Richard. I make no boast, but many have found Robin Hood a friend in their troubles. Cheer up, Sir Knight, I may help thee yet."

Then Robin said, "You say you have no friends, Sir Richard. I'm not bragging, but many have found Robin Hood to be a friend in their troubles. Don't worry, Sir Knight, I might still be able to help you."

The Knight shook his head with a faint smile, but for all that, Robin's words made him more blithe of heart, for in truth hope, be it never so faint, bringeth a gleam into darkness, like a little rushlight that costeth but a groat.

The Knight shook his head with a slight smile, but still, Robin's words made him feel lighter at heart. In truth, hope, no matter how small, shines a light in the darkness, like a tiny candle that only costs a penny.

The day was well-nigh gone when they came near to the greenwood tree. Even at a distance they saw by the number of men that Little John had come back with some guest, but when they came near enough, whom should they find but the Lord Bishop of Hereford! The good Bishop was in a fine stew, I wot. Up and down he walked beneath the tree like a fox caught in a hencoop. Behind him were three Black Friars standing close together in a frightened group, like three black sheep in a tempest. Hitched to the branches of the trees close at hand were six horses, one of them a barb with gay trappings upon which the Bishop was wont to ride, and the others laden with packs of divers shapes and kinds, one of which made Robin's eyes glisten, for it was a box not overlarge, but heavily bound with bands and ribs of iron.

The day was nearly over when they approached the greenwood tree. Even from a distance, they noticed the number of men gathering, indicating that Little John had returned with a guest. As they got closer, they realized it was none other than the Lord Bishop of Hereford! The good Bishop was quite flustered, pacing back and forth under the tree like a fox caught in a hen coop. Behind him stood three Black Friars huddled together, looking scared like three black sheep caught in a storm. Nearby, six horses were hitched to the branches of the trees, one of which was a beautiful horse adorned with bright decorations that the Bishop usually rode, while the others were loaded with various packs. One box, not too large but heavily reinforced with iron bands and ribs, caught Robin's eye and made it shine with interest.

When the Bishop saw Robin and those with him come into the open he made as though he would have run toward the yeoman, but the fellow that guarded the Bishop and the three friars thrust his quarterstaff in front, so that his lordship was fain to stand back, though with frowning brow and angry speech.

When the Bishop saw Robin and his companions step into view, he acted like he was going to run toward the yeoman, but the man guarding the Bishop and the three friars pushed his quarterstaff in front of him, forcing his lordship to hold back, though he did so with a scowling face and angry words.

"Stay, my Lord Bishop," cried jolly Robin in a loud voice, when he saw what had passed, "I will come to thee with all speed, for I would rather see thee than any man in merry England." So saying, he quickened his steps and soon came to where the Bishop stood fuming.

"Wait, my Lord Bishop," shouted cheerful Robin loudly when he noticed what had happened, "I'll hurry over to you right away because I'd rather see you than anyone else in merry England." With that, he picked up his pace and quickly reached the spot where the Bishop stood, fuming.

"How now," quoth the Bishop in a loud and angry voice, when Robin had so come to him, "is this the way that thou and thy band treat one so high in the church as I am? I and these brethren were passing peacefully along the highroad with our pack horses, and a half score of men to guard them, when up comes a great strapping fellow full seven feet high, with fourscore or more men back of him, and calls upon me to stop—me, the Lord Bishop of Hereford, mark thou! Whereupon my armed guards— beshrew them for cowards!—straight ran away. But look ye; not only did this fellow stop me, but he threatened me, saying that Robin Hood would strip me as bare as a winter hedge. Then, besides all this, he called me such vile names as 'fat priest,' 'man-eating bishop,' 'money-gorging usurer,' and what not, as though I were no more than a strolling beggar or tinker."

"How dare you," said the Bishop in a loud and angry voice when Robin approached him, "is this how you and your gang treat someone of my status in the church? My companions and I were peacefully traveling along the road with our pack horses and a dozen men to guard them when a huge guy, at least seven feet tall, came with eighty or more men behind him and demanded that I stop—me, the Lord Bishop of Hereford, mind you! My armed guards—curse them for being cowards!—ran away immediately. But that's not all; not only did this guy stop me, but he threatened me, saying that Robin Hood would leave me as bare as a winter hedge. And on top of that, he insulted me with names like 'fat priest,' 'man-eating bishop,' 'money-hungry usurer,' and so much more, as if I were no better than a wandering beggar or tinkerer."

At this, the Bishop glared like an angry cat, while even Sir Richard laughed; only Robin kept a grave face. "Alas! my lord," said he, "that thou hast been so ill-treated by my band! I tell thee truly that we greatly reverence thy cloth. Little John, stand forth straightway."

At this, the Bishop glared like an angry cat, while even Sir Richard laughed; only Robin kept a serious face. "Alas! my lord," he said, "that you have been so poorly treated by my group! I tell you honestly that we greatly respect your position. Little John, step forward immediately."

At these words Little John came forward, twisting his face into a whimsical look, as though he would say, "Ha' mercy upon me, good master." Then Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford and said, "Was this the man who spake so boldly to Your Lordship?"

At these words, Little John stepped up, making a funny face, as if to say, "Have mercy on me, good master." Then Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford and said, "Was this the man who spoke so boldly to you, Your Lordship?"

"Ay, truly it was the same," said the Bishop, "a naughty fellow, I wot.

"Ay, truly it was the same," said the Bishop, "a naughty guy, I know."

"And didst thou, Little John," said Robin in a sad voice, "call his lordship a fat priest?"

"And did you, Little John," said Robin in a sad voice, "call him a fat priest?"

"Ay," said Little John sorrowfully.

"Ay," said Little John sadly.

"And a man-eating bishop?"

"And a bishop who eats people?"

"Ay," said Little John, more sorrowfully than before.

"Ay," said Little John, even more sadly than before.

"And a money-gorging usurer?"

"And a money-hungry lender?"

"Ay," said Little John in so sorrowful a voice that it might have drawn tears from the Dragon of Wentley.

"Ay," said Little John in such a sad voice that it could have brought tears from the Dragon of Wentley.

"Alas, that these things should be!" said jolly Robin, turning to the Bishop, "for I have ever found Little John a truthful man."

"Unfortunately, it has to be this way!" said cheerful Robin, turning to the Bishop, "because I have always found Little John to be honest."

At this, a roar of laughter went up, whereat the blood rushed into the Bishop's face till it was cherry red from crown to chin; but he said nothing and only swallowed his words, though they well-nigh choked him.

At this, a loud laugh erupted, causing the blood to rush into the Bishop's face until it was bright red from forehead to chin; but he said nothing and just swallowed his words, even though they almost choked him.

"Nay, my Lord Bishop," said Robin, "we are rough fellows, but I trust not such ill men as thou thinkest, after all. There is not a man here that would harm a hair of thy reverence's head. I know thou art galled by our jesting, but we are all equal here in the greenwood, for there are no bishops nor barons nor earls among us, but only men, so thou must share our life with us while thou dost abide here. Come, busk ye, my merry men, and get the feast ready. Meantime, we will show our guests our woodland sports."

"Nah, my Lord Bishop," said Robin, "we may seem rough around the edges, but I promise we're not as bad as you think. Not a single one of us would harm a hair on your head. I know you’re bothered by our joking, but out here in the greenwood, we’re all equal—there are no bishops, barons, or earls, just men. So, you’ll have to join us in our way of life while you’re here. Come on, get ready, my merry friends, and prepare the feast. In the meantime, we'll entertain our guests with some fun woodland games."

So, while some went to kindle the fires for roasting meats, others ran leaping to get their cudgels and longbows. Then Robin brought forward Sir Richard of the Lea. "My Lord Bishop," said he, "here is another guest that we have with us this day. I wish that thou mightest know him better, for I and all my men will strive to honor you both at this merrymaking."

So, while some went to start the fires for roasting meat, others ran off to grab their clubs and longbows. Then Robin brought forward Sir Richard of the Lea. "My Lord Bishop," he said, "here's another guest we have with us today. I hope you can get to know him better because my men and I will do our best to honor you both at this celebration."

"Sir Richard," said the Bishop in a reproachful tone, "methinks thou and I are companions and fellow sufferers in this den of—" He was about to say "thieves," but he stopped suddenly and looked askance at Robin Hood.

"Sir Richard," the Bishop said with a disapproving tone, "I think you and I are companions and fellow sufferers in this den of—" He was about to say "thieves," but he suddenly stopped and glanced sideways at Robin Hood.

"Speak out, Bishop," quoth Robin, laughing. "We of Sherwood check not an easy flow of words. 'Den of thieves' thou west about to say."

"Speak up, Bishop," Robin said with a laugh. "We from Sherwood don't hold back on our words. You were about to say 'den of thieves.'"

Quoth the Bishop, "Mayhap that was what I meant to say, Sir Richard; but this I will say, that I saw thee just now laugh at the scurrilous jests of these fellows. It would have been more becoming of thee, methinks, to have checked them with frowns instead of spurring them on by laughter."

Said the Bishop, "Maybe that's what I meant to say, Sir Richard; but I will say this: I just saw you laugh at the crude jokes of these guys. It would have been more fitting for you, I think, to have scowled at them instead of encouraging them with your laughter."

"I meant no harm to thee," said Sir Richard, "but a merry jest is a merry jest, and I may truly say I would have laughed at it had it been against mine own self."

"I meant no harm to you," said Sir Richard, "but a funny joke is a funny joke, and I can honestly say I would have laughed at it if it had been about me."

But now Robin Hood called upon certain ones of his band who spread soft moss upon the ground and laid deerskins thereon. Then Robin bade his guests be seated, and so they all three sat down, some of the chief men, such as Little John, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, and others, stretching themselves upon the ground near by. Then a garland was set up at the far end of the glade, and thereat the bowmen shot, and such shooting was done that day as it would have made one's heart leap to see. And all the while Robin talked so quaintly to the Bishop and the Knight that, the one forgetting his vexation and the other his troubles, they both laughed aloud again and again.

But now Robin Hood called some of his friends who spread soft moss on the ground and laid deerskins on top of it. Then Robin told his guests to take a seat, and so the three of them sat down, with some of the main guys, like Little John, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, and others, stretching out on the ground nearby. Then a garland was set up at the far end of the glade, and the archers took their shots, with such impressive shooting that it would make anyone's heart race to see it. All the while, Robin chatted so amusingly with the Bishop and the Knight that the Bishop forgot his anger and the Knight forgot his troubles, and they both laughed out loud again and again.

Then Allan a Dale came forth and tuned his harp, and all was hushed around, and he sang in his wondrous voice songs of love, of war, of glory, and of sadness, and all listened without a movement or a sound. So Allan sang till the great round silver moon gleamed with its clear white light amid the upper tangle of the mazy branches of the trees. At last two fellows came to say that the feast was ready spread, so Robin, leading his guests with either hand, brought them to where great smoking dishes that sent savory smells far and near stood along the white linen cloth spread on the grass. All around was a glare of torches that lit everything up with a red light. Then, straightway sitting down, all fell to with noise and hubbub, the rattling of platters blending with the sound of loud talking and laughter. A long time the feast lasted, but at last all was over, and the bright wine and humming ale passed briskly. Then Robin Hood called aloud for silence, and all was hushed till he spoke.

Then Allan a Dale stepped forward, tuned his harp, and everyone fell silent as he sang with his amazing voice about love, war, glory, and sadness, and everyone listened without moving or making a sound. Allan sang until the big round silver moon shone with its bright white light through the tangled branches of the trees above. Eventually, two guys came to say the feast was ready, so Robin took his guests by the hand and led them to where great steaming dishes filled with delicious aromas stood on a white linen cloth spread across the grass. All around, torches flickered, casting a red glow over everything. Then, as soon as they sat down, everyone dug in with much noise and chatter, the clattering of plates mixing with loud talking and laughter. The feast went on for a long time, but eventually, it all came to an end, and the bright wine and frothy ale flowed freely. Then Robin Hood called for silence, and everything went quiet until he spoke.

"I have a story to tell you all, so listen to what I have to say," quoth he; whereupon, without more ado, he told them all about Sir Richard, and how his lands were in pawn. But, as he went on, the Bishop's face, that had erst been smiling and ruddy with merriment, waxed serious, and he put aside the horn of wine he held in his hand, for he knew the story of Sir Richard, and his heart sank within him with grim forebodings. Then, when Robin Hood had done, he turned to the Bishop of Hereford. "Now, my Lord Bishop," said he, "dost thou not think this is ill done of anyone, much more of a churchman, who should live in humbleness and charity?"

"I have a story to share with you all, so pay attention to what I'm about to say," he said; and without any hesitation, he told them everything about Sir Richard and how his lands were in pawn. But as he continued, the Bishop's face, which had once been smiling and full of cheer, grew serious, and he set aside the horn of wine he was holding, for he was aware of Sir Richard's situation, and his heart sank with dark forebodings. When Robin Hood finished, he turned to the Bishop of Hereford. "Now, my Lord Bishop," he said, "don’t you think it's wrong for anyone to act this way, especially a churchman, who should live with humility and kindness?"

To this the Bishop answered not a word but looked upon the ground with moody eyes.

To this, the Bishop said nothing but stared at the ground with troubled eyes.

Quoth Robin, "Now, thou art the richest bishop in all England; canst thou not help this needy brother?" But still the Bishop answered not a word.

Said Robin, "Now, you are the richest bishop in all England; can't you help this needy brother?" But the Bishop still said nothing.

Then Robin turned to Little John, and quoth he, "Go thou and Will Stutely and bring forth those five pack horses yonder." Whereupon the two yeomen did as they were bidden, those about the cloth making room on the green, where the light was brightest, for the five horses which Little John and Will Stutely presently led forward.

Then Robin turned to Little John and said, "You and Will Stutely go and bring those five pack horses over there." So the two yeomen did as they were asked, and those around the cloth made space on the green, where the light was brightest, for the five horses that Little John and Will Stutely soon brought forward.

"Who hath the score of the goods?" asked Robin Hood, looking at the Black Friars.

"Who has the list of the goods?" asked Robin Hood, looking at the Black Friars.

Then up spake the smallest of all, in a trembling voice—an old man he was, with a gentle, wrinkled face. "That have I; but, I pray thee, harm me not."

Then the smallest of all spoke up, his voice shaking—he was an old man with a kind, wrinkled face. "I have that; but please, don't hurt me."

"Nay," quoth Robin, "I have never harmed harmless man yet; but give it to me, good father." So the old man did as he was bidden, and handed Robin the tablet on which was marked down the account of the various packages upon the horses. This Robin handed to Will Scarlet, bidding him to read the same. So Will Scarlet, lifting his voice that all might hear, began:

"Not at all," said Robin, "I've never hurt anyone innocent; but please give it to me, good father." So the old man did as he was asked and gave Robin the tablet that had the details of the different packages on the horses. Robin handed this to Will Scarlet, telling him to read it aloud. Will Scarlet then raised his voice so everyone could hear and began:

"Three bales of silk to Quentin, the mercer at Ancaster."

"Three bales of silk to Quentin, the merchant at Ancaster."

"That we touch not," quoth Robin, "for this Quentin is an honest fellow, who hath risen by his own thrift." So the bales of silk were laid aside unopened.

"Let’s not mess with that," said Robin, "because this Quentin is a good guy who has succeeded through his own hard work." So the bales of silk were set aside unopened.

"One bale of silk velvet for the Abbey of Beaumont."

"One bale of silk velvet for the Abbey of Beaumont."

"What do these priests want of silk velvet?" quoth Robin. "Nevertheless, though they need it not, I will not take all from them. Measure it off into three lots, one to be sold for charity, one for us, and one for the abbey." So this, too, was done as Robin Hood bade.

"What do these priests want with silk velvet?" asked Robin. "Still, even if they don't need it, I won't take everything from them. Cut it into three parts: one to sell for charity, one for us, and one for the abbey." And so it was done as Robin Hood instructed.

"Twoscore of great wax candles for the Chapel of Saint Thomas."

"Forty large wax candles for the Chapel of Saint Thomas."

"That belongeth fairly to the chapel," quoth Robin, "so lay it to one side. Far be it from us to take from the blessed Saint Thomas that which belongeth to him." So this, also, was done according to Robin's bidding, and the candles were laid to one side, along with honest Quentin's unopened bales of silk. So the list was gone through with, and the goods adjudged according to what Robin thought most fit. Some things were laid aside untouched, and many were opened and divided into three equal parts, for charity, for themselves, and for the owners. And now all the ground in the torchlight was covered over with silks and velvets and cloths of gold and cases of rich wines, and so they came to the last line upon the tablet—"A box belonging to the Lord Bishop of Hereford."

"That rightly belongs to the chapel," said Robin, "so set it aside. We would never take from the blessed Saint Thomas what is his." So this was done as Robin said, and the candles were put to one side, along with honest Quentin's unopened bales of silk. They went through the list, and the goods were judged based on what Robin thought was best. Some things were left untouched, while many were opened and split into three equal parts: for charity, for themselves, and for the owners. Now the ground in the torchlight was covered with silks, velvets, cloths of gold, and cases of fine wines, and they reached the last item on the tablet—"A box belonging to the Lord Bishop of Hereford."

At these words the Bishop shook as with a chill, and the box was set upon the ground.

At these words, the Bishop shivered as if he felt a chill, and the box was placed on the ground.

"My Lord Bishop, hast thou the key of this box?" asked Robin.

"My Lord Bishop, do you have the key to this box?" asked Robin.

The Bishop shook his head.

The bishop shook his head.

"Go, Will Scarlet," said Robin, "thou art the strongest man here—bring a sword straightway, and cut this box open, if thou canst." Then up rose Will Scarlet and left them, coming back in a short time, bearing a great two-handed sword. Thrice he smote that strong, ironbound box, and at the third blow it burst open and a great heap of gold came rolling forth, gleaming red in the light of the torches. At this sight a murmur went all around among the band, like the sound of the wind in distant trees; but no man came forward nor touched the money.

"Go, Will Scarlet," said Robin, "you're the strongest person here—grab a sword right away and break this box open, if you can." Then Will Scarlet got up and left, returning shortly with a large two-handed sword. He struck that strong, ironbound box three times, and on the third blow, it burst open, spilling a huge pile of gold that sparkled red in the light of the torches. At this sight, a murmur spread among the group, like the sound of wind in distant trees; but no one stepped forward or touched the money.

Quoth Robin, "Thou, Will Scarlet, thou, Allan a Dale, and thou, Little John, count it over."

"Hey, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, and Little John, count it up."

A long time it took to count all the money, and when it had been duly scored up, Will Scarlet called out that there were fifteen hundred golden pounds in all. But in among the gold they found a paper, and this Will Scarlet read in a loud voice, and all heard that this money was the rental and fines and forfeits from certain estates belonging to the Bishopric of Hereford.

It took a long time to count all the money, and once it was finally tallied, Will Scarlet shouted that there were fifteen hundred golden pounds in total. But among the gold, they found a piece of paper, which Will Scarlet read out loud, and everyone heard that this money was the rent, fines, and forfeits from certain estates owned by the Bishopric of Hereford.

"My Lord Bishop," said Robin Hood, "I will not strip thee, as Little John said, like a winter hedge, for thou shalt take back one third of thy money. One third of it thou canst well spare to us for thy entertainment and that of thy train, for thou art very rich; one third of it thou canst better spare for charity, for, Bishop, I hear that thou art a hard master to those beneath thee and a close hoarder of gains that thou couldst better and with more credit to thyself give to charity than spend upon thy own likings."

"My Lord Bishop," said Robin Hood, "I won’t strip you, as Little John mentioned, like a winter hedge, because you can take back one third of your money. You can easily spare one third of it for us to enjoy and for your entourage, since you are quite wealthy; another third you can better spare for charity, because, Bishop, I've heard that you are tough on those below you and hold on tightly to profits that you could more nobly and credibly give to charity rather than spend on your own pleasures."

At this the Bishop looked up, but he could say never a word; yet he was thankful to keep some of his wealth.

At this, the Bishop looked up, but he couldn't say a word; still, he was grateful to keep some of his wealth.

Then Robin turned to Sir Richard of the Lea, and quoth he, "Now, Sir Richard, the church seemed like to despoil thee, therefore some of the overplus of church gains may well be used in aiding thee. Thou shalt take that five hundred pounds laid aside for people more in need than the Bishop is, and shalt pay thy debts to Emmet therewith."

Then Robin turned to Sir Richard of the Lea and said, "Now, Sir Richard, it seems the church is trying to take advantage of you, so some of the extra money from the church should help you out. You should take that five hundred pounds set aside for people more in need than the Bishop and use it to pay off your debts to Emmet."

Sir Richard looked at Robin until something arose in his eyes that made all the lights and the faces blur together. At last he said, "I thank thee, friend, from my heart, for what thou doest for me; yet, think not ill if I cannot take thy gift freely. But this I will do: I will take the money and pay my debts, and in a year and a day hence will return it safe either to thee or to the Lord Bishop of Hereford. For this I pledge my most solemn knightly word. I feel free to borrow, for I know no man that should be more bound to aid me than one so high in that church that hath driven such a hard bargain." "Truly, Sir Knight," quoth Robin, "I do not understand those fine scruples that weigh with those of thy kind; but, nevertheless, it shall all be as thou dost wish. But thou hadst best bring the money to me at the end of the year, for mayhap I may make better use of it than the Bishop." Thereupon, turning to those near him, he gave his orders, and five hundred pounds were counted out and tied up in a leathern bag for Sir Richard. The rest of the treasure was divided, and part taken to the treasurehouse of the band, and part put by with the other things for the Bishop.

Sir Richard looked at Robin until something stirred in his eyes that made all the lights and faces blend together. Finally, he said, "I genuinely thank you, my friend, for what you're doing for me; however, don’t take it the wrong way if I can’t accept your gift outright. But here’s what I’ll do: I’ll take the money, pay off my debts, and in a year and a day, I’ll return it safely either to you or to the Lord Bishop of Hereford. For this, I give you my solemn knightly word. I feel free to borrow because I know no man should be more obliged to help me than someone so high in the church who has struck such a tough deal." "Honestly, Sir Knight," Robin replied, "I don’t get those elaborate principles that concern people like you; still, it’ll be just as you wish. But you’d better bring the money back to me at the end of the year, since I might find better use for it than the Bishop." Turning to those around him, he gave his orders, and five hundred pounds were counted out and tied up in a leather bag for Sir Richard. The rest of the treasure was divided, with part going to the band’s treasury and part set aside with the other items for the Bishop.

Then Sir Richard arose. "I cannot stay later, good friends," said he, "for my lady will wax anxious if I come not home; so I crave leave to depart."

Then Sir Richard stood up. "I can't stay any longer, good friends," he said, "because my lady will grow worried if I don't return home; so I kindly ask for permission to leave."

Then Robin Hood and all his merry men arose, and Robin said, "We cannot let thee go hence unattended, Sir Richard."

Then Robin Hood and all his merry men stood up, and Robin said, "We can't let you leave without someone to accompany you, Sir Richard."

Then up spake Little John, "Good master, let me choose a score of stout fellows from the band, and let us arm ourselves in a seemly manner and so serve as retainers to Sir Richard till he can get others in our stead."

Then Little John spoke up, "Good master, let me pick a group of strong guys from the crew, and let's gear up properly and serve as supporters to Sir Richard until he can find replacements for us."

"Thou hast spoken well, Little John, and it shall be done," said Robin.

"You've spoken well, Little John, and it will be done," said Robin.

Then up spake Will Scarlet, "Let us give him a golden chain to hang about his neck, such as befits one of his blood, and also golden spurs to wear at his heels."

Then Will Scarlet said, "Let's give him a gold chain to wear around his neck, something fitting for his status, along with some gold spurs to put on his heels."

Then Robin Hood said, "Thou hast spoken well, Will Scarlet, and it shall be done."

Then Robin Hood said, "You’ve spoken well, Will Scarlet, and it will be done."

Then up spake Will Stutely, "Let us give him yon bale of rich velvet and yon roll of cloth of gold to take home to his noble lady wife as a present from Robin Hood and his merry men all."

Then Will Stutely spoke up, "Let's give him that bundle of rich velvet and that roll of gold fabric to take home to his noble lady wife as a gift from Robin Hood and his merry men."

At this all clapped their hands for joy, and Robin said: "Thou hast well spoken, Will Stutely, and it shall be done."

At this, everyone clapped their hands in joy, and Robin said, "You’ve spoken well, Will Stutely, and it will be done."

Then Sir Richard of the Lea looked all around and strove to speak, but could scarcely do so for the feelings that choked him; at last he said in a husky, trembling voice, "Ye shall all see, good friends, that Sir Richard o' the Lea will ever remember your kindness this day. And if ye be at any time in dire need or trouble, come to me and my lady, and the walls of Castle Lea shall be battered down ere harm shall befall you. I—" He could say nothing further, but turned hastily away.

Then Sir Richard of the Lea looked around and tried to speak, but he could barely do so because of the emotions that overwhelmed him; finally, he said in a shaky, trembling voice, "You will all see, good friends, that Sir Richard of the Lea will always remember your kindness today. And if you ever find yourselves in dire need or trouble, come to me and my lady, and the walls of Castle Lea will be torn down before any harm comes to you. I—" He couldn't say anything more and quickly turned away.

But now Little John and nineteen stout fellows whom he had chosen for his band, came forth all ready for the journey. Each man wore upon his breast a coat of linked mail, and on his head a cap of steel, and at his side a good stout sword. A gallant show they made as they stood all in a row. Then Robin came and threw a chain of gold about Sir Richard's neck, and Will Scarlet knelt and buckled the golden spurs upon his heel; and now Little John led forward Sir Richard's horse, and the Knight mounted. He looked down at Robin for a little time, then of a sudden stooped and kissed his cheek. All the forest glades rang with the shout that went up as the Knight and the yeomen marched off through the woodland with glare of torches and gleam of steel, and so were gone.

But now Little John and nineteen strong men he had picked for his crew came forward, ready for the journey. Each man wore a chain mail shirt and a steel cap, with a sturdy sword at his side. They looked impressive as they lined up. Then Robin approached and placed a gold chain around Sir Richard's neck, and Will Scarlet knelt to fasten the golden spurs to his heels. Little John then brought forward Sir Richard's horse, and the Knight got on. He looked down at Robin for a moment, then suddenly bent down and kissed his cheek. The entire forest echoed with cheers as the Knight and the yeomen marched off through the woods, with the light of torches and the shine of steel, and then they disappeared.

Then up spake the Bishop of Hereford in a mournful voice, "I, too, must be jogging, good fellow, for the night waxes late."

Then the Bishop of Hereford said in a sorrowful voice, "I must also be on my way, good friend, for the night is getting late."

But Robin laid his hand upon the Bishop's arm and stayed him. "Be not so hasty, Lord Bishop," said he. "Three days hence Sir Richard must pay his debts to Emmet; until that time thou must be content to abide with me lest thou breed trouble for the Knight. I promise thee that thou shalt have great sport, for I know that thou art fond of hunting the dun deer. Lay by thy mantle of melancholy, and strive to lead a joyous yeoman life for three stout days. I promise thee thou shalt be sorry to go when the time has come."

But Robin put his hand on the Bishop's arm and stopped him. "Don't be in such a hurry, Lord Bishop," he said. "In three days, Sir Richard has to pay his debts to Emmet; until then, you should stay with me so you don’t cause trouble for the Knight. I promise you’ll have a lot of fun because I know you enjoy hunting the fallow deer. Put aside your gloomy mood and try to enjoy the life of a cheerful commoner for three solid days. I promise you'll regret leaving when the time comes."

So the Bishop and his train abided with Robin for three days, and much sport his lordship had in that time, so that, as Robin had said, when the time had come for him to go he was sorry to leave the greenwood. At the end of three days Robin set him free, and sent him forth from the forest with a guard of yeomen to keep freebooters from taking what was left of the packs and bundles.

So the Bishop and his group stayed with Robin for three days, and his lordship had a great time during that period. As Robin had mentioned, when it was time for him to leave, he was sad to say goodbye to the woods. After three days, Robin let him go and sent him out of the forest with a group of archers to protect the remaining supplies from any thieves.

But, as the Bishop rode away, he vowed within himself that he would sometime make Robin rue the day that he stopped him in Sherwood.

But as the Bishop rode away, he promised himself that he would make Robin regret the day he stopped him in Sherwood.

But now we shall follow Sir Richard; so listen, and you shall hear what befell him, and how he paid his debts at Emmet Priory, and likewise in due season to Robin Hood.

But now we will follow Sir Richard; so listen, and you will hear what happened to him, how he settled his debts at Emmet Priory, and also in time to Robin Hood.

 

 

 

 

How Sir Richard of the Lea Paid His Debts

THE LONG HIGHWAY stretched straight on, gray and dusty in the sun. On either side were dikes full of water bordered by osiers, and far away in the distance stood the towers of Emmet Priory with tall poplar trees around.

THE LONG HIGHWAY stretched straight ahead, gray and dusty in the sun. On either side were dikes full of water lined with willow trees, and far off in the distance stood the towers of Emmet Priory surrounded by tall poplar trees.

Along the causeway rode a knight with a score of stout men-at-arms behind him. The Knight was clad in a plain, long robe of gray serge, gathered in at the waist with a broad leathern belt, from which hung a long dagger and a stout sword. But though he was so plainly dressed himself, the horse he rode was a noble barb, and its trappings were rich with silk and silver bells.

Along the causeway rode a knight with twenty strong men-at-arms behind him. The knight was dressed in a simple, long gray robe, cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt, from which hung a long dagger and a sturdy sword. But even though he was dressed so simply, the horse he rode was a fine barb, and its decorations were luxurious with silk and silver bells.

So thus the band journeyed along the causeway between the dikes, till at last they reached the great gate of Emmet Priory. There the Knight called to one of his men and bade him knock at the porter's lodge with the heft of his sword.

So the group traveled along the pathway between the dikes until they finally reached the big gate of Emmet Priory. There, the Knight called to one of his men and told him to knock on the porter's lodge with the weight of his sword.

The porter was drowsing on his bench within the lodge, but at the knock he roused himself and, opening the wicket, came hobbling forth and greeted the Knight, while a tame starling that hung in a wicker cage within piped out, "In coelo quies! In coelo quies!" such being the words that the poor old lame porter had taught him to speak.

The porter was dozing on his bench in the lodge, but when he heard a knock, he woke up, opened the small door, and came out, greeting the Knight. Inside, a pet starling in a wicker cage chirped, "In coelo quies! In coelo quies!" which were the words the poor old lame porter had taught it to say.

"Where is thy prior?" asked the Knight of the old porter.

"Where is your prior?" asked the Knight of the old porter.

"He is at meat, good knight, and he looketh for thy coming," quoth the porter, "for, if I mistake not, thou art Sir Richard of the Lea."

"He's having a meal, good knight, and he's expecting you," said the porter, "because, if I'm not mistaken, you're Sir Richard of the Lea."

"I am Sir Richard of the Lea; then I will go seek him forthwith," said the Knight.

"I am Sir Richard of the Lea; I will go find him right away," said the Knight.

"But shall I not send thy horse to stable?" said the porter. "By Our Lady, it is the noblest nag, and the best harnessed, that e'er I saw in all my life before." And he stroked the horse's flank with his palm.

"But shouldn't I take your horse to the stable?" said the porter. "By Our Lady, it's the finest horse and the best equipped I've ever seen in my life." And he patted the horse's side with his hand.

"Nay," quoth Sir Richard, "the stables of this place are not for me, so make way, I prythee." So saying, he pushed forward, and, the gates being opened, he entered the stony courtyard of the Priory, his men behind him. In they came with rattle of steel and clashing of swords, and ring of horses' feet on cobblestones, whereat a flock of pigeons that strutted in the sun flew with flapping wings to the high eaves of the round towers.

"No," said Sir Richard, "the stables here aren't for me, so please make way." As he said this, he pushed forward, and when the gates opened, he entered the stone courtyard of the Priory, with his men behind him. They came in with the clatter of steel and clashing swords, along with the sound of horses' hooves on the cobblestones, which caused a flock of pigeons that were strutting in the sun to fly away with flapping wings to the high eaves of the round towers.

While the Knight was riding along the causeway to Emmet, a merry feast was toward in the refectory there. The afternoon sun streamed in through the great arched windows and lay in broad squares of light upon the stone floor and across the board covered with a snowy linen cloth, whereon was spread a princely feast. At the head of the table sat Prior Vincent of Emmet all clad in soft robes of fine cloth and silk; on his head was a black velvet cap picked out with gold, and around his neck hung a heavy chain of gold, with a great locket pendant therefrom. Beside him, on the arm of his great chair, roosted his favorite falcon, for the Prior was fond of the gentle craft of hawking. On his right hand sat the Sheriff of Nottingham in rich robes of purple all trimmed about with fur, and on his left a famous doctor of law in dark and sober garb. Below these sat the high cellarer of Emmet, and others chief among the brethren.

While the Knight was riding along the path to Emmet, a lively feast was being prepared in the dining hall there. The afternoon sun poured in through the large arched windows, creating broad patches of light on the stone floor and across the table covered with a pristine white cloth, where a lavish banquet was laid out. At the head of the table sat Prior Vincent of Emmet, dressed in soft robes of fine fabric and silk; on his head was a black velvet cap accented with gold, and around his neck hung a heavy gold chain with a large locket pendant. Next to him, on the arm of his grand chair, perched his favorite falcon, as the Prior enjoyed the gentle sport of hawking. To his right sat the Sheriff of Nottingham in rich purple robes trimmed with fur, and to his left a well-known lawyer in dark, somber clothing. Below them sat the high cellarer of Emmet and other prominent members of the community.

Jest and laughter passed around, and all was as merry as merry could be. The wizened face of the man of law was twisted into a wrinkled smile, for in his pouch were fourscore golden angels that the Prior had paid him in fee for the case betwixt him and Sir Richard of the Lea. The learned doctor had been paid beforehand, for he had not overmuch trust in the holy Vincent of Emmet.

Jokes and laughter circulated, and everyone was as cheerful as they could be. The elderly lawyer's face was contorted into a wrinkled smile, for he had eighty gold coins in his pouch that the Prior had given him as payment for the case between him and Sir Richard of the Lea. The knowledgeable doctor had been paid in advance because he didn’t have much faith in the holy Vincent of Emmet.

Quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, "But art thou sure, Sir Prior, that thou hast the lands so safe?"

Quoted the Sheriff of Nottingham, "But are you sure, Sir Prior, that you have the lands secured?"

"Ay, marry," said Prior Vincent, smacking his lips after a deep draught of wine, "I have kept a close watch upon him, albeit he was unawares of the same, and I know right well that he hath no money to pay me withal."

"Yeah, for sure," said Prior Vincent, licking his lips after a big sip of wine, "I've been keeping a close eye on him, even though he didn't know it, and I know very well that he has no money to pay me."

"Ay, true," said the man of law in a dry, husky voice, "his land is surely forfeit if he cometh not to pay; but, Sir Prior, thou must get a release beneath his sign manual, or else thou canst not hope to hold the land without trouble from him."

"Yeah, that's true," said the lawyer in a dry, raspy voice. "His land is definitely forfeited if he doesn’t come to pay; but, Sir Prior, you need to get a release signed by him, or else you can't expect to keep the land without issues from him."

"Yea," said the Prior, "so thou hast told me ere now, but I know that this knight is so poor that he will gladly sign away his lands for two hundred pounds of hard money."

"Yeah," said the Prior, "you've told me that before, but I know that this knight is so broke that he would happily give up his lands for two hundred pounds in cash."

Then up spake the high cellarer, "Methinks it is a shame to so drive a misfortunate knight to the ditch. I think it sorrow that the noblest estate in Derbyshire should so pass away from him for a paltry five hundred pounds. Truly, I—"

Then the head cellarer spoke up, "I think it’s a shame to push a misfortunate knight into the ditch. It’s sad that the noblest estate in Derbyshire should slip away from him for a measly five hundred pounds. Truly, I—"

"How now," broke in the Prior in a quivering voice, his eyes glistening and his cheeks red with anger, "dost thou prate to my very beard, sirrah? By Saint Hubert, thou hadst best save thy breath to cool thy pottage, else it may scald thy mouth."

"What's this?" interrupted the Prior in a shaky voice, his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed with anger. "Are you talking to me directly, sir? By Saint Hubert, you’d better save your breath to cool your soup, or it might burn your mouth."

"Nay," said the man of law smoothly, "I dare swear this same knight will never come to settlement this day, but will prove recreant. Nevertheless, we will seek some means to gain his lands from him, so never fear."

"No," said the lawyer smoothly, "I swear this knight won’t reach a settlement today and will show his cowardice. Still, we’ll find a way to take his lands from him, so don’t worry."

But even as the doctor spoke, there came a sudden clatter of horses' hoofs and a jingle of iron mail in the courtyard below. Then up spake the Prior and called upon one of the brethren that sat below the salt, and bade him look out of the window and see who was below, albeit he knew right well it could be none but Sir Richard.

But just as the doctor was talking, there was a sudden noise of horses' hooves and the clink of metal armor in the courtyard below. Then the Prior spoke up and called one of the brothers sitting further down the table, asking him to look out of the window and see who was below, even though he already knew it could only be Sir Richard.

So the brother arose and went and looked, and he said, "I see below a score of stout men-at-arms and a knight just dismounting from his horse. He is dressed in long robes of gray which, methinks, are of poor seeming; but the horse he rideth upon hath the richest coursing that ever I saw. The Knight dismounts and they come this way, and are even now below in the great hall."

So the brother got up and went to look. He said, "I see below a group of strong soldiers and a knight just getting off his horse. He’s wearing long gray robes that seem pretty shabby, but the horse he’s riding is the most stunning one I’ve ever seen. The knight gets off, and they’re coming this way; they’re already in the great hall below."

"Lo, see ye there now," quoth Prior Vincent. "Here ye have a knight with so lean a purse as scarce to buy him a crust of bread to munch, yet he keeps a band of retainers and puts rich trappings upon his horse's hide, while his own back goeth bare. Is it not well that such men should be brought low?"

"Look there," said Prior Vincent. "Here you have a knight with such a thin wallet that he can hardly buy a crust of bread to eat, yet he maintains a group of followers and dresses his horse in fancy gear while his own back is bare. Isn't it right that such men should be brought down a notch?"

"But art thou sure," said the little doctor tremulously, "that this knight will do us no harm? Such as he are fierce when crossed, and he hath a band of naughty men at his heels. Mayhap thou hadst better give an extension of his debt." Thus he spake, for he was afraid Sir Richard might do him a harm.

"But are you sure," said the little doctor nervously, "that this knight won’t harm us? Those like him can be fierce when provoked, and he has a group of troublemakers with him. Maybe you should consider extending his debt." He said this because he was worried Sir Richard might hurt him.

"Thou needst not fear," said the Prior, looking down at the little man beside him. "This knight is gentle and would as soon think of harming an old woman as thee."

"You don’t need to be afraid," said the Prior, looking down at the little man beside him. "This knight is kind and wouldn’t think of hurting an old woman any more than he would hurt you."

As the Prior finished, a door at the lower end of the refectory swung open, and in came Sir Richard, with folded hands and head bowed upon his breast. Thus humbly he walked slowly up the hall, while his men-at-arms stood about the door. When he had come to where the Prior sat, he knelt upon one knee. "Save and keep thee, Sir Prior," said he, "I am come to keep my day."

As the Prior finished speaking, a door at the far end of the dining hall swung open, and in walked Sir Richard, with his hands clasped and his head lowered. He moved slowly up the hall in a humble manner while his armed men stood near the entrance. When he reached the Prior, he knelt on one knee. "Greetings and blessings to you, Sir Prior," he said, "I've come to fulfill my obligation."

Then the first word that the Prior said to him was "Hast thou brought my money?"

Then the first thing the Prior said to him was, "Did you bring my money?"

"Alas! I have not so much as one penny upon my body," said the Knight; whereat the Prior's eyes sparkled.

"Unfortunately! I don’t have a single penny on me," said the Knight; at which the Prior's eyes lit up.

"Now, thou art a shrewd debtor, I wot," said he. Then, "Sir Sheriff, I drink to thee."

"Now, you are a clever borrower, I know," he said. Then, "Sheriff, I raise a glass to you."

But still the Knight kneeled upon the hard stones, so the Prior turned to him again. "What wouldst thou have?" quoth he sharply.

But still the Knight kneeled on the hard stones, so the Prior turned to him again. "What do you want?" he asked sharply.

At these words, a slow red mounted into the Knight's cheeks; but still he knelt. "I would crave thy mercy," said he. "As thou hopest for Heaven's mercy, show mercy to me. Strip me not of my lands and so reduce a true knight to poverty."

At these words, a slow blush rose in the Knight's cheeks; but still he knelt. "I beg for your mercy," said he. "As you hope for Heaven's mercy, show mercy to me. Don't take away my lands and reduce a true knight to poverty."

"Thy day is broken and thy lands forfeit," said the man of law, plucking up his spirits at the Knight's humble speech.

"Your day is over and your lands are lost," said the lawyer, lifting his spirits at the Knight's humble words.

Quoth Sir Richard, "Thou man of law, wilt thou not befriend me in mine hour of need?"

Quoth Sir Richard, "You man of law, will you not help me in my hour of need?"

"Nay," said the other, "I hold with this holy Prior, who hath paid me my fees in hard gold, so that I am bounder to him."

"No," said the other, "I stand with this holy Prior, who has paid me my fees in solid gold, so I am indebted to him."

"Wilt thou not be my friend, Sir Sheriff?" said Sir Richard.

"Will you not be my friend, Sir Sheriff?" said Sir Richard.

"Nay, 'fore Heaven," quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, "this is no business of mine, yet I will do what I may," and he nudged the Prior beneath the cloth with his knee. "Wilt thou not ease him of some of his debts, Sir Prior?"

"Nah, I swear to God," said the Sheriff of Nottingham, "this isn't my problem, but I'll do what I can," and he nudged the Prior under the table with his knee. "Won't you help him with some of his debts, Sir Prior?"

At this the Prior smiled grimly. "Pay me three hundred pounds, Sir Richard," said he, "and I will give thee quittance of thy debt."

At this, the Prior smiled wryly. "Pay me three hundred pounds, Sir Richard," he said, "and I'll give you a release from your debt."

"Thou knowest, Sir Prior, that it is as easy for me to pay four hundred pounds as three hundred," said Sir Richard. "But wilt thou not give me another twelvemonth to pay my debt?"

"You know, Sir Prior, that it’s just as easy for me to pay four hundred pounds as three hundred," said Sir Richard. "But will you not give me another year to settle my debt?"

"Not another day," said the Prior sternly.

"Not another day," the Prior said firmly.

"And is this all thou wilt do for me?" asked the Knight.

"And is this all you will do for me?" asked the Knight.

"Now, out upon thee, false knight!" cried the Prior, bursting forth in anger. "Either pay thy debt as I have said, or release thy land and get thee gone from out my hall."

"Now, get out of here, you fake knight!" yelled the Prior, filled with rage. "Either pay your debt like I said, or give up your land and leave my hall."

Then Sir Richard arose to his feet. "Thou false, lying priest!" said he in so stern a voice that the man of law shrunk affrighted, "I am no false knight, as thou knowest full well, but have even held my place in the press and the tourney. Hast thou so little courtesy that thou wouldst see a true knight kneel for all this time, or see him come into thy hall and never offer him meat or drink?"

Then Sir Richard stood up. "You deceitful, lying priest!" he said in such a stern voice that the lawyer shrank back in fear. "I am not a false knight, as you very well know, but I have held my own in battle and in tournaments. Do you have so little courtesy that you would let a true knight kneel for this long, or let him enter your hall without offering him food or drink?"

Then quoth the man of law in a trembling voice, "This is surely an ill way to talk of matters appertaining to business; let us be mild in speech. What wilt thou pay this knight, Sir Prior, to give thee release of his land?"

Then said the lawyer in a trembling voice, "This is definitely not a good way to discuss business matters; let's be gentle in our words. How much will you pay this knight, Sir Prior, to release his land to you?"

"I would have given him two hundred pounds," quoth the Prior, "but since he hath spoken so vilely to my teeth, not one groat over one hundred pounds will he get."

"I would have given him two hundred pounds," said the Prior, "but since he has spoken so disrespectfully to me, he won't get a single penny more than one hundred pounds."

"Hadst thou offered me a thousand pounds, false prior," said the Knight, "thou wouldst not have got an inch of my land." Then turning to where his men-at-arms stood near the door, he called, "Come hither," and beckoned with his finger; whereupon the tallest of them all came forward and handed him a long leathern bag. Sir Richard took the bag and shot from it upon the table a glittering stream of golden money. "Bear in mind, Sir Prior," said he, "that thou hast promised me quittance for three hundred pounds. Not one farthing above that shalt thou get." So saying, he counted out three hundred pounds and pushed it toward the Prior.

"Had you offered me a thousand pounds, false Prior," said the Knight, "you wouldn't have gotten even an inch of my land." Then, turning to where his men-at-arms stood near the door, he called, "Come here," and waved them over; the tallest among them stepped forward and handed him a long leather bag. Sir Richard took the bag and poured a glittering stream of gold coins onto the table. "Remember, Sir Prior," he said, "that you promised me payment for three hundred pounds. You won't get a single penny more than that." With that, he counted out three hundred pounds and pushed it toward the Prior.

But now the Prior's hands dropped at his sides and the Prior's head hung upon his shoulder, for not only had he lost all hopes of the land, but he had forgiven the Knight one hundred pounds of his debt and had needlessly paid the man of law fourscore angels. To him he turned, and quoth he, "Give me back my money that thou hast."

But now the Prior's hands fell to his sides and his head drooped on his shoulder, for he had lost all hope of owning the land, had forgiven the Knight a hundred pounds of his debt, and had unnecessarily paid the lawyer eighty coins. He turned to him and said, "Give me back my money that you have."

"Nay," cried the other shrilly, "it is but my fee that thou didst pay me, and thou gettest it not back again." And he hugged his gown about him.

"Not at all," the other shouted sharply, "you only paid me my fee, and you won’t get it back." And he pulled his gown tightly around him.

"Now, Sir Prior," quoth Sir Richard, "I have held my day and paid all the dues demanded of me; so, as there is no more betwixt us, I leave this vile place straightway." So saying, he turned upon his heel and strode away.

"Now, Sir Prior," said Sir Richard, "I've fulfilled my obligations and paid all the required dues; since there's nothing more to discuss, I'm leaving this wretched place right now." With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

All this time the Sheriff had been staring with wide-open eyes and mouth agape at the tall man-at-arms, who stood as though carved out of stone. At last he gasped out, "Reynold Greenleaf!"

All this time, the Sheriff had been staring with wide-open eyes and his mouth hanging open at the tall man-at-arms, who stood there like he was made of stone. Finally, he gasped, "Reynold Greenleaf!"

At this, the tall man-at-arms, who was no other than Little John, turned, grinning, to the Sheriff. "I give thee good den, fair gossip," quoth he. "I would say, sweet Sheriff, that I have heard all thy pretty talk this day, and it shall be duly told unto Robin Hood. So, farewell for the nonce, till we meet again in Sherwood Forest." Then he, also, turned and followed Sir Richard down the hall, leaving the Sheriff, all pale and amazed, shrunk together upon his chair.

At this, the tall man-at-arms, who was none other than Little John, turned, grinning, to the Sheriff. "Good day to you, dear friend," he said. "I just want to let you know, sweet Sheriff, that I've heard all your charming words today, and I'll be sure to share them with Robin Hood. So, goodbye for now, until we meet again in Sherwood Forest." Then he also turned and followed Sir Richard down the hall, leaving the Sheriff pale and stunned, huddled in his chair.

A merry feast it was to which Sir Richard came, but a sorry lot he left behind him, and little hunger had they for the princely food spread before them. Only the learned doctor was happy, for he had his fee.

It was a joyful feast that Sir Richard attended, but he left behind a sad group, and they had little appetite for the lavish food laid out in front of them. Only the knowledgeable doctor was pleased, as he had received his payment.

Now a twelvemonth and a day passed since Prior Vincent of Emmet sat at feast, and once more the mellow fall of another year had come. But the year had brought great change, I wot, to the lands of Sir Richard of the Lea; for, where before shaggy wild grasses grew upon the meadow lands, now all stretch away in golden stubble, betokening that a rich and plentiful crop had been gathered therefrom. A year had made a great change in the castle, also, for, where were empty moats and the crumbling of neglect, all was now orderly and well kept.

Now a year and a day had passed since Prior Vincent of Emmet sat at a feast, and once again the gentle autumn of another year had arrived. But the year had brought significant changes, I must say, to the lands of Sir Richard of the Lea; for, where shaggy wild grasses once grew on the meadows, now they stretch out in golden stubble, indicating that a rich and plentiful harvest had been collected from there. A year had made a great difference in the castle too, for, where there were empty moats and signs of neglect, everything was now neat and well-maintained.

Bright shone the sun on battlement and tower, and in the blue air overhead a Hock of clattering jackdaws flew around the gilded weather vane and spire. Then, in the brightness of the morning, the drawbridge fell across the moat with a rattle and clank of chains, the gate of the castle swung slowly open, and a goodly array of steel-clad men-at-arms, with a knight all clothed in chain mail, as white as frost on brier and thorn of a winter morning, came flashing out from the castle courtyard. In his hand the Knight held a great spear, from the point of which fluttered a blood-red pennant as broad as the palm of one's hand. So this troop came forth from the castle, and in the midst of them walked three pack horses laden with parcels of divers shapes and kinds.

The sun shone brightly on the battlements and towers, and in the blue sky above, a flock of noisy jackdaws flew around the shiny weather vane and spire. Then, in the morning light, the drawbridge crashed down across the moat with a rattle and clank of chains, the castle gate opened slowly, and a good number of armored soldiers, with a knight dressed in chain mail as white as frost on a winter morning, came rushing out from the castle courtyard. The Knight held a large spear, from the tip of which waved a blood-red flag as wide as a person's hand. So this group emerged from the castle, and in the middle of them walked three pack horses carrying parcels of various shapes and sizes.

Thus rode forth good Sir Richard of the Lea to pay his debt to Robin Hood this bright and merry morn. Along the highway they wended their way, with measured tramp of feet and rattle and jingle of sword and harness. Onward they marched till they came nigh to Denby, where, from the top of a hill, they saw, over beyond the town, many gay flags and streamers floating in the bright air. Then Sir Richard turned to the man-at-arms nearest to him. "What is toward yonder at Denby today?" quoth he.

Thus, good Sir Richard of the Lea set out to pay his debt to Robin Hood on this bright and cheery morning. They walked along the highway, the steady sound of boots and the rattle and jingle of swords and armor surrounding them. They marched on until they approached Denby, where, from the top of a hill, they spotted many colorful flags and streamers fluttering in the clear sky beyond the town. Sir Richard then turned to the nearest soldier. "What's happening over there in Denby today?" he asked.

"Please Your Worship," answered the man-at-arms, "a merry fair is held there today, and a great wrestling match, to which many folk have come, for a prize hath been offered of a pipe of red wine, a fair golden ring, and a pair of gloves, all of which go to the best wrestler."

"Please, Your Honor," replied the soldier, "there's a fun fair happening there today, along with a big wrestling match that a lot of people have come to see. A prize has been offered: a cask of red wine, a beautiful gold ring, and a pair of gloves, all of which will go to the best wrestler."

"Now, by my faith," quoth Sir Richard, who loved good manly sports right well, "this will be a goodly thing to see. Methinks we have to stay a little while on our journey, and see this merry sport." So he turned his horse's head aside toward Denby and the fair, and thither he and his men made their way.

"Now, I swear," said Sir Richard, who really enjoyed good sports, "this will be a great sight to see. I think we should take a little break from our journey and catch this fun event." So he turned his horse toward Denby and the fair, and he and his men headed that way.

There they found a great hubbub of merriment. Flags and streamers were floating, tumblers were tumbling on the green, bagpipes were playing, and lads and lasses were dancing to the music. But the crowd were gathered most of all around a ring where the wrestling was going forward, and thither Sir Richard and his men turned their steps.

There they found a lively scene filled with joy. Flags and streamers were waving, glasses were clinking on the grass, bagpipes were playing, and boys and girls were dancing to the tune. But most of the crowd was gathered around a ring where the wrestling match was happening, and that’s where Sir Richard and his men headed.

Now when the judges of the wrestling saw Sir Richard coming and knew who he was, the chief of them came down from the bench where he and the others sat, and went to the Knight and took him by the hand, beseeching him to come and sit with them and judge the sport. So Sir Richard got down from his horse and went with the others to the bench raised beside the ring.

Now when the wrestling judges saw Sir Richard approaching and recognized him, the head judge got off the bench where he and the others were seated, went over to the Knight, shook his hand, and asked him to join them and help judge the match. So, Sir Richard dismounted from his horse and followed the others to the raised bench next to the ring.

Now there had been great doings that morning, for a certain yeoman named Egbert, who came from Stoke over in Staffordshire, had thrown with ease all those that came against him; but a man of Denby, well known through all the countryside as William of the Scar, had been biding his time with the Stoke man; so, when Egbert had thrown everyone else, stout William leaped into the ring. Then a tough bout followed, and at last he threw Egbert heavily, whereat there was a great shouting and shaking of hands, for all the Denby men were proud of their wrestler.

That morning had seen some big happenings, as a certain farmer named Egbert, who came from Stoke in Staffordshire, easily tossed everyone who went up against him. However, a well-known local from Denby, called William of the Scar, had been waiting for his moment with Egbert. Once Egbert had defeated everyone else, tough William jumped into the ring. A fierce match followed, and eventually he threw Egbert down hard, which led to loud cheers and a lot of handshaking, as all the Denby folks were proud of their wrestler.

When Sir Richard came, he found stout William, puffed up by the shouts of his friends, walking up and down the ring, daring anyone to come and try a throw with him. "Come one, come all!" quoth he. "Here stand I, William of the Scar, against any man. If there is none in Derbyshire to come against me, come all who will, from Nottingham, Stafford, or York, and if I do not make them one and all root the ground with their noses like swine in the forests, call me no more brave William the wrestler."

When Sir Richard arrived, he found big William, pumped up by the cheers of his friends, pacing around the ring, challenging anyone to come and try to throw him. "Come one, come all!" he said. "Here I stand, William of the Scar, ready to take on any man. If there's no one in Derbyshire to stand up to me, then come from Nottingham, Stafford, or York, and if I don't make them all bury their noses in the dirt like pigs in the woods, then don’t call me brave William the wrestler anymore."

At this all laughed; but above all the laughter a loud voice was heard to cry out, "Sin' thou talkest so big, here cometh one from Nottinghamshire to try a fall with thee, fellow"; and straightway a tall youth with a tough quarterstaff in his hand came pushing his way through the crowd and at last leaped lightly over the rope into the ring. He was not as heavy as stout William, but he was taller and broader in the shoulders, and all his joints were well knit. Sir Richard looked upon him keenly, then, turning to one of the judges, he said, "Knowest thou who this youth is? Methinks I have seen him before."

At this, everyone laughed; but above all the noise, a loud voice shouted, "Since you talk so big, here comes someone from Nottinghamshire to take you on, buddy!" Immediately, a tall young man with a sturdy quarterstaff pushed his way through the crowd and then easily jumped over the rope into the ring. He wasn't as heavy as stout William, but he was taller and broader in the shoulders, and all his joints were strong. Sir Richard examined him closely and then turned to one of the judges, saying, "Do you know who this young man is? I think I've seen him before."

"Nay," said the judge, "he is a stranger to me."

"Nah," said the judge, "I don't know him."

Meantime, without a word, the young man, laying aside his quarterstaff, began to take off his jerkin and body clothing until he presently stood with naked arms and body; and a comely sight he was when so bared to the view, for his muscles were cut round and smooth and sharp like swift- running water.

Meantime, without saying anything, the young man put down his staff and started to remove his jacket and clothing until he stood there with his arms and torso bare; he was quite a sight when exposed like that, as his muscles were well-defined and smooth, sharp like fast-running water.

And now each man spat upon his hands and, clapping them upon his knees, squatted down, watching the other keenly, so as to take the vantage of him in the grip. Then like a flash they leaped together, and a great shout went up, for William had gotten the better hold of the two. For a short time they strained and struggled and writhed, and then stout William gave his most cunning trip and throw, but the stranger met it with greater skill than his, and so the trip came to nought. Then, of a sudden, with a twist and a wrench, the stranger loosed himself, and he of the scar found himself locked in a pair of arms that fairly made his ribs crack. So, with heavy, hot breathing, they stood for a while straining, their bodies all glistening with sweat, and great drops of sweat trickling down their faces. But the stranger's hug was so close that at last stout William's muscles softened under his grip, and he gave a sob. Then the youth put forth all his strength and gave a sudden trip with his heel and a cast over his right hip, and down stout William went, with a sickening thud, and lay as though he would never move hand nor foot again.

And now each man spat on his hands and, clapping them on his knees, squatted down, watching the other closely to gain the upper hand in the grip. Then, like a flash, they jumped together, and a loud cheer erupted because William had secured a better hold. For a brief moment, they strained and struggled, writhing against each other, and then strong William attempted his most clever trip and throw, but the stranger countered with even more skill, making William's trip ineffective. Suddenly, with a twist and a wrench, the stranger broke free, and the scarred man found himself caught in a pair of arms that made his ribs feel like they might crack. So, panting heavily, they stood there for a while, straining, their bodies glistening with sweat, and large drops of sweat rolling down their faces. But the stranger's grip was so tight that eventually, tough William's muscles weakened under the pressure, and he gasped. Then the young guy put all his strength into a quick trip with his heel and a throw over his right hip, and stout William went down with a sickening thud, lying there as if he would never move again.

But now no shout went up for the stranger, but an angry murmur was heard among the crowd, so easily had he won the match. Then one of the judges, a kinsman to William of the Scar, rose with trembling lip and baleful look. Quoth he, "If thou hath slain that man it will go ill with thee, let me tell thee, fellow." But the stranger answered boldly, "He took his chance with me as I took mine with him. No law can touch me to harm me, even if I slew him, so that it was fairly done in the wrestling ring."

But now there was no cheer for the stranger; instead, an angry murmur spread through the crowd, so effortlessly had he won the match. Then one of the judges, a relative of William of the Scar, stood up with a trembling lip and a menacing look. He said, "If you've killed that man, things will go badly for you, let me warn you, man." But the stranger replied confidently, "He took his chance with me just as I took mine with him. No law can touch me to harm me, even if I did kill him, as long as it was done fairly in the wrestling ring."

"That we shall see," said the judge, scowling upon the youth, while once more an angry murmur ran around the crowd; for, as I have said, the men of Denby were proud of stout William of the Scar.

"That we shall see," said the judge, scowling at the young man, while another angry murmur spread through the crowd; as I mentioned, the people of Denby were proud of strong William of the Scar.

Then up spoke Sir Richard gently. "Nay," said he, "the youth is right; if the other dieth, he dieth in the wrestling ring, where he took his chance, and was cast fairly enow."

Then Sir Richard spoke softly. "No," he said, "the young man is right; if the other one dies, he dies in the wrestling ring, where he took his chance and was fairly defeated."

But in the meantime three men had come forward and lifted stout William from the ground and found that he was not dead, though badly shaken by his heavy fall. Then the chief judge rose and said, "Young man, the prize is duly thine. Here is the red-gold ring, and here the gloves, and yonder stands the pipe of wine to do with whatsoever thou dost list."

But in the meantime, three men had come forward and lifted sturdy William from the ground, discovering that he was not dead, although he was badly shaken from his heavy fall. Then the chief judge stood up and said, "Young man, the prize is rightfully yours. Here is the gold ring, and here are the gloves, and over there is the jug of wine for you to do with as you wish."

At this, the youth, who had donned his clothes and taken up his staff again, bowed without a word, then, taking the gloves and the ring, and thrusting the one into his girdle and slipping the other upon his thumb, he turned and, leaping lightly over the ropes again, made his way through the crowd, and was gone.

At this, the young man, who had put on his clothes and picked up his staff again, nodded silently. Then, after tucking the gloves into his belt and slipping the ring onto his thumb, he turned and easily jumped over the ropes again, making his way through the crowd, and disappeared.

"Now, I wonder who yon youth may be," said the judge, turning to Sir Richard, "he seemeth like a stout Saxon from his red cheeks and fair hair. This William of ours is a stout man, too, and never have I seen him cast in the ring before, albeit he hath not yet striven with such great wrestlers as Thomas of Cornwall, Diccon of York, and young David of Doncaster. Hath he not a firm foot in the ring, thinkest thou, Sir Richard?"

"Now, I wonder who that young man is," said the judge, turning to Sir Richard. "He looks like a sturdy Saxon with his red cheeks and fair hair. Our William is a strong man too, and I’ve never seen him compete in the ring before, though he hasn’t faced wrestlers as tough as Thomas of Cornwall, Diccon of York, and young David of Doncaster. Do you think he has a solid footing in the ring, Sir Richard?"

"Ay, truly, and yet this youth threw him fairly, and with wondrous ease. I much wonder who he can be." Thus said Sir Richard in a thoughtful voice.

"Yeah, really, and yet this young guy took him down easily and effortlessly. I really wonder who he could be." Sir Richard said this in a thoughtful tone.

For a time the Knight stood talking to those about him, but at last he arose and made ready to depart, so he called his men about him and, tightening the girths of his saddle, he mounted his horse once more.

For a while, the Knight chatted with those around him, but eventually, he stood up and got ready to leave. He called his men over, tightened the saddle girths, and mounted his horse again.

Meanwhile the young stranger had made his way through the crowd, but, as he passed, he heard all around him such words muttered as "Look at the cockerel!" "Behold how he plumeth himself!" "I dare swear he cast good William unfairly!" "Yea, truly, saw ye not birdlime upon his hands?" "It would be well to cut his cock's comb!" To all this the stranger paid no heed, but strode proudly about as though he heard it not. So he walked slowly across the green to where the booth stood wherein was dancing, and standing at the door he looked in on the sport. As he stood thus, a stone struck his arm of a sudden with a sharp jar, and, turning, he saw that an angry crowd of men had followed him from the wrestling ring. Then, when they saw him turn so, a great hooting and yelling arose from all, so that the folk came running out from the dancing booth to see what was to do. At last a tall, broad-shouldered, burly blacksmith strode forward from the crowd swinging a mighty blackthorn club in his hand.

Meanwhile, the young stranger had made his way through the crowd, but as he passed, he heard people around him grumbling things like, "Look at the rooster!" "Check out how he struts!" "I bet he took down good William unfairly!" "Seriously, didn't you see the birdlime on his hands?" "It would be smart to cut his comb!" The stranger ignored all this and walked confidently as if he didn't hear a thing. He slowly crossed the green to where the booth was set up with dancing, and standing at the door, he looked in at the festivities. While he was standing there, a stone suddenly hit his arm with a sharp thud, and when he turned, he saw that an angry group of men had followed him from the wrestling ring. Then, when they saw him turn, a huge roar of hooting and yelling erupted, causing people to rush out from the dancing booth to see what was happening. Finally, a tall, broad-shouldered, burly blacksmith stepped forward from the crowd, swinging a hefty blackthorn club in his hand.

"Wouldst thou come here to our fair town of Denby, thou Jack in the Box, to overcome a good honest lad with vile, juggling tricks?" growled he in a deep voice like the bellow of an angry bull. "Take that, then!" And of a sudden he struck a blow at the youth that might have felled an ox. But the other turned the blow deftly aside, and gave back another so terrible that the Denby man went down with a groan, as though he had been smitten by lightning. When they saw their leader fall, the crowd gave another angry shout; but the stranger placed his back against the tent near which he stood, swinging his terrible staff, and so fell had been the blow that he struck the stout smith that none dared to come within the measure of his cudgel, so the press crowded back, like a pack of dogs from a bear at bay. But now some coward hand from behind threw a sharp jagged stone that smote the stranger on the crown, so that he staggered back, and the red blood gushed from the cut and ran down his face and over his jerkin. Then, seeing him dazed with this vile blow, the crowd rushed upon him, so that they overbore him and he fell beneath their feet.

"Are you here in our town of Denby, you Jack in the Box, trying to take down an honest guy with your nasty tricks?" he growled in a deep voice like an angry bull. "Take that!" Suddenly, he swung a punch at the young man that could have knocked out an ox. But the young man skillfully dodged the blow and delivered one back so powerful that the Denby man collapsed with a groan, as if struck by lightning. When the crowd saw their leader fall, they shouted in anger, but the stranger pressed his back against the tent nearby, swinging his fearsome staff. The last blow he landed was so fierce that no one dared to come close to him, and the crowd pushed back like a bunch of dogs retreating from a cornered bear. But then a cowardly hand from behind threw a sharp stone that hit the stranger on the head, making him stagger and causing red blood to gush from the wound, running down his face and soaking his jerkin. Seeing him reeling from this treacherous attack, the crowd charged at him, overwhelming him until he fell beneath their feet.

Now it might have gone ill with the youth, even to the losing of his young life, had not Sir Richard come to this fair; for of a sudden, shouts were heard, and steel flashed in the air, and blows were given with the flat of swords, while through the midst of the crowd Sir Richard of the Lea came spurring on his white horse. Then the crowd, seeing the steel-clad knight and the armed men, melted away like snow on the warm hearth, leaving the young man all bloody and dusty upon the ground.

Now things could have ended badly for the young man, maybe even costing him his life, if Sir Richard hadn't arrived at the fair; suddenly, shouts filled the air, steel gleamed in the light, and swords clashed flat against one another while Sir Richard of the Lea burst through the crowd on his white horse. The crowd, seeing the armored knight and the armed men, quickly scattered like snow on a warm hearth, leaving the young man bloodied and covered in dirt on the ground.

Finding himself free, the youth arose and, wiping the blood from his face, looked up. Quoth he, "Sir Richard of the Lea, mayhap thou hast saved my life this day."

Finding himself free, the young man got up and wiped the blood from his face, looking up. He said, "Sir Richard of the Lea, maybe you saved my life today."

"Who art thou that knowest Sir Richard of the Lea so well?" quoth the Knight. "Methinks I have seen thy face before, young man."

"Who are you that knows Sir Richard of the Lea so well?" said the Knight. "I think I've seen your face before, young man."

"Yea, thou hast," said the youth, "for men call me David of Doncaster."

"Yeah, you have," said the young man, "because people call me David of Doncaster."

"Ha!" said Sir Richard, "I wonder that I knew thee not, David; but thy beard hath grown longer, and thou thyself art more set in manhood since this day twelvemonth. Come hither into the tent, David, and wash the blood from thy face. And thou, Ralph, bring him straightway a clean jerkin. Now I am sorry for thee, yet I am right glad that I have had a chance to pay a part of my debt of kindness to thy good master Robin Hood, for it might have gone ill with thee had I not come, young man."

"Ha!" said Sir Richard, "I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you, David; your beard has grown longer, and you seem much more solid as a man compared to a year ago. Come over to the tent, David, and wash the blood off your face. And you, Ralph, bring him a clean shirt right away. I feel sorry for you, but I'm also really glad I had the chance to repay some of my debt of kindness to your good master Robin Hood, because things might have turned out badly for you if I hadn’t come, young man."

So saying, the Knight led David into the tent, and there the youth washed the blood from his face and put on the clean jerkin.

So saying, the Knight led David into the tent, and there the young man cleaned the blood off his face and put on the fresh jerkin.

In the meantime a whisper had gone around from those that stood nearest that this was none other than the great David of Doncaster, the best wrestler in all the mid-country, who only last spring had cast stout Adam o' Lincoln in the ring at Selby, in Yorkshire, and now held the mid-country champion belt, Thus it happened that when young David came forth from the tent along with Sir Richard, the blood all washed from his face, and his soiled jerkin changed for a clean one, no sounds of anger were heard, but all pressed forward to see the young man, feeling proud that one of the great wrestlers of England should have entered the ring at Denby fair. For thus fickle is a mass of men.

In the meantime, a rumor spread among those standing closest that this was none other than the great David of Doncaster, the best wrestler in all of the midlands, who just last spring had thrown the strong Adam o' Lincoln in the ring at Selby, in Yorkshire, and now held the mid-country champion belt. So, when young David emerged from the tent with Sir Richard, his face clean and his dirty jerkin swapped for a fresh one, there were no sounds of anger, but everyone stepped forward to see the young man, feeling proud that one of the greatest wrestlers of England had entered the ring at Denby fair. Such is the fickleness of a crowd.

Then Sir Richard called aloud, "Friends, this is David of Doncaster; so think it no shame that your Denby man was cast by such a wrestler. He beareth you no ill will for what hath passed, but let it be a warning to you how ye treat strangers henceforth. Had ye slain him it would have been an ill day for you, for Robin Hood would have harried your town as the kestrel harries the dovecote. I have bought the pipe of wine from him, and now I give it freely to you to drink as ye list. But never hereafterward fall upon a man for being a stout yeoman."

Then Sir Richard called out, "Friends, this is David from Doncaster; so don't feel ashamed that your Denby man was beaten by such a wrestler. He holds no grudge against you for what has happened, but let this be a warning about how you treat strangers from now on. If you had killed him, it would have been a terrible day for you, because Robin Hood would have raided your town like a kestrel dives for pigeons. I've bought the wine from him, and now I give it freely to you to drink as you wish. But from now on, never attack a man just because he’s a strong yeoman."

At this all shouted amain; but in truth they thought more of the wine than of the Knight's words. Then Sir Richard, with David beside him and his men-at-arms around, turned about and left the fair.

At this, everyone shouted loudly; but honestly, they cared more about the wine than the Knight's words. Then Sir Richard, with David next to him and his soldiers around, turned and left the fair.

But in after days, when the men that saw that wrestling bout were bent with age, they would shake their heads when they heard of any stalwart game, and say, "Ay, ay; but thou shouldst have seen the great David of Doncaster cast stout William of the Scar at Denby fair."

But later on, when the men who witnessed that wrestling match grew old, they would shake their heads when they heard about any strong competition, saying, "Yeah, yeah; but you should have seen the great David of Doncaster throw stout William of the Scar at Denby fair."

Robin Hood stood in the merry greenwood with Little John and most of his stout yeomen around him, awaiting Sir Richard's coming. At last a glint of steel was seen through the brown forest leaves, and forth from the covert into the open rode Sir Richard at the head of his men. He came straight forward to Robin Hood and leaping from off his horse, clasped the yeoman in his arms.

Robin Hood stood in the cheerful green woods with Little John and most of his sturdy companions around him, waiting for Sir Richard to arrive. Finally, a flash of metal appeared through the brown forest leaves, and Sir Richard rode out from the thicket, leading his men. He approached Robin Hood directly and, jumping off his horse, embraced the yeoman.

"Why, how now," said Robin, after a time, holding Sir Richard off and looking at him from top to toe, "methinks thou art a gayer bird than when I saw thee last."

"Well, look at you," said Robin, after a moment, keeping Sir Richard at a distance and examining him from head to toe, "I think you're in a better mood than when I last saw you."

"Yes, thanks to thee, Robin," said the Knight, laying his hand upon the yeoman's shoulder. "But for thee I would have been wandering in misery in a far country by this time. But I have kept my word, Robin, and have brought back the money that thou didst lend me, and which I have doubled four times over again, and so become rich once more. Along with this money I have brought a little gift to thee and thy brave men from my dear lady and myself." Then, turning to his men, he called aloud, "Bring forth the pack horses."

"Yes, thanks to you, Robin," said the Knight, putting his hand on the yeoman's shoulder. "If it weren't for you, I would have been lost in misery in a distant land by now. But I've kept my promise, Robin, and I've brought back the money you lent me, which I've managed to double four times, and now I'm rich again. Along with this money, I've also brought a little gift for you and your brave men from my dear lady and me." Then, turning to his men, he called out, "Bring out the pack horses."

But Robin stopped him. "Nay, Sir Richard," said he, "think it not bold of me to cross thy bidding, but we of Sherwood do no business till after we have eaten and drunk." Whereupon, taking Sir Richard by the hand, he led him to the seat beneath the greenwood tree, while others of the chief men of the band came and seated themselves around. Then quoth Robin, "How cometh it that I saw young David of Doncaster with thee and thy men, Sir Knight?"

But Robin stopped him. "No, Sir Richard," he said, "don’t think it's rude of me to go against your wishes, but we in Sherwood don't do any work until we've eaten and had a drink." Then, taking Sir Richard by the hand, he led him to the seat under the greenwood tree, while other leaders of the band came and sat around them. Then Robin asked, "How is it that I saw young David of Doncaster with you and your men, Sir Knight?"

Then straightway the Knight told all about his stay at Denby and of the happening at the fair, and how it was like to go hard with young David; so he told his tale, and quoth he, "It was this, good Robin, that kept me so late on the way, otherwise I would have been here an hour agone."

Then right away the Knight shared everything about his time at Denby and what happened at the fair, and how things were looking tough for young David; so he told his story, and said, "It was this, good Robin, that made me so late on the way, otherwise I would have been here an hour ago."

Then, when he had done speaking, Robin stretched out his hand and grasped the Knight's palm. Quoth he in a trembling voice, "I owe thee a debt I can never hope to repay, Sir Richard, for let me tell thee, I would rather lose my right hand than have such ill befall young David of Doncaster as seemed like to come upon him at Denby."

Then, after he finished speaking, Robin reached out his hand and shook the Knight's palm. He said in a trembling voice, "I owe you a debt I can never repay, Sir Richard, because let me tell you, I would rather lose my right hand than have anything bad happen to young David of Doncaster, like what was about to happen to him at Denby."

So they talked until after a while one came forward to say that the feast was spread; whereupon all arose and went thereto. When at last it was done, the Knight called upon his men to bring the pack horses forward, which they did according to his bidding. Then one of the men brought the Knight a strongbox, which he opened and took from it a bag and counted out five hundred pounds, the sum he had gotten from Robin.

So they chatted until eventually one of them stepped up to say that the feast was ready; then everyone stood up and went to it. When it was finally over, the Knight called for his men to bring the pack horses forward, and they did as he ordered. Then one of the men brought the Knight a strongbox, which he opened to take out a bag and counted out five hundred pounds, the amount he had received from Robin.

"Sir Richard," quoth Robin, "thou wilt pleasure us all if thou wilt keep that money as a gift from us of Sherwood. Is it not so, my lads?"

"Sir Richard," said Robin, "you'll make us all happy if you keep that money as a gift from us in Sherwood. Isn't that right, guys?"

Then all shouted "Ay" with a mighty voice.

Then everyone shouted "Yes!" with a loud voice.

"I thank you all deeply," said the Knight earnestly, "but think it not ill of me if I cannot take it. Gladly have I borrowed it from you, but it may not be that I can take it as a gift."

"I truly appreciate all of you," the Knight said sincerely, "but please don't think poorly of me if I can't accept it. I gladly accepted it from you, but it may not be possible for me to take it as a gift."

Then Robin Hood said no more but gave the money to Little John to put away in the treasury, for he had shrewdness enough to know that nought breeds ill will and heart bitterness like gifts forced upon one that cannot choose but take them.

Then Robin Hood said nothing more but handed the money to Little John to put in the treasury, as he was wise enough to understand that nothing creates resentment and bitterness like gifts that are forced upon someone who has no choice but to accept them.

Then Sir Richard had the packs laid upon the ground and opened, whereupon a great shout went up that made the forest ring again, for lo, there were tenscore bows of finest Spanish yew, all burnished till they shone again, and each bow inlaid with fanciful figures in silver, yet not inlaid so as to mar their strength. Beside these were tenscore quivers of leather embroidered with golden thread, and in each quiver were a score of shafts with burnished heads that shone like silver; each shaft was feathered with peacock's plumes, innocked with silver.

Then Sir Richard had the packs laid on the ground and opened, and a loud cheer went up that echoed through the forest, for there were a hundred bows made of the finest Spanish yew, all polished until they gleamed, and each bow inlaid with intricate designs in silver, yet not so much that it weakened them. Next to these were a hundred leather quivers embroidered with golden thread, and in each quiver were twenty arrows with polished heads that shined like silver; each arrow was fletched with peacock feathers and tipped with silver.

Sir Richard gave to each yeoman a bow and a quiver of arrows, but to Robin he gave a stout bow inlaid with the cunningest workmanship in gold, while each arrow in his quiver was innocked with gold.

Sir Richard gave each yeoman a bow and a quiver of arrows, but to Robin he gave a strong bow decorated with the finest gold craftsmanship, and every arrow in his quiver was tipped with gold.

Then all shouted again for joy of the fair gift, and all swore among themselves that they would die if need be for Sir Richard and his lady.

Then everyone shouted again in joy over the wonderful gift, and they all vowed to one another that they would die if necessary for Sir Richard and his lady.

At last the time came when Sir Richard must go, whereupon Robin Hood called his band around him, and each man of the yeomen took a torch in his hand to light the way through the woodlands. So they came to the edge of Sherwood, and there the Knight kissed Robin upon the cheeks and left him and was gone.

At last, the time came for Sir Richard to leave, so Robin Hood gathered his band around him, and each of the men took a torch in hand to light their way through the woods. They reached the edge of Sherwood, and there the Knight kissed Robin on the cheeks before leaving.

Thus Robin Hood helped a noble knight out of his dire misfortunes, that else would have smothered the happiness from his life.

Thus Robin Hood helped a noble knight out of his terrible misfortunes, which otherwise would have smothered the happiness from his life.

 

 

 

 

Little John Turns Barefoot Friar

COLD WINTER had passed and spring had come. No leafy thickness had yet clad the woodlands, but the budding leaves hung like a tender mist about the trees. In the open country the meadow lands lay a sheeny green, the cornfields a dark velvety color, for they were thick and soft with the growing blades. The plowboy shouted in the sun, and in the purple new- turned furrows flocks of birds hunted for fat worms. All the broad moist earth smiled in the warm light, and each little green hill clapped its hand for joy.

COLD WINTER had passed and spring had arrived. The woodlands weren't yet fully covered with leaves, but the budding foliage hung like a delicate mist around the trees. In the open fields, the meadows shimmered in bright green, while the cornfields displayed a rich, velvety hue, thick and soft with the growing shoots. The plowboy shouted in the sun, and in the freshly turned purple furrows, flocks of birds searched for plump worms. The wide, damp earth beamed in the warm light, and every little green hill seemed to cheer in delight.

On a deer's hide, stretched on the ground in the open in front of the greenwood tree, sat Robin Hood basking in the sun like an old dog fox. Leaning back with his hands clasped about his knees, he lazily watched Little John rolling a stout bowstring from long strands of hempen thread, wetting the palms of his hands ever and anon, and rolling the cord upon his thigh. Near by sat Allan a Dale fitting a new string to his harp.

On a deer hide laid out on the ground in front of the greenwood tree, Robin Hood lounged in the sun like a lazy old dog fox. Leaning back with his hands clasped around his knees, he watched Little John making a sturdy bowstring from long strands of hemp thread, occasionally wetting his palms and rolling the cord on his thigh. Nearby, Allan a Dale was adjusting a new string on his harp.

Quoth Robin at last, "Methinks I would rather roam this forest in the gentle springtime than be King of all merry England. What palace in the broad world is as fair as this sweet woodland just now, and what king in all the world hath such appetite for plover's eggs and lampreys as I for juicy venison and sparkling ale? Gaffer Swanthold speaks truly when he saith, 'Better a crust with content than honey with a sour heart.'"

At last, Robin said, "I think I’d rather wander this forest in the gentle spring than be King of all merry England. What palace in the whole world is as beautiful as this lovely woodland right now, and what king in all the world has as much desire for plover's eggs and lampreys as I do for juicy venison and sparkling ale? Old Swanthold is right when he says, 'Better a crust with content than honey with a sour heart.'"

"Yea," quoth Little John, as he rubbed his new-made bowstring with yellow beeswax, "the life we lead is the life for me. Thou speakest of the springtime, but methinks even the winter hath its own joys. Thou and I, good master, have had more than one merry day, this winter past, at the Blue Boar. Dost thou not remember that night thou and Will Stutely and Friar Tuck and I passed at that same hostelry with the two beggars and the strolling friar?"

"Yeah," said Little John, as he rubbed his newly made bowstring with yellow beeswax, "the life we live is the life for me. You talk about spring, but I think even winter has its own joys. You and I, my good master, have had more than one fun day this past winter at the Blue Boar. Don’t you remember that night you, Will Stutely, Friar Tuck, and I spent at that same inn with the two beggars and the wandering friar?"

"Yea," quoth merry Robin, laughing, "that was the night that Will Stutely must needs snatch a kiss from the stout hostess, and got a canakin of ale emptied over his head for his pains."

"Yeah," said cheerful Robin, laughing, "that was the night when Will Stutely had to steal a kiss from the brave hostess and ended up with a mug of ale dumped over his head for his trouble."

"Truly, it was the same," said Little John, laughing also. "Methinks that was a goodly song that the strolling friar sang. Friar Tuck, thou hast a quick ear for a tune, dost thou not remember it?"

"Really, it was the same," said Little John, laughing too. "I think that was a nice song the traveling friar sang. Friar Tuck, you have a good ear for a tune, don’t you remember it?"

"I did have the catch of it one time," said Tuck. "Let me see," and he touched his forefinger to his forehead in thought, humming to himself, and stopping ever and anon to fit what he had got to what he searched for in his mind. At last he found it all and clearing his throat, sang merrily:

"I actually got it once," Tuck said. "Let me think," and he tapped his finger against his forehead in thought, humming to himself and pausing now and then to match what he remembered with what he was trying to recall. Finally, he pieced it all together and cleared his throat, singing happily:

 "In the blossoming hedge the robin cock sings,
     For the sun it is merry and bright,
 And he joyfully hops and he flutters his wings,
     For his heart is all full of delight.
          For the May bloometh fair,
          And there's little of care,
 And plenty to eat in the Maytime rare.
          When the flowers all die,
          Then off he will fly,
          To keep himself warm
          In some jolly old barn
 Where the snow and the wind neither chill him nor harm.

 "And such is the life of the strolling friar,
     With aplenty to eat and to drink;
 For the goodwife will keep him a seat by the fire,
     And the pretty girls smile at his wink.
          Then he lustily trolls
          As he onward strolls,
 A rollicking song for the saving of souls.
          When the wind doth blow,
          With the coming of snow,
          There's a place by the fire
          For the fatherly friar,
 And a crab in the bowl for his heart's desire."
"In the blooming hedge, the male robin sings,  
     Because the sun is cheerful and bright,  
And he happily hops and flutters his wings,  
     Since his heart is full of delight.  
          For May blooms beautifully,  
          And there's little to worry about,  
And plenty to eat in this rare May weather.  
          When the flowers all die,  
          Then he'll fly away,  
          To keep warm  
          In some cozy old barn  
Where the snow and wind can't chill him or harm him.  

"And this is the life of the wandering friar,  
     With plenty to eat and drink;  
Because the goodwife saves him a seat by the fire,  
     And the pretty girls smile at his wink.  
          Then he cheerfully sings  
          As he strolls along,  
A lively song for the salvation of souls.  
          When the wind blows,  
          And the snow comes,  
          There's a spot by the fire  
          For the friendly friar,  
And a crab in the bowl for his heart's desire."

Thus Friar Tuck sang in a rich and mellow voice, rolling his head from side to side in time with the music, and when he had done, all clapped their hands and shouted with laughter, for the song fitted him well.

So Friar Tuck sang in a warm and smooth voice, swaying his head back and forth with the rhythm, and when he finished, everyone clapped and burst out laughing, because the song really suited him.

"In very sooth," quoth Little John, "it is a goodly song, and, were I not a yeoman of Sherwood Forest, I had rather be a strolling friar than aught else in the world."

"In truth," said Little John, "it's a great song, and if I weren't a commoner from Sherwood Forest, I'd rather be a wandering friar than anything else in the world."

"Yea, it is a goodly song," said Robin Hood, "but methought those two burly beggars told the merrier tales and led the merrier life. Dost thou not remember what that great black-bearded fellow told of his begging at the fair in York?"

"Yeah, it’s a great song," said Robin Hood, "but I thought those two big beggars had the funnier stories and lived the happier life. Don’t you remember what that big, bearded guy said about begging at the fair in York?"

"Yea," said Little John, "but what told the friar of the harvest home in Kentshire? I hold that he led a merrier life than the other two."

"Yeah," said Little John, "but what did the friar say about the harvest home in Kentshire? I think he had a more enjoyable life than the other two."

"Truly, for the honor of the cloth," quoth Friar Tuck, "I hold with my good gossip, Little John."

"Really, for the honor of the cloth," said Friar Tuck, "I agree with my good friend, Little John."

"Now," quoth Robin, "I hold to mine own mind. But what sayst thou, Little John, to a merry adventure this fair day? Take thou a friar's gown from our chest of strange garments, and don the same, and I will stop the first beggar I meet and change clothes with him. Then let us wander the country about, this sweet day, and see what befalls each of us."

"Now," said Robin, "I stand by my own thoughts. But what do you think, Little John, about a fun adventure on this beautiful day? Grab a friar's robe from our pile of odd clothes and put it on, and I’ll stop the first beggar I see and swap outfits with him. Then let’s roam the countryside today and see what happens to each of us."

"That fitteth my mind," quoth Little John, "so let us forth, say I."

"That fits my thoughts," said Little John, "so let's go, I say."

Thereupon Little John and Friar Tuck went to the storehouse of the band, and there chose for the yeoman the robe of a Gray Friar. Then they came forth again, and a mighty roar of laughter went up, for not only had the band never seen Little John in such guise before, but the robe was too short for him by a good palm's-breadth. But Little John's hands were folded in his loose sleeves, and Little John's eyes were cast upon the ground, and at his girdle hung a great, long string of beads.

Then Little John and Friar Tuck went to the band’s storehouse and picked out a Gray Friar’s robe for the yeoman. When they came out again, a huge burst of laughter erupted because not only had the band never seen Little John dressed like that before, but the robe was too short for him by a good hand’s width. However, Little John kept his hands folded in the loose sleeves, his eyes downcast, and a long string of beads hung from his belt.

And now Little John took up his stout staff, at the end of which hung a chubby little leathern pottle, such as palmers carry at the tips of their staves; but in it was something, I wot, more like good Malmsey than cold spring water, such as godly pilgrims carry. Then up rose Robin and took his stout staff in his hand, likewise, and slipped ten golden angels into his pouch; for no beggar's garb was among the stores of the band, so he was fain to run his chance of meeting a beggar and buying his clothes of him.

And now Little John picked up his strong staff, at the end of which hung a chunky little leather pouch, like the ones pilgrims carry at the ends of their staves; but this one contained something that seemed more like fine Malmsey wine than cold spring water, which is what devout pilgrims usually carry. Then Robin stood up and grabbed his sturdy staff too, slipping ten golden angels into his pouch; since there were no beggar's clothes among the group's supplies, he was eager to take a chance on meeting a beggar and buying his clothes from him.

So, all being made ready, the two yeomen set forth on their way, striding lustily along all in the misty morning. Thus they walked down the forest path until they came to the highway, and then along the highway till it split in twain, leading on one hand to Blyth and on the other to Gainsborough. Here the yeomen stopped.

So, with everything prepared, the two woodsmen set off on their journey, walking energetically through the foggy morning. They continued down the forest path until they reached the highway, and then along the highway until it forked, one way leading to Blyth and the other to Gainsborough. Here the woodsmen paused.

Quoth jolly Robin, "Take thou the road to Gainsborough, and I will take that to Blyth. So, fare thee well, holy father, and mayst thou not ha' cause to count thy beads in earnest ere we meet again."

Said cheerful Robin, "You take the road to Gainsborough, and I'll take the one to Blyth. So, goodbye, holy father, and I hope you don’t have to take your beads seriously before we meet again."

"Good den, good beggar that is to be," quoth Little John, "and mayst thou have no cause to beg for mercy ere I see thee next."

"Good day, good beggar," said Little John, "and may you have no reason to beg for mercy before I see you again."

So each stepped sturdily upon his way until a green hill rose between them, and the one was hid from the sight of the other.

So each walked confidently on his path until a green hill rose between them, hiding one from the other's view.

Little John walked along, whistling, for no one was nigh upon all the road. In the budding hedges the little birds twittered merrily, and on either hand the green hills swept up to the sky, the great white clouds of springtime sailing slowly over their crowns in lazy flight. Up hill and down dale walked Little John, the fresh wind blowing in his face and his robes fluttering behind him, and so at last he came to a crossroad that led to Tuxford. Here he met three pretty lasses, each bearing a basket of eggs to market. Quoth he, "Whither away, fair maids?" And he stood in their path, holding his staff in front of them, to stop them.

Little John walked along, whistling, since there was no one around on the road. The little birds chirped cheerfully in the budding hedges, and on either side, the green hills rose to the sky, with the great white clouds of spring drifting lazily overhead. Up hill and down dale walked Little John, the fresh wind blowing in his face and his robes fluttering behind him, until he finally reached a crossroad that led to Tuxford. There, he encountered three pretty young women, each carrying a basket of eggs to the market. He asked, "Where are you headed, fair maids?" and stood in their way, holding his staff in front of them to stop them.

Then they huddled together and nudged one another, and one presently spake up and said, "We are going to the Tuxford market, holy friar, to sell our eggs."

Then they gathered close and nudged each other, and one of them spoke up and said, "We’re going to the Tuxford market, holy friar, to sell our eggs."

"Now out upon it!" quoth Little John, looking upon them with his head on one side. "Surely, it is a pity that such fair lasses should be forced to carry eggs to market. Let me tell you, an I had the shaping of things in this world, ye should all three have been clothed in the finest silks, and ride upon milk-white horses, with pages at your side, and feed upon nothing but whipped cream and strawberries; for such a life would surely befit your looks."

"Now look at that!" said Little John, glancing at them with his head tilted to the side. "It's really a shame that such beautiful ladies have to carry eggs to market. Let me tell you, if I had the power to change things in this world, all three of you would be dressed in the finest silks, riding on pure white horses, with attendants by your side, and eating nothing but whipped cream and strawberries; because that's the kind of life that suits your looks."

At this speech all three of the pretty maids looked down, blushing and simpering. One said, "La!" another, "Marry, a' maketh sport of us!" and the third, "Listen, now, to the holy man!" But at the same time they looked at Little John from out the corners of their eyes.

At this speech, all three of the pretty maids looked down, blushing and giggling. One said, "Wow!" another, "Come on, he's making fun of us!" and the third, "Now, listen to the holy man!" But at the same time, they peeked at Little John from the corners of their eyes.

"Now, look you," said Little John, "I cannot see such dainty damsels as ye are carrying baskets along a highroad. Let me take them mine own self, and one of you, if ye will, may carry my staff for me."

"Listen up," said Little John, "I can't see such delicate ladies like you carrying baskets down the road. Let me carry them myself, and one of you, if you want, can carry my staff for me."

"Nay," said one of the lasses, "but thou canst not carry three baskets all at one time."

"Nah," said one of the girls, "but you can't carry three baskets all at once."

"Yea, but I can," said Little John, "and that I will show you presently. I thank the good Saint Wilfred that he hath given me a pretty wit. Look ye, now. Here I take this great basket, so; here I tie my rosary around the handle, thus; and here I slip the rosary over my head and sling the basket upon my back, in this wise." And Little John did according to his words, the basket hanging down behind him like a peddler's pack; then, giving his staff to one of the maids, and taking a basket upon either arm, he turned his face toward Tuxford Town and stepped forth merrily, a laughing maid on either side, and one walking ahead, carrying the staff. In this wise they journeyed along, and everyone they met stopped and looked after them, laughing, for never had anybody seen such a merry sight as this tall, strapping Gray Friar, with robes all too short for him, laden with eggs, and tramping the road with three pretty lasses. For this Little John cared not a whit, but when such folks gave jesting words to him he answered back as merrily, speech for speech.

"Yeah, but I can," said Little John, "and I'll show you in a minute. I thank the good Saint Wilfred for giving me a clever mind. Look here, now. I take this big basket like this; I tie my rosary around the handle, like this; and then I slip the rosary over my head and throw the basket on my back, just like this." And Little John did as he said, the basket hanging down behind him like a peddler's pack; then, after giving his staff to one of the maids and taking a basket in each arm, he turned his face toward Tuxford Town and walked off happily, a laughing maid on either side, and one walking ahead, carrying the staff. They traveled along this way, and everyone they encountered stopped and stared at them, laughing, for no one had ever seen such a joyful sight—a tall, strong Gray Friar, dressed in robes that were too short for him, loaded with eggs, walking down the road with three lovely lasses. Little John didn’t care at all, and when people made jokes at his expense, he responded with laughter, matching their jokes word for word.

So they stepped along toward Tuxford, chatting and laughing, until they came nigh to the town. Here Little John stopped and set down the baskets, for he did not care to go into the town lest he should, perchance, meet some of the Sheriff's men. "Alas! sweet chucks," quoth he, "here I must leave you. I had not thought to come this way, but I am glad that I did so. Now, ere we part, we must drink sweet friendship." So saying, he unslung the leathern pottle from the end of his staff, and, drawing the stopper therefrom, he handed it to the lass who had carried his staff, first wiping the mouth of the pottle upon his sleeve. Then each lass took a fair drink of what was within, and when it had passed all around, Little John finished what was left, so that not another drop could be squeezed from it. Then, kissing each lass sweetly, he wished them all good den, and left them. But the maids stood looking after him as he walked away whistling. "What a pity," quoth one, "that such a stout, lusty lad should be in holy orders."

So they walked toward Tuxford, chatting and laughing, until they got close to the town. Here, Little John stopped and set down the baskets because he didn’t want to go into town where he might run into some of the Sheriff’s men. “Oh no! Sweet ladies,” he said, “I have to leave you now. I didn’t plan to come this way, but I’m glad I did. Now, before we part, let’s drink to our friendship.” With that, he took the leather flask off his staff, pulled out the stopper, and handed it to the girl who had carried his staff, first wiping the mouth of the flask on his sleeve. Each girl took a good drink from what was inside, and once it had gone around, Little John finished the rest, ensuring not a single drop was left. Then, after kissing each girl sweetly, he wished them all a good day and left. The girls stood watching him as he walked away whistling. “What a shame,” one said, “that such a strong, lively guy should be in the church.”

"Marry," quoth Little John to himself, as he strode along, "yon was no such ill happening; Saint Dunstan send me more of the like."

"Marry," said Little John to himself, as he walked along, "that was not such a bad thing; may Saint Dunstan send me more like it."

After he had trudged along for a time he began to wax thirsty again in the warmth of the day. He shook his leathern pottle beside his ear, but not a sound came therefrom. Then he placed it to his lips and tilted it high aloft, but not a drop was there. "Little John! Little John!" said he sadly to himself, shaking his head the while, "woman will be thy ruin yet, if thou dost not take better care of thyself."

After he had walked for a while, he started to feel thirsty again in the heat of the day. He shook his leather flask next to his ear, but it made no sound. Then he put it to his lips and tipped it up high, but there wasn't a single drop left. "Little John! Little John!" he said sadly to himself, shaking his head, "a woman will be your downfall if you don’t take better care of yourself."

But at last he reached the crest of a certain hill, and saw below a sweet little thatched inn lying snugly in the dale beneath him, toward which the road dipped sharply. At the sight of this, a voice within him cried aloud, "I give thee joy, good friend, for yonder is thy heart's delight, to wit, a sweet rest and a cup of brown beer." So he quickened his pace down the hill and so came to the little inn, from which hung a sign with a stag's head painted upon it. In front of the door a clucking hen was scratching in the dust with a brood of chickens about her heels, the sparrows were chattering of household affairs under the eaves, and all was so sweet and peaceful that Little John's heart laughed within him. Beside the door stood two stout cobs with broad soft-padded saddles, well fitted for easy traveling, and speaking of rich guests in the parlor. In front of the door three merry fellows, a tinker, a peddler, and a beggar, were seated on a bench in the sun quaffing stout ale.

But finally, he reached the top of a certain hill and saw below a charming little thatched inn nestled in the valley beneath him, with the road sloping down sharply toward it. At the sight of this, a voice inside him exclaimed, "I give you joy, good friend, for there is your heart's desire—a cozy rest and a pint of brown beer." So he quickened his pace down the hill and arrived at the little inn, where a sign with a stag's head painted on it hung. In front of the door, a clucking hen was scratching in the dirt with a brood of chicks around her, the sparrows were chattering about daily life under the eaves, and everything felt so sweet and peaceful that Little John's heart rejoiced within him. Next to the door stood two sturdy horses with broad, soft-padded saddles, perfect for a comfortable journey, hinting at wealthy guests inside. In front of the door, three cheerful fellows—a tinker, a peddler, and a beggar—were sitting on a bench in the sun, enjoying some hearty ale.

"I give you good den, sweet friends," quoth Little John, striding up to where they sat.

"I greet you well, dear friends," said Little John, walking up to where they sat.

"Give thee good den, holy father," quoth the merry Beggar with a grin. "But look thee, thy gown is too short. Thou hadst best cut a piece off the top and tack it to the bottom, so that it may be long enough. But come, sit beside us here and take a taste of ale, if thy vows forbid thee not."

"Good evening, holy father," said the cheerful Beggar with a grin. "But look, your gown is too short. You should cut a piece off the top and sew it onto the bottom so it's long enough. But come, sit with us here and have a drink of ale, unless your vows don't allow it."

"Nay," quoth Little John, also grinning, "the blessed Saint Dunstan hath given me a free dispensation for all indulgence in that line." And he thrust his hand into his pouch for money to pay his score.

"No," said Little John, also grinning, "the blessed Saint Dunstan has given me a free pass for all indulgence in that area." And he reached into his pouch for money to settle his bill.

"Truly," quoth the Tinker, "without thy looks belie thee, holy friar, the good Saint Dunstan was wise, for without such dispensation his votary is like to ha' many a penance to make. Nay, take thy hand from out thy pouch, brother, for thou shalt not pay this shot. Ho, landlord, a pot of ale!"

"Honestly," said the Tinker, "if your appearance doesn't deceive you, holy friar, the good Saint Dunstan was smart, because without such leniency, his follower would likely have to do a lot of penance. No, take your hand out of your pocket, brother, because you shouldn't have to pay for this. Hey, landlord, a pint of ale!"

So the ale was brought and given to Little John. Then, blowing the froth a little way to make room for his lips, he tilted the bottom of the pot higher and higher, till it pointed to the sky, and he had to shut his eyes to keep the dazzle of the sunshine out of them. Then he took the pot away, for there was nothing in it, and heaved a full deep sigh, looking at the others with moist eyes and shaking his head solemnly.

So the beer was brought and handed to Little John. Then, blowing off some of the foam to make space for his lips, he tilted the bottom of the mug higher and higher, until it was pointing at the sky, and he had to close his eyes to block out the bright sunshine. Then he set the mug down, since it was empty, and let out a deep sigh, looking at the others with watery eyes and shaking his head seriously.

"Ho, landlord!" cried the Peddler, "bring this good fellow another pot of ale, for truly it is a credit to us all to have one among us who can empty a canakin so lustily."

"Hey, landlord!" shouted the Peddler, "get this good guy another pint of ale, because it’s really something to have someone among us who can drink so heartily."

So they talked among themselves merrily, until after a while quoth Little John, "Who rideth those two nags yonder?"

So they chatted happily among themselves, until after a while Little John said, "Who’s riding those two horses over there?"

"Two holy men like thee, brother," quoth the Beggar. "They are now having a goodly feast within, for I smelled the steam of a boiled pullet just now. The landlady sayeth they come from Fountain Abbey, in Yorkshire, and go to Lincoln on matters of business."

"Two holy men like you, brother," said the Beggar. "They are having a nice feast inside right now because I just smelled the steam of some boiled chicken. The landlady said they came from Fountain Abbey in Yorkshire and are heading to Lincoln for business."

"They are a merry couple," said the Tinker, "for one is as lean as an old wife's spindle, and the other as fat as a suet pudding."

"They're a cheerful couple," said the Tinker, "because one is as thin as an old woman's spindle, and the other is as plump as a suet pudding."

"Talking of fatness," said the Peddler, "thou thyself lookest none too ill-fed, holy friar."

"Speaking of being overweight," said the Peddler, "you don’t look too undernourished yourself, holy friar."

"Nay, truly," said Little John, "thou seest in me what the holy Saint Dunstan can do for them that serve him upon a handful of parched peas and a trickle of cold water."

"Actually," said Little John, "you see in me what the holy Saint Dunstan can do for those who serve him with just a handful of dried peas and a splash of cold water."

At this a great shout of laughter went up. "Truly, it is a wondrous thing," quoth the Beggar, "I would have made my vow, to see the masterly manner in which thou didst tuck away yon pot of ale, that thou hadst not tasted clear water for a brace of months. Has not this same holy Saint Dunstan taught thee a goodly song or two?"

At this, a loud laugh erupted. "Honestly, it's quite amazing," said the Beggar, "I would have bet my vow that the way you downed that pot of ale shows you haven't had clean water in at least two months. Hasn't this same holy Saint Dunstan taught you a couple of good songs?"

"Why, as for that," quoth Little John, grinning, "mayhap he hath lent me aid to learn a ditty or so."

"Well, about that," Little John said with a grin, "maybe he helped me learn a song or two."

"Then, prythee, let us hear how he hath taught thee," quoth the Tinker.

"Then, please tell us how he taught you," said the Tinker.

At this Little John cleared his throat and, after a word or two about a certain hoarseness that troubled him, sang thus:

At this point, Little John cleared his throat and, after mentioning a bit of hoarseness that was bothering him, sang this:

 "Ah, pretty, pretty maid, whither dost thou go?
 I prythee, prythee, wait for thy lover also,
     And we'll gather the rose
     As it sweetly blows,
 For the merry, merry winds are blo-o-o-wing."
Oh, beautiful girl, where are you going?  
Please, please, wait for your lover too,  
     And we’ll pick the rose  
     As it blooms sweetly,  
Because the cheerful, cheerful winds are blowing.

Now it seemed as though Little John's songs were never to get sung, for he had got no farther than this when the door of the inn opened and out came the two brothers of Fountain Abbey, the landlord following them, and, as the saying is, washing his hands with humble soap. But when the brothers of Fountain Abbey saw who it was that sang, and how he was clad in the robes of a Gray Friar, they stopped suddenly, the fat little Brother drawing his heavy eyebrows together in a mighty frown, and the thin Brother twisting up his face as though he had sour beer in his mouth. Then, as Little John gathered his breath for a new verse, "How, now," roared forth the fat Brother, his voice coming from him like loud thunder from a little cloud, "thou naughty fellow, is this a fit place for one in thy garb to tipple and sing profane songs?"

Now it seemed like Little John's songs were never going to be sung, because he had just gotten to this point when the inn's door swung open and out came the two brothers from Fountain Abbey, the landlord trailing behind them, practically washing his hands of the situation. But when the Fountain Abbey brothers saw who was singing and noticed he was dressed like a Gray Friar, they stopped dead in their tracks. The chubby Brother furrowed his heavy eyebrows into a big frown, while the skinny Brother made a face like he just drank sour beer. Then, as Little John took a breath for a new verse, the chubby Brother bellowed, his voice booming like thunder from a small cloud, "Hey, you naughty fellow, is this a suitable place for someone in your attire to drink and sing inappropriate songs?"

"Nay," quoth Little John, "sin' I cannot tipple and sing, like Your Worship's reverence, in such a goodly place as Fountain Abbey, I must e'en tipple and sing where I can."

"Nah," said Little John, "since I can't drink and sing like you, in such a nice place as Fountain Abbey, I'll just drink and sing where I can."

"Now, out upon thee," cried the tall lean Brother in a harsh voice, "now, out upon thee, that thou shouldst so disgrace thy cloth by this talk and bearing."

"Now, shame on you," yelled the tall, thin Brother in a harsh voice, "shame on you for bringing such disgrace to your position with this talk and attitude."

"Marry, come up!" quoth Little John. "Disgrace, sayest thou? Methinks it is more disgrace for one of our garb to wring hard-earned farthings out of the gripe of poor lean peasants. It is not so, brother?"

"Come on!" said Little John. "You're calling it disgrace? I think it's more disgraceful for someone like us to squeeze hard-earned pennies out of the hands of struggling peasants. Isn't that right, brother?"

At this the Tinker and the Peddler and the Beggar nudged one another, and all grinned, and the friars scowled blackly at Little John; but they could think of nothing further to say, so they turned to their horses. Then Little John arose of a sudden from the bench where he sat, and ran to where the brothers of Fountain Abbey were mounting. Quoth he, "Let me hold your horses' bridles for you. Truly, your words have smitten my sinful heart, so that I will abide no longer in this den of evil, but will go forward with you. No vile temptation, I wot, will fall upon me in such holy company."

At this, the Tinker, the Peddler, and the Beggar nudged each other and all smiled, while the friars frowned darkly at Little John; but they couldn't think of anything more to say, so they turned to their horses. Then Little John suddenly got up from the bench where he was sitting and ran over to where the brothers of Fountain Abbey were mounting their horses. He said, "Let me hold your horses' reins for you. Honestly, your words have touched my sinful heart, so I won't stay any longer in this place of evil, but I will move forward with you. I know that no wicked temptation will come my way in such holy company."

"Nay, fellow," said the lean Brother harshly, for he saw that Little John made sport of them, "we want none of thy company, so get thee gone."

"Nah, buddy," said the thin Brother sharply, noticing that Little John was mocking them, "we don’t want your company, so just leave."

"Alas," quoth Little John, "I am truly sorry that ye like me not nor my company, but as for leaving you, it may not be, for my heart is so moved, that, willy-nilly, I must go with you for the sake of your holy company."

"Unfortunately," said Little John, "I'm really sorry that you don't like me or my company, but as for leaving you, I can't do that. My heart is so moved that, whether I want to or not, I have to go with you for the sake of your holy company."

Now, at this talk all the good fellows on the bench grinned till their teeth glistened, and even the landlord could not forbear to smile. As for the friars, they looked at one another with a puzzled look, and knew not what to do in the matter. They were so proud that it made them feel sick with shame to think of riding along the highroad with a strolling friar, in robes all too short for him, running beside them, but yet they could not make Little John stay against his will, for they knew he could crack the bones of both of them in a twinkling were he so minded. Then up spake the fat Brother more mildly than he had done before. "Nay, good brother," said he, "we will ride fast, and thou wilt tire to death at the pace."

Now, at this talk, all the guys on the bench grinned until their teeth shone, and even the landlord couldn’t help but smile. As for the friars, they exchanged puzzled looks and didn't know what to do. They were so proud that it made them feel sick with shame to think of riding along the highway with a wandering friar in robes too short for him running beside them, but they couldn’t make Little John stay against his will, knowing he could break both their bones in an instant if he wanted to. Then the fat Brother spoke up more gently than before. "No, good brother," he said, "we’ll ride fast, and you’ll be dead tired at that pace."

"Truly, I am grateful to thee for the thought of me," quoth Little John, "but have no fear, brother; my limbs are stout, and I could run like a hare from here to Gainsborough."

"Honestly, I appreciate you thinking of me," said Little John, "but don’t worry, brother; I’m strong enough, and I could run like a hare from here to Gainsborough."

At these words a sound of laughing came from the bench, whereat the lean Brother's wrath boiled over, like water into the fire, with great fuss and noise. "Now, out upon thee, thou naughty fellow!" he cried. "Art thou not ashamed to bring disgrace so upon our cloth? Bide thee here, thou sot, with these porkers. Thou art no fit company for us."

At these words, laughter erupted from the bench, causing the lean Brother's anger to flare up, like water boiling over a fire, with plenty of fuss and noise. "Now, get out of here, you naughty guy!" he shouted. "Aren't you ashamed to bring such disgrace upon our group? Stay here with these pigs, you drunk. You aren't fit company for us."

"La, ye there now!" quoth Little John. "Thou hearest, landlord; thou art not fit company for these holy men; go back to thine alehouse. Nay, if these most holy brothers of mine do but give me the word, I'll beat thy head with this stout staff till it is as soft as whipped eggs."

"Look, there you go!" said Little John. "You hear that, landlord? You're not good company for these holy men; go back to your pub. No, if these very holy brothers of mine just give me the word, I'll knock your head with this strong staff until it’s as soft as whipped eggs."

At these words a great shout of laughter went up from those on the bench, and the landlord's face grew red as a cherry from smothering his laugh in his stomach; but he kept his merriment down, for he wished not to bring the ill-will of the brothers of Fountain Abbey upon him by unseemly mirth. So the two brethren, as they could do nought else, having mounted their nags, turned their noses toward Lincoln and rode away.

At these words, a loud burst of laughter erupted from those on the bench, and the landlord's face turned as red as a cherry from holding back his laughter. However, he stifled his amusement, as he didn’t want to attract the displeasure of the brothers from Fountain Abbey by laughing inappropriately. So, the two brothers, left with no other option, got on their horses, headed toward Lincoln, and rode away.

"I cannot stay longer, sweet friends," quoth Little John, as he pushed in betwixt the two cobs, "therefore I wish you good den. Off we go, we three." So saying, he swung his stout staff over his shoulder and trudged off, measuring his pace with that of the two nags.

"I can't stay any longer, dear friends," said Little John, as he pushed between the two horses, "so I wish you a good evening. Let's go, the three of us." With that, he swung his sturdy staff over his shoulder and set off, matching his pace with the two horses.

The two brothers glowered at Little John when he so pushed himself betwixt them, then they drew as far away from him as they could, so that the yeoman walked in the middle of the road, while they rode on the footpath on either side of the way. As they so went away, the Tinker, the Peddler, and the Beggar ran skipping out into the middle of the highway, each with a pot in his hand, and looked after them laughing.

The two brothers glared at Little John when he squeezed himself between them, then they moved as far away from him as they could, so that the yeoman walked in the middle of the road, while they rode on the sidewalk on either side. As they moved away, the Tinker, the Peddler, and the Beggar jumped into the middle of the street, each holding a pot, and watched them while laughing.

While they were in sight of those at the inn, the brothers walked their horses soberly, not caring to make ill matters worse by seeming to run away from Little John, for they could not but think how it would sound in folks' ears when they heard how the brethren of Fountain Abbey scampered away from a strolling friar, like the Ugly One, when the blessed Saint Dunstan loosed his nose from the red-hot tongs where he had held it fast; but when they had crossed the crest of the hill and the inn was lost to sight, quoth the fat Brother to the thin Brother, "Brother Ambrose, had we not better mend our pace?"

While they could still see the people at the inn, the brothers rode their horses slowly, not wanting to make things worse by looking like they were fleeing from Little John. They couldn't help but think about how it would sound when people heard that the brothers from Fountain Abbey had bolted from a wandering friar, like the Ugly One did when the blessed Saint Dunstan pried his nose loose from the red-hot tongs that held it tight. But once they reached the top of the hill and the inn was out of sight, the fat Brother said to the thin Brother, "Brother Ambrose, shouldn't we pick up the pace?"

"Why truly, gossip," spoke up Little John, "methinks it would be well to boil our pot a little faster, for the day is passing on. So it will not jolt thy fat too much, onward, say I."

"Honestly, gossip," Little John said, "I think we should get the pot boiling a bit faster, because the day is moving on. So it won't shake your belly too much, let’s go."

At this the two friars said nothing, but they glared again on Little John with baleful looks; then, without another word, they clucked to their horses, and both broke into a canter. So they galloped for a mile and more, and Little John ran betwixt them as lightly as a stag and never turned a hair with the running. At last the fat Brother drew his horse's rein with a groan, for he could stand the shaking no longer. "Alas," said Little John, with not so much as a catch in his breath, "I did sadly fear that the roughness of this pace would shake thy poor old fat paunch."

At this, the two friars said nothing, but glared at Little John with angry looks; then, without another word, they urged their horses and both broke into a canter. They galloped for over a mile, and Little John dashed between them as gracefully as a deer and never seemed bothered by the running. Finally, the chubby Brother pulled back his horse with a groan, unable to take the jostling any longer. "Oh no," said Little John, without even breathing hard, "I was really worried that this rough pace would jostle your poor old fat belly."

To this the fat Friar said never a word, but he stared straight before him, and he gnawed his nether lip. And now they traveled forward more quietly, Little John in the middle of the road whistling merrily to himself, and the two friars in the footpath on either side saying never a word.

To this, the overweight Friar said nothing, but he stared straight ahead and bit his lower lip. They continued on more quietly now, with Little John in the center of the road happily whistling to himself, while the two friars walked silently on either side of the path.

Then presently they met three merry minstrels, all clad in red, who stared amain to see a Gray Friar with such short robes walking in the middle of the road, and two brothers with heads bowed with shame, riding upon richly caparisoned cobs on the footpaths. When they had come near to the minstrels, Little John waved his staff like an usher clearing the way. "Make way!" he cried in a loud voice. "Make way! make way! For here we go, we three!" Then how the minstrels stared, and how they laughed! But the fat Friar shook as with an ague, and the lean Friar bowed his head over his horse's neck.

Then they soon encountered three cheerful musicians, all dressed in red, who stared wide-eyed at the sight of a Gray Friar in such short robes walking down the middle of the road, while two brothers, their heads bowed in shame, rode richly adorned horses on the sidewalks. As they approached the musicians, Little John waved his staff like an usher clearing the path. "Make way!" he shouted loudly. "Make way! make way! Here we come, the three of us!" The musicians were amazed and erupted in laughter! But the heavy Friar shook as if he had a fever, and the skinny Friar lowered his head over his horse's neck.

Then next they met two noble knights in rich array, with hawk on wrist, and likewise two fair ladies clad in silks and velvets, all a-riding on noble steeds. These all made room, staring, as Little John and the two friars came along the road. To them Little John bowed humbly. "Give you greetings, lords and ladies," said he. "But here we go, we three."

Then they came across two noble knights dressed in fine clothes, with a hawk on their wrist, and also two beautiful ladies wearing silks and velvets, all riding on majestic horses. They all moved aside, staring, as Little John and the two friars walked down the road. Little John bowed respectfully to them. "Greetings to you, lords and ladies," he said. "But we three must go on."

Then all laughed, and one of the fair ladies cried out, "What three meanest thou, merry friend?"

Then everyone laughed, and one of the ladies called out, "What do you mean by 'three,' cheerful friend?"

Little John looked over his shoulder, for they had now passed each other, and he called back, "Big Jack, lean Jack and fat Jack-pudding."

Little John looked over his shoulder since they had now passed each other, and he called back, "Big Jack, lean Jack, and fat Jack-pudding."

At this the fat Friar gave a groan and seemed as if he were like to fall from his saddle for shame; the other brother said nothing, but he looked before him with a grim and stony look.

At this, the overweight Friar let out a groan and looked like he might fall off his saddle from embarrassment; the other brother said nothing, but he stared ahead with a grim and expressionless face.

Just ahead of them the road took a sudden turn around a high hedge, and some twoscore paces beyond the bend another road crossed the one they were riding upon. When they had come to the crossroad and were well away from those they had left, the lean Friar drew rein suddenly. "Look ye, fellow," quoth he in a voice quivering with rage, "we have had enough of thy vile company, and care no longer to be made sport of. Go thy way, and let us go ours in peace."

Just ahead of them, the road suddenly curved around a tall hedge, and a short distance past the bend, another road intersected the one they were traveling on. When they reached the crossroad and had moved away from those they had left behind, the thin Friar abruptly stopped. "Listen up, friend," he said in a voice trembling with anger, "we’ve had enough of your disgusting company and don’t want to be made a joke of anymore. You go your way, and let us go ours in peace."

"La there, now!" quoth Little John. "Methought we were such a merry company, and here thou dost blaze up like fat in the pan. But truly, I ha' had enow of you today, though I can ill spare your company. I know ye will miss me, but gin ye want me again, whisper to Goodman Wind, and he will bring news thereof to me. But ye see I am a poor man and ye are rich. I pray you give me a penny or two to buy me bread and cheese at the next inn."

"Hey there!" said Little John. "I thought we were having such a good time, and here you are blowing up like grease in a pan. But honestly, I’ve had enough of you today, even though I can hardly do without your company. I know you’ll miss me, but if you want to see me again, just whisper to the Wind, and he’ll let me know. But you see, I'm a poor man and you're wealthy. Please, give me a penny or two so I can buy some bread and cheese at the next inn."

"We have no money, fellow," said the lean Friar harshly. "Come, Brother Thomas, let us forward."

"We don't have any money, my friend," the thin Friar said sternly. "Come on, Brother Thomas, let's move on."

But Little John caught the horses by the bridle reins, one in either hand. "Ha' ye in truth no money about you whatsoever?" said he. "Now, I pray you, brothers, for charity's sake, give me somewhat to buy a crust of bread, e'en though it be only a penny."

But Little John grabbed the horses by the reins, one in each hand. "Do you really not have any money at all?" he asked. "Now, please, brothers, out of kindness, give me something to buy a piece of bread, even if it's just a penny."

"I tell thee, fellow, we have no money," thundered the fat little Friar with the great voice.

"I’m telling you, buddy, we have no money," shouted the chubby little Friar with the booming voice.

"Ha' ye, in holy truth, no money?" asked Little John.

"Do you really have no money at all?" asked Little John.

"Not a farthing," said the lean Friar sourly.

"Not a penny," said the thin Friar with irritation.

"Not a groat," said the fat Friar loudly.

"Not a penny," said the chubby Friar loudly.

"Nay," quoth Little John, "this must not be. Far be it from me to see such holy men as ye are depart from me with no money. Get both of you down straightway from off your horses, and we will kneel here in the middle of the crossroads and pray the blessed Saint Dunstan to send us some money to carry us on our journey."

"No," said Little John, "this can't happen. I can't let such holy men as you leave without any money. Get down from your horses right now, and we'll kneel right here in the middle of the crossroads and pray to Saint Dunstan to send us some money to help us on our way."

"What sayest thou, thou limb of evil!" cried the lean Friar, fairly gnashing his teeth with rage. "Doss thou bid me, the high cellarer of Fountain Abbey, to get down from my horse and kneel in the dirty road to pray to some beggarly Saxon saint?"

"What do you say, you evil creature!" shouted the thin Friar, grinding his teeth in anger. "Do you expect me, the chief cellarer of Fountain Abbey, to get off my horse and kneel in the dirty road to pray to some worthless Saxon saint?"

"Now," quoth Little John, "I ha' a great part of a mind to crack thy head for thee for speaking thus of the good Saint Dunstan! But get down straightway, for my patience will not last much longer, and I may forget that ye are both in holy orders." So saying, he twirled his stout staff till it whistled again.

"Now," said Little John, "I really feel like smashing your head for talking that way about the good Saint Dunstan! But get down right now, because my patience isn't going to last much longer, and I might forget that you're both in holy orders." With that, he swung his heavy staff until it whistled again.

At this speech both friars grew as pale as dough. Down slipped the fat Brother from off his horse on one side, and down slipped the lean Brother on the other.

At this speech, both friars turned as pale as dough. The chubby Brother fell off his horse on one side, and the skinny Brother slipped down on the other.

"Now, brothers, down on your knees and pray," said Little John; thereupon, putting his heavy hands upon the shoulder of each, he forced them to their knees, he kneeling also. Then Little John began to beseech Saint Dunstan for money, which he did in a great loud voice. After he had so besought the Saint for a time, he bade the friars feel in their pouches and see if the Saint had sent them anything; so each put his hand slowly in the pouch that hung beside him, but brought nothing thence.

"Now, guys, get down on your knees and pray," said Little John; then, placing his strong hands on each of their shoulders, he pushed them to their knees, joining them in prayer. Little John then started to loudly ask Saint Dunstan for money. After a while of asking the Saint for help, he told the friars to check their pouches and see if the Saint had sent them anything. Each one slowly reached into the pouch hanging by their side but found nothing.

"Ha!" quoth Little John, "have your prayers so little virtue? Then let us at it again." Then straightway he began calling on Saint Dunstan again, somewhat in this wise: "O gracious Saint Dunstan! Send some money straightway to these poor folk, lest the fat one waste away and grow as lean as the lean one, and the lean one waste away to nothing at all, ere they get to Lincoln Town; but send them only ten shillings apiece, lest they grow puffed up with pride, Any more than that that thou sendest, send to me.

"Ha!" said Little John, "are your prayers really that ineffective? Then let's try again." Immediately, he started calling on Saint Dunstan once more, saying something like this: "O gracious Saint Dunstan! Please send some money right away to these poor folks, or else the big one will waste away and become as skinny as the small one, and the small one will disappear entirely before they reach Lincoln Town; but just send them ten shillings each, so they don't get too proud. Anything more than that you send, send to me.

"Now," quoth he, rising, "let us see what each man hath." Then he thrust his hand into his pouch and drew thence four golden angels. "What have ye, brothers?" said he.

"Now," he said, getting up, "let's see what each of us has." Then he reached into his bag and pulled out four gold coins. "What do you have, brothers?" he asked.

Then once again each friar slowly thrust his hand into his pouch, and once again brought it out with nothing in it.

Then once again, each friar slowly reached into his pouch and pulled it out with nothing inside.

"Have ye nothing?" quoth Little John. "Nay, I warrant there is somewhat that hath crept into the seams of your pouches, and so ye ha' missed it. Let me look."

"Do you have nothing?" said Little John. "No, I bet there's something that has snuck into the seams of your pouches, and that's why you missed it. Let me take a look."

So he went first to the lean Friar, and, thrusting his hand into the pouch, he drew forth a leathern bag and counted therefrom one hundred and ten pounds of golden money. "I thought," quoth Little John, "that thou hadst missed, in some odd corner of thy pouch, the money that the blessed Saint had sent thee. And now let me see whether thou hast not some, also, brother." Thereupon he thrust his hand into the pouch of the fat Friar and drew thence a bag like the other and counted out from it threescore and ten pounds. "Look ye now," quoth he, "I knew the good Saint had sent thee some pittance that thou, also, hadst missed."

So he first went to the skinny Friar and, reaching into the pouch, pulled out a leather bag and counted out a hundred and ten pounds of gold. "I thought," said Little John, "that you might have overlooked some of the money that the blessed Saint sent you. Now let me see if you have some too, brother." He then reached into the pouch of the fat Friar and pulled out a bag like the other one, counting out seventy pounds. "Look at that," he said, "I knew the good Saint had sent you some funds that you also missed."

Then, giving them one pound between them, he slipped the rest of the money into his own pouch, saying, "Ye pledged me your holy word that ye had no money. Being holy men, I trust that ye would not belie your word so pledged, therefore I know the good Saint Dunstan hath sent this in answer to my prayers. But as I only prayed for ten shillings to be sent to each of you, all over and above that belongeth by rights to me, and so I take it. I give you good den, brothers, and may ye have a pleasant journey henceforth." So saying, he turned and left them, striding away. The friars looked at one another with a woeful look, and slowly and sadly they mounted their horses again and rode away with never a word.

Then, giving them a pound to share, he tucked the rest of the money into his own pouch, saying, "You promised me on your holy word that you had no money. As holy men, I trust you wouldn’t go back on your word, so I believe that good Saint Dunstan sent this in response to my prayers. But since I only asked for ten shillings to be sent to each of you, anything beyond that rightfully belongs to me, and so I’m taking it. Wishing you well, brothers, and may you have a safe journey from here on." With that, he turned and walked away confidently. The friars exchanged sorrowful glances, and slowly and sadly got back on their horses, riding away without saying a word.

But Little John turned his footsteps back again to Sherwood Forest, and merrily he whistled as he strode along.

But Little John turned back towards Sherwood Forest, and cheerfully he whistled as he walked along.

And now we will see what befell Robin Hood in his venture as beggar.

And now we will see what happened to Robin Hood during his time as a beggar.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood Turns Beggar

AFTER JOLLY ROBIN had left Little John at the forking of the roads, he walked merrily onward in the mellow sunshine that shone about him. Ever and anon he would skip and leap or sing a snatch of song, for pure joyousness of the day; for, because of the sweetness of the springtide, his heart was as lusty within him as that of a colt newly turned out to grass. Sometimes he would walk a long distance, gazing aloft at the great white swelling clouds that moved slowly across the deep blue sky; anon he would stop and drink in the fullness of life of all things, for the hedgerows were budding tenderly and the grass of the meadows was waxing long and green; again he would stand still and listen to the pretty song of the little birds in the thickets or hearken to the clear crow of the cock daring the sky to rain, whereat he would laugh, for it took but little to tickle Robin's heart into merriment. So he trudged manfully along, ever willing to stop for this reason or for that, and ever ready to chat with such merry lasses as he met now and then. So the morning slipped along, but yet he met no beggar with whom he could change clothes. Quoth he, "If I do not change my luck in haste, I am like to have an empty day of it, for it is well nigh half gone already, and, although I have had a merry walk through the countryside, I know nought of a beggar's life."

AFTER JOLLY ROBIN had left Little John at the fork in the road, he walked cheerfully onward in the warm sunshine surrounding him. Every now and then, he would skip, jump, or sing a little tune, just because he felt so happy on that beautiful day; the sweetness of spring made his heart feel as lively as a colt just released into a field. Sometimes he would walk for a while, looking up at the big, fluffy clouds drifting slowly across the bright blue sky; other times, he would pause to soak in the vibrant life around him, as the hedgerows began to bud and the grass in the meadows grew long and green. He would stand still to listen to the lovely songs of the small birds in the bushes or to hear the loud crow of the rooster challenging the sky to rain, which would make him laugh, as it took very little to make Robin's heart joyful. So, he continued on his way, always ready to stop for one reason or another, and eager to chat with any cheerful girls he came across. The morning passed quickly, but he still hadn’t encountered a beggar to switch clothes with. He said to himself, "If I don’t change my luck soon, I’m going to have a completely empty day, since it's already nearly half gone, and even though I’ve had a great walk through the countryside, I know nothing about a beggar's life."

Then, after a while, he began to grow hungry, whereupon his mind turned from thoughts of springtime and flowers and birds and dwelled upon boiled capons, Malmsey, white bread, and the like, with great tenderness. Quoth he to himself, "I would I had Willie Wynkin's wishing coat; I know right well what I should wish for, and this it should be." Here he marked upon the fingers of his left hand with the forefinger of his right hand those things which he wished for. "Firstly, I would have a sweet brown pie of tender larks; mark ye, not dry cooked, but with a good sop of gravy to moisten it withal. Next, I would have a pretty pullet, fairly boiled, with tender pigeons' eggs, cunningly sliced, garnishing the platter around. With these I would have a long, slim loaf of wheaten bread that hath been baked upon the hearth; it should be warm from the fire, with glossy brown crust, the color of the hair of mine own Maid Marian, and this same crust should be as crisp and brittle as the thin white ice that lies across the furrows in the early winter's morning. These will do for the more solid things; but with these I must have three potties, fat and round, one full of Malmsey, one of Canary, and one brimming full of mine own dear lusty sack." Thus spoke Robin to himself, his mouth growing moist at the corners with the thoughts of the good things he had raised in his own mind.

Then, after a while, he started to feel hungry, and his thoughts shifted away from springtime, flowers, and birds to boiled capons, Malmsey, white bread, and the like, with great longing. He said to himself, "I wish I had Willie Wynkin's wishing coat; I know exactly what I would wish for, and this would be it." He marked off the things he wanted on the fingers of his left hand using the index finger of his right hand. "First, I would want a sweet brown pie filled with tender larks; mind you, not dried out, but with a nice splash of gravy to moisten it. Next, I'd want a lovely boiled chicken, with tender pigeon eggs, cleverly sliced, decorating the platter. Along with that, I would have a long, slim loaf of wheat bread baked on the hearth; it should be warm from the oven, with a glossy brown crust, the color of my Maid Marian's hair, and this crust should be as crisp and fragile as the thin white ice that forms over the furrows on a chilly winter morning. That would cover the more substantial items; but I must also have three pots, plump and round, one filled with Malmsey, one with Canary, and one overflowing with my own beloved hearty sack." Thus spoke Robin to himself, his mouth watering at the corners from the delicious thoughts he had conjured.

So, talking to himself, he came to where the dusty road turned sharply around the hedge, all tender with the green of the coming leaf, and there he saw before him a stout fellow sitting upon a stile, swinging his legs in idleness. All about this lusty rogue dangled divers pouches and bags of different sizes and kinds, a dozen or more, with great, wide, gaping mouths, like a brood of hungry daws. His coat was gathered in at his waist, and was patched with as many colors as there are stripes upon a Maypole in the springtide. On his head he wore a great tall leathern cap, and across his knees rested a stout quarterstaff of blackthorn, full as long and heavy as Robin's. As jolly a beggar was he as ever trod the lanes and byways of Nottinghamshire, for his eyes were as gray as slate, and snapped and twinkled and danced with merriment, and his black hair curled close all over his head in little rings of kinkiness.

Talking to himself, he reached the point where the dusty road sharply turned around the hedge, lush with the green of new leaves, and there he spotted a sturdy guy sitting on a stile, swinging his legs lazily. All around this cheerful rogue hung various pouches and bags of different sizes and types, at least a dozen, with wide, gaping openings, like a bunch of hungry crows. His coat was cinched at the waist and patched with as many colors as there are stripes on a Maypole in spring. On his head, he wore a tall leather cap, and resting across his knees was a sturdy blackthorn quarterstaff, just as long and heavy as Robin's. He was the jolliest beggar you could find wandering the lanes and byways of Nottinghamshire, with gray eyes that sparkled and danced with joy, and his black hair curled tightly all over his head in little kinky rings.

"Halloa, good fellow," quoth Robin, when he had come nigh to the other, "what art thou doing here this merry day, when the flowers are peeping and the buds are swelling?"

"Hello, good man," said Robin, as he approached the other, "what are you doing here on this lovely day, when the flowers are blooming and the buds are growing?"

Then the other winked one eye and straightway trolled forth in a merry voice:

Then the other winked one eye and immediately sang out in a cheerful voice:

     "I sit upon the stile,
     And I sing a little while
 As I wait for my own true dear, O,
     For the sun is shining bright,
     And the leaves are dancing light,
 And the little fowl sings she is near, O.
     "I sit on the fence,
     And I sing for a bit
 As I wait for my true love, O,
     For the sun is shining bright,
     And the leaves are dancing lightly,
 And the little bird sings she is near, O.

"And so it is with me, bully boy, saving that my doxy cometh not."

"And so it is with me, tough guy, except that my girl isn't coming."

"Now that is a right sweet song," quoth Robin, "and, were I in the right mind to listen to thee, I could bear well to hear more; but I have two things of seriousness to ask of thee; so listen, I prythee."

"That's a really nice song," Robin said, "and if I were in the right mood to listen to you, I could easily enjoy more; but I have two serious things to ask you, so please pay attention."

At this the jolly Beggar cocked his head on one side, like a rogue of a magpie. Quoth he, "I am an ill jug to pour heavy things into, good friend, and, if I mistake not, thou hast few serious words to spare at any time."

At this, the cheerful Beggar tilted his head to one side, like a mischievous magpie. He said, "I'm not good for holding heavy things, my friend, and if I'm not mistaken, you don't have many serious words to share at any time."

"Nay," quoth jolly Robin, "what I would say first is the most serious of all thoughts to me, to wit, 'Where shall I get somewhat to eat and drink?'"

"Nah," said jolly Robin, "the first thing on my mind is the most serious thought for me: 'Where am I going to find something to eat and drink?'"

"Sayst thou so?" quoth the Beggar. "Marry, I make no such serious thoughts upon the matter. I eat when I can get it, and munch my crust when I can get no crumb; likewise, when there is no ale to be had I wash the dust from out my throat with a trickle of cold water. I was sitting here, as thou camest upon me, bethinking myself whether I should break my fast or no. I do love to let my hunger grow mightily keen ere I eat, for then a dry crust is as good to me as a venison pasty with suet and raisins is to stout King Harry. I have a sharp hunger upon me now, but methinks in a short while it will ripen to a right mellow appetite."

"Do you really think so?" said the Beggar. "Well, I don’t take it too seriously. I eat when I can get food, and nibble my crust when I can’t find a crumb; likewise, when there’s no beer to drink, I wash the dust out of my throat with a sip of cold water. I was sitting here, as you found me, wondering whether I should eat or not. I actually enjoy letting my hunger build up before I eat, because then a dry crust tastes as good to me as a meat pie with fat and raisins does to King Henry. I’m really hungry right now, but I think in a little while it will turn into a good, hearty appetite."

"Now, in good sooth," quoth merry Robin, laughing, "thou hast a quaint tongue betwixt thy teeth. But hast thou truly nought but a dry crust about thee? Methinks thy bags and pouches are fat and lusty for such thin fare."

"Well, to be honest," said merry Robin, laughing, "you have a funny way of speaking. But do you really have nothing but a dry crust with you? I think your bags and pouches look full and ready for something more than just that."

"Why, mayhap there is some other cold fare therein," said the Beggar slyly.

"Well, maybe there's some other cold food in there," said the Beggar slyly.

"And hast thou nought to drink but cold water?" said Robin.

"And do you have nothing to drink but cold water?" said Robin.

"Never so much as a drop," quoth the Beggar. "Over beyond yon clump of trees is as sweet a little inn as ever thou hast lifted eyelid upon; but I go not thither, for they have a nasty way with me. Once, when the good Prior of Emmet was dining there, the landlady set a dear little tart of stewed crabs and barley sugar upon the window sill to cool, and, seeing it there, and fearing it might be lost, I took it with me till that I could find the owner thereof. Ever since then they have acted very ill toward me; yet truth bids me say that they have the best ale there that ever rolled over my tongue."

"Not even a drop," said the Beggar. "Just beyond that group of trees is a charming little inn that you've never seen before; but I won't go there because they treat me badly. Once, when the kind Prior of Emmet was having dinner there, the landlady put a lovely little tart made of stewed crabs and barley sugar on the windowsill to cool, and seeing it there, worried it might get taken, I took it with me until I could find the owner. Ever since then, they've treated me poorly; but I have to admit that they serve the best ale I've ever tasted."

At this Robin laughed aloud. "Marry," quoth he, "they did ill toward thee for thy kindness. But tell me truly, what hast thou in thy pouches?"

At this, Robin laughed out loud. "Well," he said, "they treated you badly for being nice. But honestly, what do you have in your pockets?"

"Why," quoth the Beggar, peeping into the mouths of his bags, "I find here a goodly piece of pigeon pie, wrapped in a cabbage leaf to hold the gravy. Here I behold a dainty streaked piece of brawn, and here a fair lump of white bread. Here I find four oaten cakes and a cold knuckle of ham. Ha! In sooth, 'tis strange; but here I behold six eggs that must have come by accident from some poultry yard hereabouts. They are raw, but roasted upon the coals and spread with a piece of butter that I see—"

"Why," said the Beggar, peeking into the bags, "I’ve found a nice piece of pigeon pie, wrapped in a cabbage leaf to hold the gravy. Here’s a delicious piece of brawn, and here’s a nice chunk of white bread. I’ve got four oat cakes and a cold ham hock. Ha! It’s odd; but I see six eggs that must have come from a nearby poultry yard. They’re raw, but roasted over the coals and spread with a piece of butter that I see—"

"Peace, good friend!" cried Robin, holding up his hand. "Thou makest my poor stomach quake with joy for what thou tellest me so sweetly. If thou wilt give me to eat, I will straightway hie me to that little inn thou didst tell of but now, and will bring a skin of ale for thy drinking and mine."

"Hey there, good friend!" shouted Robin, raising his hand. "You make my poor stomach tremble with joy at what you're telling me so sweetly. If you give me something to eat, I'll head right over to that little inn you just mentioned, and I'll bring back a keg of ale for us both."

"Friend, thou hast said enough," said the Beggar, getting down from the stile. "I will feast thee with the best that I have and bless Saint Cedric for thy company. But, sweet chuck, I prythee bring three quarts of ale at least, one for thy drinking and two for mine, for my thirst is such that methinks I can drink ale as the sands of the River Dee drink salt water."

"Friend, you’ve said enough," said the Beggar, getting down from the stile. "I'll treat you to the best I have and thank Saint Cedric for your company. But, dear one, please bring at least three quarts of ale—one for you and two for me—because I'm so thirsty I feel like I could drink ale like the sands of the River Dee drink salt water."

So Robin straightway left the Beggar, who, upon his part, went to a budding lime bush back of the hedge, and there spread his feast upon the grass and roasted his eggs upon a little fagot fire, with a deftness gained by long labor in that line. After a while back came Robin bearing a goodly skin of ale upon his shoulder, which he laid upon the grass. Then, looking upon the feast spread upon the ground—and a fair sight it was to look upon—he slowly rubbed his hand over his stomach, for to his hungry eyes it seemed the fairest sight that he had beheld in all his life.

So Robin immediately left the Beggar, who, for his part, went to a budding lime bush behind the hedge. There, he laid out his feast on the grass and roasted his eggs over a small twig fire, skillfully done from years of practice. After a while, Robin returned with a good-sized skin of ale slung over his shoulder, which he set down on the grass. Then, looking at the feast spread before him—and it was a lovely sight—he slowly rubbed his hand over his stomach, for to his hungry eyes, it seemed the best sight he had ever seen in his life.

"Friend," said the Beggar, "let me feel the weight of that skin.

"Friend," said the Beggar, "let me feel how heavy that skin is.

"Yea, truly," quoth Robin, "help thyself, sweet chuck, and meantime let me see whether thy pigeon pie is fresh or no."

"Yeah, definitely," said Robin, "help yourself, sweetie, and in the meantime, let me see if your pigeon pie is fresh or not."

So the one seized upon the ale and the other upon the pigeon pie, and nothing was heard for a while but the munching of food and the gurgle of ale as it left the skin.

So one grabbed the ale and the other grabbed the pigeon pie, and for a while, all you could hear was the sound of munching food and the gurgling of ale as it poured from the skin.

At last, after a long time had passed thus, Robin pushed the food from him and heaved a great sigh of deep content, for he felt as though he had been made all over anew.

At last, after a long time had passed like this, Robin pushed the food away and let out a big sigh of deep satisfaction, feeling as if he had been completely renewed.

"And now, good friend," quoth he, leaning upon one elbow, "I would have at thee about that other matter of seriousness of which I spoke not long since."

"And now, my good friend," he said, leaning on one elbow, "I want to talk to you about that other serious matter I mentioned not long ago."

"How!" said the Beggar reproachfully, "thou wouldst surely not talk of things appertaining to serious affairs upon such ale as this!"

"How!" said the Beggar reproachfully, "you wouldn't seriously talk about important matters over ale like this!"

"Nay," quoth Robin, laughing. "I would not check thy thirst, sweet friend; drink while I talk to thee. Thus it is: I would have thee know that I have taken a liking to thy craft and would fain have a taste of a beggar's life mine own self."

“No,” said Robin, laughing. “I wouldn’t stop you from drinking, my dear friend; enjoy while I chat with you. Here’s the thing: I want you to know that I’ve developed an interest in your trade and would love to experience a beggar’s life myself.”

Said the Beggar, "I marvel not that thou hast taken a liking to my manner of life, good fellow, but 'to like' and 'to do' are two matters of different sorts. I tell thee, friend, one must serve a long apprenticeship ere one can learn to be even so much as a clapper- dudgeon, much less a crank or an Abraham-man.3 I tell thee, lad, thou art too old to enter upon that which it may take thee years to catch the hang of."

Said the Beggar, "I’m not surprised that you enjoy my way of life, my friend, but ‘liking’ and ‘doing’ are two different things. I’m telling you, my friend, it takes a long time to learn even how to be a petty thief, let alone a madman or a beggar. 3 I’m telling you, kid, you’re too old to start something that might take you years to figure out."


  3
	Classes of traveling mendicants that infested England as late as the
  middle of the seventeenth century. VIDE Dakkar's ENGLISH VILLAINIES, etc.

3
	Types of traveling beggars that were still a problem in England as late as the middle of the 1600s. SEE Dakkar's ENGLISH VILLAINIES, etc.

"Mayhap that may be so," quoth Robin, "for I bring to mind that Gaffer Swanthold sayeth Jack Shoemaker maketh ill bread; Tom Baker maketh ill shoon. Nevertheless, I have a mind to taste a beggar's life, and need but the clothing to be as good as any."

"Maybe that's true," said Robin, "because I remember Gaffer Swanthold saying that Jack Shoemaker makes bad bread, and Tom Baker makes bad shoes. Still, I want to experience a beggar's life, and I just need clothes that are as good as anyone else's."

"I tell thee, fellow," said the Beggar, "if thou wert clad as sweetly as good Saint Wynten, the patron of our craft, thou wouldst never make a beggar. Marry, the first jolly traveler that thou wouldst meet would beat thee to a pudding for thrusting thy nose into a craft that belongeth not to thee."

"I tell you, buddy," said the Beggar, "if you looked as good as Saint Wynten, the patron of our trade, you’d never end up as a beggar. Honestly, the first cheerful traveler you meet would knock you out for sticking your nose into a craft that doesn’t belong to you."

"Nevertheless," quoth Robin, "I would have a try at it; and methinks I shall change clothes with thee, for thy garb seemeth to be pretty, not to say gay. So not only will I change clothes, but I will give thee two golden angels to boot. I have brought my stout staff with me, thinking that I might have to rap some one of the brethren of thy cloth over the head by way of argument in this matter, but I love thee so much for the feast thou hast given me that I would not lift even my little finger against thee, so thou needst not have a crumb of fear."

"Anyway," said Robin, "I want to give it a go; and I think I’ll swap clothes with you, since your outfit looks nice, to say the least. So not only will I change clothes, but I'll also give you two golden angels on top of that. I’ve brought my sturdy staff with me, just in case I might need to tap one of your fellow brothers on the head to make my point in this matter. But I care about you so much for the feast you hosted that I wouldn’t even lift a finger against you, so you don’t have to worry at all."

To this the Beggar listened with his knuckles resting against his hips, and when Robin had ended he cocked his head on one side and thrust his tongue into his cheek.

To this, the Beggar listened with his hands on his hips, and when Robin finished, he tilted his head to one side and poked his tongue into his cheek.

"Marry, come up," quoth he at last. "Lift thy finger against me, forsooth! Art thou out of thy wits, man? My name is Riccon Hazel, and I come from Holywell, in Flintshire, over by the River Dee. I tell thee, knave, I have cracked the head of many a better man than thou art, and even now I would scald thy crown for thee but for the ale thou hast given me. Now thou shalt not have so much as one tag-rag of my coat, even could it save thee from hanging."

"Come on, get up," he finally said. "Are you really going to raise a finger against me? Have you lost your mind, man? My name is Riccon Hazel, and I’m from Holywell in Flintshire, by the River Dee. I tell you, I’ve knocked out many better men than you, and right now I would gladly smash your head for you, but I won't because of the beer you gave me. You won’t get even a scrap of my coat, even if it could save you from hanging."

"Now, fellow," said Robin, "it would ill suit me to spoil thy pretty head for thee, but I tell thee plainly, that but for this feast I would do that to thee would stop thy traveling the country for many a day to come. Keep thy lips shut, lad, or thy luck will tumble out of thy mouth with thy speech!"

"Now, my friend," said Robin, "I really don’t want to mess up that nice head of yours, but I’ll be honest with you: if it weren’t for this feast, I’d do something to you that would keep you from traveling the countryside for a long time. Keep your mouth shut, kid, or your luck will spill out along with your words!"

"Now out, and alas for thee, man, for thou hast bred thyself ill this day!" cried the Beggar, rising and taking up his staff. "Take up thy club and defend thyself, fellow, for I will not only beat thee but I will take from thee thy money and leave thee not so much as a clipped groat to buy thyself a lump of goose grease to rub thy cracked crown withal. So defend thyself, I say."

"Now you’re out, and too bad for you, man, because you’ve really messed up today!" shouted the Beggar, getting up and grabbing his staff. "Pick up your club and protect yourself, buddy, because not only will I beat you, but I’ll also take your money and leave you with not even a penny to buy some goose grease to rub on your sore head. So defend yourself, I say."

Then up leaped merry Robin and snatched up his staff also. "Take my money, if thou canst," quoth he. "I promise freely to give thee every farthing if thou dost touch me." And he twirled his staff in his fingers till it whistled again.

Then merry Robin jumped up and grabbed his staff too. "Take my money, if you can," he said. "I promise to give you every last penny if you manage to touch me." And he twirled his staff in his fingers until it whistled again.

Then the Beggar swung his staff also, and struck a mighty blow at Robin, which the yeoman turned. Three blows the Beggar struck, yet never one touched so much as a hair of Robin's head. Then stout Robin saw his chance, and, ere you could count three, Riccon's staff was over the hedge, and Riccon himself lay upon the green grass with no more motion than you could find in an empty pudding bag.

Then the Beggar swung his staff too and landed a powerful hit at Robin, which the yeoman deflected. The Beggar struck three times, but not once did he touch a single hair on Robin's head. Then brave Robin saw his opportunity, and before you could count to three, Riccon's staff was tossed over the hedge, and Riccon himself lay on the green grass without any more movement than you’d find in an empty pudding bag.

"How now!" quoth merry Robin, laughing. "Wilt thou have my hide or my money, sweet chuck?" But to this the other answered never a word. Then Robin, seeing his plight, and that he was stunned with the blow, ran, still laughing, and brought the skin of ale and poured some of it on the Beggar's head and some down his throat, so that presently he opened his eyes and looked around as though wondering why he lay upon his back.

"What's up!" said cheerful Robin, laughing. "Do you want my skin or my money, dear friend?" But the other didn't reply at all. Then Robin, noticing his situation and that he was dazed from the hit, ran off, still chuckling, and brought back a skin of ale. He poured some on the Beggar's head and some down his throat, so soon he opened his eyes and looked around as if he was confused about why he was lying on his back.

Then Robin, seeing that he had somewhat gathered the wits that had just been rapped out of his head, said, "Now, good fellow, wilt thou change clothes with me, or shall I have to tap thee again? Here are two golden angels if thou wilt give me freely all thy rags and bags and thy cap and things. If thou givest them not freely, I much fear me I shall have to— " and he looked up and down his staff.

Then Robin, noticing that he had started to think again after getting knocked around, said, "Now, good friend, will you trade clothes with me, or will I have to hit you again? Here are two golden coins if you’ll give me all your rags, bags, your cap, and everything else. If you don’t hand them over willingly, I’m afraid I might have to—" and he glanced at his staff.

Then Riccon sat up and rubbed the bump on his crown. "Now, out upon it!" quoth he. "I did think to drub thee sweetly, fellow. I know not how it is, but I seem, as it were, to have bought more beer than I can drink. If I must give up my clothes, I must, but first promise me, by thy word as a true yeoman, that thou wilt take nought from me but my clothes."

Then Riccon sat up and rubbed the bump on his head. "Now, what a shame!" he said. "I thought I was going to beat you easily, buddy. I don't know what's going on, but it seems like I've bought more beer than I can handle. If I have to give up my clothes, I will, but first promise me, on your honor as a true man, that you won't take anything from me except my clothes."

"I promise on the word of a true yeoman," quoth Robin, thinking that the fellow had a few pennies that he would save.

"I promise on the word of a true farmer," said Robin, thinking that the guy had a few pennies he would hold onto.

Thereupon the Beggar drew a little knife that hung at his side and, ripping up the lining of his coat, drew thence ten bright golden pounds, which he laid upon the ground beside him with a cunning wink at Robin. "Now thou mayst have my clothes and welcome," said he, "and thou mightest have had them in exchange for thine without the cost of a single farthing, far less two golden angels."

Then the Beggar took out a small knife that was hanging at his side and, cutting open the lining of his coat, pulled out ten shiny golden pounds, which he placed on the ground next to him with a sly wink at Robin. "Now you can have my clothes, no problem," he said, "and you could have gotten them in exchange for yours without spending a single penny, let alone two golden angels."

"Marry," quoth Robin, laughing, "thou art a sly fellow, and I tell thee truly, had I known thou hadst so much money by thee maybe thou mightst not have carried it away, for I warrant thou didst not come honestly by it."

"Well, Robin said with a laugh, "you're quite the trickster, and I’m telling you honestly, if I had known you had that much cash, maybe you wouldn’t have walked away with it, because I’m sure you didn’t get it in an honest way."

Then each stripped off his clothes and put on those of the other, and as lusty a beggar was Robin Hood as e'er you could find of a summer's day. But stout Riccon of Holywell skipped and leaped and danced for joy of the fair suit of Lincoln green that he had so gotten. Quoth he, "I am a gay-feathered bird now. Truly, my dear Moll Peascod would never know me in this dress. Thou mayst keep the cold pieces of the feast, friend, for I mean to live well and lustily while my money lasts and my clothes are gay."

Then each of them took off their clothes and put on the other’s, and Robin Hood was as lively a beggar as you could find on a summer's day. But stout Riccon of Holywell jumped and danced for joy at the fine suit of Lincoln green he had gotten. He said, "I'm a stylish bird now. Honestly, my dear Moll Peascod would never recognize me in this outfit. You can keep the leftovers from the feast, my friend, because I plan to live well and happily while my money lasts and my clothes are bright."

So he turned and left Robin and, crossing the stile, was gone, but Robin heard him singing from beyond the hedge as he strode away:

So he turned and left Robin, and after crossing the stile, he was gone, but Robin heard him singing from beyond the hedge as he walked away:

 "For Polly is smiling and Molly is glad
     When the beggar comes in at the door,
 And Jack and Dick call him a fine lusty lad,
     And the hostess runs up a great score.

 Then hey, Willy Waddykin,
     Stay, Billy Waddykin,
 And let the brown ale flow free, flow free,
     The beggar's the man for me."
"For Polly is smiling and Molly is happy  
     When the beggar walks in through the door,  
 And Jack and Dick say he's a strong young guy,  
     And the hostess keeps adding to the tab.  

 Then hey, Willy Waddykin,  
     Stay, Billy Waddykin,  
 And let the brown ale flow freely, flow freely,  
     The beggar's the one for me."

Robin listened till the song ended in the distance, then he also crossed the stile into the road, but turned his toes away from where the Beggar had gone. The road led up a gentle hill and up the hill Robin walked, a half score or more of bags dangling about his legs. Onward he strolled for a long time, but other adventure he found not. The road was bare of all else but himself, as he went kicking up little clouds of dust at each footstep; for it was noontide, the most peaceful time of all the day, next to twilight. All the earth was silent in the restfulness of eating time; the plowhorses stood in the furrow munching, with great bags over their noses holding sweet food, the plowman sat under the hedge and the plowboy also, and they, too, were munching, each one holding a great piece of bread in one fist and a great piece of cheese in the other.

Robin listened until the song faded in the distance, then he crossed the stile into the road but turned his toes away from where the Beggar had gone. The road led up a gentle hill, and Robin walked up the hill with a dozen or more bags hanging around his legs. He strolled onward for a long time but found no other adventure. The road was empty except for him, as he kicked up little clouds of dust with each step; it was noon, the most peaceful time of day, right after twilight. The whole world was quiet in the calm of mealtime; the plowhorses stood in the furrow munching, with big bags over their noses filled with sweet food. The plowman sat under the hedge, and the plowboy did too, and they were also munching, each holding a large piece of bread in one hand and a big piece of cheese in the other.

So Robin, with all the empty road to himself, strode along whistling merrily, his bags and pouches bobbing and dangling at his thighs. At last he came to where a little grass-grown path left the road and, passing through a stile and down a hill, led into a little dell and on across a rill in the valley and up the hill on the other side, till it reached a windmill that stood on the cap of the rise where the wind bent the trees in swaying motion. Robin looked at the spot and liked it, and, for no reason but that his fancy led him, he took the little path and walked down the grassy sunny slope of the open meadow, and so came to the little dingle and, ere he knew it, upon four lusty fellows that sat with legs outstretched around a goodly feast spread upon the ground.

So Robin, with the entire road to himself, walked along whistling happily, his bags and pouches swinging at his thighs. Finally, he reached a spot where a small grass-covered path branched off from the road. Passing through a stile and down a hill, it led into a little hollow, crossed a stream in the valley, and climbed up the hill on the other side until it reached a windmill that stood at the top of the rise, where the wind made the trees sway. Robin looked at the place and liked it, and just because he felt like it, he took the little path and walked down the sunny, grassy slope of the open meadow. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon four strong guys sitting with their legs stretched out around a nice feast laid out on the ground.

Four merry beggars were they, and each had slung about his neck a little board that rested upon his breast. One board had written upon it, "I am blind," another, "I am deaf," another, "I am dumb," and the fourth, "Pity the lame one." But although all these troubles written upon the boards seemed so grievous, the four stout fellows sat around feasting as merrily as though Cain's wife had never opened the pottle that held misfortunes and let them forth like a cloud of flies to pester us.

Four cheerful beggars they were, each wearing a small board around their neck that rested on their chest. One board said, "I am blind," another, "I am deaf," another, "I am mute," and the fourth, "Have pity on the lame one." Yet, despite the heavy burdens written on the boards, the four hearty men sat together, enjoying their feast as merrily as if Cain's wife had never released the jar of misfortunes that swarmed over us like a cloud of flies.

The deaf man was the first to hear Robin, for he said, "Hark, brothers, I hear someone coming." And the blind man was the first to see him, for he said, "He is an honest man, brothers, and one of like craft to ourselves." Then the dumb man called to him in a great voice and said, "Welcome, brother; come and sit while there is still some of the feast left and a little Malmsey in the pottle." At this, the lame man, who had taken off his wooden leg and unstrapped his own leg, and was sitting with it stretched out upon the grass so as to rest it, made room for Robin among them. "We are glad to see thee, brother," said he, holding out the flask of Malmsey.

The deaf man was the first to hear Robin, saying, "Hey, everyone, I hear someone coming." And the blind man was the first to see him, declaring, "He's an honest man, folks, and one of our own." Then the mute man called out loudly, "Welcome, brother; come and sit while there's still some food left and a bit of Malmsey in the bottle." At this, the lame man, who had taken off his wooden leg and unstrapped his own, was sitting with his leg stretched out on the grass to rest. He made space for Robin among them. "We’re glad to see you, brother," he said, holding out the flask of Malmsey.

"Marry," quoth Robin, laughing, and weighing the flask in his hands ere he drank, "methinks it is no more than seemly of you all to be glad to see me, seeing that I bring sight to the blind, speech to the dumb, hearing to the deaf, and such a lusty leg to a lame man. I drink to your happiness, brothers, as I may not drink to your health, seeing ye are already hale, wind and limb."

"Well," said Robin with a laugh, holding the flask in his hands before taking a drink, "I think it's only fair for all of you to be happy to see me since I bring sight to the blind, speech to the mute, hearing to the deaf, and a strong leg to a person who can't walk. I drink to your happiness, my friends, since I can't drink to your health, since you’re already strong and healthy."

At this all grinned, and the Blind beggar, who was the chief man among them, and was the broadest shouldered and most lusty rascal of all, smote Robin upon the shoulder, swearing he was a right merry wag.

At this, everyone smiled, and the blind beggar, who was the leader among them and the biggest and strongest of the bunch, slapped Robin on the shoulder, declaring that he was a real fun guy.

"Whence comest thou, lad?" asked the Dumb man.

"Where are you from, kid?" asked the Dumb man.

"Why," quoth Robin, "I came this morning from sleeping overnight in Sherwood."

"Why," said Robin, "I came this morning after spending the night in Sherwood."

"Is it even so?" said the Deaf man. "I would not for all the money we four are carrying to Lincoln Town sleep one night in Sherwood. If Robin Hood caught one of our trade in his woodlands he would, methinks, clip his ears."

"Is that really true?" said the Deaf man. "I wouldn’t stay even one night in Sherwood for all the money we four are carrying to Lincoln Town. If Robin Hood caught one of us in his woods, I think he would cut off our ears."

"Methinks he would, too," quoth Robin, laughing. "But what money is this that ye speak of?"

"I think he would, too," said Robin, laughing. "But what money are you talking about?"

Then up spake the Lame man. "Our king, Peter of York," said he, "hath sent us to Lincoln with those moneys that—"

Then the Lame man spoke up. "Our king, Peter of York," he said, "has sent us to Lincoln with those funds that—"

"Stay, brother Hodge," quoth the Blind man, breaking into the talk, "I would not doubt our brother here, but bear in mind we know him not. What art thou, brother? Upright-man, Jurkman, Clapper-dudgeon, Dommerer, or Abraham-man?"

"Wait, Brother Hodge," said the Blind man, interrupting the conversation, "I wouldn't doubt our brother here, but keep in mind we don't know him. Who are you, brother? Upright-man, Jurkman, Clapper-dudgeon, Dommerer, or Abraham-man?"

At these words Robin looked from one man to the other with mouth agape. "Truly," quoth he, "I trust I am an upright man, at least, I strive to be; but I know not what thou meanest by such jargon, brother. It were much more seemly, methinks, if yon Dumb man, who hath a sweet voice, would give us a song."

At these words, Robin looked from one man to the other with his mouth hanging open. "Honestly," he said, "I hope I'm a good person; at least, I try to be; but I don't understand what you mean by that nonsense, brother. It would be much more fitting, I think, if that quiet guy, who has a nice voice, would sing us a song."

At these words a silence fell on all, and after a while the Blind man spoke again. Quoth he, "Thou dost surely jest when thou sayest that thou dost not understand such words. Answer me this: Hast thou ever fibbed a chouse quarrons in the Rome pad for the loure in his bung?"4

At these words, everyone fell silent, and after a while, the Blind man spoke again. He said, "You must be joking when you say you don’t understand such words. Answer me this: Have you ever tricked someone into giving you something in the back alleys of Rome?"4


  4
	I.E., in old beggar's cant, "beaten a man or gallant upon the
  highway for the money in his purse."  Dakkar's ENGLISH VILLAINIES.

4
	In old beggar's slang, "to rob a man or challenge someone on the highway for the money in his wallet."  Dakkar's ENGLISH VILLAINIES.

"Now out upon it," quoth Robin Hood testily, "an ye make sport of me by pattering such gibberish, it will be ill for you all, I tell you. I have the best part of a mind to crack the heads of all four of you, and would do so, too, but for the sweet Malmsey ye have given me. Brother, pass the pottle lest it grow cold."

"Now listen here," Robin Hood said irritably, "if you keep making fun of me with that nonsense, it won’t end well for you all, I promise. I'm tempted to crack the heads of all four of you, and I would do it too, if it weren't for the nice Malmsey you’ve given me. Brother, pass the bottle before it gets warm."

But all the four beggars leaped to their feet when Robin had done speaking, and the Blind man snatched up a heavy knotted cudgel that lay beside him on the grass, as did the others likewise. Then Robin, seeing that things were like to go ill with him, albeit he knew not what all the coil was about, leaped to his feet also and, catching up his trusty staff, clapped his back against the tree and stood upon his guard against them. "How, now!" cried he, twirling his staff betwixt his fingers, "would you four stout fellows set upon one man? Stand back, ye rascals, or I will score your pates till they have as many marks upon them as a pothouse door! Are ye mad? I have done you no harm."

But all four beggars jumped to their feet when Robin finished speaking, and the Blind man grabbed a heavy knotted club that was lying beside him on the grass, just like the others did. Then Robin, seeing that things were about to go badly for him, even though he didn’t know what all the fuss was about, jumped to his feet too and, grabbing his trusty staff, leaned against the tree and got ready to defend himself. “What’s going on!” he shouted, spinning his staff between his fingers. “Are you four big guys really going to attack one man? Back off, you rascals, or I’ll give you so many knocks on the head that you'll have as many marks as a pub door! Are you crazy? I haven’t done anything to you.”

"Thou liest!" quoth the one who pretended to be blind and who, being the lustiest villain, was the leader of the others, "thou liest! For thou hast come among us as a vile spy. But thine ears have heard too much for thy body's good, and thou goest not forth from this place unless thou goest feet foremost, for this day thou shalt die! Come, brothers, all together! Down with him!" Then, whirling up his cudgel, he rushed upon Robin as an angry bull rushes upon a red rag. But Robin was ready for any happening. "Crick! Crack!" he struck two blows as quick as a wink, and down went the Blind man, rolling over and over upon the grass.

"You’re lying!" said the one who pretended to be blind and was the strongest villain, the leader of the others. "You’re lying! You’ve come among us as a disgusting spy. But your ears have heard too much for your own good, and you won’t leave this place unless you’re carried out feet first, because today you’re going to die! Come on, brothers, together! Get him!" Then, swinging his club, he charged at Robin like an angry bull rushing at a red flag. But Robin was ready for anything. "Crick! Crack!" He landed two quick blows, and down went the Blind man, tumbling over and over on the grass.

At this the others bore back and stood at a little distance scowling upon Robin. "Come on, ye scum!" cried he merrily. "Here be cakes and ale for all. Now, who will be next served?"

At this, the others stepped back and stood at a slight distance, scowling at Robin. "Come on, you fools!" he shouted happily. "Here are cakes and ale for everyone. So, who wants to be served next?"

To this speech the beggars answered never a word, but they looked at Robin as great Blunderbore looked upon stout Jack the slayer of giants, as though they would fain eat him, body and bones; nevertheless, they did not care to come nigher to him and his terrible staff. Then, seeing them so hesitate, Robin of a sudden leaped upon them, striking even as he leaped. Down went the Dumb man, and away flew his cudgel from his hand as he fell. At this the others ducked to avoid another blow, then, taking to their heels, scampered, the one one way and the other the other, as though they had the west wind's boots upon their feet. Robin looked after them, laughing, and thought that never had he seen so fleet a runner as the Lame man; but neither of the beggars stopped nor turned around, for each felt in his mind the wind of Robin's cudgel about his ears.

To this speech, the beggars didn’t say a word, but they looked at Robin like great Blunderbore looks at stout Jack, the giant slayer, as if they wanted to devour him whole; however, they didn’t dare to get closer to him and his fearsome staff. Then, noticing their hesitation, Robin suddenly jumped at them, striking as he leaped. Down went the mute man, and his club flew from his hand as he fell. This made the others duck to dodge another blow, and then they took off running in opposite directions as if they had the west wind’s shoes on their feet. Robin watched them, laughing, and thought he had never seen such a fast runner as the Lame man; but neither of the beggars stopped or looked back, as each felt in his mind the threat of Robin’s club around his ears.

Then Robin turned to the two stout knaves lying upon the ground. Quoth he, "These fellows spake somewhat about certain moneys they were taking to Lincoln; methinks I may find it upon this stout blind fellow, who hath as keen sight as e'er a trained woodsman in Nottingham or Yorkshire. It were a pity to let sound money stay in the pockets of such thieving knaves." So saying, he stooped over the burly rascal and searched among his rags and tatters, till presently his fingers felt a leathern pouch slung around his body beneath his patched and tattered coat. This he stripped away and, weighing it in his hands, bethought himself that it was mighty heavy. "It were a sweet thing," said he to himself, "if this were filled with gold instead of copper pence." Then, sitting down upon the grass, he opened the pocket and looked into it. There he found four round rolls wrapped up in dressed sheepskin; one of these rolls he opened; then his mouth gaped and his eyes stared, I wot, as though they would never close again, for what did he see but fifty pounds of bright golden money? He opened the other pockets and found in each one the same, fifty bright new-stamped golden pounds. Quoth Robin, "I have oft heard that the Beggars' Guild was over-rich, but never did I think that they sent such sums as this to their treasury. I shall take it with me, for it will be better used for charity and the good of my merry band than in the enriching of such knaves as these." So saying, he rolled up the money in the sheepskin again, and putting it back in the purse, he thrust the pouch into his own bosom. Then taking up the flask of Malmsey, he held it toward the two fellows lying on the grass, and quoth he, "Sweet friends, I drink your health and thank you dearly for what ye have so kindly given me this day, and so I wish you good den." Then, taking up his staff, he left the spot and went merrily on his way.

Then Robin turned to the two heavy guys lying on the ground. He said, "These guys mentioned something about money they were taking to Lincoln; I think I might find it on this big blind guy, who has as good vision as any skilled woodsman in Nottingham or Yorkshire. It would be a shame to let good money stay in the pockets of such thieving scumbags." So saying, he bent down over the bulky guy and searched through his rags and tatters until he felt a leather pouch slung around his body under his patched-up coat. He pulled it off and, weighing it in his hands, realized it was really heavy. "It would be great," he thought to himself, "if this were filled with gold instead of copper coins." Then, sitting down on the grass, he opened the pocket and looked inside. There he found four round rolls wrapped in sheepskin; he opened one of the rolls, and his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, as if they would never close again, because what did he see but fifty pounds of shiny gold? He opened the other pockets and found the same thing in each—fifty brand-new gold pounds. Robin said, "I've often heard that the Beggars' Guild was really rich, but I never thought they sent such large sums to their treasury. I’ll take it with me, as it will be put to better use for charity and the good of my merry band than in enriching scum like these." So saying, he rolled up the money in the sheepskin again, put it back in the pouch, and tucked it into his own shirt. Then he picked up the bottle of Malmsey, held it up to the two guys lying on the grass, and said, "Dear friends, I toast to your health and thank you for what you’ve kindly given me today, and I wish you all the best." Then, grabbing his staff, he left the spot and went happily on his way.

But when the two stout beggars that had been rapped upon the head roused themselves and sat up, and when the others had gotten over their fright and come back, they were as sad and woebegone as four frogs in dry weather, for two of them had cracked crowns, their Malmsey was all gone, and they had not so much as a farthing to cross their palms withal.

But when the two hefty beggars who had been hit on the head woke up and sat up, and when the others had calmed down and returned, they looked as miserable and downcast as four frogs in a drought, because two of them had broken heads, their wine was completely gone, and they didn’t even have a penny to spare.

But after Robin left the little dell he strode along merrily, singing as he went; and so blithe was he and such a stout beggar, and, withal, so fresh and clean, that every merry lass he met had a sweet word for him and felt no fear, while the very dogs, that most times hate the sight of a beggar, snuffed at his legs in friendly wise and wagged their tails pleasantly; for dogs know an honest man by his smell, and an honest man Robin was—in his own way.

But after Robin left the little valley, he walked along happily, singing as he went. He was so cheerful and such a strong beggar, and, on top of that, so fresh and clean, that every joyful girl he met had a kind word for him and felt no fear. Even the dogs, who usually dislike the sight of a beggar, sniffed at his legs in a friendly way and wagged their tails pleasantly. Dogs can sense an honest man by his scent, and Robin was an honest man—in his own way.

Thus he went along till at last he had come to the wayside cross nigh Ollerton, and, being somewhat tired, he sat him down to rest upon the grassy bank in front of it. "It groweth nigh time," quoth he to himself, "that I were getting back again to Sherwood; yet it would please me well to have one more merry adventure ere I go back again to my jolly band."

So he continued on until he reached the wayside cross near Ollerton, and feeling a bit tired, he sat down to rest on the grassy bank in front of it. "It's about time," he said to himself, "that I head back to Sherwood; but I’d really like to have one more fun adventure before returning to my merry group."

So he looked up the road and down the road to see who might come, until at last he saw someone drawing near, riding upon a horse. When the traveler came nigh enough for him to see him well, Robin laughed, for a strange enough figure he cut. He was a thin, wizened man, and, to look upon him, you could not tell whether he was thirty years old or sixty, so dried up was he even to skin and bone. As for the nag, it was as thin as the rider, and both looked as though they had been baked in Mother Huddle's Oven, where folk are dried up so that they live forever.

So he looked up and down the road to see who might be coming, until finally he spotted someone approaching on a horse. When the traveler got close enough for him to see clearly, Robin laughed because the guy looked quite odd. He was a skinny, old-looking man, and honestly, it was hard to tell if he was thirty or sixty years old, he was so shriveled up to the point of being just skin and bones. The horse was just as scrawny as its rider, and they both looked like they had been dried out in Mother Huddle's Oven, where people get so dried up they live forever.

But although Robin laughed at the droll sight, he knew the wayfarer to be a certain rich corn engrosser of Worksop, who more than once had bought all the grain in the countryside and held it till it reached even famine prices, thus making much money from the needs of poor people, and for this he was hated far and near by everyone that knew aught of him.

But even though Robin laughed at the funny sight, he recognized the traveler as a wealthy grain dealer from Worksop, who had repeatedly bought up all the grain in the area and hoarded it until prices soared to famine levels, profiting from the struggles of the poor. Because of this, he was despised by everyone who knew anything about him.

So, after a while, the Corn Engrosser came riding up to where Robin sat; whereupon merry Robin stepped straightway forth, in all his rags and tatters, his bags and pouches dangling about him, and laid his hand upon the horse's bridle rein, calling upon the other to stop.

So, after some time, the Corn Merchant rode up to where Robin was sitting; then cheerful Robin stepped forward, in all his rags and torn clothes, with his bags and pouches hanging around him, and took hold of the horse's reins, telling the other to stop.

"Who art thou, fellow, that doth dare to stop me thus upon the King's highway?" said the lean man, in a dry, sour voice.

"Who are you, guy, that dares to stop me like this on the King's highway?" said the lean man in a dry, harsh voice.

"Pity a poor beggar," quoth Robin. "Give me but a farthing to buy me a piece of bread."

"Pity the poor beggar," said Robin. "Just give me a penny to buy a piece of bread."

"Now, out upon thee!" snarled the other. "Such sturdy rogues as thou art are better safe in the prisons or dancing upon nothing, with a hempen collar about the neck, than strolling the highways so freely."

"Now, get out of here!" snarled the other. "Guys like you are better off locked up or hanging from a noose than roaming the streets so freely."

"Tut," quoth Robin, "how thou talkest! Thou and I are brothers, man. Do we not both take from the poor people that which they can ill spare? Do we not make our livings by doing nought of any good? Do we not both live without touching palm to honest work? Have we either of us ever rubbed thumbs over honestly gained farthings? Go to! We are brothers, I say; only thou art rich and I am poor; wherefore, I prythee once more, give me a penny."

"Tut," said Robin, "look at how you talk! You and I are brothers, man. Don’t we both take from the poor what they can hardly spare? Don’t we both make a living without doing any good? Don’t we both live without lifting a finger for honest work? Have either of us ever counted up honestly earned coins? Come on! We are brothers, I tell you; it’s just that you are rich and I am poor; so, once again, I ask you, give me a penny."

"Doss thou prate so to me, sirrah?" cried the Corn Engrosser in a rage. "Now I will have thee soundly whipped if ever I catch thee in any town where the law can lay hold of thee! As for giving thee a penny, I swear to thee that I have not so much as a single groat in my purse. Were Robin Hood himself to take me, he might search me from crown to heel without finding the smallest piece of money upon me. I trust I am too sly to travel so nigh to Sherwood with money in my pouch, and that thief at large in the woods."

"Are you seriously talking to me like that?" shouted the Corn Merchant, furious. "I’m going to make sure you get a good whipping if I ever catch you in any town where the law can get to you! As for giving you a penny, I swear I don’t have even a single coin in my pocket. Even if Robin Hood himself searched me from head to toe, he wouldn’t find a single penny on me. I’m smart enough not to travel close to Sherwood with money in my pocket while that thief is roaming the woods."

Then merry Robin looked up and down, as if to see that there was no one nigh, and then, coming close to the Corn Engrosser, he stood on tiptoe and spake in his ear, "Thinkest thou in sooth that I am a beggar, as I seem to be? Look upon me. There is not a grain of dirt upon my hands or my face or my body. Didst thou ever see a beggar so? I tell thee I am as honest a man as thou art. Look, friend." Here he took the purse of money from his breast and showed to the dazzled eyes of the Corn Engrosser the bright golden pieces. "Friend, these rags serve but to hide an honest rich man from the eyes of Robin Hood."

Then cheerful Robin looked around to make sure no one was nearby, and then, coming close to the Corn Engrosser, he stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "Do you really think I'm a beggar, as I appear to be? Look at me. There isn't a speck of dirt on my hands, my face, or my body. Have you ever seen a beggar like this? I tell you, I'm as honest a man as you are. Look, my friend." He then pulled out a purse of money from his chest and showed the astonished Corn Engrosser the shiny gold coins. "Friend, these rags are just to conceal a wealthy honest man from the eyes of Robin Hood."

"Put up thy money, lad," cried the other quickly. "Art thou a fool, to trust to beggar's rags to shield thee from Robin Hood? If he caught thee, he would strip thee to the skin, for he hates a lusty beggar as he doth a fat priest or those of my kind."

"Hand over your money, kid," the other shouted quickly. "Are you crazy to think that beggar's rags will protect you from Robin Hood? If he catches you, he'll strip you bare, because he hates a strong beggar just as much as he hates a fat priest or people like me."

"Is it indeed so?" quoth Robin. "Had I known this, mayhap I had not come hereabouts in this garb. But I must go forward now, as much depends upon my journeying. Where goest thou, friend?"

"Is it really true?" Robin asked. "If I had known this, maybe I wouldn't have come here in this outfit. But I have to keep going now, as my journey is important. Where are you headed, friend?"

"I go to Grantham," said the Corn Engrosser, "but I shall lodge tonight at Newark, if I can get so far upon my way."

"I’m heading to Grantham," said the Corn Dealer, "but I’ll be staying the night in Newark if I can make it that far on my journey."

"Why, I myself am on the way to Newark," quoth merry Robin, "so that, as two honest men are better than one in roads beset by such a fellow as this Robin Hood, I will jog along with thee, if thou hast no dislike to my company."

"Why, I'm on my way to Newark too," said cheerful Robin, "so since two good guys are better than one on roads crowded by someone like this Robin Hood, I'll stick with you, if you don't mind having me around."

"Why, as thou art an honest fellow and a rich fellow," said the Corn Engrosser, "I mind not thy company; but, in sooth, I have no great fondness for beggars."

"Well, since you’re an honest guy and a wealthy one," said the Corn Engrosser, "I don’t mind having you around; but honestly, I’m not a big fan of beggars."

"Then forward," quoth Robin, "for the day wanes and it will be dark ere we reach Newark." So off they went, the lean horse hobbling along as before, and Robin running beside, albeit he was so quaking with laughter within him that he could hardly stand; yet he dared not laugh aloud, lest the Corn Engrosser should suspect something. So they traveled along till they reached a hill just on the outskirts of Sherwood. Here the lean man checked his lean horse into a walk, for the road was steep, and he wished to save his nag's strength, having far to go ere he reached Newark. Then he turned in his saddle and spake to Robin again, for the first time since they had left the cross. "Here is thy greatest danger, friend," said he, "for here we are nighest to that vile thief Robin Hood, and the place where he dwells. Beyond this we come again to the open honest country, and so are more safe in our journeying."

"Let’s move ahead," Robin said, "because the day is ending, and it will be dark before we get to Newark." So off they went, the thin horse limping along as before, while Robin ran alongside, even though he was shaking with laughter inside and could hardly keep his balance; still, he didn’t dare laugh out loud, for fear the Corn Engrosser might suspect something. They traveled on until they reached a hill right on the edge of Sherwood. Here, the thin man slowed his horse to a walk because the road was steep, and he wanted to save the horse’s strength since they had a long way to go before getting to Newark. Then he turned in his saddle and spoke to Robin again, for the first time since they had left the cross. "This is your biggest danger, my friend," he said, "because we are closest to that despicable thief Robin Hood, and to where he lives. After this, we’ll be back in open, honest country, and we’ll be safer on our journey."

"Alas!" quoth Robin, "I would that I had as little money by me as thou hast, for this day I fear that Robin Hood will get every groat of my wealth."

"Wow!" said Robin, "I wish I had as little money on me as you do, because today I'm afraid that Robin Hood is going to take every penny of my wealth."

Then the other looked at Robin and winked cunningly. Quoth he, "I tell thee, friend, that I have nigh as much by me as thou hast, but it is hidden so that never a knave in Sherwood could find it."

Then the other looked at Robin and winked slyly. He said, "I tell you, friend, that I have almost as much as you do, but it's hidden so well that no scoundrel in Sherwood could ever find it."

"Thou dost surely jest," quoth Robin. "How could one hide so much as two hundred pounds upon his person?"

"You must be joking," Robin said. "How could anyone hide as much as two hundred pounds on their body?"

"Now, as thou art so honest a fellow, and, withal, so much younger than I am, I will tell thee that which I have told to no man in all the world before, and thus thou mayst learn never again to do such a foolish thing as to trust to beggar's garb to guard thee against Robin Hood. Seest thou these clogs upon my feet?"

"Now that you're such an honest guy and a lot younger than me, I’ll share something I’ve never told anyone before, so you can learn not to make the foolish mistake of thinking that a beggar's outfit will protect you from Robin Hood. Do you see these shoes on my feet?"

"Yea," quoth Robin, laughing, "truly, they are large enough for any man to see, even were his sight as foggy as that of Peter Patter, who never could see when it was time to go to work."

"Yeah," said Robin, laughing, "they're definitely big enough for anyone to see, even if their eyesight is as blurry as Peter Patter's, who could never tell when it was time to get to work."

"Peace, friend," said the Corn Engrosser, "for this is no matter for jesting. The soles of these clogs are not what they seem to be, for each one is a sweet little box; and by twisting the second nail from the toe, the upper of the shoe and part of the sole lifts up like a lid, and in the spaces within are fourscore and ten bright golden pounds in each shoe, all wrapped in hair, to keep them from clinking and so telling tales of themselves."

"Calm down, friend," said the Corn Engrosser, "because this isn’t a joke. The soles of these clogs aren’t what they look like; each one is a cute little box. By twisting the second nail from the toe, the top of the shoe and part of the sole lifts up like a lid, revealing eighty bright golden pounds in each shoe, all wrapped in hair to prevent them from clinking and revealing their presence."

When the Corn Engrosser had told this, Robin broke into a roar of laughter and, laying his hands upon the bridle rein, stopped the sad- looking nag. "Stay, good friend," quoth he, between bursts of merriment, "thou art the slyest old fox that e'er I saw in all my life! —In the soles of his shoon, quotha!—If ever I trust a poor-seeming man again, shave my head and paint it blue! A corn factor, a horse jockey, an estate agent, and a jackdaw for cunningness, say I!" And he laughed again till he shook in his shoes with mirth.

When the Corn Engrosser finished telling his story, Robin burst out laughing and grabbed the reins to stop the sad-looking horse. "Hold on, my good friend," he said between fits of laughter, "you are the craftiest old trickster I've ever seen in my life! —In the soles of his shoes, really!—If I ever trust a seemingly poor man again, shave my head and paint it blue! A grain dealer, a horse trader, a real estate agent, and a jackdaw for cleverness, I say!" And he laughed again until he shook in his shoes with joy.

All this time the Corn Engrosser had been staring at Robin, his mouth agape with wonder. "Art thou mad," quoth he, "to talk in this way, so loud and in such a place? Let us forward, and save thy mirth till we are safe and sound at Newark."

All this time, the Corn Engrosser had been staring at Robin, his mouth hanging open in shock. "Are you crazy," he said, "to speak like this, so loudly and in a place like this? Let's move on and save your laughter until we're safe and sound in Newark."

"Nay," quoth Robin, the tears of merriment wet on his cheeks, "on second thoughts I go no farther than here, for I have good friends hereabouts. Thou mayst go forward if thou dost list, thou sweet pretty fellow, but thou must go forward barefoot, for I am afraid that thy shoon must be left behind. Off with them, friend, for I tell thee I have taken a great fancy to them."

"Actually," said Robin, with tears of laughter on his cheeks, "on second thought, I won't go any further than here because I have some good friends around. You can go ahead if you want, you charming fellow, but you'll have to go without shoes, because I'm afraid your shoes will have to be left behind. Take them off, my friend, because I must say I've really taken a liking to them."

At these words the corn factor grew pale as a linen napkin. "Who art thou that talkest so?" said he.

At these words, the corn dealer turned as pale as a linen napkin. "Who are you to speak like that?" he said.

Then merry Robin laughed again, and quoth he, "Men hereabouts call me Robin Hood; so, sweet friend, thou hadst best do my bidding and give me thy shoes, wherefore hasten, I prythee, or else thou wilt not get to fair Newark Town till after dark."

Then cheerful Robin laughed again and said, "People around here call me Robin Hood; so, my dear friend, you’d better do what I ask and give me your shoes. Hurry, please, or else you won’t make it to fair Newark Town until after dark."

At the sound of the name of Robin Hood, the corn factor quaked with fear, so that he had to seize his horse by the mane to save himself from falling off its back. Then straightway, and without more words, he stripped off his clogs and let them fall upon the road. Robin, still holding the bridle rein, stooped and picked them up. Then he said, "Sweet friend, I am used to ask those that I have dealings with to come and feast at Sherwood with me. I will not ask thee, because of our pleasant journey together; for I tell thee there be those in Sherwood that would not be so gentle with thee as I have been. The name of Corn Engrosser leaves a nasty taste upon the tongue of all honest men. Take a fool's advice of me and come no more so nigh to Sherwood, or mayhap some day thou mayst of a sudden find a clothyard shaft betwixt thy ribs. So, with this, I give thee good den." Hereupon he clapped his hand to the horse's flank and off went nag and rider. But the man's face was all bedewed with the sweat of fright, and never again, I wot, was he found so close to Sherwood Forest as he had been this day.

At the mention of Robin Hood's name, the grain dealer was filled with fear, gripping his horse's mane to keep from falling off. Then, without another word, he took off his wooden shoes and dropped them on the road. Robin, still holding the reins, bent down to pick them up. He said, "My friend, I usually invite those I do business with to come feast at Sherwood with me. I'm not going to ask you this time because of our nice journey together; I must warn you that there are others in Sherwood who wouldn’t be as kind to you as I have been. The name of Corn Engrosser leaves a bad taste in the mouths of all honest people. Take my advice and don't come too close to Sherwood again, or you might suddenly find an arrow buried in your side. So, with that, I wish you well." With that, he slapped his hand on the horse's side, and off they went. But the man's face was drenched in the sweat of terror, and I know he never returned as close to Sherwood Forest as he did that day.

Robin stood and looked after him, and, when he was fairly gone, turned, laughing, and entered the forest carrying the shoes in his hand.

Robin stood and watched him leave, and when he was out of sight, turned, laughing, and walked into the forest holding the shoes in his hand.

That night in sweet Sherwood the red fires glowed brightly in wavering light on tree and bush, and all around sat or lay the stout fellows of the band to hear Robin Hood and Little John tell their adventures. All listened closely, and again and again the woods rang with shouts of laughter.

That night in beautiful Sherwood, the red fires flickered brightly on the trees and bushes, and all around sat or lay the tough guys of the group, ready to hear Robin Hood and Little John share their adventures. Everyone listened intently, and time and time again, the woods echoed with bursts of laughter.

When all was told, Friar Tuck spoke up. "Good master," said he, "thou hast had a pretty time, but still I hold to my saying, that the life of the barefoot friar is the merrier of the two."

When everything was said and done, Friar Tuck spoke up. "Good master," he said, "you've had quite a time, but I still stand by my belief that the life of a barefoot friar is the happier of the two."

"Nay," quoth Will Stutely, "I hold with our master, that he hath had the pleasanter doings of the two, for he hath had two stout bouts at quarterstaff this day."

"No," said Will Stutely, "I agree with our master that he's had the better experiences today, since he's had two solid matches with the quarterstaff."

So some of the band held with Robin Hood and some with Little John. As for me, I think—But I leave it with you to say for yourselves which you hold with.

So some of the group sided with Robin Hood and some with Little John. As for me, I think—But I’ll let you decide for yourselves which side you’re on.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood Shoots Before Queen Eleanor

THE HIGHROAD stretched white and dusty in the hot summer afternoon sun, and the trees stood motionless along the roadside. All across the meadow lands the hot air danced and quivered, and in the limpid waters of the lowland brook, spanned by a little stone bridge, the fish hung motionless above the yellow gravel, and the dragonfly sat quite still, perched upon the sharp tip of a spike of the rushes, with its wings glistening in the sun.

THE HIGHROAD stretched white and dusty in the hot summer afternoon sun, and the trees stood still along the roadside. All across the meadows, the hot air shimmered and wavered, and in the clear waters of the lowland brook, spanned by a small stone bridge, the fish hovered motionless above the yellow gravel, while the dragonfly sat completely still, perched on the sharp tip of a rush, its wings sparkling in the sun.

Along the road a youth came riding upon a fair milk-white barb, and the folk that he passed stopped and turned and looked after him, for never had so lovely a lad or one so gaily clad been seen in Nottingham before. He could not have been more than sixteen years of age, and was as fair as any maiden. His long yellow hair flowed behind him as he rode along, all clad in silk and velvet, with jewels flashing and dagger jingling against the pommel of the saddle. Thus came the Queen's Page, young Richard Partington, from famous London Town down into Nottinghamshire, upon Her Majesty's bidding, to seek Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest.

Along the road, a young man rode on a beautiful milk-white horse, and the people he passed stopped, turned, and watched him go by, for they had never seen such a handsome young man or one so stylishly dressed in Nottingham before. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old and was as beautiful as any maiden. His long blonde hair flowed behind him as he rode, dressed in silk and velvet, with jewels sparkling and a dagger jingling against the saddle. This was the Queen's Page, young Richard Partington, coming from famous London to Nottinghamshire on Her Majesty's orders to find Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest.

The road was hot and dusty and his journey had been long, for that day he had come all the way from Leicester Town, a good twenty miles and more; wherefore young Partington was right glad when he saw before him a sweet little inn, all shady and cool beneath the trees, in front of the door of which a sign hung pendant, bearing the picture of a blue boar. Here he drew rein and called loudly for a pottle of Rhenish wine to be brought him, for stout country ale was too coarse a drink for this young gentleman. Five lusty fellows sat upon the bench beneath the pleasant shade of the wide-spreading oak in front of the inn door, drinking ale and beer, and all stared amain at this fair and gallant lad. Two of the stoutest of them were clothed in Lincoln green, and a great heavy oaken staff leaned against the gnarled oak tree trunk beside each fellow.

The road was hot and dusty, and his journey had been long, since that day he had come all the way from Leicester Town, a good twenty miles and more. That’s why young Partington was really happy when he saw a charming little inn, all shady and cool under the trees, with a sign hanging in front of the door that showed a picture of a blue boar. Here he reined in his horse and called out loudly for a pitcher of Rhenish wine to be brought to him because strong country ale was too rough a drink for this young gentleman. Five hearty guys were sitting on the bench under the nice shade of the wide-spreading oak in front of the inn, drinking ale and beer, and they all stared intently at this handsome and dashing young man. Two of the burliest among them were dressed in Lincoln green, and a large heavy oak staff leaned against the gnarled trunk of the oak tree beside each man.

The landlord came and brought a pottle of wine and a long narrow glass upon a salver, which he held up to the Page as he sat upon his horse. Young Partington poured forth the bright yellow wine and holding the glass aloft, cried, "Here is to the health and long happiness of my royal mistress, the noble Queen Eleanor; and may my journey and her desirings soon have end, and I find a certain stout yeoman men call Robin Hood."

The landlord arrived with a bottle of wine and a tall, narrow glass on a tray, which he lifted to the Page as he sat on his horse. Young Partington poured the bright yellow wine and raised the glass, exclaiming, "Here's to the health and long happiness of my royal mistress, the noble Queen Eleanor; may my journey and her wishes come to a swift conclusion, and may I find the brave young man they call Robin Hood."

At these words all stared, but presently the two stout yeomen in Lincoln green began whispering together. Then one of the two, whom Partington thought to be the tallest and stoutest fellow he had ever beheld, spoke up and said, "What seekest thou of Robin Hood, Sir Page? And what does our good Queen Eleanor wish of him? I ask this of thee, not foolishly, but with reason, for I know somewhat of this stout yeoman."

At these words, everyone stared, but soon the two burly men in Lincoln green started whispering to each other. Then one of them, who Partington thought was the tallest and heaviest man he had ever seen, spoke up and said, "What do you want from Robin Hood, Sir Page? And what does our good Queen Eleanor want from him? I'm asking you this for a good reason, not out of foolishness, because I know a bit about this strong yeoman."

"An thou knowest aught of him, good fellow," said young Partington, "thou wilt do great service to him and great pleasure to our royal Queen by aiding me to find him."

"If you know anything about him, my good man," said young Partington, "you will do him a huge favor and greatly please our royal Queen by helping me find him."

Then up spake the other yeoman, who was a handsome fellow with sunburned face and nut-brown, curling hair, "Thou hast an honest look, Sir Page, and our Queen is kind and true to all stout yeomen. Methinks I and my friend here might safely guide thee to Robin Hood, for we know where he may be found. Yet I tell thee plainly, we would not for all merry England have aught of harm befall him."

Then the other yeoman spoke up, a good-looking guy with a sunburned face and curly, chestnut hair. "You have an honest look, Sir Page, and our Queen treats all brave yeomen with kindness and respect. I think my friend and I could safely take you to Robin Hood, since we know where to find him. But I’ll be clear: we wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him for all the merry England in the world."

"Set thy mind at ease; I bring nought of ill with me," quoth Richard Partington. "I bring a kind message to him from our Queen, therefore an ye know where he is to be found, I pray you to guide me thither."

"Relax; I’m not bringing any bad news," Richard Partington said. "I have a kind message for him from our Queen, so if you know where he is, please lead me there."

Then the two yeomen looked at one another again, and the tall man said, "Surely it were safe to do this thing, Will"; whereat the other nodded. Thereupon both arose, and the tall yeoman said, "We think thou art true, Sir Page, and meanest no harm, therefore we will guide thee to Robin Hood as thou dost wish."

Then the two men looked at each other again, and the tall one said, "It should be safe to do this, Will." The other nodded in agreement. Then they both stood up, and the tall man said, "We believe you’re sincere, Sir Page, and have no bad intentions, so we will take you to Robin Hood as you wish."

Then Partington paid his score, and the yeomen coming forward, they all straightway departed upon their way.

Then Partington settled his bill, and the yeomen stepped forward, and they all immediately went on their way.

Under the greenwood tree, in the cool shade that spread all around upon the sward, with flickering lights here and there, Robin Hood and many of his band lay upon the soft green grass, while Allan a Dale sang and played upon his sweetly sounding harp. All listened in silence, for young Allan's singing was one of the greatest joys in all the world to them; but as they so listened there came of a sudden the sound of a horse's feet, and presently Little John and Will Stutely came forth from the forest path into the open glade, young Richard Partington riding between them upon his milk-white horse. The three came toward where Robin Hood sat, all the band staring with might and main, for never had they seen so gay a sight as this young Page, nor one so richly clad in silks and velvets and gold and jewels. Then Robin arose and stepped forth to meet him, and Partington leaped from his horse and doffing his cap of crimson velvet, met Robin as he came. "Now, welcome!" cried Robin. "Now, welcome, fair youth, and tell me, I prythee, what bringeth one of so fair a presence and clad in such noble garb to our poor forest of Sherwood?"

Under the greenwood tree, in the cool shade spreading across the grass with flickering lights here and there, Robin Hood and many of his band lay on the soft green grass while Allan a Dale sang and played on his beautifully sounding harp. They all listened in silence, as young Allan's singing was one of the greatest joys in the world for them; but as they listened, the sudden sound of a horse’s hooves broke through, and soon Little John and Will Stutely appeared from the forest path into the open glade, with young Richard Partington riding between them on his milk-white horse. The three approached where Robin Hood sat, all the band staring hard, for they had never seen such a cheerful sight as this young Page, nor anyone so richly dressed in silks, velvets, gold, and jewels. Then Robin stood up and stepped forward to meet him, and Partington jumped off his horse and, removing his crimson velvet cap, greeted Robin as he approached. "Now, welcome!" cried Robin. "Welcome, young man! Please tell me, what brings someone of such a fine presence and dressed so nobly to our humble forest of Sherwood?"

Then young Partington said, "If I err not, thou art the famous Robin Hood, and these thy stout band of outlawed yeomen. To thee I bring greetings from our noble Queen Eleanor. Oft hath she heard thee spoken of and thy merry doings hereabouts, and fain would she behold thy face; therefore she bids me tell thee that if thou wilt presently come to London Town, she will do all in her power to guard thee against harm, and will send thee back safe to Sherwood Forest again. Four days hence, in Finsbury Fields, our good King Henry, of great renown, holdeth a grand shooting match, and all the most famous archers of merry England will be thereat. Our Queen would fain see thee strive with these, knowing that if thou wilt come thou wilt, with little doubt, carry off the prize. Therefore she hath sent me with this greeting, and furthermore sends thee, as a sign of great good will, this golden ring from off her own fair thumb, which I give herewith into thy hands."

Then the young Partington said, "If I’m not mistaken, you are the legendary Robin Hood, and these are your brave band of outlawed men. I bring you greetings from our noble Queen Eleanor. She has often heard of you and your joyful adventures around here, and she would love to see your face; therefore, she asks me to tell you that if you come to London Town right away, she will do everything in her power to protect you from harm and will safely send you back to Sherwood Forest. Four days from now, in Finsbury Fields, our great King Henry is hosting a grand archery contest, and all the most famous archers from merry England will be there. Our Queen is eager to see you compete against them, knowing that if you come, you’ll most likely win the prize. So she sent me with this message and also gives you, as a sign of her goodwill, this golden ring from her own lovely finger, which I now place in your hands."

Then Robin Hood bowed his head and taking the ring, kissed it right loyally, and then slipped it upon his little finger. Quoth he, "Sooner would I lose my life than this ring; and ere it departs from me, my hand shall be cold in death or stricken off at the wrist. Fair Sir Page, I will do our Queen's bidding, and will presently hie with thee to London; but, ere we go, I will feast thee here in the woodlands with the very best we have."

Then Robin Hood bowed his head, took the ring, kissed it with loyalty, and slipped it onto his little finger. He said, "I would sooner lose my life than this ring; and before it leaves my possession, my hand will be cold in death or cut off at the wrist. Fair Sir Page, I will obey our Queen's command, and I’ll quickly go with you to London; but before we go, I will treat you here in the woods to the very best we have."

"It may not be," said the Page; "we have no time to tarry, therefore get thyself ready straightway; and if there be any of thy band that thou wouldst take with thee, our Queen bids me say that she will make them right welcome likewise."

"It might not be," said the Page; "we don't have time to waste, so get ready right away; and if there are any from your group that you want to bring with you, our Queen says she will welcome them just as warmly."

"Truly, thou art right," quoth Robin, "and we have but short time to stay; therefore I will get me ready presently. I will choose three of my men, only, to go with me, and these three shall be Little John, mine own true right-hand man, Will Scarlet, my cousin, and Allan a Dale, my minstrel. Go, lads, and get ye ready straightway, and we will presently off with all speed that we may. Thou, Will Stutely, shall be the chief of the band while I am gone."

"You're absolutely right," said Robin. "We don't have much time, so I'll get ready right away. I'll take just three of my men with me: Little John, my loyal right-hand man, Will Scarlet, my cousin, and Allan a Dale, my minstrel. Go, guys, and get ready right now, and we'll leave as quickly as we can. Will Stutely, you'll be in charge of the group while I'm away."

Then Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale ran leaping, full of joy, to make themselves ready, while Robin also prepared himself for the journey. After a while they all four came forth, and a right fair sight they made, for Robin was clad in blue from head to foot, and Little John and Will Scarlet in good Lincoln green, and as for Allan a Dale, he was dressed in scarlet from the crown of his head to the toes of his pointed shoes. Each man wore beneath his cap a little head covering of burnished steel set with rivets of gold, and underneath his jerkin a coat of linked mail, as fine as carded wool, yet so tough that no arrow could pierce it. Then, seeing all were ready, young Partington mounted his horse again, and the yeomen having shaken hands all around, the five departed upon their way.

Then Little John, Will Scarlet, and Allan a Dale ran joyfully to get ready, while Robin also prepared for the journey. After a while, the four of them came out, and they looked quite impressive. Robin was dressed in blue from head to toe, while Little John and Will Scarlet wore smart Lincoln green. As for Allan a Dale, he was in scarlet from the top of his head to the tips of his pointed shoes. Each man wore a small head covering of polished steel beneath his cap, adorned with gold rivets, and under his jerkin, they had chain mail as fine as carded wool, yet so tough that no arrow could pierce it. Seeing that everyone was ready, young Partington mounted his horse again, and after shaking hands all around, the five of them set off on their way.

That night they took up their inn in Melton Mowbray, in Leicestershire, and the next night they lodged at Kettering, in Northamptonshire; and the next at Bedford Town; and the next at St. Albans, in Hertfordshire. This place they left not long after the middle of the night, and traveling fast through the tender dawning of the summer day, when the dews lay shining on the meadows and faint mists hung in the dales, when the birds sang their sweetest and the cobwebs beneath the hedges glimmered like fairy cloth of silver, they came at last to the towers and walls of famous London Town, while the morn was still young and all golden toward the east.

That night they stayed at an inn in Melton Mowbray, in Leicestershire, and the next night they stayed in Kettering, in Northamptonshire; then they moved on to Bedford Town; and the following night they were in St. Albans, in Hertfordshire. They left this place shortly after midnight and traveled quickly through the gentle dawn of summer, as the dew sparkled on the meadows and light mists lingered in the valleys. The birds sang their sweetest songs, and the cobwebs beneath the hedges shimmered like silver fairy cloth. Eventually, they arrived at the towers and walls of famous London Town while the morning was still young and the sky was golden toward the east.

Queen Eleanor sat in her royal bower, through the open casements of which poured the sweet yellow sunshine in great floods of golden light. All about her stood her ladies-in-waiting chatting in low voices, while she herself sat dreamily where the mild air came softly drifting into the room laden with the fresh perfumes of the sweet red roses that bloomed in the great garden beneath the wall. To her came one who said that her page, Richard Partington, and four stout yeomen waited her pleasure in the court below. Then Queen Eleanor arose joyously and bade them be straightway shown into her presence.

Queen Eleanor sat in her royal chamber, with the warm yellow sunlight streaming in through the open windows, filling the room with golden light. All around her, her ladies-in-waiting chatted quietly, while she herself sat dreamily, enjoying the gentle breeze that floated in, carrying the fresh scents of the red roses blooming in the garden below the wall. Then someone approached to inform her that her page, Richard Partington, and four sturdy yeomen were waiting for her in the courtyard below. Queen Eleanor then stood up happily and instructed them to be brought into her presence right away.

Thus Robin Hood and Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale came before the Queen into her own royal bower. Then Robin kneeled before the Queen with his hands folded upon his breast, saying in simple phrase, "Here am I, Robin Hood. Thou didst bid me come, and lo, I do thy bidding. I give myself to thee as thy true servant, and will do thy commanding, even if it be to the shedding of the last drop of my life's blood."

Thus, Robin Hood, Little John, Will Scarlet, and Allan a Dale went before the Queen in her royal bower. Robin knelt before the Queen, his hands folded on his chest, and said simply, "Here I am, Robin Hood. You asked me to come, and here I am, fulfilling your request. I give myself to you as your true servant and will follow your commands, even if it means shedding the last drop of my blood."

But good Queen Eleanor smiled pleasantly upon him, bidding him to arise. Then she made them all be seated to rest themselves after their long journey. Rich food was brought them and noble wines, and she had her own pages to wait upon the wants of the yeomen. At last, after they had eaten all they could, she began questioning them of their merry adventures. Then they told her all of the lusty doings herein spoken of, and among others that concerning the Bishop of Hereford and Sir Richard of the Lea, and how the Bishop had abided three days in Sherwood Forest. At this, the Queen and the ladies about her laughed again and again, for they pictured to themselves the stout Bishop abiding in the forest and ranging the woods in lusty sport with Robin and his band. Then, when they had told all that they could bring to mind, the Queen asked Allan to sing to her, for his fame as a minstrel had reached even to the court at London Town. So straightway Allan took up his harp in his hand, and, without more asking, touched the strings lightly till they all rang sweetly, then he sang thus:

But good Queen Eleanor smiled pleasantly at him, telling him to get up. Then she had everyone sit down to rest after their long journey. They were served rich food and fine wines, and she had her own attendants take care of the needs of the yeomen. Finally, after they had eaten their fill, she began asking them about their fun adventures. They then shared all the lively stories mentioned here, including the one about the Bishop of Hereford and Sir Richard of the Lea, and how the Bishop had spent three days in Sherwood Forest. At this, the Queen and the ladies around her laughed repeatedly, imagining the sturdy Bishop hanging out in the forest and joining Robin and his crew in lively sports. When they had shared everything they could remember, the Queen asked Allan to sing for her, since his reputation as a minstrel had even reached the court in London. So, without further prompting, Allan picked up his harp and lightly strummed the strings until they all resonated beautifully, then he sang:

 "Gentle river, gentle river,
     Bright thy crystal waters flow,
 Sliding where the aspens shiver,
     Gliding where the lilies blow,

 "Singing over pebbled shallows,
     Kissing blossoms bending low,
 Breaking 'neath the dipping swallows,
     Purpling where the breezes blow.

 "Floating on thy breast forever
     Down thy current I could glide;
 Grief and pain should reach me never
     On thy bright and gentle tide.

 "So my aching heart seeks thine, love,
     There to find its rest and peace,
 For, through loving, bliss is mine, love,
     And my many troubles cease."
Gentle river, gentle river,  
     Bright your clear waters flow,  
Sliding where the aspens sway,  
     Gliding where the lilies grow,  

"Singing over pebbly shallows,  
     Kissing blossoms bending low,  
Breaking beneath the dipping swallows,  
     Purpling where the breezes blow.  

"Floating on your surface forever  
     Down your current I could glide;  
Grief and pain would never reach me  
     On your bright and gentle tide.  

"So my aching heart seeks you, love,  
     There to find its rest and peace,  
For, through love, bliss is mine, love,  
     And my many troubles cease."

Thus Allan sang, and as he sang all eyes dwelled upon him and not a sound broke the stillness, and even after he had done the silence hung for a short space. So the time passed till the hour drew nigh for the holding of the great archery match in Finsbury Fields.

Thus Allan sang, and as he sang, everyone focused on him, and not a sound broke the stillness. Even after he finished, the silence lingered for a moment. Time passed until it was almost time for the big archery match in Finsbury Fields.

A gay sight were famous Finsbury Fields on that bright and sunny morning of lusty summertime. Along the end of the meadow stood the booths for the different bands of archers, for the King's yeomen were divided into companies of fourscore men, and each company had a captain over it; so on the bright greensward stood ten booths of striped canvas, a booth for each band of the royal archers, and at the peak of each fluttered a flag in the mellow air, and the flag was the color that belonged to the captain of each band. From the center booth hung the yellow flag of Tepus, the famous bow bearer of the King; next to it, on one hand, was the blue flag of Gilbert of the White Hand, and on the other the blood- red pennant of stout young Clifton of Buckinghamshire. The seven other archer captains were also men of great renown; among them were Egbert of Kent and William of Southampton; but those first named were most famous of all. The noise of many voices in talk and laughter came from within the booths, and in and out ran the attendants like ants about an ant-hill. Some bore ale and beer, and some bundles of bowstrings or sheaves of arrows. On each side of the archery range were rows upon rows of seats reaching high aloft, and in the center of the north side was a raised dais for the King and Queen, shaded by canvas of gay colors, and hung about with streaming silken pennants of red and blue and green and white. As yet the King and Queen had not come, but all the other benches were full of people, rising head above head high aloft till it made the eye dizzy to look upon them. Eightscore yards distant from the mark from which the archers were to shoot stood ten fair targets, each target marked by a flag of the color belonging to the band that was to shoot thereat. So all was ready for the coming of the King and Queen.

Finsbury Fields looked vibrant on that bright and sunny summer morning. At the far end of the meadow were booths for the different archery teams, as the King's yeomen were organized into groups of eighty, each with a captain. So on the lush green grass stood ten striped canvas booths, one for each team of royal archers, with a flag at the top fluttering in the warm air, representing the color associated with each captain. The central booth displayed the yellow flag of Tepus, the renowned bow bearer for the King; next to it was the blue flag of Gilbert of the White Hand, and on the other side hung the blood-red pennant of the strong young Clifton of Buckinghamshire. The other seven archery captains were also notable figures, including Egbert of Kent and William of Southampton; however, the first three were the most celebrated. Laughter and conversation filled the booths, while attendants scurried in and out like ants around a hill, carrying beer and ale, along with bundles of bowstrings and sheaves of arrows. On either side of the archery range were rows of seats stacked high, and in the center on the north side was a raised platform for the King and Queen, covered with colorful canvas and adorned with flowing silk pennants in red, blue, green, and white. The King and Queen had not yet arrived, but all the other benches were filled with people, rising high above each other, making it dizzying to look at them. Eighty yards away from the target where the archers would shoot, there were ten beautifully marked targets, each identified by a flag of the color corresponding to its shooting team. Everything was ready for the arrival of the King and Queen.

At last a great blast of bugles sounded, and into the meadow came riding six trumpeters with silver trumpets, from which hung velvet banners heavy with rich workings of silver and gold thread. Behind these came stout King Henry upon a dapple-gray stallion, with his Queen beside him upon a milk-white palfrey. On either side of them walked the yeomen of the guard, the bright sunlight flashing from the polished blades of the steel halberds they carried. Behind these came the Court in a great crowd, so that presently all the lawn was alive with bright colors, with silk and velvet, with waving plumes and gleaming gold, with flashing jewels and sword hilts; a gallant sight on that bright summer day.

At last, a loud blast of bugles sounded, and six trumpeters entered the meadow riding on horses. They carried silver trumpets from which hung velvet banners adorned with intricate silver and gold thread. Following them was stout King Henry on a dapple-gray stallion, with his Queen beside him on a milk-white horse. On either side walked the yeomen of the guard, their polished steel halberds glinting in the bright sunlight. Behind them came a large crowd from the Court, making the entire lawn vibrant with bright colors, silk and velvet, fluttering plumes and gleaming gold, sparkling jewels, and sword hilts—a magnificent sight on that beautiful summer day.

Then all the people arose and shouted, so that their voices sounded like the storm upon the Cornish coast, when the dark waves run upon the shore and leap and break, surging amid the rocks; so, amid the roaring and the surging of the people, and the waving of scarfs and kerchiefs, the King and Queen came to their place, and, getting down from their horses, mounted the broad stairs that led to the raised platform, and there took their seats on two thrones bedecked with purple silks and cloths of silver and of gold.

Then everyone stood up and cheered, their voices ringing out like a storm on the Cornish coast, where the dark waves crash against the shore and surge among the rocks. Amid the noise and excitement of the crowd, with scarves and handkerchiefs waving, the King and Queen arrived at their spot, got off their horses, climbed the wide stairs to the raised platform, and took their seats on two thrones adorned with purple silks and fabrics of silver and gold.

When all was quiet a bugle sounded, and straightway the archers came marching in order from their tents. Fortyscore they were in all, as stalwart a band of yeomen as could be found in all the wide world. So they came in orderly fashion and stood in front of the dais where King Henry and his Queen sat. King Henry looked up and down their ranks right proudly, for his heart warmed within him at the sight of such a gallant band of yeomen. Then he bade his herald Sir Hugh de Mowbray stand forth and proclaim the rules governing the game. So Sir Hugh stepped to the edge of the platform and spoke in a loud clear voice, and thus he said:

When everything was quiet, a bugle sounded, and immediately the archers marched out in formation from their tents. There were eighty of them in total, as strong a group of skilled marksmen as could be found anywhere in the world. They came in an orderly way and stood in front of the platform where King Henry and his Queen sat. King Henry looked up and down their ranks with pride, feeling his heart warm at the sight of such a brave group of archers. Then he called for his herald, Sir Hugh de Mowbray, to step forward and announce the rules of the competition. Sir Hugh moved to the edge of the platform and spoke in a loud, clear voice, saying:

That each man should shoot seven arrows at the target that belonged to his band, and, of the fourscore yeomen of each band, the three that shot the best should be chosen. These three should shoot three arrows apiece, and the one that shot the best should again be chosen. Then each of these should again shoot three arrows apiece, and the one that shot the best should have the first prize, the one that shot the next best should have the second, and the one that shot the next best should have the third prize. Each of the others should have fourscore silver pennies for his shooting. The first prize was to be twoscore and ten golden pounds, a silver bugle horn inlaid with gold, and a quiver with ten white arrows tipped with gold and feathered with the white swan's-wing therein. The second prize was to be fivescore of the fattest bucks that run on Dallen Lea, to be shot when the yeoman that won them chose. The third prize was to be two tuns of good Rhenish wine.

Each man should shoot seven arrows at his band’s target, and from the eighty archers in each band, the three who score the best will be picked. These three will each shoot three arrows, and the one with the best score will be chosen again. Then, each of these will shoot three arrows once more, and the one with the best score will receive the first prize, the next best will get the second, and the one after that will win the third prize. All the others will receive eighty silver pennies for their efforts. The first prize will be seventy golden pounds, a silver bugle horn decorated with gold, and a quiver containing ten white arrows tipped with gold and adorned with white swan feathers. The second prize will be fifty of the fattest bucks that roam Dallen Lea, which the winning archer can shoot at their discretion. The third prize will be two casks of good Rhenish wine.

So Sir Hugh spoke, and when he had done all the archers waved their bows aloft and shouted. Then each band turned and marched in order back to its place.

So Sir Hugh said, and when he finished, all the archers raised their bows high and cheered. Then each group turned and marched back to its original spot in an organized manner.

And now the shooting began, the captains first taking stand and speeding their shafts and then making room for the men who shot, each in turn, after them. Two hundred and eighty score shafts were shot in all, and so deftly were they sped that when the shooting was done each target looked like the back of a hedgehog when the farm dog snuffs at it. A long time was taken in this shooting, and when it was over the judges came forward, looked carefully at the targets, and proclaimed in a loud voice which three had shot the best from the separate bands. Then a great hubbub of voices arose, each man among the crowd that looked on calling for his favorite archer. Then ten fresh targets were brought forward, and every sound was hushed as the archers took their places once more.

And now the shooting started, with the captains standing first and firing their arrows, then making space for the others to take their turn. A total of 560 arrows were shot, and they were aimed so skillfully that when it was over, each target looked like the back of a hedgehog being sniffed by a dog. This shooting took quite some time, and when it concluded, the judges stepped forward, examined the targets closely, and announced loudly which three archers had performed the best from their respective groups. A loud noise erupted as everyone in the crowd cheered for their favorite archer. Then ten new targets were brought out, and the crowd fell silent as the archers took their places once again.

This time the shooting was more speedily done, for only nine shafts were shot by each band. Not an arrow missed the targets, but in that of Gilbert of the White Hand five arrows were in the small white spot that marked the center; of these five three were sped by Gilbert. Then the judges came forward again, and looking at the targets, called aloud the names of the archer chosen as the best bowman of each band. Of these Gilbert of the White Hand led, for six of the ten arrows he had shot had lodged in the center; but stout Tepus and young Clifton trod close upon his heels; yet the others stood a fair chance for the second or third place.

This time, the shooting happened more quickly, with each team only shooting nine arrows. Every arrow hit the targets, but in Gilbert of the White Hand's target, five arrows landed in the small white center spot; three of those five were shot by Gilbert. The judges stepped forward again, and after looking at the targets, called out the names of the top archer from each team. Gilbert of the White Hand was in the lead, having hit the center with six out of ten arrows he shot, but tough Tepus and young Clifton were right behind him. The others still had a good chance for second or third place.

And now, amid the roaring of the crowd, those ten stout fellows that were left went back to their tents to rest for a while and change their bowstrings, for nought must fail at this next round, and no hand must tremble or eye grow dim because of weariness.

And now, with the crowd cheering loudly, the ten strong guys that were left headed back to their tents to rest for a bit and change their bowstrings, because nothing could go wrong in the next round, and no one could let their hands shake or their eyes blur from exhaustion.

Then while the deep buzz and hum of talking sounded all around like the noise of the wind in the leafy forest, Queen Eleanor turned to the King, and quoth she, "Thinkest thou that these yeomen so chosen are the very best archers in all merry England?"

Then, while the deep buzz and hum of conversation filled the air like the sound of wind in a leafy forest, Queen Eleanor turned to the King and said, "Do you think these chosen yeomen are the very best archers in all of merry England?"

"Yea, truly," said the King, smiling, for he was well pleased with the sport that he had seen; "and I tell thee, that not only are they the best archers in all merry England, but in all the wide world beside."

"Yes, truly," said the King, smiling, as he was very pleased with the entertainment he had witnessed; "and I tell you, that they are not only the best archers in all of merry England, but in the entire wide world as well."

"But what wouldst thou say," quoth Queen Eleanor, "if I were to find three archers to match the best three yeomen of all thy guard?"

"But what would you say," said Queen Eleanor, "if I were to find three archers to match the best three yeomen of all your guard?"

"I would say thou hast done what I could not do," said the King, laughing, "for I tell thee there lives not in all the world three archers to match Tepus and Gilbert and Clifton of Buckinghamshire."

"I'd say you've done what I couldn't do," said the King, laughing, "because I tell you there's not a single place in the world with three archers that can compare to Tepus, Gilbert, and Clifton of Buckinghamshire."

"Now," said the Queen, "I know of three yeomen, and in truth I have seen them not long since, that I would not fear to match against any three that thou canst choose from among all thy fortyscore archers; and, moreover, I will match them here this very day. But I will only match them with thy archers providing that thou wilt grant a free pardon to all that may come in my behalf."

"Now," said the Queen, "I know three skilled archers, and I actually saw them not long ago, that I would trust to compete against any three you can pick from all your eighty archers; and, what's more, I’ll have them compete right here today. But I’ll only do this if you agree to grant a full pardon to anyone who comes forward on my behalf."

At this, the King laughed loud and long. "Truly," said he, "thou art taking up with strange matters for a queen. If thou wilt bring those three fellows that thou speakest of, I will promise faithfully to give them free pardon for forty days, to come or to go wheresoever they please, nor will I harm a hair of their heads in all that time. Moreover, if these that thou bringest shoot better than my yeomen, man for man, they shall have the prizes for themselves according to their shooting. But as thou hast so taken up of a sudden with sports of this kind, hast thou a mind for a wager?"

At this, the King laughed loudly and for a long time. "Honestly," he said, "you're getting into some unusual stuff for a queen. If you can bring those three guys you're talking about, I promise to forgive them completely for forty days. They can come and go as they please, and I won’t harm a single hair on their heads during that time. Also, if the ones you bring shoot better than my archers, each one will get the prizes based on their performance. But since you’ve suddenly taken an interest in these kinds of games, are you interested in a bet?”

"Why, in sooth," said Queen Eleanor, laughing, "I know nought of such matters, but if thou hast a mind to do somewhat in that way, I will strive to pleasure thee. What wilt thou wager upon thy men?"

"Well, honestly," said Queen Eleanor, laughing, "I don't know anything about those kinds of things, but if you want to do something like that, I'll try to please you. What will you bet on your men?"

Then the merry King laughed again, for he dearly loved goodly jest; so he said, amidst his laughter, "I will wager thee ten tuns of Rhenish wine, ten tuns of the stoutest ale, and tenscore bows of tempered Spanish yew, with quivers and arrows to match."

Then the cheerful King laughed again, because he really enjoyed a good joke; so he said, amidst his laughter, "I’ll bet you ten casks of Rhenish wine, ten casks of the strongest ale, and twenty bows made of tempered Spanish yew, along with matching quivers and arrows."

All that stood around smiled at this, for it seemed a merry wager for a king to give to a queen; but Queen Eleanor bowed her head quietly. "I will take thy wager," said she, "for I know right well where to place those things that thou hast spoken of. Now, who will be on my side in this matter?" And she looked around upon them that stood about; but no one spake or cared to wager upon the Queen's side against such archers as Tepus and Gilbert and Clifton. Then the Queen spoke again, "Now, who will back me in this wager? Wilt thou, my Lord Bishop of Hereford?"

Everyone around smiled at this, thinking it was a fun bet for a king to give to a queen; but Queen Eleanor kept her head down quietly. "I accept your bet," she said, "because I know exactly where to place those things you've mentioned. Now, who will stand by me in this?" She looked around at those nearby, but no one spoke or wanted to bet on the Queen's side against skilled archers like Tepus, Gilbert, and Clifton. Then the Queen spoke again, "Now, who will support me in this bet? Will you, my Lord Bishop of Hereford?"

"Nay," quoth the Bishop hastily, "it ill befits one of my cloth to deal in such matters. Moreover, there are no such archers as His Majesty's in all the world; therefore I would but lose my money.

"Nah," said the Bishop quickly, "it's not appropriate for someone in my position to get involved in such things. Besides, there are no archers like His Majesty's anywhere in the world; so I would just end up losing my money."

"Methinks the thought of thy gold weigheth more heavily with thee than the wrong to thy cloth," said the Queen, smiling, and at this a ripple of laughter went around, for everyone knew how fond the Bishop was of his money. Then the Queen turned to a knight who stood near, whose name was Sir Robert Lee. "Wilt thou back me in this manner?" said she. "Thou art surely rich enough to risk so much for the sake of a lady."

"I think the idea of your gold weighs more heavily on you than the wrong done to your cloth," said the Queen, smiling, and at this, a ripple of laughter spread around, for everyone knew how fond the Bishop was of his money. Then the Queen turned to a knight who stood nearby, named Sir Robert Lee. "Will you support me in this?" she said. "You are surely rich enough to take that risk for the sake of a lady."

"To pleasure my Queen I will do it," said Sir Robert Lee, "but for the sake of no other in all the world would I wager a groat, for no man can stand against Tepus and Gilbert and Clifton."

"To please my Queen, I will do it," said Sir Robert Lee, "but for no one else in the world would I bet a penny, because no man can compete with Tepus, Gilbert, and Clifton."

Then turning to the King, Queen Eleanor said, "I want no such aid as Sir Robert giveth me; but against thy wine and beer and stout bows of yew I wager this girdle all set with jewels from around my waist; and surely that is worth more than thine."

Then turning to the King, Queen Eleanor said, "I don’t want any help like what Sir Robert is giving me; instead, I bet this jewel-encrusted belt from around my waist against your wine, beer, and strong yew bows; and surely, that’s worth more than yours."

"Now, I take thy wager," quoth the King. "Send for thy archers straightway. But here come forth the others; let them shoot, and then I will match those that win against all the world."

"Now, I accept your bet," said the King. "Call for your archers right away. But here come the others; let them shoot, and then I will match the winners against anyone."

"So be it," said the Queen. Thereupon, beckoning to young Richard Partington, she whispered something in his ear, and straightway the Page bowed and left the place, crossing the meadow to the other side of the range, where he was presently lost in the crowd. At this, all that stood around whispered to one another, wondering what it all meant, and what three men the Queen was about to set against those famous archers of the King's guard.

"So be it," said the Queen. Then, signaling to young Richard Partington, she whispered something in his ear, and immediately the Page bowed and left the area, crossing the meadow to the other side of the range, where he soon disappeared into the crowd. At this, everyone nearby began to whisper to one another, curious about what it all meant and which three men the Queen was preparing to send against those famous archers of the King's guard.

And now the ten archers of the King's guard took their stand again, and all the great crowd was hushed to the stillness of death. Slowly and carefully each man shot his shafts, and so deep was the silence that you could hear every arrow rap against the target as it struck it. Then, when the last shaft had sped, a great roar went up; and the shooting, I wot, was well worthy of the sound. Once again Gilbert had lodged three arrows in the white; Tepus came second with two in the white and one in the black ring next to it; but stout Clifton had gone down and Hubert of Suffolk had taken the third place, for, while both those two good yeomen had lodged two in the white, Clifton had lost one shot upon the fourth ring, and Hubert came in with one in the third.

And now the ten archers from the King's guard took their positions again, and the huge crowd fell silent as if frozen in time. Slowly and carefully, each man released his arrows, and the silence was so profound that you could hear each arrow hit the target. Then, when the last arrow had flown, a loud cheer erupted; and the shooting definitely deserved the applause. Once again, Gilbert had landed three arrows in the inner circle; Tepus followed with two in the inner circle and one in the black ring just outside it; but strong Clifton had fallen back, and Hubert of Suffolk took third place, because while both of those two skilled archers had placed two in the inner circle, Clifton had missed one shot on the fourth ring, and Hubert had one in the third.

All the archers around Gilbert's booth shouted for joy till their throats were hoarse, tossing their caps aloft, and shaking hands with one another.

All the archers around Gilbert's booth cheered until their voices were hoarse, throwing their hats in the air and shaking hands with each other.

In the midst of all the noise and hubbub five men came walking across the lawn toward the King's pavilion. The first was Richard Partington, and was known to most folk there, but the others were strange to everybody. Beside young Partington walked a yeoman clad in blue, and behind came three others, two in Lincoln green and one in scarlet. This last yeoman carried three stout bows of yew tree, two fancifully inlaid with silver and one with gold. While these five men came walking across the meadow, a messenger came running from the King's booth and summoned Gilbert and Tepus and Hubert to go with him. And now the shouting quickly ceased, for all saw that something unwonted was toward, so the folk stood up in their places and leaned forward to see what was the ado.

Amid all the noise and commotion, five men walked across the lawn toward the King's pavilion. The first was Richard Partington, known to most people there, while the others were unfamiliar to everyone. Next to young Partington was a yeoman dressed in blue, and behind them came three others, two dressed in Lincoln green and one in scarlet. The last yeoman carried three strong bows made of yew wood, two ornately inlaid with silver and one with gold. As these five men made their way across the meadow, a messenger dashed out from the King's booth and called for Gilbert, Tepus, and Hubert to come with him. The shouting quickly died down, as everyone sensed that something unusual was happening, so the crowd stood up and leaned forward to see what was going on.

When Partington and the others came before the spot where the King and Queen sat, the four yeomen bent their knees and doffed their caps unto her. King Henry leaned far forward and stared at them closely, but the Bishop of Hereford, when he saw their faces, started as though stung by a wasp. He opened his mouth as though about to speak, but, looking up, he saw the Queen gazing at him with a smile upon her lips, so he said nothing, but bit his nether lip, while his face was as red as a cherry.

When Partington and the others reached the spot where the King and Queen were seated, the four yeomen knelt and took off their hats to her. King Henry leaned forward and scrutinized them closely, but the Bishop of Hereford, upon seeing their faces, jumped back as if stung by a wasp. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but when he looked up, he found the Queen smiling at him, so he stayed silent, biting his lower lip, with his face turning as red as a cherry.

Then the Queen leaned forward and spake in a clear voice. "Locksley," said she, "I have made a wager with the King that thou and two of thy men can outshoot any three that he can send against you. Wilt thou do thy best for my sake?"

Then the Queen leaned forward and spoke in a clear voice. "Locksley," she said, "I made a bet with the King that you and two of your men can outshoot any three he sends against you. Will you do your best for my sake?"

"Yea," quoth Robin Hood, to whom she spake, "I will do my best for thy sake, and, if I fail, I make my vow never to finger bowstring more."

"Yeah," said Robin Hood, to whom she was speaking, "I'll do my best for you, and if I fail, I promise to never touch a bowstring again."

Now, although Little John had been somewhat abashed in the Queen's bower, he felt himself the sturdy fellow he was when the soles of his feet pressed green grass again; so he said boldly, "Now, blessings on thy sweet face, say I. An there lived a man that would not do his best for thee—I will say nought, only I would like to have the cracking of his knave's pate!

Now, even though Little John had felt a bit embarrassed in the Queen's garden, he felt like the strong man he was when his feet pressed on the green grass again; so he said boldly, "Now, blessings on your lovely face, I say. And there lived a man who wouldn’t do his best for you—I won’t say anything more, but I would love to smash that fool’s head!

"Peace, Little John!" said Robin Hood hastily, in a low voice; but good Queen Eleanor laughed aloud, and a ripple of merriment sounded all over the booth.

"Calm down, Little John!" Robin Hood said quickly, in a quiet voice; but good Queen Eleanor burst out laughing, and a wave of laughter spread throughout the booth.

The Bishop of Hereford did not laugh, neither did the King, but he turned to the Queen, and quoth he, "Who are these men that thou hast brought before us?"

The Bishop of Hereford didn’t laugh, and neither did the King, but he turned to the Queen and said, "Who are these men you’ve brought before us?"

Then up spoke the Bishop hastily, for he could hold his peace no longer: "Your Majesty," quoth he, "yon fellow in blue is a certain outlawed thief of the mid-country, named Robin Hood; yon tall, strapping villain goeth by the name of Little John; the other fellow in green is a certain backsliding gentleman, known as Will Scarlet; the man in red is a rogue of a northern minstrel, named Allan a Dale."

Then the Bishop spoke up quickly because he couldn't stay quiet any longer: "Your Majesty," he said, "that guy in blue is an outlaw thief from the mid-country named Robin Hood; that tall, strong guy goes by Little John; the other guy in green is a disloyal gentleman known as Will Scarlet; and the man in red is a rogue northern minstrel named Allan a Dale."

At this speech the King's brows drew together blackly, and he turned to the Queen. "Is this true?" said he sternly.

At the speech, the King's brows furrowed darkly, and he turned to the Queen. "Is this true?" he asked firmly.

"Yea," said the Queen, smiling, "the Bishop hath told the truth; and truly he should know them well, for he and two of his friars spent three days in merry sport with Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. I did little think that the good Bishop would so betray his friends. But bear in mind that thou hast pledged thy promise for the safety of these good yeomen for forty days."

"Yeah," said the Queen, smiling, "the Bishop has told the truth; and he should know them well since he and two of his friars spent three days having fun with Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. I didn't think the good Bishop would betray his friends like that. But remember, you promised to ensure the safety of these good guys for forty days."

"I will keep my promise," said the King, in a deep voice that showed the anger in his heart, "but when these forty days are gone let this outlaw look to himself, for mayhap things will not go so smoothly with him as he would like." Then he turned to his archers, who stood near the Sherwood yeomen, listening and wondering at all that passed. Quoth he, "Gilbert, and thou, Tepus, and thou, Hubert, I have pledged myself that ye shall shoot against these three fellows. If ye outshoot the knaves I will fill your caps with silver pennies; if ye fail ye shall lose your prizes that ye have won so fairly, and they go to them that shoot against you, man to man. Do your best, lads, and if ye win this bout ye shall be glad of it to the last days of your life. Go, now, and get you gone to the butts."

"I'll keep my promise," said the King, with a deep voice that revealed the anger in his heart, "but once these forty days are over, this outlaw better watch out, because things might not go as well for him as he thinks." Then he turned to his archers, who stood near the Sherwood yeomen, listening and wondering about everything that was happening. He said, "Gilbert, you, Tepus, and you, Hubert, I’ve promised that you will shoot against these three guys. If you outshoot the knaves, I’ll fill your caps with silver pennies; if you fail, you’ll lose the prizes you’ve won so fairly, and they’ll go to those who shoot against you, man to man. Do your best, guys, and if you win this match, you’ll be glad for it for the rest of your lives. Now go and get to the targets."

Then the three archers of the King turned and went back to their booths, and Robin and his men went to their places at the mark from which they were to shoot. Then they strung their bows and made themselves ready, looking over their quivers of arrows, and picking out the roundest and the best feathered.

Then the three archers of the King turned and went back to their booths, and Robin and his men went to their spots at the mark from which they were supposed to shoot. They then strung their bows and got themselves ready, looking through their quivers of arrows and picking out the roundest and best-feathered ones.

But when the King's archers went to their tents, they told their friends all that had passed, and how that these four men were the famous Robin Hood and three of his band, to wit, Little John, Will Scarlet, and Allan a Dale. The news of this buzzed around among the archers in the booths, for there was not a man there that had not heard of these great mid-country yeomen. From the archers the news was taken up by the crowd that looked on at the shooting, so that at last everybody stood up, craning their necks to catch sight of the famous outlaws.

But when the King's archers returned to their tents, they shared with their friends everything that had happened, revealing that these four men were the legendary Robin Hood and three of his companions, namely Little John, Will Scarlet, and Allan a Dale. The news quickly spread among the archers in the booths, as every man there had heard of these renowned mid-country yeomen. From the archers, the news reached the crowd watching the shooting, and eventually, everyone stood up, straining their necks to catch a glimpse of the famous outlaws.

Six fresh targets were now set up, one for each man that was to shoot; whereupon Gilbert and Tepus and Hubert came straightway forth from the booths. Then Robin Hood and Gilbert of the White Hand tossed a farthing aloft to see who should lead in the shooting, and the lot fell to Gilbert's side; thereupon he called upon Hubert of Suffolk to lead.

Six new targets were set up, one for each shooter; then Gilbert, Tepus, and Hubert came out from the booths. Next, Robin Hood and Gilbert of the White Hand tossed a coin to see who would go first in the shooting, and Gilbert’s side won. He then asked Hubert of Suffolk to take the lead.

Hubert took his place, planted his foot firmly, and fitted a fair, smooth arrow; then, breathing upon his fingertips, he drew the string slowly and carefully. The arrow sped true, and lodged in the white; again he shot, and again he hit the clout; a third shaft he sped, but this time failed of the center, and but struck the black, yet not more than a finger's-breadth from the white. At this a shout went up, for it was the best shooting that Hubert had yet done that day.

Hubert took his spot, planted his foot firmly, and nocked a nice, smooth arrow; then, breathing on his fingertips, he slowly and carefully drew the string. The arrow flew straight and hit the target; he shot again and hit the mark again; a third arrow flew, but this time he missed the center and only hit the black, though it was no more than a finger's width from the white. At this, a cheer erupted, as it was the best shooting Hubert had done that day.

Merry Robin laughed, and quoth he, "Thou wilt have an ill time bettering that round, Will, for it is thy turn next. Brace thy thews, lad, and bring not shame upon Sherwood."

Merry Robin laughed and said, "You'll have a tough time improving that one, Will, because it's your turn next. Get ready, kid, and don't bring shame to Sherwood."

Then Will Scarlet took his place; but, because of overcaution, he spoiled his target with the very first arrow that he sped, for he hit the next ring to the black, the second from the center. At this Robin bit his lips. "Lad, lad," quoth he, "hold not the string so long! Have I not often told thee what Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, that 'overcaution spilleth the milk'?" To this Will Scarlet took heed, so the next arrow he shot lodged fairly in the center ring; again he shot, and again he smote the center; but, for all that, stout Hubert had outshot him, and showed the better target. Then all those that looked on clapped their hands for joy because that Hubert had overcome the stranger.

Then Will Scarlet took his turn; but, due to being overly cautious, he missed his target with the very first arrow he released, hitting the ring just outside the black, the second one from the center. At this, Robin bit his lips. "Come on, kid," he said, "don’t hold the string for so long! Haven’t I told you what Gaffer Swanthold says, that 'overcaution spills the milk'?" Will Scarlet listened to this, so the next arrow he shot landed right in the center ring; then he shot again, and once more he hit the center; but despite that, strong Hubert had outdone him and showed a better target. Then everyone watching clapped their hands for joy because Hubert had beaten the stranger.

Quoth the King grimly, to the Queen, "If thy archers shoot no better than that, thou art like to lose thy wager, lady." But Queen Eleanor smiled, for she looked for better things from Robin Hood and Little John.

The King said grimly to the Queen, "If your archers don't shoot better than that, you're likely to lose your bet, my lady." But Queen Eleanor smiled, as she expected better performances from Robin Hood and Little John.

And now Tepus took his place to shoot. He, also, took overheed to what he was about, and so he fell into Will Scarlet's error. The first arrow he struck into the center ring, but the second missed its mark, and smote the black; the last arrow was tipped with luck, for it smote the very center of the clout, upon the black spot that marked it. Quoth Robin Hood, "That is the sweetest shot that hath been sped this day; but, nevertheless, friend Tepus, thy cake is burned, methinks. Little John, it is thy turn next."

And now Tepus took his turn to shoot. He also paid attention to what he was doing, but he fell into the same mistake as Will Scarlet. His first arrow hit the center ring, but the second missed and hit the black. The last arrow was lucky, as it hit the exact center of the target, on the black spot that marked it. Robin Hood said, "That is the best shot made today; however, my friend Tepus, I think you've messed up. Little John, it’s your turn now."

So Little John took his place as bidden, and shot his three arrows quickly. He never lowered his bow arm in all the shooting, but fitted each shaft with his longbow raised; yet all three of his arrows smote the center within easy distance of the black. At this no sound of shouting was heard, for, although it was the best shooting that had been done that day, the folk of London Town did not like to see the stout Tepus overcome by a fellow from the countryside, even were he as famous as Little John.

So Little John took his spot as instructed and quickly shot his three arrows. He never lowered his bow arm during the shooting and fitted each arrow while keeping his longbow raised; still, all three of his arrows hit the center, easily within range of the bullseye. There was no cheering at this moment because, even though it was the best shooting of the day, the people of London Town didn't want to see the strong Tepus defeated by someone from the countryside, no matter how famous Little John was.

And now stout Gilbert of the White Hand took his place and shot with the greatest care; and again, for the third time in one day, he struck all three shafts into the clout.

And now strong Gilbert of the White Hand took his position and shot with the greatest precision; and again, for the third time in one day, he hit all three arrows into the target.

"Well done, Gilbert!" quoth Robin Hood, smiting him upon the shoulder. "I make my vow, thou art one of the best archers that ever mine eyes beheld. Thou shouldst be a free and merry ranger like us, lad, for thou art better fitted for the greenwood than for the cobblestones and gray walls of London Town." So saying, he took his place, and drew a fair, round arrow from his quiver, which he turned over and over ere he fitted it to his bowstring.

"Well done, Gilbert!" Robin Hood said, patting him on the shoulder. "I swear, you’re one of the best archers I’ve ever seen. You should be a free and happy ranger like us, kid, because you’re much better suited for the woods than for the cobblestones and gray walls of London." With that, he took his place and pulled a nice, round arrow from his quiver, inspecting it carefully before fitting it to his bowstring.

Then the King muttered in his beard, "Now, blessed Saint Hubert, if thou wilt but jog that rogue's elbow so as to make him smite even the second ring, I will give eightscore waxen candles three fingers'-breadth in thickness to thy chapel nigh Matching." But it may be Saint Hubert's ears were stuffed with tow, for he seemed not to hear the King's prayer this day.

Then the King muttered under his breath, "Now, blessed Saint Hubert, if you would just nudge that scoundrel's elbow to make him hit the second ring, I will donate 160 wax candles that are three fingers thick to your chapel near Matching." But perhaps Saint Hubert's ears were blocked, because he didn’t seem to hear the King's plea today.

Having gotten three shafts to his liking, merry Robin looked carefully to his bowstring ere he shot. "Yea," quoth he to Gilbert, who stood nigh him to watch his shooting, "thou shouldst pay us a visit at merry Sherwood." Here he drew the bowstring to his ear. "In London"—here he loosed his shaft—"thou canst find nought to shoot at but rooks and daws; there one can tickle the ribs of the noblest stags in England." So he shot even while he talked, yet the shaft lodged not more than half an inch from the very center.

After choosing three arrows he liked, cheerful Robin carefully checked his bowstring before taking a shot. "Yeah," he said to Gilbert, who was standing nearby to watch him shoot, "you should come and visit us at merry Sherwood." Then he pulled the bowstring back to his ear. "In London"—at that moment, he released his arrow—"you can only find things to shoot at like rooks and jackdaws; here, you can actually target the noblest stags in England." He shot while he spoke, and his arrow landed no more than half an inch from the exact center.

"By my soul!" cried Gilbert. "Art thou the devil in blue, to shoot in that wise?"

"By my soul!" shouted Gilbert. "Are you the devil in blue, to shoot like that?"

"Nay," quoth Robin, laughing, "not quite so ill as that, I trust." And he took up another shaft and fitted it to the string. Again he shot, and again he smote his arrow close beside the center; a third time he loosed his bowstring and dropped his arrow just betwixt the other two and into the very center, so that the feathers of all three were ruffled together, seeming from a distance to be one thick shaft.

"Not quite that bad," Robin said with a laugh. He picked up another arrow and fitted it to the string. He shot again, hitting his arrow close to the center. A third time, he released his bowstring, dropping his arrow right between the other two and into the center, so that the feathers of all three were ruffled together, appearing from a distance as if they were one thick arrow.

And now a low murmur ran all among that great crowd, for never before had London seen such shooting as this; and never again would it see it after Robin Hood's day had gone. All saw that the King's archers were fairly beaten, and stout Gilbert clapped his palm to Robin's, owning that he could never hope to draw such a bowstring as Robin Hood or Little John. But the King, full of wrath, would not have it so, though he knew in his mind that his men could not stand against those fellows. "Nay!" cried he, clenching his hands upon the arms of his seat, "Gilbert is not yet beaten! Did he not strike the clout thrice? Although I have lost my wager, he hath not yet lost the first prize. They shall shoot again, and still again, till either he or that knave Robin Hood cometh off the best. Go thou, Sir Hugh, and bid them shoot another round, and another, until one or the other is overcome." Then Sir Hugh, seeing how wroth the King was, said never a word, but went straightway to do his bidding; so he came to where Robin Hood and the other stood, and told them what the King had said.

And now a low murmur spread through that huge crowd, for London had never seen shooting like this before, and it wouldn’t again after the days of Robin Hood. Everyone could see that the King’s archers were clearly outmatched, and brave Gilbert clapped his hand against Robin’s, admitting he could never hope to draw a bowstring like Robin Hood or Little John. But the King, full of anger, wouldn’t accept it, even though he knew in his heart that his men were no match for those guys. “No!” he shouted, clenching the arms of his seat, “Gilbert is not beaten yet! Didn’t he hit the target three times? Even though I lost my wager, he hasn’t lost the top prize yet. They shall shoot again, and again, until either he or that scoundrel Robin Hood comes out on top. Go, Sir Hugh, and tell them to shoot another round, and then another, until one of them is defeated.” Then Sir Hugh, seeing how furious the King was, didn’t say a word but went straight to carry out his orders; he approached where Robin Hood and the others were and told them what the King had said.

"With all my heart," quoth merry Robin, "I will shoot from this time till tomorrow day if it can pleasure my most gracious lord and King. Take thy place, Gilbert lad, and shoot."

"With all my heart," said merry Robin, "I will shoot from now until tomorrow if it will please my gracious lord and King. Take your place, Gilbert, and shoot."

So Gilbert took his place once more, but this time he failed, for, a sudden little wind arising, his shaft missed the center ring, but by not more than the breadth of a barley straw.

So Gilbert took his position again, but this time he missed. A sudden gust of wind came up, causing his arrow to fall short of the center ring, missing it by only the width of a barley straw.

"Thy eggs are cracked, Gilbert," quoth Robin, laughing; and straightway he loosed a shaft, and once more smote the white circle of the center.

"Your eggs are cracked, Gilbert," said Robin, laughing; and right away he released an arrow, once again hitting the white circle in the center.

Then the King arose from his place, and not a word said he, but he looked around with a baleful look, and it would have been an ill day for anyone that he saw with a joyous or a merry look upon his face. Then he and his Queen and all the court left the place, but the King's heart was brimming full of wrath.

Then the King got up from his seat, and without saying a word, he scanned the room with a fierce glare. Anyone he saw with a happy or cheerful expression would have had a rough day. Then he, the Queen, and the entire court left the place, but the King's heart was overflowing with anger.

After the King had gone, all the yeomen of the archer guard came crowding around Robin, and Little John, and Will, and Allan, to snatch a look at these famous fellows from the mid-country; and with them came many that had been onlookers at the sport, for the same purpose. Thus it happened presently that the yeomen, to whom Gilbert stood talking, were all surrounded by a crowd of people that formed a ring about them.

After the King left, all the yeomen from the archer guard gathered around Robin, Little John, Will, and Allan to get a glimpse of these renowned guys from the mid-country. Many others who had been spectators of the event joined them for the same reason. As a result, the yeomen, who Gilbert was talking to, found themselves surrounded by a crowd that formed a circle around them.

After a while the three judges that had the giving away of the prizes came forward, and the chief of them all spake to Robin and said, "According to agreement, the first prize belongeth rightly to thee; so here I give thee the silver bugle, here the quiver of ten golden arrows, and here a purse of twoscore and ten golden pounds." And as he spake he handed those things to Robin, and then turned to Little John. "To thee," he said, "belongeth the second prize, to wit, fivescore of the finest harts that run on Dallen Lea. Thou mayest shoot them whensoever thou dost list." Last of all he turned to stout Hubert. "Thou," said he, "hast held thine own against the yeomen with whom thou didst shoot, and so thou hast kept the prize duly thine, to wit, two tuns of good Rhenish wine. These shall be delivered to thee whensoever thou dost list." Then he called upon the other seven of the King's archers who had last shot, and gave each fourscore silver pennies.

After a while, the three judges responsible for handing out the prizes came forward, and the head judge spoke to Robin, saying, "As agreed, the first prize rightfully belongs to you; so here I give you the silver bugle, here’s the quiver with ten golden arrows, and here’s a purse with seventy golden pounds." As he spoke, he handed these items to Robin and then turned to Little John. "To you," he said, "goes the second prize, which is eighty of the finest deer that run on Dallen Lea. You can hunt them whenever you like." Finally, he turned to stout Hubert. "You," he said, "have held your own against the archers you shot against, so you’ve earned the prize that belongs to you, which is two barrels of good Rhenish wine. These will be delivered to you whenever you want." Then he called the other seven of the King's archers who had just shot and gave each of them eighty silver pennies.

Then up spake Robin, and quoth he, "This silver bugle I keep in honor of this shooting match; but thou, Gilbert, art the best archer of all the King's guard, and to thee I freely give this purse of gold. Take it, man, and would it were ten times as much, for thou art a right yeoman, good and true. Furthermore, to each of the ten that last shot I give one of these golden shafts apiece. Keep them always by you, so that ye may tell your grandchildren, an ye are ever blessed with them, that ye are the very stoutest yeomen in all the wide world."

Then Robin spoke up and said, "I keep this silver bugle to honor this shooting match; but you, Gilbert, are the best archer in all the King's guard, and I gladly give you this purse of gold. Take it, man, and I wish it were ten times as much, for you are a true and worthy yeoman. Also, to each of the ten who shot last, I give one of these golden arrows each. Always keep them with you, so you can tell your grandchildren, if you’re ever blessed with them, that you are the bravest yeomen in the whole wide world."

At this all shouted aloud, for it pleased them to hear Robin speak so of them.

At this, everyone shouted loudly, happy to hear Robin talk about them like that.

Then up spake Little John. "Good friend Tepus," said he, "I want not those harts of Dallen Lea that yon stout judge spoke of but now, for in truth we have enow and more than enow in our own country. Twoscore and ten I give to thee for thine own shooting, and five I give to each band for their pleasure."

Then Little John spoke up. "Good friend Tepus," he said, "I don’t want those deer from Dallen Lea that the strong judge just mentioned, because honestly, we have plenty in our own country. I’ll give you seventy for your own hunting, and I’ll give five to each group for their enjoyment."

At this another great shout went up, and many tossed their caps aloft, and swore among themselves that no better fellows ever walked the sod than Robin Hood and his stout yeomen.

At this, another loud cheer went up, and many threw their caps into the air, insisting among themselves that no better people ever walked the earth than Robin Hood and his brave outlaws.

While they so shouted with loud voices, a tall burly yeoman of the King's guard came forward and plucked Robin by the sleeve. "Good master," quoth he, "I have somewhat to tell thee in thine ear; a silly thing, God wot, for one stout yeoman to tell another; but a young peacock of a page, one Richard Partington, was seeking thee without avail in the crowd, and, not being able to find thee, told me that he bore a message to thee from a certain lady that thou wottest of. This message he bade me tell thee privily, word for word, and thus it was. Let me see—I trust I have forgot it not—yea, thus it was: 'The lion growls. Beware thy head.'"

While they shouted loudly, a tall, strong member of the King's guard came up and grabbed Robin by the sleeve. "Hey there," he said, "I need to tell you something privately; it might seem silly for one tough guy to talk to another. But a young, arrogant page named Richard Partington has been looking for you in the crowd, and since he couldn't find you, he asked me to deliver a message from a certain lady you know. He wanted me to tell you exactly what she said, so here it is—I hope I remember it correctly: 'The lion growls. Watch your back.'"

"Is it so?" quoth Robin, starting; for he knew right well that it was the Queen sent the message, and that she spake of the King's wrath. "Now, I thank thee, good fellow, for thou hast done me greater service than thou knowest of this day." Then he called his three yeomen together and told them privately that they had best be jogging, as it was like to be ill for them so nigh merry London Town. So, without tarrying longer, they made their way through the crowd until they had come out from the press. Then, without stopping, they left London Town and started away northward.

"Is that so?" Robin said, startled; for he knew very well that the Queen had sent the message and that she was referring to the King's anger. "Now, I appreciate it, good man, as you've done me a greater service than you realize today." Then he gathered his three men and quietly told them that they should get moving, as things were likely to get rough for them so close to merry London. So, without lingering any longer, they pushed through the crowd until they got out of the press. Then, without hesitating, they left London and headed north.

 

 

 

 

The Chase of Robin Hood

SO ROBIN HOOD and the others left the archery range at Finsbury Fields, and, tarrying not, set forth straightway upon their homeward journey. It was well for them that they did so, for they had not gone more than three or four miles upon their way when six of the yeomen of the King's guard came bustling among the crowd that still lingered, seeking for Robin and his men, to seize upon them and make them prisoners. Truly, it was an ill-done thing in the King to break his promise, but it all came about through the Bishop of Hereford's doing, for thus it happened:

SO ROBIN HOOD and the others left the archery range at Finsbury Fields, and without wasting any time, they immediately set off on their way home. It was a good thing they did, because they hadn't traveled more than three or four miles when six of the King’s guards came pushing through the crowd that was still hanging around, looking for Robin and his men to capture them. It was truly wrong of the King to go back on his word, but this all happened because of the Bishop of Hereford, and here's how it went down:

After the King left the archery ground, he went straightway to his cabinet, and with him went the Bishop of Hereford and Sir Robert Lee; but the King said never a word to these two, but sat gnawing his nether lip, for his heart was galled within him by what had happened. At last the Bishop of Hereford spoke, in a low, sorrowful voice: "It is a sad thing, Your Majesty, that this knavish outlaw should be let to escape in this wise; for, let him but get back to Sherwood Forest safe and sound, and he may snap his fingers at king and king's men."

After the King left the archery field, he went straight to his office, and the Bishop of Hereford and Sir Robert Lee followed him. However, the King didn't say a word to either of them; instead, he sat there biting his lower lip, troubled by what had happened. Finally, the Bishop of Hereford spoke up in a quiet, mournful tone: "It's unfortunate, Your Majesty, that this crafty outlaw managed to escape like this; if he makes it back to Sherwood Forest safe and sound, he'll be able to thumb his nose at the king and his men."

At these words the King raised his eyes and looked grimly upon the Bishop. "Sayst thou so?" quoth he. "Now, I will show thee, in good time, how much thou dost err, for, when the forty days are past and gone, I will seize upon this thieving outlaw, if I have to tear down all of Sherwood to find him. Thinkest thou that the laws of the King of England are to be so evaded by one poor knave without friends or money?"

At those words, the King looked up and glared at the Bishop. "Is that what you think?" he said. "Well, I'll show you soon enough how wrong you are, because when the forty days are over, I'm going to capture this thieving outlaw, even if I have to tear down all of Sherwood to find him. Do you really think that the laws of the King of England can be so easily dodged by some poor fool with no friends or money?"

Then the Bishop spoke again, in his soft, smooth voice:

Then the Bishop spoke again, in his gentle, polished voice:

"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, and believe that I have nought but the good of England and Your Majesty's desirings at heart; but what would it boot though my gracious lord did root up every tree of Sherwood? Are there not other places for Robin Hood's hiding? Cannock Chase is not far from Sherwood, and the great Forest of Arden is not far from Cannock Chase. Beside these are many other woodlands in Nottingham and Derby, Lincoln and York, amid any of which Your Majesty might as well think to seize upon Robin Hood as to lay finger upon a rat among the dust and broken things of a garret. Nay, my gracious lord, if he doth once plant foot in the woodland, he is lost to the law forever."

"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, but I assure you that I only have the good of England and your wishes at heart. But what good would it do if my gracious lord were to tear down every tree in Sherwood? Aren't there other places for Robin Hood to hide? Cannock Chase isn’t far from Sherwood, and the great Forest of Arden is close to Cannock Chase. Besides these, there are many other forests in Nottingham, Derby, Lincoln, and York, where Your Majesty might as well try to catch Robin Hood as to grab a rat among the dust and broken things in an attic. No, my gracious lord, if he sets foot in the woods, he will be lost to the law forever."

At these words the King tapped his fingertips upon the table beside him with vexation. "What wouldst thou have me do, Bishop?" quoth he. "Didst thou not hear me pledge my word to the Queen? Thy talk is as barren as the wind from the bellows upon dead coals."

At these words, the King tapped his fingertips on the table beside him in frustration. "What do you want me to do, Bishop?" he said. "Did you not hear me promise the Queen? Your words are as empty as the wind from the bellows on dead coals."

"Far be it from me," said the cunning Bishop, "to point the way to one so clear-sighted as Your Majesty; but, were I the King of England, I should look upon the matter in this wise: I have promised my Queen, let us say, that for forty days the cunningest rogue in all England shall have freedom to come and go; but, lo! I find this outlaw in my grasp; shall I, then, foolishly cling to a promise so hastily given? Suppose that I had promised to do Her Majesty's bidding, whereupon she bade me to slay myself; should I, then, shut mine eyes and run blindly upon my sword? Thus would I argue within myself. Moreover, I would say unto myself, a woman knoweth nought of the great things appertaining to state government; and, likewise, I know a woman is ever prone to take up a fancy, even as she would pluck a daisy from the roadside, and then throw it away when the savor is gone; therefore, though she hath taken a fancy to this outlaw, it will soon wane away and be forgotten. As for me, I have the greatest villain in all England in my grasp; shall I, then, open my hand and let him slip betwixt my fingers? Thus, Your Majesty, would I say to myself, were I the King of England." So the Bishop talked, and the King lent his ear to his evil counsel, until, after a while, he turned to Sir Robert Lee and bade him send six of the yeomen of the guard to take Robin Hood and his three men prisoners.

"Far be it from me," said the clever Bishop, "to show the way to someone as insightful as Your Majesty; but, if I were the King of England, I would consider it this way: Let's say I've promised my Queen that the cleverest rogue in all England will have the freedom to come and go for forty days; yet, here I have this outlaw in my grasp. Should I foolishly hold on to a promise given in haste? Suppose I promised to follow Her Majesty's orders, and then she told me to kill myself; should I just close my eyes and run blindly onto my sword? That's how I would reason with myself. Additionally, I would remind myself that a woman knows nothing about the important matters of state; and I know a woman is likely to take a fancy to something, like picking a daisy from the roadside, only to toss it aside when it no longer interests her. Therefore, even if she has taken a liking to this outlaw, that feeling will soon fade and be forgotten. As for me, I have the greatest villain in all England right here; should I really let him slip through my fingers? So, Your Majesty, that's how I would think if I were the King of England." The Bishop continued speaking, and the King listened to his wicked advice until, after a while, he turned to Sir Robert Lee and ordered him to send six of the yeomen of the guard to capture Robin Hood and his three men.

Now Sir Robert Lee was a gentle and noble knight, and he felt grieved to the heart to see the King so break his promise; nevertheless, he said nothing, for he saw how bitterly the King was set against Robin Hood; but he did not send the yeomen of the guard at once, but went first to the Queen, and told her all that had passed, and bade her send word to Robin of his danger. This he did not for the well-being of Robin Hood, but because he would save his lord's honor if he could. Thus it came about that when, after a while, the yeomen of the guard went to the archery field, they found not Robin and the others, and so got no cakes at that fair.

Now Sir Robert Lee was a kind and noble knight, and he felt deeply hurt to see the King break his promise; however, he said nothing because he noticed how fiercely the King was against Robin Hood. Instead of sending the yeomen of the guard right away, he first went to the Queen and told her everything that had happened, asking her to inform Robin about his danger. He did this not for Robin Hood's sake, but to protect his lord's honor if he could. As a result, when the yeomen of the guard eventually went to the archery field, they found neither Robin nor the others, and so they missed out on the cakes at that fair.

The afternoon was already well-nigh gone when Robin Hood, Little John, Will, and Allan set forth upon their homeward way, trudging along merrily through the yellow slanting light, which speedily changed to rosy red as the sun sank low in the heavens. The shadows grew long, and finally merged into the grayness of the mellow twilight. The dusty highway lay all white betwixt the dark hedgerows, and along it walked four fellows like four shadows, the pat of their feet sounding loud, and their voices, as they talked, ringing clear upon the silence of the air. The great round moon was floating breathlessly up in the eastern sky when they saw before them the twinkling lights of Barnet Town, some ten or twelve miles from London. Down they walked through the stony streets and past the cosy houses with overhanging gables, before the doors of which sat the burghers and craftsmen in the mellow moonlight, with their families about them, and so came at last, on the other side of the hamlet, to a little inn, all shaded with roses and woodbines. Before this inn Robin Hood stopped, for the spot pleased him well. Quoth he, "Here will we take up our inn and rest for the night, for we are well away from London Town and our King's wrath. Moreover, if I mistake not, we will find sweet faring within. What say ye, lads?"

The afternoon was almost over when Robin Hood, Little John, Will, and Allan started their journey home, cheerfully trudging along in the yellow, slanted light that quickly turned rosy red as the sun dipped low in the sky. The shadows stretched long and eventually faded into the gray of the gentle twilight. The dusty road lay bright white between the dark hedgerows, and along it walked four friends like shadows, the sound of their footsteps echoing loudly and their voices ringing clear in the quiet air. The big round moon hung high in the eastern sky when they spotted the twinkling lights of Barnet Town, about ten or twelve miles from London. They walked down the stony streets and past the cozy houses with overhanging roofs, where townspeople and craftsmen sat outside in the soft moonlight with their families nearby. Eventually, they reached a little inn on the other side of the village, cloaked in roses and climbing vines. Robin Hood stopped in front of the inn, as the place appealed to him. He said, "Here’s where we’ll stay for the night, far from London and our King’s anger. Plus, if I’m not mistaken, there’ll be good food inside. What do you think, guys?"

"In sooth, good master," quoth Little John, "thy bidding and my doing ever fit together like cakes and ale. Let us in, I say also."

"Honestly, good master," said Little John, "your requests and my actions always match up like cake and beer. Let’s go in, I agree."

Then up spake Will Scarlet: "I am ever ready to do what thou sayest, uncle, yet I could wish that we were farther upon our way ere we rest for the night. Nevertheless, if thou thinkest best, let us in for the night, say I also."

Then Will Scarlet spoke up: "I'm always ready to do what you say, uncle, but I wish we were further along before we take a break for the night. Still, if you think it's best, let's go in for the night, I agree."

So in they went and called for the best that the place afforded. Then a right good feast was set before them, with two stout bottles of old sack to wash it down withal. These things were served by as plump and buxom a lass as you could find in all the land, so that Little John, who always had an eye for a fair lass, even when meat and drink were by, stuck his arms akimbo and fixed his eyes upon her, winking sweetly whenever he saw her looking toward him. Then you should have seen how the lass twittered with laughter, and how she looked at Little John out of the corners of her eyes, a dimple coming in either cheek; for the fellow had always a taking way with the womenfolk.

So in they went and ordered the best the place had to offer. Then a really great feast was laid out for them, with two hefty bottles of old wine to wash it down. These things were served by a plump and pretty girl you could find anywhere in the land, so Little John, who always had an eye for a pretty face even when there was food and drink around, stood with his hands on his hips and focused on her, winking charmingly whenever he saw her glance his way. You should have seen how the girl giggled with laughter, and how she looked at Little John out of the corners of her eyes, a dimple appearing in each cheek; for the guy always had a charming way with the ladies.

So the feast passed merrily, and never had that inn seen such lusty feeders as these four stout fellows; but at last they were done their eating, though it seemed as though they never would have ended, and sat loitering over the sack. As they so sat, the landlord came in of a sudden, and said that there was one at the door, a certain young esquire, Richard Partington, of the Queen's household, who wished to see the lad in blue, and speak with him, without loss of time. So Robin arose quickly, and, bidding the landlord not to follow him, left the others gazing at one another, and wondering what was about to happen.

So the feast went on happily, and the inn had never seen such hearty eaters as these four strong guys; but eventually they finished eating, even though it felt like they never would, and sat around sipping their drinks. While they sat there, the landlord suddenly came in and said that there was someone at the door—a young squire named Richard Partington from the Queen's household—who wanted to see the guy in blue and talk to him right away. So Robin got up quickly and, telling the landlord not to follow him, left the others staring at each other, curious about what was going to happen.

When Robin came out of the inn, he found young Richard Partington sitting upon his horse in the white moonlight, awaiting his coming.

When Robin stepped out of the inn, he saw young Richard Partington sitting on his horse in the bright moonlight, waiting for him.

"What news bearest thou, Sir Page?" said Robin. "I trust that it is not of an ill nature."

"What news do you bring, Sir Page?" said Robin. "I hope it's not bad news."

"Why," said young Partington, "for the matter of that, it is ill enow. The King hath been bitterly stirred up against thee by that vile Bishop of Hereford. He sent to arrest thee at the archery butts at Finsbury Fields, but not finding thee there, he hath gathered together his armed men, fiftyscore and more, and is sending them in haste along this very road to Sherwood, either to take thee on the way or to prevent thy getting back to the woodlands again. He hath given the Bishop of Hereford command over all these men, and thou knowest what thou hast to expect of the Bishop of Hereford—short shrift and a long rope. Two bands of horsemen are already upon the road, not far behind me, so thou hadst best get thee gone from this place straightway, for, if thou tarriest longer, thou art like to sleep this night in a cold dungeon. This word the Queen hath bidden me bring to thee."

"Why," said young Partington, "about that, it’s pretty bad. The King has been really stirred against you by that terrible Bishop of Hereford. He sent to arrest you at the archery range in Finsbury Fields, but not finding you there, he’s gathered his armed men, fifty or more, and is sending them quickly down this very road to Sherwood, either to catch you on the way or to stop you from getting back to the woods. He’s put the Bishop of Hereford in charge of all those men, and you know what to expect from the Bishop of Hereford—short mercy and a long rope. There are already two groups of horsemen on the road, not far behind me, so you should get out of here right away, because if you stay longer, you might end up spending the night in a cold dungeon. The Queen asked me to bring you this message."

"Now, Richard Partington," quoth Robin, "this is the second time that thou hast saved my life, and if the proper time ever cometh I will show thee that Robin Hood never forgets these things. As for that Bishop of Hereford, if I ever catch him nigh to Sherwood again, things will be like to go ill with him. Thou mayst tell the good Queen that I will leave this place without delay, and will let the landlord think that we are going to Saint Albans; but when we are upon the highroad again, I will go one way through the country and will send my men the other, so that if one falleth into the King's hands the others may haply escape. We will go by devious ways, and so, I hope, will reach Sherwood in safety. And now, Sir Page, I wish thee farewell."

"Now, Richard Partington," said Robin, "this is the second time you've saved my life, and if the right moment ever comes, I'll show you that Robin Hood never forgets these things. As for that Bishop of Hereford, if I ever catch him near Sherwood again, things will not go well for him. You can tell the good Queen that I will leave this place right away and will let the landlord think we're heading to Saint Albans; but once we're back on the main road, I'll go one way through the countryside and send my men the other, so if one group gets caught by the King, the others might manage to escape. We'll take back roads and, hopefully, reach Sherwood safely. And now, Sir Page, I wish you farewell."

"Farewell, thou bold yeoman," said young Partington, "and mayst thou reach thy hiding in safety." So each shook the other's hand, and the lad, turning his horse's head, rode back toward London, while Robin entered the inn once more.

"Goodbye, brave yeoman," said young Partington, "and may you get to your hiding place safely." They shook hands, and the young man turned his horse around and rode back toward London, while Robin went back into the inn.

There he found his yeomen sitting in silence, waiting his coming; likewise the landlord was there, for he was curious to know what Master Partington had to do with the fellow in blue. "Up, my merry men!" quoth Robin, "this is no place for us, for those are after us with whom we will stand but an ill chance an we fall into their hands. So we will go forward once more, nor will we stop this night till we reach Saint Albans." Hereupon, taking out his purse, he paid the landlord his score, and so they left the inn.

There he found his crew sitting in silence, waiting for him; the landlord was there too, eager to know what Master Partington had to do with the guy in blue. "Get up, my merry men!" said Robin, "this isn't the place for us, as those who are after us would not treat us kindly if we fell into their hands. So we’ll move on again and won’t stop tonight until we reach Saint Albans." With that, he took out his purse, paid the landlord what he owed, and they left the inn.

When they had come to the highroad without the town, Robin stopped and told them all that had passed between young Partington and himself, and how that the King's men were after them with hot heels. Then he told them that here they should part company; they three going to the eastward and he to the westward, and so, skirting the main highroads, would come by devious paths to Sherwood. "So, be ye wily," said Robin Hood, "and keep well away from the northward roads till ye have gotten well to the eastward. And thou, Will Scarlet, take the lead of the others, for thou hast a cunning turn to thy wits." Then Robin kissed the three upon the cheeks, and they kissed him, and so they parted company.

When they reached the main road outside the town, Robin stopped and shared everything that had happened between him and young Partington, explaining how the King's men were chasing after them. Then he said they would need to split up: the three of them would head east while he would go west, and by avoiding the main roads, they would find their way to Sherwood through lesser-known paths. "So, be clever," Robin Hood advised, "and steer clear of the northern roads until you’ve traveled far enough east. And you, Will Scarlet, take the lead since you have a knack for strategy." Then Robin kissed each of them on the cheek, and they kissed him back, and with that, they went their separate ways.

Not long after this, a score or more of the King's men came clattering up to the door of the inn at Barnet Town. Here they leaped from their horses and quickly surrounded the place, the leader of the band and four others entering the room where the yeomen had been. But they found that their birds had flown again, and that the King had been balked a second time.

Not long after this, about twenty of the King's men rode up to the inn in Barnet Town. They jumped off their horses and quickly surrounded the place, with the leader and four others entering the room where the yeomen had been. But they found that their targets had escaped again, and that the King had been thwarted a second time.

"Methought that they were naughty fellows," said the host, when he heard whom the men-at-arms sought. "But I heard that blue-clad knave say that they would go straight forward to Saint Albans; so, an ye hurry forward, ye may, perchance, catch them on the highroad betwixt here and there." For this news the leader of the band thanked mine host right heartily, and, calling his men together, mounted and set forth again, galloping forward to Saint Albans upon a wild goose chase.

"I thought they were troublemakers," said the host when he heard who the men-at-arms were looking for. "But I heard that guy in blue say they would head straight to Saint Albans; so, if you hurry, you might just catch them on the road between here and there." The leader of the group thanked the host sincerely for this information and, gathering his men together, mounted up and set off again, racing toward Saint Albans on a wild goose chase.

After Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale had left the highway near garnet, they traveled toward the eastward, without stopping, as long as their legs could carry them, until they came to Chelmsford, in Essex. Thence they turned northward, and came through Cambridge and Lincolnshire, to the good town of Gainsborough. Then, striking to the westward and the south, they came at last to the northern borders of Sherwood Forest, without in all that time having met so much as a single band of the King's men. Eight days they journeyed thus ere they reached the woodlands in safety, but when they got to the greenwood glade, they found that Robin had not yet returned.

After Little John, Will Scarlet, and Allan a Dale left the highway near Garnet, they headed east without stopping as long as their legs could take them until they reached Chelmsford in Essex. From there, they turned north and traveled through Cambridge and Lincolnshire to the town of Gainsborough. Then, heading west and south, they finally arrived at the northern borders of Sherwood Forest, without encountering a single group of the King's men the entire time. They traveled for eight days before safely reaching the woodlands, but when they arrived at the greenwood glade, they found that Robin had not returned yet.

For Robin was not as lucky in getting back as his men had been, as you shall presently hear.

For Robin wasn't as fortunate in getting back as his men had been, as you'll soon hear.

After having left the great northern road, he turned his face to the westward, and so came past Aylesbury, to fair Woodstock, in Oxfordshire. Thence he turned his footsteps northward, traveling for a great distance by way of Warwick Town, till he came to Dudley, in Staffordshire. Seven days it took him to journey thus far, and then he thought he had gotten far enough to the north, so, turning toward the eastward, shunning the main roads, and choosing byways and grassy lanes, he went, by way of Litchfield and Ashby de la Zouch, toward Sherwood, until he came to a place called Stanton. And now Robin's heart began to laugh aloud, for he thought that his danger had gone by, and that his nostrils would soon snuff the spicy air of the woodlands once again. But there is many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip, and this Robin was to find. For thus it was:

After leaving the major northern road, he faced west and passed through Aylesbury to beautiful Woodstock in Oxfordshire. Then he headed north, traveling a long distance through Warwick Town until he reached Dudley in Staffordshire. It took him seven days to get this far, and then he thought he had traveled far enough north. So, turning east, avoiding the main roads and opting for side streets and grassy paths, he made his way, passing through Litchfield and Ashby de la Zouch, toward Sherwood until he arrived at a place called Stanton. And now Robin's heart began to soar with joy because he believed his danger had passed, and soon he would smell the fragrant air of the woods again. But there are many unexpected turns in life, and Robin was about to discover that.

When the King's men found themselves foiled at Saint Albans, and that Robin and his men were not to be found high nor low, they knew not what to do. Presently another band of horsemen came, and another, until all the moonlit streets were full of armed men. Betwixt midnight and dawn another band came to the town, and with them came the Bishop of Hereford. When he heard that Robin Hood had once more slipped out of the trap, he stayed not a minute, but, gathering his bands together, he pushed forward to the northward with speed, leaving orders for all the troops that came to Saint Albans to follow after him without tarrying. On the evening of the fourth day he reached Nottingham Town, and there straightway divided his men into bands of six or seven, and sent them all through the countryside, blocking every highway and byway to the eastward and the southward and the westward of Sherwood. The Sheriff of Nottingham called forth all his men likewise, and joined with the Bishop, for he saw that this was the best chance that had ever befallen of paying back his score in full to Robin Hood. Will Scarlet and Little John and Allan a Dale had just missed the King's men to the eastward, for the very next day after they had passed the line and entered Sherwood the roads through which they had traveled were blocked, so that, had they tarried in their journeying, they would surely have fallen into the Bishop's hands.

When the King's men found themselves stuck at Saint Albans, and Robin and his crew were nowhere to be seen, they were at a loss. Soon, another group of horsemen arrived, followed by more until the moonlit streets were crowded with armed men. Between midnight and dawn, another group came to town, bringing the Bishop of Hereford with them. When he learned that Robin Hood had once again escaped, he didn't hesitate for a second. He quickly gathered his forces and headed north, ordering all the troops that arrived at Saint Albans to follow him without delay. On the evening of the fourth day, he reached Nottingham Town and immediately divided his men into groups of six or seven, sending them out into the countryside to block every highway and byway to the east, south, and west of Sherwood. The Sheriff of Nottingham also called up all his men and joined forces with the Bishop, seeing this as the best chance ever to settle the score with Robin Hood. Will Scarlet, Little John, and Allan a Dale had just missed the King's men to the east because the very next day after they had crossed the line into Sherwood, the roads they had traveled were blocked. If they had stayed longer on their journey, they would surely have fallen into the Bishop's hands.

But of all this Robin knew not a whit; so he whistled merrily as he trudged along the road beyond Stanton, with his heart as free from care as the yolk of an egg is from cobwebs. At last he came to where a little stream spread across the road in a shallow sheet, tinkling and sparkling as it fretted over its bed of golden gravel. Here Robin stopped, being athirst, and, kneeling down, he made a cup of the palms of his hands, and began to drink. On either side of the road, for a long distance, stood tangled thickets of bushes and young trees, and it pleased Robin's heart to hear the little birds singing therein, for it made him think of Sherwood, and it seemed as though it had been a lifetime since he had breathed the air of the woodlands. But of a sudden, as he thus stooped, drinking, something hissed past his ear, and struck with a splash into the gravel and water beside him. Quick as a wink Robin sprang to his feet, and, at one bound, crossed the stream and the roadside, and plunged headlong into the thicket, without looking around, for he knew right well that that which had hissed so venomously beside his ear was a gray goose shaft, and that to tarry so much as a moment meant death. Even as he leaped into the thicket six more arrows rattled among the branches after him, one of which pierced his doublet, and would have struck deeply into his side but for the tough coat of steel that he wore. Then up the road came riding some of the King's men at headlong speed. They leaped from their horses and plunged straightway into the thicket after Robin. But Robin knew the ground better than they did, so crawling here, stooping there, and, anon, running across some little open, he soon left them far behind, coming out, at last, upon another road about eight hundred paces distant from the one he had left. Here he stood for a moment, listening to the distant shouts of the seven men as they beat up and down in the thickets like hounds that had lost the scent of the quarry. Then, buckling his belt more tightly around his waist, he ran fleetly down the road toward the eastward and Sherwood.

But Robin didn’t know any of this; he was whistling happily as he trudged along the road beyond Stanton, with his heart as carefree as an egg yolk is from cobwebs. Eventually, he reached a spot where a small stream flowed across the road in a shallow sheet, tinkling and sparkling as it rushed over a bed of golden gravel. Here, Robin stopped, feeling thirsty, and knelt down, cupping his hands to drink. On either side of the road, for a long stretch, there were tangled thickets of bushes and young trees, and Robin was pleased to hear the little birds singing there, reminding him of Sherwood, making it feel like ages since he had breathed the air of the woods. Suddenly, as he was drinking, something hissed past his ear and splashed into the gravel and water beside him. Quick as a flash, Robin jumped to his feet, bounded across the stream and the roadside, and dove headfirst into the thicket without looking back, knowing full well that the hissing sound was a gray goose arrow, and staying there even for a moment meant death. Just as he leapt into the thicket, six more arrows clattered among the branches after him, one of which pierced his jacket and would have struck deeply into his side if not for the tough steel coat he wore. Then some of the King's men came galloping down the road at full speed. They jumped off their horses and immediately plunged into the thicket after Robin. But Robin knew the area better than they did, so he crawled here, crouched there, and occasionally dashed across a small opening, soon leaving them far behind and emerging onto another road about eight hundred paces away from where he had left. He paused for a moment, listening to the distant shouts of the seven men as they searched the thickets like hounds that had lost the scent of their prey. Then, tightening his belt around his waist, he sprinted down the road toward the east and Sherwood.

But Robin had not gone more than three furlongs in that direction when he came suddenly to the brow of a hill, and saw beneath him another band of the King's men seated in the shade along the roadside in the valley beneath. Then he paused not a moment, but, seeing that they had not caught sight of him, he turned and ran back whence he had come, knowing that it was better to run the chance of escaping those fellows that were yet in the thickets than to rush into the arms of those in the valley. So back he ran with all speed, and had gotten safely past the thickets, when the seven men came forth into the open road. They raised a great shout when they saw him, such as the hunter gives when the deer breaks cover, but Robin was then a quarter of a mile and more away from them, coursing over the ground like a greyhound. He never slackened his pace, but ran along, mile after mile, till he had come nigh to Mackworth, over beyond the Derwent River, nigh to Derby Town. Here, seeing that he was out of present danger, he slackened in his running, and at last sat him down beneath a hedge where the grass was the longest and the shade the coolest, there to rest and catch his wind. "By my soul, Robin," quoth he to himself, "that was the narrowest miss that e'er thou hadst in all thy life. I do say most solemnly that the feather of that wicked shaft tickled mine ear as it whizzed past. This same running hath given me a most craving appetite for victuals and drink. Now I pray Saint Dunstan that he send me speedily some meat and beer."

But Robin had hardly gone more than three furlongs in that direction when he suddenly reached the top of a hill and saw another group of the King's men sitting in the shade along the roadside in the valley below. He didn’t hesitate for a second; seeing that they hadn’t noticed him, he turned and ran back the way he had come, knowing it was better to risk being caught by those still in the thickets than to run straight into the arms of those in the valley. So he sprinted back as fast as he could, and just as he passed the thickets, the seven men came out onto the open road. They shouted loudly when they spotted him, like a hunter calling out when a deer breaks cover, but Robin was already a quarter of a mile away, racing across the ground like a greyhound. He didn’t slow down, running mile after mile until he was close to Mackworth, just beyond the Derwent River, near Derby Town. Here, realizing he was out of immediate danger, he eased up on his running and finally sat down beneath a hedge where the grass was the longest and the shade the coolest, resting and catching his breath. "By my soul, Robin," he said to himself, "that was the closest call you’ve ever had in your life. I can honestly say that the feather from that wicked arrow brushed past my ear as it whizzed by. This running has given me a huge appetite for food and drink. Now I pray to Saint Dunstan to send me some meat and beer quickly."

It seemed as though Saint Dunstan was like to answer his prayer, for along the road came plodding a certain cobbler, one Quince, of Derby, who had been to take a pair of shoes to a farmer nigh Kirk Langly, and was now coming back home again, with a fair boiled capon in his pouch and a stout pottle of beer by his side, which same the farmer had given him for joy of such a stout pair of shoon. Good Quince was an honest fellow, but his wits were somewhat of the heavy sort, like unbaked dough, so that the only thing that was in his mind was, "Three shillings sixpence ha'penny for thy shoon, good Quince—three shillings sixpence ha'penny for thy shoon," and this traveled round and round inside of his head, without another thought getting into his noddle, as a pea rolls round and round inside an empty quart pot.

It seemed like Saint Dunstan was about to answer his prayer, because along the road came a cobbler named Quince from Derby. He had just delivered a pair of shoes to a farmer near Kirk Langly and was now heading back home with a well-cooked capon in his pouch and a strong bottle of beer by his side, which the farmer had given him as a reward for the sturdy pair of shoes. Good Quince was an honest guy, but he wasn't very bright, kind of like unbaked dough, so the only thing on his mind was, "Three shillings sixpence ha'penny for your shoes, good Quince—three shillings sixpence ha'penny for your shoes," and this thought kept going round and round in his head, without anything else getting in, like a pea rolling around inside an empty quart pot.

"Halloa, good friend," quoth Robin, from beneath the hedge, when the other had gotten nigh enough, "whither away so merrily this bright day?"

"Hey there, good friend," said Robin from under the hedge, as the other got close enough, "where are you off to so happily on this bright day?"

Hearing himself so called upon, the Cobbler stopped, and, seeing a well- clad stranger in blue, he spoke to him in seemly wise. "Give ye good den, fair sir, and I would say that I come from Kirk Langly, where I ha' sold my shoon and got three shillings sixpence ha'penny for them in as sweet money as ever thou sawest, and honestly earned too, I would ha' thee know. But an I may be so bold, thou pretty fellow, what dost thou there beneath the hedge?"

Hearing himself being called, the Cobbler stopped and, seeing a well-dressed stranger in blue, he spoke to him politely. "Good day to you, sir. I come from Kirk Langly, where I sold my shoes and got three shillings sixpence ha'penny for them—sweet money like you've never seen, and honestly earned, I should let you know. But if I may be so bold, what are you doing there beneath the hedge?"

"Marry," quoth merry Robin, "I sit beneath the hedge here to drop salt on the tails of golden birds; but in sooth thou art the first chick of any worth I ha' seen this blessed day."

"Marry," said cheerful Robin, "I sit under the hedge here to sprinkle salt on the tails of golden birds; but truly, you are the first chick of any worth I have seen this blessed day."

At these words the Cobbler's eyes opened big and wide, and his mouth grew round with wonder, like a knothole in a board fence. "Slack-a-day," quoth he, "look ye, now! I ha' never seen those same golden birds. And dost thou in sooth find them in these hedges, good fellow? Prythee, tell me, are there many of them? I would fain find them mine own self."

At these words, the Cobbler's eyes grew big and wide, and his mouth rounded in disbelief, like a knothole in a board fence. "Wow," he said, "look at that! I've never seen those golden birds before. Do you really find them in these hedges, my friend? Please tell me, are there many of them? I'd love to find some for myself."

"Ay, truly," quoth Robin, "they are as thick here as fresh herring in Cannock Chase."

"Yeah, really," said Robin, "they're as common around here as fresh herring in Cannock Chase."

"Look ye, now!" said the Cobbler, all drowned in wonder. "And dost thou in sooth catch them by dropping salt on their pretty tails?"

"Look here!" said the Cobbler, completely amazed. "Is it true that you catch them by dropping salt on their cute tails?"

"Yea," quoth Robin, "but this salt is of an odd kind, let me tell thee, for it can only be gotten by boiling down a quart of moonbeams in a wooden platter, and then one hath but a pinch. But tell me, now, thou witty man, what hast thou gotten there in that pouch by thy side and in that pottle?"

"Yeah," said Robin, "but this salt is strange, let me tell you, because it can only be obtained by boiling down a quart of moonbeams in a wooden plate, and then you only get a pinch. But tell me, now, you clever man, what do you have in that pouch by your side and in that bottle?"

At these words the Cobbler looked down at those things of which merry Robin spoke, for the thoughts of the golden bird had driven them from his mind, and it took him some time to scrape the memory of them back again. "Why," said he at last, "in the one is good March beer, and in the other is a fat capon. Truly, Quince the Cobbler will ha' a fine feast this day an I mistake not."

At these words, the Cobbler looked down at the things that merry Robin mentioned, as the thoughts of the golden bird had pushed them out of his mind, and it took him a little while to remember them again. "Well," he said finally, "in one there's good March beer, and in the other, there's a fat capon. Truly, Quince the Cobbler is going to have a great feast today, if I'm not mistaken."

"But tell me, good Quince," said Robin, "hast thou a mind to sell those things to me? For the hearing of them sounds sweet in mine ears. I will give thee these gay clothes of blue that I have upon my body and ten shillings to boot for thy clothes and thy leather apron and thy beer and thy capon. What sayst thou, bully boy?"

"But tell me, good Quince," said Robin, "do you want to sell those things to me? Because they sound sweet to my ears. I’ll give you these fancy blue clothes I’m wearing and ten shillings extra for your clothes, your leather apron, your beer, and your capon. What do you say, buddy?"

"Nay, thou dost jest with me," said the Cobbler, "for my clothes are coarse and patched, and thine are of fine stuff and very pretty."

"Nah, you’re joking with me," said the Cobbler, "because my clothes are rough and patched, and yours are made of nice material and very nice-looking."

"Never a jest do I speak," quoth Robin. "Come, strip thy jacket off and I will show thee, for I tell thee I like thy clothes well. Moreover, I will be kind to thee, for I will feast straightway upon the good things thou hast with thee, and thou shalt be bidden to the eating." At these words he began slipping off his doublet, and the Cobbler, seeing him so in earnest, began pulling off his clothes also, for Robin Hood's garb tickled his eye. So each put on the other fellow's clothes, and Robin gave the honest Cobbler ten bright new shillings. Quoth merry Robin, "I ha' been a many things in my life before, but never have I been an honest cobbler. Come, friend, let us fall to and eat, for something within me cackles aloud for that good fat capon." So both sat down and began to feast right lustily, so that when they were done the bones of the capon were picked as bare as charity.

"Never do I joke," said Robin. "Come on, take off your jacket and I'll show you, because I really like your clothes. Plus, I’ll be nice to you since I’m going to enjoy the delicious food you have with you, and you’re invited to join me." At these words, he started taking off his doublet, and the Cobbler, seeing him so serious, began removing his own clothes too, because Robin Hood's outfit caught his eye. So, each put on the other's clothes, and Robin gave the honest Cobbler ten shiny new shillings. Cheerful Robin said, "I've been many things in my life, but I’ve never been an honest cobbler. Come on, friend, let’s sit down and eat, because something inside me is craving that delicious fat capon." So they both sat down and began to feast heartily, so much so that when they were done, the capon bones were picked clean.

Then Robin stretched his legs out with a sweet feeling of comfort within him. Quoth he, "By the turn of thy voice, good Quince, I know that thou hast a fair song or two running loose in thy head like colts in a meadow. I prythee, turn one of them out for me."

Then Robin stretched his legs out, feeling completely at ease. He said, "From the sound of your voice, good Quince, I can tell you have a nice song or two bouncing around in your head like colts in a field. Please, let one of them out for me."

"A song or two I ha'," quoth the Cobbler, "poor things, poor things, but such as they are thou art welcome to one of them." So, moistening his throat with a swallow of beer, he sang:

"A song or two I have," said the Cobbler, "not much, not much, but you're welcome to one of them." So, taking a sip of beer to wet his throat, he sang:

 "Of all the joys, the best I love,
     Sing hey my frisking Nan, O,
 And that which most my soul doth move,
     It is the clinking can, O.

 "All other bliss I'd throw away,
     Sing hey my frisking Nan, O,
 But this—"
"Of all the joys, the best I love,
     Sing hey my lively Nan, O,
 And that which really lifts my spirit,
     It is the clinking can, O.

 "All other happiness I'd give up,
     Sing hey my lively Nan, O,
 But this—"

The stout Cobbler got no further in his song, for of a sudden six horsemen burst upon them where they sat, and seized roughly upon the honest craftsman, hauling him to his feet, and nearly plucking the clothes from him as they did so. "Ha!" roared the leader of the band in a great big voice of joy, "have we then caught thee at last, thou blue- clad knave? Now, blessed be the name of Saint Hubert, for we are fourscore pounds richer this minute than we were before, for the good Bishop of Hereford hath promised that much to the band that shall bring thee to him. Oho! thou cunning rascal! thou wouldst look so innocent, forsooth! We know thee, thou old fox. But off thou goest with us to have thy brush clipped forthwith." At these words the poor Cobbler gazed all around him with his great blue eyes as round as those of a dead fish, while his mouth gaped as though he had swallowed all his words and so lost his speech.

The stout Cobbler didn’t get very far in his song when suddenly six horsemen charged at them, roughly grabbing the honest craftsman and pulling him to his feet, almost tearing his clothes off in the process. "Ha!" shouted the leader of the group in a loud, booming voice filled with excitement, "have we finally caught you, you blue-clad rascal? Now, thank Saint Hubert, because we're eighty pounds richer right now than we were before, since the good Bishop of Hereford promised that much to whoever brings you to him. Oho! You clever trickster! You’d like to appear so innocent, wouldn’t you? We know you, you old fox. But you’re coming with us to get your brush clipped right away." Upon hearing this, the poor Cobbler looked around with his big blue eyes wide open like those of a dead fish, his mouth hanging open as if he had swallowed all his words and lost his ability to speak.

Robin also gaped and stared in a wondering way, just as the Cobbler would have done in his place. "Alack-a-daisy, me," quoth he. "I know not whether I be sitting here or in No-man's-land! What meaneth all this stir i' th' pot, dear good gentlemen? Surely this is a sweet, honest fellow."

Robin also gaped and stared in amazement, just like the Cobbler would have done in his position. "Oh my goodness," he said. "I don't know if I'm sitting here or in No-man's-land! What does all this commotion mean, dear gentlemen? Surely this is a good, honest fellow."

"'Honest fellow,' sayst thou, clown?" quoth one of the men "Why, I tell thee that this is that same rogue that men call Robin Hood."

"'Honest guy,' do you say, clown?" one of the men replied. "Well, I’ll tell you that this is the same trickster they call Robin Hood."

At this speech the Cobbler stared and gaped more than ever, for there was such a threshing of thoughts going on within his poor head that his wits were all befogged with the dust and chaff thereof. Moreover, as he looked at Robin Hood, and saw the yeoman look so like what he knew himself to be, he began to doubt and to think that mayhap he was the great outlaw in real sooth. Said he in a slow, wondering voice, "Am I in very truth that fellow?—Now I had thought—but nay, Quince, thou art mistook—yet—am I?—Nay, I must indeed be Robin Hood! Yet, truly, I had never thought to pass from an honest craftsman to such a great yeoman."

At this speech, the Cobbler stared and gaped more than ever, because there was such a whirlwind of thoughts happening in his poor head that he felt completely confused by all the noise. Also, as he looked at Robin Hood and saw the yeoman looking so much like what he believed himself to be, he began to doubt and to consider that maybe he really was the famous outlaw. He said in a slow, wondering voice, "Am I really that guy?—I had thought—but no, Quince, you must be mistaken—but am I?—No, I must really be Robin Hood! Yet, honestly, I never thought I would go from being a simple craftsman to such a legendary figure."

"Alas!" quoth Robin Hood, "look ye there, now! See how your ill- treatment hath curdled the wits of this poor lad and turned them all sour! I, myself, am Quince, the Cobbler of Derby Town."

"Alas!" said Robin Hood, "look over there! See how your mistreatment has messed up this poor guy's mind and turned it all sour! I, myself, am Quince, the Cobbler from Derby Town."

"Is it so?" said Quince. "Then, indeed, I am somebody else, and can be none other than Robin Hood. Take me, fellows; but let me tell you that ye ha' laid hand upon the stoutest yeoman that ever trod the woodlands."

"Is it true?" said Quince. "Then I must be someone else, and I can only be Robin Hood. Take me, guys; but I should warn you that you’ve grabbed the toughest woodsman that ever roamed the forests."

"Thou wilt play madman, wilt thou?" said the leader of the band. "Here, Giles, fetch a cord and bind this knave's hands behind him. I warrant we will bring his wits back to him again when we get him safe before our good Bishop at Tutbury Town." Thereupon they tied the Cobbler's hands behind him, and led him off with a rope, as the farmer leads off the calf he hath brought from the fair. Robin stood looking after them, and when they were gone he laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks; for he knew that no harm would befall the honest fellow, and he pictured to himself the Bishop's face when good Quince was brought before him as Robin Hood. Then, turning his steps once more to the eastward, he stepped out right foot foremost toward Nottinghamshire and Sherwood Forest.

"Are you going to act crazy?" said the leader of the group. "Giles, get a rope and tie this guy's hands behind him. I bet we’ll knock some sense into him once we bring him before our good Bishop in Tutbury Town." They tied the Cobbler’s hands behind him and led him away with a rope, just like a farmer takes a calf he bought at the fair. Robin watched them leave, and once they were gone, he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks; he knew that no harm would come to the honest guy, and he imagined the Bishop's expression when good Quince was presented to him as Robin Hood. Then, turning back to the east, he stepped out with his right foot first towards Nottinghamshire and Sherwood Forest.

But Robin Hood had gone through more than he wotted of. His journey from London had been hard and long, and in a se'ennight he had traveled sevenscore and more of miles. He thought now to travel on without stopping until he had come to Sherwood, but ere he had gone a half a score of miles he felt his strength giving way beneath him like a river bank which the waters have undermined. He sat him down and rested, but he knew within himself that he could go no farther that day, for his feet felt like lumps of lead, so heavy were they with weariness. Once more he arose and went forward, but after traveling a couple of miles he was fain to give the matter up, so, coming to an inn just then, he entered and calling the landlord, bade him show him to a room, although the sun was only then just sinking in the western sky. There were but three bedrooms in the place, and to the meanest of these the landlord showed Robin Hood, but little Robin cared for the looks of the place, for he could have slept that night upon a bed of broken stones. So, stripping off his clothes without more ado, he rolled into the bed and was asleep almost ere his head touched the pillow.

But Robin Hood had been through more than he realized. His journey from London had been tough and long, and in the span of a week, he had traveled over a hundred and forty miles. He planned to keep going without stopping until he reached Sherwood, but after traveling only about twenty miles, he felt his strength giving out beneath him like a riverbank being eroded by water. He sat down and rested, but deep down, he knew he couldn't go any farther that day because his feet felt as heavy as lead from exhaustion. Once more, he got up and moved forward, but after walking a couple of miles, he was forced to give up. Just then, he came across an inn, entered, and asked the landlord to show him to a room, even though the sun was just beginning to set in the western sky. There were only three bedrooms in the place, and the landlord showed Robin Hood to the smallest one, but little Robin cared about how it looked; he could have slept that night on a bed of broken stones. So, without hesitation, he took off his clothes, rolled into bed, and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Not long after Robin had so gone to his rest a great cloud peeped blackly over the hills to the westward. Higher and higher it arose until it piled up into the night like a mountain of darkness. All around beneath it came ever and anon a dull red flash, and presently a short grim mutter of the coming thunder was heard. Then up rode four stout burghers of Nottingham Town, for this was the only inn within five miles' distance, and they did not care to be caught in such a thunderstorm as this that was coming upon them. Leaving their nags to the stableman, they entered the best room of the inn, where fresh green rushes lay all spread upon the floor, and there called for the goodliest fare that the place afforded. After having eaten heartily they bade the landlord show them to their rooms, for they were aweary, having ridden all the way from Dronfield that day. So off they went, grumbling at having to sleep two in a bed, but their troubles on this score, as well as all others, were soon lost in the quietness of sleep.

Not long after Robin had gone to rest, a dark cloud started to creep over the hills to the west. It rose higher and higher until it piled up into the night like a mountain of darkness. Below it, there were occasional dull red flashes, and soon they heard a low rumble of the approaching thunder. Then, four sturdy townsfolk from Nottingham rode up, as this was the only inn within a five-mile radius, and they didn't want to be caught in the impending storm. After handing their horses over to the stableman, they entered the best room of the inn, where fresh green rushes were spread out on the floor, and they ordered the best food the place had to offer. After a hearty meal, they asked the landlord to show them to their rooms, as they were tired from their ride all the way from Dronfield that day. They went off, grumbling about having to share beds, but their worries about that and everything else quickly faded away as they fell into a deep sleep.

And now came the first gust of wind, rushing past the place, clapping and banging the doors and shutters, smelling of the coming rain, and all wrapped in a cloud of dust and leaves. As though the wind had brought a guest along with it, the door opened of a sudden and in came a friar of Emmet Priory, and one in high degree, as was shown by the softness and sleekness of his robes and the richness of his rosary. He called to the landlord, and bade him first have his mule well fed and bedded in the stable, and then to bring him the very best there was in the house. So presently a savory stew of tripe and onions, with sweet little fat dumplings, was set before him, likewise a good stout pottle of Malmsey, and straightway the holy friar fell to with great courage and heartiness, so that in a short time nought was left but a little pool of gravy in the center of the platter, not large enow to keep the life in a starving mouse.

And then the first gust of wind came, rushing past the place, slamming the doors and shutters, carrying the scent of impending rain, and swirling in a cloud of dust and leaves. As if the wind had brought a visitor with it, the door suddenly swung open, and in walked a friar from Emmet Priory, clearly of high rank, as shown by the softness and sheen of his robes and the richness of his rosary. He called to the landlord, instructing him to first make sure his mule was well-fed and settled in the stable, and then to bring him the very best the house had to offer. Soon, a savory stew of tripe and onions, with sweet little fat dumplings, was placed before him, along with a hearty jug of Malmsey, and right away the holy friar dug in with great enthusiasm, so that in no time, all that remained was a small pool of gravy in the center of the platter, not big enough to sustain a starving mouse.

In the meantime the storm broke. Another gust of wind went rushing by, and with it fell a few heavy drops of rain, which presently came rattling down in showers, beating against the casements like a hundred little hands. Bright flashes of lightning lit up every raindrop, and with them came cracks of thunder that went away rumbling and bumping as though Saint Swithin were busy rolling great casks of water across rough ground overhead. The womenfolks screamed, and the merry wags in the taproom put their arms around their waists to soothe them into quietness.

In the meantime, the storm hit. Another gust of wind rushed by, bringing with it a few heavy drops of rain that soon came pouring down in sheets, pounding against the windows like a hundred little hands. Bright flashes of lightning highlighted every raindrop, accompanied by cracks of thunder that rumbled away as if Saint Swithin were rolling large barrels of water across a rough surface above. The women screamed, while the cheerful jokers in the pub wrapped their arms around their waists to comfort them into calm.

At last the holy friar bade the landlord show him to his room; but when he heard that he was to bed with a cobbler, he was as ill contented a fellow as you could find in all England, nevertheless there was nothing for it, and he must sleep there or nowhere; so, taking up his candle, he went off, grumbling like the now distant thunder. When he came to the room where he was to sleep he held the light over Robin and looked at him from top to toe; then he felt better pleased, for, instead, of a rough, dirty-bearded fellow, he beheld as fresh and clean a lad as one could find in a week of Sundays; so, slipping off his clothes, he also huddled into the bed, where Robin, grunting and grumbling in his sleep, made room for him. Robin was more sound asleep, I wot, than he had been for many a day, else he would never have rested so quietly with one of the friar's sort so close beside him. As for the friar, had he known who Robin Hood was, you may well believe he would almost as soon have slept with an adder as with the man he had for a bedfellow.

Finally, the holy friar told the landlord to show him to his room; but when he found out he would be sharing a bed with a cobbler, he was as unhappy as anyone could be in all of England. Still, he had no choice but to sleep there or nowhere at all, so he picked up his candle and walked off, grumbling like the distant thunder. When he reached the room where he was supposed to sleep, he held the light over Robin and looked him up and down; then he felt better, because instead of a rough, dirty-bearded man, he saw a fresh and clean lad, the likes of which you could find in a week of Sundays. So, he took off his clothes and climbed into bed, where Robin, grunting and mumbling in his sleep, made space for him. Robin was sleeping more soundly, I know, than he had in many days, otherwise he would never have rested so peacefully with someone like the friar so close by. As for the friar, had he known who Robin Hood was, you can be sure he would have preferred to sleep with a snake than with the man who shared his bed.

So the night passed comfortably enough, but at the first dawn of day Robin opened his eyes and turned his head upon the pillow. Then how he gaped and how he stared, for there beside him lay one all shaven and shorn, so that he knew that it must be a fellow in holy orders. He pinched himself sharply, but, finding he was awake, sat up in bed, while the other slumbered as peacefully as though he were safe and sound at home in Emmet Priory. "Now," quoth Robin to himself, "I wonder how this thing hath dropped into my bed during the night." So saying, he arose softly, so as not to waken the other, and looking about the room he espied the friar's clothes lying upon a bench near the wall. First he looked at the clothes, with his head on one side, and then he looked at the friar and slowly winked one eye. Quoth he, "Good Brother What-e'er- thy-name-may-be, as thou hast borrowed my bed so freely I'll e'en borrow thy clothes in return." So saying, he straightway donned the holy man's garb, but kindly left the cobbler's clothes in the place of it. Then he went forth into the freshness of the morning, and the stableman that was up and about the stables opened his eyes as though he saw a green mouse before him, for such men as the friars of Emmet were not wont to be early risers; but the man bottled his thoughts, and only asked Robin whether he wanted his mule brought from the stable.

So the night went by pretty comfortably, but at the first light of day, Robin opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow. Then he gasped and stared, because next to him lay someone completely clean-shaven, making it clear that he must be a priest. He pinched himself hard, but realizing he was awake, he sat up in bed while the other slept as soundly as if he were safe and sound back home at Emmet Priory. "Now," Robin thought to himself, "I wonder how this person ended up in my bed during the night." With that, he quietly got up so he wouldn't wake the other and looked around the room, spotting the friar's clothes on a bench near the wall. First, he glanced at the clothes with his head tilted to the side, and then he looked at the friar and slowly winked one eye. He said, "Good Brother Whatever-your-name-is, since you've borrowed my bed so freely, I’ll just borrow your clothes in return." With that, he immediately put on the holy man’s outfit but kindly left the cobbler's clothes in its place. Then he stepped out into the fresh morning air, and the stableman, who was up and about, opened his eyes as though he had seen a green mouse, since men like the friars of Emmet weren't known to be early risers. However, he kept his thoughts to himself and simply asked Robin if he wanted his mule brought from the stable.

"Yea, my son," quoth Robin—albeit he knew nought of the mule—"and bring it forth quickly, I prythee, for I am late and must be jogging." So presently the stableman brought forth the mule, and Robin mounted it and went on his way rejoicing.

"Yes, my son," said Robin—though he knew nothing about the mule—"hurry and bring it out, please, because I'm running late and need to get going." Soon the stableman brought out the mule, and Robin got on it and set off happily.

As for the holy friar, when he arose he was in as pretty a stew as any man in all the world, for his rich, soft robes were gone, likewise his purse with ten golden pounds in it, and nought was left but patched clothes and a leathern apron. He raged and swore like any layman, but as his swearing mended nothing and the landlord could not aid him, and as, moreover, he was forced to be at Emmet Priory that very morning upon matters of business, he was fain either to don the cobbler's clothes or travel the road in nakedness. So he put on the clothes, and, still raging and swearing vengeance against all the cobblers in Derbyshire, he set forth upon his way afoot; but his ills had not yet done with him, for he had not gone far ere he fell into the hands of the King's men, who marched him off, willy-nilly, to Tutbury Town and the Bishop of Hereford. In vain he swore he was a holy man, and showed his shaven crown; off he must go, for nothing would do but that he was Robin Hood.

As for the holy friar, when he got up, he was in quite a mess like any man in the world, because his rich, soft robes were gone, along with his purse containing ten golden pounds, and all that was left were patched clothes and a leather apron. He raged and swore like any regular guy, but since his swearing didn't change anything and the landlord couldn't help him, and since he had to be at Emmet Priory that very morning for business, he had no choice but to wear the cobbler's clothes or go down the road naked. So he put on the clothes and, still fuming and cursing all the cobblers in Derbyshire, he set off on foot; but his troubles weren't over yet, for it wasn't long before he fell into the hands of the King's men, who dragged him off, whether he wanted to or not, to Tutbury Town and the Bishop of Hereford. He swore in vain that he was a holy man and showed his shaved head; off he had to go, because they insisted he was Robin Hood.

Meanwhile merry Robin rode along contentedly, passing safely by two bands of the King's men, until his heart began to dance within him because of the nearness of Sherwood; so he traveled ever on to the eastward, till, of a sudden, he met a noble knight in a shady lane. Then Robin checked his mule quickly and leaped from off its back. "Now, well met, Sir Richard of the Lea," cried he, "for rather than any other man in England would I see thy good face this day!" Then he told Sir Richard all the happenings that had befallen him, and that now at last he felt himself safe, being so nigh to Sherwood again. But when Robin had done, Sir Richard shook his head sadly. "Thou art in greater danger now, Robin, than thou hast yet been," said he, "for before thee lie bands of the Sheriff's men blocking every road and letting none pass through the lines without examining them closely. I myself know this, having passed them but now. Before thee lie the Sheriffs men and behind thee the King's men, and thou canst not hope to pass either way, for by this time they will know of thy disguise and will be in waiting to seize upon thee. My castle and everything within it are thine, but nought could be gained there, for I could not hope to hold it against such a force as is now in Nottingham of the King's and the Sheriffs men." Having so spoken, Sir Richard bent his head in thought, and Robin felt his heart sink within him like that of the fox that hears the hounds at his heels and finds his den blocked with earth so that there is no hiding for him. But presently Sir Richard spoke again, saying, "One thing thou canst do, Robin, and one only. Go back to London and throw thyself upon the mercy of our good Queen Eleanor. Come with me straightway to my castle. Doff these clothes and put on such as my retainers wear. Then I will hie me to London Town with a troop of men behind me, and thou shalt mingle with them, and thus will I bring thee to where thou mayst see and speak with the Queen. Thy only hope is to get to Sherwood, for there none can reach thee, and thou wilt never get to Sherwood but in this way."

Meanwhile, cheerful Robin rode along happily, passing safely by two groups of the King's men until his heart began to leap with joy at the closeness of Sherwood. He continued traveling eastward until, suddenly, he encountered a noble knight in a shady lane. Robin quickly stopped his mule and jumped off its back. "Well met, Sir Richard of the Lea!" he exclaimed. "I'd rather see your familiar face today than anyone else in England!" He then shared with Sir Richard everything that had happened to him and how he finally felt safe, being so close to Sherwood again. However, after Robin finished, Sir Richard shook his head sadly. "You're in more danger now, Robin, than you've ever been," he said. "Ahead of you are the Sheriff's men, blocking every road and not letting anyone pass without a thorough search. I know this for I just passed them. In front are the Sheriff's men and behind you are the King's men, and you can't hope to get through either way because they will know about your disguise and will be waiting to catch you. My castle and everything in it are yours, but there’s nothing to be gained there, as I can't defend it against the forces that are now in Nottingham from the King and the Sheriff's men." After saying this, Sir Richard bowed his head in thought, and Robin felt his heart sink like a fox that hears hounds behind it and finds its den blocked with dirt, leaving no place to hide. But soon, Sir Richard spoke again, saying, "There's one thing you can do, Robin, and that's it. Go back to London and plead for mercy from our good Queen Eleanor. Come with me right away to my castle. Change out of these clothes and put on what my retainers wear. Then I'll head to London Town with a group of men behind me, and you'll blend in with them, allowing me to take you to where you can see and speak with the Queen. Your only hope is to get to Sherwood, because there, no one can reach you, and the only way to get to Sherwood is this way."

So Robin went with Sir Richard of the Lea, and did as he said, for he saw the wisdom of that which the knight advised, and that this was his only chance of safety.

So Robin went with Sir Richard of the Lea and did what he said, because he recognized the wisdom in the knight's advice and realized that this was his only chance for safety.

Queen Eleanor walked in her royal garden, amid the roses that bloomed sweetly, and with her walked six of her ladies-in-waiting, chattering blithely together. Of a sudden a man leaped up to the top of the wall from the other side, and then, hanging for a moment, dropped lightly upon the grass within. All the ladies-in-waiting shrieked at the suddenness of his coming, but the man ran to the Queen and kneeled at her feet, and she saw that it was Robin Hood.

Queen Eleanor strolled through her royal garden, surrounded by blooming roses that smelled sweet, with six of her ladies-in-waiting chatting happily beside her. Suddenly, a man jumped up to the top of the wall from the other side, hung there for a moment, and then dropped gracefully onto the grass inside. All the ladies-in-waiting screamed at the unexpected arrival, but the man hurried to the Queen and knelt at her feet, revealing himself to be Robin Hood.

"Why, how now, Robin!" cried she, "dost thou dare to come into the very jaws of the raging lion? Alas, poor fellow! Thou art lost indeed if the King finds thee here. Dost thou not know that he is seeking thee through all the land?"

"Why, look at you, Robin!" she exclaimed, "do you really dare to come into the very jaws of the raging lion? Oh no, poor guy! You're in big trouble if the King finds you here. Don't you know he's searching for you all over the land?"

"Yea," quoth Robin, "I do know right well that the King seeks me, and therefore I have come; for, surely, no ill can befall me when he hath pledged his royal word to Your Majesty for my safety. Moreover, I know Your Majesty's kindness and gentleness of heart, and so I lay my life freely in your gracious hands."

"Yes," said Robin, "I know very well that the King is looking for me, and that's why I’m here; after all, nothing bad can happen to me when he has promised you, Your Majesty, to keep me safe. Besides, I know your kindness and gentle heart, so I willingly place my life in your caring hands."

"I take thy meaning, Robin Hood," said the Queen, "and that thou dost convey reproach to me, as well thou mayst, for I know that I have not done by thee as I ought to have done. I know right well that thou must have been hard pressed by peril to leap so boldly into one danger to escape another. Once more I promise thee mine aid, and will do all I can to send thee back in safety to Sherwood Forest. Bide thou here till I return." So saying, she left Robin in the garden of roses, and was gone a long time.

"I understand what you're saying, Robin Hood," said the Queen, "and I realize that you're blaming me, which is fair, because I know I haven't treated you the way I should have. I know very well that you must have been in a tough spot to risk jumping into one danger to avoid another. Once again, I promise to help you and will do everything I can to ensure you get back safely to Sherwood Forest. Stay here until I come back." With that, she left Robin in the garden of roses and was gone for a long time.

When she came back Sir Robert Lee was with her, and the Queen's cheeks were hot and the Queen's eyes were bright, as though she had been talking with high words. Then Sir Robert came straight forward to where Robin Hood stood, and he spoke to the yeoman in a cold, stern voice. Quoth he, "Our gracious Sovereign the King hath mitigated his wrath toward thee, fellow, and hath once more promised that thou shalt depart in peace and safety. Not only hath he promised this, but in three days he will send one of his pages to go with thee and see that none arrest thy journey back again. Thou mayst thank thy patron saint that thou hast such a good friend in our noble Queen, for, but for her persuasion and arguments, thou hadst been a dead man, I can tell thee. Let this peril that thou hast passed through teach thee two lessons. First, be more honest. Second, be not so bold in thy comings and goings. A man that walketh in the darkness as thou dost may escape for a time, but in the end he will surely fall into the pit. Thou hast put thy head in the angry lion's mouth, and yet thou hast escaped by a miracle. Try it not again." So saying, he turned and left Robin and was gone.

When she returned, Sir Robert Lee was with her, and the Queen's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as if she had been engaged in some serious talk. Sir Robert approached Robin Hood directly and spoke to him in a cold, stern tone. He said, "Our gracious Sovereign, the King, has calmed his anger toward you, and he has promised once again that you will leave in peace and safety. Not only has he made this promise, but in three days, he will send one of his pages to accompany you and ensure that no one stops your journey home. You should be grateful to your patron saint for having such a powerful ally in our noble Queen, for without her persuasion and arguments, you would have been a dead man, believe me. Let this danger you’ve faced teach you two lessons. First, be more honest. Second, don’t be so reckless in your movements. A man who walks in darkness like you may dodge danger for a while, but eventually, he will fall into the trap. You’ve put your head in the mouth of an angry lion, and yet you’ve escaped by a miracle. Don’t try it again." With that, he turned and left Robin, and was gone.

For three days Robin abided in London in the Queen's household, and at the end of that time the King's head Page, Edward Cunningham, came, and taking Robin with him, departed northward upon his way to Sherwood. Now and then they passed bands of the King's men coming back again to London, but none of those bands stopped them, and so, at last, they reached the sweet, leafy woodlands.

For three days, Robin stayed in London with the Queen's household, and at the end of that time, the King's head Page, Edward Cunningham, came and took Robin with him as they headed north to Sherwood. Occasionally, they passed groups of the King's men returning to London, but none of these groups stopped them, and eventually, they reached the beautiful, leafy woods.

 

 

 

 

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisbourne

A LONG TIME passed after the great shooting match, and during that time Robin followed one part of the advice of Sir Robert Lee, to wit, that of being less bold in his comings and his goings; for though mayhap he may not have been more honest (as most folks regard honesty), he took good care not to travel so far from Sherwood that he could not reach it both easily and quickly.

A LONG TIME went by after the big shooting match, and during that time Robin took one piece of advice from Sir Robert Lee, which was to be less daring in his comings and goings; for although he might not have been more honest (at least by most people's standards), he made sure not to wander too far from Sherwood so that he could get back easily and quickly.

Great changes had fallen in this time; for King Henry had died and King Richard had come to the crown that fitted him so well through many hard trials, and through adventures as stirring as any that ever befell Robin Hood. But though great changes came, they did not reach to Sherwood's shades, for there Robin Hood and his men dwelled as merrily as they had ever done, with hunting and feasting and singing and blithe woodland sports; for it was little the outside striving of the world troubled them.

Great changes had occurred during this time; King Henry had died and King Richard had taken the throne that suited him so well after many tough trials and adventures as exciting as anything that ever happened to Robin Hood. But even though big changes were happening, they didn’t affect the shades of Sherwood, where Robin Hood and his men lived just as happily as ever, enjoying hunting, feasting, singing, and cheerful woodland games; the outside struggles of the world hardly bothered them.

The dawning of a summer's day was fresh and bright, and the birds sang sweetly in a great tumult of sound. So loud was their singing that it awakened Robin Hood where he lay sleeping, so that he stirred, and turned, and arose. Up rose Little John also, and all the merry men; then, after they had broken their fast, they set forth hither and thither upon the doings of the day.

The start of a summer day was fresh and bright, and the birds sang sweetly in a loud chorus. Their singing was so loud that it woke up Robin Hood as he slept, causing him to stir, turn, and get up. Little John and all the merry men got up as well, and after they had eaten breakfast, they set out here and there to take care of the day's activities.

Robin Hood and Little John walked down a forest path where all around the leaves danced and twinkled as the breeze trembled through them and the sunlight came flickering down. Quoth Robin Hood, "I make my vow, Little John, my blood tickles my veins as it flows through them this gay morn. What sayst thou to our seeking adventures, each one upon his own account?"

Robin Hood and Little John strolled along a forest path, where the leaves shimmered and swayed as the breeze rustled through them, and sunlight flickered down. Robin Hood said, "I swear, Little John, my blood feels alive this beautiful morning. What do you think about us going on adventures, each for our own sake?"

"With all my heart," said Little John. "We have had more than one pleasant doing in that way, good master. Here are two paths; take thou the one to the right hand, and I will take the one to the left, and then let us each walk straight ahead till he tumble into some merry doing or other."

"Absolutely," said Little John. "We've had more than one fun time that way, good master. Here are two paths; you take the one to the right, and I'll take the one to the left, and then let's each walk straight ahead until we stumble into some fun or another."

"I like thy plan," quoth Robin, "therefore we will part here. But look thee, Little John, keep thyself out of mischief, for I would not have ill befall thee for all the world."

"I like your plan," said Robin, "so we'll go our separate ways here. But listen, Little John, stay out of trouble, because I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you for anything in the world."

"Marry, come up," quoth Little John, "how thou talkest! Methinks thou art wont to get thyself into tighter coils than I am like to do."

"Come on, Little John," said the other, "how you talk! I think you're usually the one who gets yourself into tighter spots than I am."

At this Robin Hood laughed. "Why, in sooth, Little John," said he, "thou hast a blundering hard-headed way that seemeth to bring thee right side uppermost in all thy troubles; but let us see who cometh out best this day." So saying, he clapped his palm to Little John's and each departed upon his way, the trees quickly shutting the one from the other's sight.

At this, Robin Hood laughed. "Well, truly, Little John," he said, "you have a clumsy, stubborn way that seems to get you through all your troubles; but let's see who comes out on top today." With that, he clapped his hand against Little John's, and they each went their separate ways, the trees quickly blocking one from the other's view.

Robin Hood strolled onward till he came to where a broad woodland road stretched before him. Overhead the branches of the trees laced together in flickering foliage, all golden where it grew thin to the sunlight; beneath his feet the ground was soft and moist from the sheltering shade. Here in this pleasant spot the sharpest adventure that ever befell Robin Hood came upon him; for, as he walked down the woodland path thinking of nought but the songs of the birds, he came of a sudden to where a man was seated upon the mossy roots beneath the shade of a broad-spreading oak tree. Robin Hood saw that the stranger had not caught sight of him, so he stopped and stood quite still, looking at the other a long time before he came forward. And the stranger, I wot, was well worth looking at, for never had Robin seen a figure like that sitting beneath the tree. From his head to his feet he was clad in a horse's hide, dressed with the hair upon it. Upon his head was a cowl that hid his face from sight, and which was made of the horse's skin, the ears whereof stuck up like those of a rabbit. His body was clad in a jacket made of the hide, and his legs were covered with the hairy skin likewise. By his side was a heavy broadsword and a sharp, double-edged dagger. A quiver of smooth round arrows hung across his shoulders, and his stout bow of yew leaned against the tree beside him.

Robin Hood continued walking until he reached a wide woodland path that lay ahead of him. Above, the branches of the trees intertwined, casting shimmering golden leaves where the sunlight filtered through; underfoot, the ground felt soft and damp from the cool shade. In this lovely spot, the most thrilling adventure that ever happened to Robin Hood suddenly came upon him; as he strolled down the forest path, lost in thought about the birds' songs, he unexpectedly came across a man sitting on the mossy roots under a sprawling oak tree. Robin Hood noticed that the stranger hadn't seen him, so he paused and stood completely still, observing the man for a long time before moving closer. The stranger, I must say, was quite a sight, for Robin had never seen anyone like him sitting beneath the tree. From head to toe, he was dressed in a horse's hide, still covered with its hair. A hood made of horse skin concealed his face, with ears sticking up like a rabbit's. His body was covered with a jacket of the same hide, and his legs were similarly clad in the hairy skin. At his side was a heavy broadsword and a sharp double-edged dagger. A quiver filled with smooth, round arrows hung across his shoulders, and his sturdy yew bow leaned against the tree next to him.

"Halloa, friend," cried Robin, coming forward at last, "who art thou that sittest there? And what is that that thou hast upon thy body? I make my vow I ha' never seen such a sight in all my life before. Had I done an evil thing, or did my conscience trouble me, I would be afraid of thee, thinking that thou wast someone from down below bringing a message bidding me come straightway to King Nicholas."

"Hey there, friend," shouted Robin, finally stepping forward. "Who are you sitting there? And what’s that you have on your body? I swear I've never seen anything like it in my life. If I had done something wrong, or if my conscience was bothering me, I’d be scared of you, thinking you were someone from below delivering a message telling me to go straight to King Nicholas."

To this speech the other answered not a word, but he pushed the cowl back from his head and showed a knit brow, a hooked nose, and a pair of fierce, restless black eyes, which altogether made Robin think of a hawk as he looked on his face. But beside this there was something about the lines on the stranger's face, and his thin cruel mouth, and the hard glare of his eyes, that made one's flesh creep to look upon.

To this speech, the other said nothing, but he pulled back the hood from his head, revealing a furrowed brow, a hooked nose, and a pair of intense, restless black eyes, which made Robin think of a hawk when he looked at his face. However, there was also something about the lines on the stranger's face, his thin, cruel mouth, and the harsh glare of his eyes that made one's skin crawl to see.

"Who art thou, rascal?" said he at last, in a loud, harsh voice.

"Who are you, you troublemaker?" he finally said in a loud, harsh voice.

"Tut, tut," quoth merry Robin, "speak not so sourly, brother. Hast thou fed upon vinegar and nettles this morning that thy speech is so stinging?"

"Tut, tut," said merry Robin, "don't speak so bitterly, brother. Have you had vinegar and nettles for breakfast this morning that your words are so harsh?"

"An thou likest not my words," said the other fiercely, "thou hadst best be jogging, for I tell thee plainly, my deeds match them."

"If you don’t like what I’m saying," the other person said fiercely, "you’d better move along, because I’m telling you straight up, my actions speak for themselves."

"Nay, but I do like thy words, thou sweet, pretty thing," quoth Robin, squatting down upon the grass in front of the other. "Moreover, I tell thee thy speech is witty and gamesome as any I ever heard in all my life."

"Actually, I really like what you’re saying, you charming, lovely person," said Robin, sitting down on the grass in front of the other. "Also, I must say your words are as clever and playful as anything I've ever heard."

The other said not a word, but he glared upon Robin with a wicked and baleful look, such as a fierce dog bestows upon a man ere it springs at his throat. Robin returned the gaze with one of wide-eyed innocence, not a shadow of a smile twinkling in his eyes or twitching at the corners of his mouth. So they sat staring at one another for a long time, until the stranger broke the silence suddenly. "What is thy name, fellow?" said he.

The other guy didn't say anything, but he glared at Robin with a wicked and menacing look, like a fierce dog does before it lunges at a person's throat. Robin responded with a look of wide-eyed innocence, with not a hint of a smile in his eyes or at the corners of his mouth. They sat there staring at each other for a long time until the stranger suddenly broke the silence. "What’s your name, friend?" he asked.

"Now," quoth Robin, "I am right glad to hear thee speak, for I began to fear the sight of me had stricken thee dumb. As for my name, it may be this or it may be that; but methinks it is more meet for thee to tell me thine, seeing that thou art the greater stranger in these parts. Prythee, tell me, sweet chuck, why wearest thou that dainty garb upon thy pretty body?" At these words the other broke into a short, harsh roar of laughter. "By the bones of the Daemon Odin," said he, "thou art the boldest-spoken man that ever I have seen in all my life. I know not why I do not smite thee down where thou sittest, for only two days ago I skewered a man over back of Nottingham Town for saying not half so much to me as thou hast done. I wear this garb, thou fool, to keep my body warm; likewise it is near as good as a coat of steel against a common sword-thrust. As for my name, I care not who knoweth it. It is Guy of Gisbourne, and thou mayst have heard it before. I come from the woodlands over in Herefordshire, upon the lands of the Bishop of that ilk. I am an outlaw, and get my living by hook and by crook in a manner it boots not now to tell of. Not long since the Bishop sent for me, and said that if I would do a certain thing that the Sheriff of Nottingham would ask of me, he would get me a free pardon, and give me tenscore pounds to boot. So straightway I came to Nottingham Town and found my sweet Sheriff; and what thinkest thou he wanted of me? Why, forsooth, to come here to Sherwood to hunt up one Robin Hood, also an outlaw, and to take him alive or dead. It seemeth that they have no one here to face that bold fellow, and so sent all the way to Herefordshire, and to me, for thou knowest the old saying, 'Set a thief to catch a thief.' As for the slaying of this fellow, it galleth me not a whit, for I would shed the blood of my own brother for the half of two hundred pounds."

"Now," said Robin, "I’m really glad to hear you speak, because I was starting to worry that my appearance had left you speechless. As for my name, it could be this or that; but I think it’s more fitting for you to tell me yours, since you're the bigger stranger around here. Please, tell me, lovely one, why are you wearing that fancy outfit on your beautiful body?" At these words, the other burst into a short, harsh laugh. "By the bones of the Daemon Odin," he said, "you're the most outspoken person I've ever encountered in my life. I don't know why I don't just strike you down where you sit, since just two days ago I impaled a man behind Nottingham Town for saying far less to me than you just have. I wear this outfit, you fool, to keep warm; it's nearly as good as a coat of steel against a common sword thrust. As for my name, I couldn’t care less if anyone knows it. It's Guy of Gisbourne, and you might have heard it before. I come from the woodlands over in Herefordshire, on the lands of the Bishop there. I’m an outlaw, making my living by various means that aren’t worth mentioning right now. Not long ago, the Bishop sent for me and said that if I did a certain task that the Sheriff of Nottingham requested, he would secure me a free pardon and give me a hundred pounds on top of that. So, I came straight to Nottingham Town and found my dear Sheriff; and guess what he wanted me to do? Well, to come here to Sherwood to track down one Robin Hood, also an outlaw, and bring him in, alive or dead. It seems they have no one here capable of facing that bold guy, so they sent all the way to Herefordshire for me, because you know the old saying, 'Set a thief to catch a thief.' As for killing this guy, I don’t mind it at all, because I would spill the blood of my own brother for the equivalent of two hundred pounds."

To all this Robin listened, and as he listened his gorge rose. Well he knew of this Guy of Gisbourne, and of all the bloody and murderous deeds that he had done in Herefordshire, for his doings were famous throughout all the land. Yet, although he loathed the very presence of the man, he held his peace, for he had an end to serve. "Truly," quoth he, "I have heard of thy gentle doings. Methinks there is no one in all the world that Robin Hood would rather meet than thee."

To all this, Robin listened, and as he did, he felt a surge of anger. He knew all about Guy of Gisbourne and the bloody and violent acts he had committed in Herefordshire; his deeds were notorious throughout the land. Even though he hated the very sight of the man, he stayed silent because he had a purpose. "Truly," he said, "I've heard about your so-called honorable actions. I think there's no one in the world that Robin Hood would rather meet than you."

At this Guy of Gisbourne gave another harsh laugh. "Why," quoth he, "it is a merry thing to think of one stout outlaw like Robin Hood meeting another stout outlaw like Guy of Gisbourne. Only in this case it will be an ill happening for Robin Hood, for the day he meets Guy of Gisbourne he shall die."

At this, Guy of Gisbourne let out another harsh laugh. "Well," he said, "it's amusing to think about one tough outlaw like Robin Hood facing off against another tough outlaw like me, Guy of Gisbourne. But in this case, it won’t end well for Robin Hood, because the day he runs into me, he’s going to die."

"But thou gentle, merry spirit," quoth Robin, "dost thou not think that mayhap this same Robin Hood may be the better man of the two? I know him right well, and many think that he is one of the stoutest men hereabouts."

"But you, gentle, cheerful spirit," said Robin, "don't you think that maybe this same Robin Hood might be the better man of the two? I know him very well, and many believe he is one of the toughest men around here."

"He may be the stoutest of men hereabouts," quoth Guy of Gisbourne, "yet, I tell thee, fellow, this sty of yours is not the wide world. I lay my life upon it I am the better man of the two. He an outlaw, forsooth! Why, I hear that he hath never let blood in all his life, saving when he first came to the forest. Some call him a great archer; marry, I would not be afraid to stand against him all the days of the year with a bow in my hand."

"He might be the toughest guy around here," said Guy of Gisbourne, "but let me tell you, my friend, this pigpen of yours isn't the whole world. I bet my life that I'm the better man. An outlaw, really! I've heard he’s never hurt anyone in his life, except when he first came to the forest. Some people call him a great archer; well, I wouldn't be scared to challenge him any day of the year with a bow in my hand."

"Why, truly, some folk do call him a great archer," said Robin Hood, "but we of Nottinghamshire are famous hands with the longbow. Even I, though but a simple hand at the craft, would not fear to try a bout with thee."

"Well, some people really do call him a great archer," said Robin Hood, "but we from Nottinghamshire are known for our skills with the longbow. Even I, though not particularly skilled, wouldn't hesitate to challenge you."

At these words Guy of Gisbourne looked upon Robin with wondering eyes, and then gave another roar of laughter till the woods rang. "Now," quoth he, "thou art a bold fellow to talk to me in this way. I like thy spirit in so speaking up to me, for few men have dared to do so. Put up a garland, lad, and I will try a bout with thee."

At these words, Guy of Gisbourne looked at Robin with surprised eyes and then burst into another loud laugh that echoed through the woods. "Well," he said, "you're a brave guy to talk to me like that. I like your spirit for speaking up to me, since few men have dared to do it. Put up a garland, kid, and I’ll give you a shot."

"Tut, tut," quoth Robin, "only babes shoot at garlands hereabouts. I will put up a good Nottingham mark for thee." So saying, he arose, and going to a hazel thicket not far off, he cut a wand about twice the thickness of a man's thumb. From this he peeled the bark, and, sharpening the point, stuck it up in the ground in front of a great oak tree. Thence he measured off fourscore paces, which brought him beside the tree where the other sat. "There," quoth he, "is the kind of mark that Nottingham yeomen shoot at. Now let me see thee split that wand if thou art an archer."

“Come on,” Robin said, “only kids shoot at garlands around here. I’ll set up a proper Nottingham target for you.” With that, he stood up and walked to a nearby hazel thicket, where he cut a stick about twice as thick as a man’s thumb. He stripped the bark off, sharpened one end, and stuck it in the ground in front of a large oak tree. Then he measured out eighty paces, which brought him next to the tree where the other was sitting. “There,” he said, “is the kind of target that Nottingham archers aim at. Now let’s see you split that stick if you’re a real archer.”

Then Guy of Gisbourne arose. "Now out upon it!" cried he. "The Devil himself could not hit such a mark as that."

Then Guy of Gisbourne stood up. "What is this!" he exclaimed. "Not even the Devil himself could strike a target like that."

"Mayhap he could and mayhap he could not," quoth merry Robin, "but that we shall never know till thou hast shot thereat."

"Maybe he could and maybe he couldn't," said cheerful Robin, "but we'll never know until you take a shot at it."

At these words Guy of Gisbourne looked upon Robin with knit brows, but, as the yeoman still looked innocent of any ill meaning, he bottled his words and strung his bow in silence. Twice he shot, but neither time did he hit the wand, missing it the first time by a span and the second time by a good palm's-breadth. Robin laughed and laughed. "I see now," quoth he, "that the Devil himself could not hit that mark. Good fellow, if thou art no better with the broadsword than thou art with the bow and arrow, thou wilt never overcome Robin Hood."

At these words, Guy of Gisbourne glared at Robin with furrowed brows, but since the yeoman still appeared innocent of any bad intentions, he swallowed his words and quietly strung his bow. He shot twice, but missed the target both times, the first by a span and the second by a decent palm's-breadth. Robin laughed and laughed. "Now I see," he said, "that even the Devil himself couldn't hit that mark. Good man, if you're no better with a broadsword than you are with a bow and arrow, you'll never beat Robin Hood."

At these words Guy of Gisbourne glared savagely upon Robin. Quoth he, "Thou hast a merry tongue, thou villain; but take care that thou makest not too free with it, or I may cut it out from thy throat for thee."

At those words, Guy of Gisbourne glared fiercely at Robin. He said, "You've got a quick tongue, you scoundrel; but be careful you don't use it too freely, or I might just cut it out of your throat for you."

Robin Hood strung his bow and took his place with never a word, albeit his heartstrings quivered with anger and loathing. Twice he shot, the first time hitting within an inch of the wand, the second time splitting it fairly in the middle. Then, without giving the other a chance for speech, he flung his bow upon the ground. "There, thou bloody villain!" cried he fiercely, "let that show thee how little thou knowest of manly sports. And now look thy last upon the daylight, for the good earth hath been befouled long enough by thee, thou vile beast! This day, Our Lady willing, thou diest—I am Robin Hood." So saying, he flashed forth his bright sword in the sunlight.

Robin Hood drew back his bow and took his position without saying a word, even though his heart was filled with anger and disgust. He shot twice, hitting just an inch from the mark on the first shot, and then splitting it right in the center on the second. Without giving the other man a chance to respond, he threw his bow to the ground. "There, you bloody villain!" he shouted fiercely, "let that show you how little you know about real sports. And now, take your last look at the daylight, because the good earth has been tainted long enough by you, you vile beast! Today, if Our Lady wills it, you die—I am Robin Hood." With that, he drew his bright sword, shining in the sunlight.

For a time Guy of Gisbourne stared upon Robin as though bereft of wits; but his wonder quickly passed to a wild rage. "Art thou indeed Robin Hood?" cried he. "Now I am glad to meet thee, thou poor wretch! Shrive thyself, for thou wilt have no time for shriving when I am done with thee." So saying, he also drew his sword.

For a moment, Guy of Gisbourne looked at Robin as if he had lost his mind; but his amazement quickly turned into a wild anger. "Are you really Robin Hood?" he shouted. "Well, I'm glad to finally meet you, you miserable fool! Confess your sins, because you won't have time for that when I'm finished with you." With that, he also pulled out his sword.

And now came the fiercest fight that ever Sherwood saw; for each man knew that either he or the other must die, and that no mercy was to be had in this battle. Up and down they fought, till all the sweet green grass was crushed and ground beneath the trampling of their heels. More than once the point of Robin Hood's sword felt the softness of flesh, and presently the ground began to be sprinkled with bright red drops, albeit not one of them came from Robin's veins. At last Guy of Gisbourne made a fierce and deadly thrust at Robin Hood, from which he leaped back lightly, but in so leaping he caught his heel in a root and fell heavily upon his back. "Now, Holy Mary aid me!" muttered he, as the other leaped at him, with a grin of rage upon his face. Fiercely Guy of Gisbourne stabbed at the other with his great sword, but Robin caught the blade in his naked hand, and, though it cut his palm, he turned the point away so that it plunged deep into the ground close beside him; then, ere a blow could be struck again, he leaped to his feet, with his good sword in his hand. And now despair fell upon Guy of Gisbourne's heart in a black cloud, and he looked around him wildly, like a wounded hawk. Seeing that his strength was going from him, Robin leaped forward, and, quick as a flash, struck a back-handed blow beneath the sword arm. Down fell the sword from Guy of Gisbourne's grasp, and back he staggered at the stroke, and, ere he could regain himself, Robin's sword passed through and through his body. Round he spun upon his heel, and, flinging his hands aloft with a shrill, wild cry, fell prone upon his face upon the green sod.

And now came the fiercest fight that Sherwood had ever seen; each man knew that it was either him or the other who would die, and there would be no mercy in this battle. They fought back and forth until all the soft green grass was crushed and ground under their feet. More than once, the tip of Robin Hood's sword touched flesh, and soon the ground was sprinkled with bright red drops, although not one of them came from Robin's body. Finally, Guy of Gisbourne made a fierce and deadly thrust at Robin Hood, but he managed to leap back lightly. However, in that leap, he caught his heel on a root and fell heavily onto his back. "Now, Holy Mary help me!" he muttered as Guy jumped at him, with a grin of rage on his face. Guy of Gisbourne stabbed fiercely at Robin with his large sword, but Robin caught the blade in his bare hand. Though it cut into his palm, he turned the point away, plunging it deep into the ground just beside him. Before another blow could be struck, he sprang to his feet, sword ready in his hand. At that moment, despair engulfed Guy of Gisbourne's heart like a dark cloud, and he looked around wildly, like a wounded hawk. Sensing that his strength was waning, Robin leaped forward and, quick as lightning, delivered a back-handed blow beneath Guy's sword arm. The sword fell from Guy of Gisbourne's grip, and he staggered back from the impact. Before he could regain his balance, Robin's sword pierced through his body. He spun around on his heel and, throwing his hands up with a wild, shrill cry, fell face down on the green grass.

Then Robin Hood wiped his sword and thrust it back into the scabbard, and, coming to where Guy of Gisbourne lay, he stood over him with folded arms, talking to himself the while. "This is the first man I have slain since I shot the Kings forester in the hot days of my youth. I ofttimes think bitterly, even yet, of that first life I took, but of this I am as glad as though I had slain a wild boar that laid waste a fair country. Since the Sheriff of Nottingham hath sent such a one as this against me, I will put on the fellow's garb and go forth to see whether I may not find his worship, and perchance pay him back some of the debt I owe him upon this score."

Then Robin Hood wiped his sword and slid it back into the sheath. He walked over to where Guy of Gisbourne lay and stood over him with his arms crossed, talking to himself. "This is the first person I've killed since I shot the King's forester back in my youth. I often think sadly about that first life I took, but I'm as glad about this one as if I had killed a wild boar that destroyed a beautiful land. Since the Sheriff of Nottingham sent someone like this against me, I’ll put on his clothes and go out to see if I can find him and maybe repay him some of what I owe him for this."

So saying, Robin Hood stripped the hairy garments from off the dead man, and put them on himself, all bloody as they were. Then, strapping the other's sword and dagger around his body and carrying his own in his hand, together with the two bows of yew, he drew the cowl of horse's hide over his face, so that none could tell who he was, and set forth from the forest, turning his steps toward the eastward and Nottingham Town. As he strode along the country roads, men, women, and children hid away from him, for the terror of Guy of Gisbourne's name and of his doings had spread far and near.

So saying, Robin Hood took off the hairy clothes from the dead man and put them on himself, all bloody as they were. Then, he strapped the other man's sword and dagger around his waist and carried his own in his hand, along with the two yew bows. He pulled the horsehide hood over his face so that no one could recognize him and headed out of the forest, making his way east toward Nottingham Town. As he walked along the country roads, men, women, and children hid from him, fearing the name and deeds of Guy of Gisbourne, which had spread far and wide.

And now let us see what befell Little John while these things were happening.

And now let's see what happened to Little John while all this was going on.

Little John walked on his way through the forest paths until he had come to the outskirts of the woodlands, where, here and there, fields of barley, corn, or green meadow lands lay smiling in the sun. So he came to the highroad and to where a little thatched cottage stood back of a cluster of twisted crab trees, with flowers in front of it. Here he stopped of a sudden, for he thought that he heard the sound of someone in sorrow. He listened, and found that it came from the cottage; so, turning his footsteps thither, he pushed open the wicket and entered the place. There he saw a gray-haired dame sitting beside a cold hearthstone, rocking herself to and fro and weeping bitterly.

Little John walked along the forest paths until he reached the edge of the woods, where fields of barley, corn, and green meadows basked in the sunlight. He then arrived at the main road, where a small thatched cottage stood behind a cluster of twisted crab trees, with flowers blooming in front of it. He suddenly stopped because he thought he heard someone crying. He listened closely and realized the sound was coming from the cottage, so he turned and headed that way, pushed open the gate, and entered the cottage. Inside, he saw a gray-haired woman sitting by a cold hearth, rocking back and forth and crying bitterly.

Now Little John had a tender heart for the sorrows of other folk, so, coming to the old woman and patting her kindly upon the shoulder, he spoke comforting words to her, bidding her cheer up and tell him her troubles, for that mayhap he might do something to ease them. At all this the good dame shook her head; but all the same his kind words did soothe her somewhat, so after a while she told him all that bore upon her mind. That that morning she had three as fair, tall sons beside her as one could find in all Nottinghamshire, but that they were now taken from her, and were like to be hanged straightway; that, want having come upon them, her eldest boy had gone out, the night before, into the forest, and had slain a hind in the moonlight; that the King's rangers had followed the blood upon the grass until they had come to her cottage, and had there found the deer's meat in the cupboard; that, as neither of the younger sons would betray their brother, the foresters had taken all three away, in spite of the oldest saying that he alone had slain the deer; that, as they went, she had heard the rangers talking among themselves, saying that the Sheriff had sworn that he would put a check upon the great slaughter of deer that had been going on of late by hanging the very first rogue caught thereat upon the nearest tree, and that they would take the three youths to the King's Head Inn, near Nottingham Town, where the Sheriff was abiding that day, there to await the return of a certain fellow he had sent into Sherwood to seek for Robin Hood.

Now Little John had a caring heart for the struggles of others, so when he approached the old woman and gently patted her shoulder, he spoke comforting words to her, encouraging her to cheer up and share her troubles with him, as he might be able to help. The good dame shook her head, but still, his kind words calmed her a bit, and after a while, she revealed what was on her mind. That morning, she had three tall and handsome sons with her, the finest in all of Nottinghamshire, but now they had been taken from her and were about to be hanged. Stricken by hardship, her oldest boy had gone out the night before into the forest and killed a deer under the moonlight. The King's rangers followed the blood trail until they reached her cottage, where they found the deer's meat in the cupboard. Since neither of the younger sons would betray their brother, the foresters took all three, ignoring the oldest son's claims that he alone had killed the deer. As they left, she heard the rangers discussing among themselves, mentioning that the Sheriff had sworn to put a stop to the recent surge in deer poaching by hanging the first rogue caught doing so on the nearest tree. They said they would take the three boys to the King's Head Inn, near Nottingham Town, where the Sheriff was that day, to await the return of a man he had sent into Sherwood to look for Robin Hood.

To all this Little John listened, shaking his head sadly now and then. "Alas," quoth he, when the good dame had finished her speech, "this is indeed an ill case. But who is this that goeth into Sherwood after Robin Hood, and why doth he go to seek him? But no matter for that now; only that I would that Robin Hood were here to advise us. Nevertheless, no time may be lost in sending for him at this hour, if we would save the lives of thy three sons. Tell me, hast thou any clothes hereabouts that I may put on in place of these of Lincoln green? Marry, if our stout Sheriff catcheth me without disguise, I am like to be run up more quickly than thy sons, let me tell thee, dame."

Little John listened to all of this, shaking his head sadly from time to time. "Alas," he said when the good woman finished her speech, "this is truly a bad situation. But who is this person going into Sherwood after Robin Hood, and why are they looking for him? But that doesn't matter right now; I just wish Robin Hood were here to give us some advice. Still, we can't waste any time sending for him at this hour if we want to save your three sons. Tell me, do you have any clothes around here that I can wear instead of these Lincoln green ones? Honestly, if our sturdy Sheriff catches me without a disguise, I’m likely to be hung up faster than your sons, let me tell you, ma'am."

Then the old woman told him that she had in the house some of the clothes of her good husband, who had died only two years before. These she brought to Little John, who, doffing his garb of Lincoln green, put them on in its stead. Then, making a wig and false beard of uncarded wool, he covered his own brown hair and beard, and, putting on a great, tall hat that had belonged to the old peasant, he took his staff in one hand and his bow in the other, and set forth with all speed to where the Sheriff had taken up his inn.

Then the old woman told him that she had some clothes in the house that belonged to her late husband, who had passed away just two years ago. She brought them to Little John, who, taking off his Lincoln green outfit, put them on instead. Then, making a wig and fake beard out of uncarded wool, he covered his own brown hair and beard, and, putting on a big, tall hat that had belonged to the old peasant, he took his staff in one hand and his bow in the other, and quickly set off to where the Sheriff was staying.

A mile or more from Nottingham Town, and not far from the southern borders of Sherwood Forest, stood the cosy inn bearing the sign of the King's Head. Here was a great bustle and stir on this bright morning, for the Sheriff and a score of his men had come to stop there and await Guy of Gisbourne's return from the forest. Great hiss and fuss of cooking was going on in the kitchen, and great rapping and tapping of wine kegs and beer barrels was going on in the cellar. The Sheriff sat within, feasting merrily of the best the place afforded, and the Sheriff's men sat upon the bench before the door, quaffing ale, or lay beneath the shade of the broad-spreading oak trees, talking and jesting and laughing. All around stood the horses of the band, with a great noise of stamping feet and a great switching of tails. To this inn came the King's rangers, driving the widow's three sons before them. The hands of the three youths were tied tightly behind their backs, and a cord from neck to neck fastened them all together. So they were marched to the room where the Sheriff sat at meat, and stood trembling before him as he scowled sternly upon them.

A mile or more from Nottingham Town, and not far from the southern edge of Sherwood Forest, stood the cozy inn signposted as the King's Head. There was a lot of activity and excitement on this bright morning, as the Sheriff and a group of his men had come to wait for Guy of Gisbourne's return from the forest. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of cooking, while in the cellar, wine kegs and beer barrels were being knocked about. The Sheriff sat inside, enjoying a feast of the best food that the inn had to offer, while his men lounged on the bench outside, drinking ale, or lay in the shade of the broad oak trees, chatting, joking, and laughing. All around, the horses of the group stomped their feet and swished their tails. The King's rangers arrived at the inn, herding the widow's three sons ahead of them. The three young men had their hands tightly bound behind their backs, and a cord connected them from neck to neck. They were marched into the room where the Sheriff was eating and stood trembling before him as he glared at them.

"So," quoth he, in a great, loud, angry voice, "ye have been poaching upon the King's deer, have you? Now I will make short work of you this day, for I will hang up all three of you as a farmer would hang up three crows to scare others of the kind from the field. Our fair county of Nottingham hath been too long a breeding place for such naughty knaves as ye are. I have put up with these things for many years, but now I will stamp them out once for all, and with you I will begin."

"So," he said angrily, in a loud voice, "you've been poaching the King's deer, huh? Well, I'm going to deal with you today, because I'm going to hang all three of you up like a farmer hangs up crows to scare others away from the fields. Our beautiful county of Nottingham has been too long a breeding ground for troublemakers like you. I've put up with this for many years, but now I’m going to put an end to it once and for all, starting with you."

Then one of the poor fellows opened his mouth to speak, but the Sheriff roared at him in a loud voice to be silent, and bade the rangers to take them away till he had done his eating and could attend to the matters concerning them. So the three poor youths were marched outside, where they stood with bowed heads and despairing hearts, till after a while the Sheriff came forth. Then he called his men about him, and quoth he, "These three villains shall be hanged straightway, but not here, lest they breed ill luck to this goodly inn. We will take them over yonder to that belt of woodlands, for I would fain hang them upon the very trees of Sherwood itself, to show those vile outlaws therein what they may expect of me if I ever have the good luck to lay hands upon them." So saying, he mounted his horse, as did his men-at-arms likewise, and all together they set forth for the belt of woodlands he had spoken of, the poor youths walking in their midst guarded by the rangers. So they came at last to the spot, and here nooses were fastened around the necks of the three, and the ends of the cords flung over the branch of a great oak tree that stood there. Then the three youths fell upon their knees and loudly besought mercy of the Sheriff; but the Sheriff of Nottingham laughed scornfully. "Now," quoth he, "I would that I had a priest here to shrive you; but, as none is nigh, you must e'en travel your road with all your sins packed upon your backs, and trust to Saint Peter to let you in through the gates of Paradise like three peddlers into the town."

Then one of the poor guys opened his mouth to speak, but the Sheriff shouted at him loudly to be quiet and told the rangers to take them away until he finished eating and could deal with them. So the three young men were marched outside, where they stood with their heads down and feelings of despair, until after a while the Sheriff came out. He called his men around him and said, "These three villains will be hanged right away, but not here, so they don’t bring bad luck to this fine inn. We'll take them over to that group of trees, because I want to hang them on the very trees of Sherwood itself, to show those worthless outlaws in there what they can expect from me if I ever get lucky enough to catch them." With that, he got on his horse, as did his soldiers, and together they set off for the group of trees he mentioned, the poor young men walking in their midst guarded by the rangers. Eventually, they arrived at the spot, and nooses were placed around the necks of the three, the ends tossed over the branch of a large oak tree standing there. Then the three young men fell to their knees and desperately begged the Sheriff for mercy, but the Sheriff of Nottingham laughed scornfully. "Now," he said, "I wish I had a priest here to confess you; but since there isn't one nearby, you’ll have to go on your way carrying all your sins with you and hope that Saint Peter lets you through the gates of Paradise like three peddlers entering the town."

In the meantime, while all this had been going forward, an old man had drawn near and stood leaning on his staff, looking on. His hair and beard were all curly and white, and across his back was a bow of yew that looked much too strong for him to draw. As the Sheriff looked around ere he ordered his men to string the three youths up to the oak tree, his eyes fell upon this strange old man. Then his worship beckoned to him, saying, "Come hither, father, I have a few words to say to thee." So Little John, for it was none other than he, came forward, and the Sheriff looked upon him, thinking that there was something strangely familiar in the face before him. "How, now," said he, "methinks I have seen thee before. What may thy name be, father?"

In the meantime, while all this was happening, an old man had approached and was standing there leaning on his staff, watching. His hair and beard were curly and white, and he had a yew bow slung across his back that looked way too strong for him to use. As the Sheriff surveyed the scene before he ordered his men to hang the three young men from the oak tree, his gaze fell on this unusual old man. Then he motioned for him to come over, saying, "Come here, old man, I have a few words for you." So Little John, for it was him, stepped forward, and the Sheriff looked at him, thinking that the face in front of him seemed oddly familiar. "Well, now," he said, "I feel like I've seen you before. What’s your name, old man?"

"Please Your Worship," said Little John, in a cracked voice like that of an old man, "my name is Giles Hobble, at Your Worship's service."

"Please, Your Honor," said Little John, in a worn-out voice like that of an elderly man, "my name is Giles Hobble, at Your Honor's service."

"Giles Hobble, Giles Hobble," muttered the Sheriff to himself, turning over the names that he had in his mind to try to find one to fit to this. "I remember not thy name," said he at last, "but it matters not. Hast thou a mind to earn sixpence this bright morn?"

"Giles Hobble, Giles Hobble," the Sheriff murmured to himself, going through the names in his head to find one that would fit. "I can't recall your name," he finally said, "but it doesn't matter. Do you want to earn sixpence this fine morning?"

"Ay, marry," quoth Little John, "for money is not so plenty with me that I should cast sixpence away an I could earn it by an honest turn. What is it Your Worship would have me do?"

"Yeah, right," said Little John, "because I don't have so much money that I'd throw away sixpence when I could earn it with an honest job. What do you want me to do, Your Worship?"

"Why, this," said the Sheriff. "Here are three men that need hanging as badly as any e'er I saw. If thou wilt string them up I will pay thee twopence apiece for them. I like not that my men-at-arms should turn hangmen. Wilt thou try thy hand?"

"Well, this," said the Sheriff. "Here are three guys that deserve to be hanged just as much as anyone I've ever seen. If you hang them, I'll pay you two pence each. I don't want my soldiers to be the ones doing the hanging. Will you give it a shot?"

"In sooth," said Little John, still in the old man's voice, "I ha' never done such a thing before; but an a sixpence is to be earned so easily I might as well ha' it as anybody. But, Your Worship, are these naughty fellows shrived?"

"In truth," said Little John, still using the old man's voice, "I've never done anything like this before; but if a sixpence can be earned this easily, I might as well have it instead of anyone else. But, Your Worship, are these naughty fellows confessed?"

"Nay," said the Sheriff, laughing, "never a whit; but thou mayst turn thy hand to that also if thou art so minded. But hasten, I prythee, for I would get back to mine inn betimes."

"Nah," said the Sheriff, laughing, "not at all; but you can try that if you really want to. But hurry, please, because I want to get back to my inn soon."

So Little John came to where the three youths stood trembling, and, putting his face to the first fellow's cheek as though he were listening to him, he whispered softly into his ear, "Stand still, brother, when thou feelest thy bonds cut, but when thou seest me throw my woolen wig and beard from my head and face, cast the noose from thy neck and run for the woodlands." Then he slyly cut the cord that bound the youth's hands; who, upon his part, stood still as though he were yet bound. Then he went to the second fellow, and spoke to him in the same way, and also cut his bonds. This he did to the third likewise, but all so slyly that the Sheriff, who sat upon his horse laughing, wotted not what was being done, nor his men either.

So Little John came to where the three young men stood trembling and, putting his face close to the first guy's cheek as if he were listening to him, he whispered softly into his ear, "Stay still, brother, when you feel your bonds cut, but when you see me throw my woolen wig and beard off my head and face, take the noose off your neck and run for the woods." Then he secretly cut the cord that bound the young man's hands; he, in turn, stayed still as though he was still tied up. Next, he went to the second guy and spoke to him in the same way, cutting his bonds as well. He did the same for the third, all so slyly that the Sheriff, who sat on his horse laughing, didn’t notice what was happening, nor did his men.

Then Little John turned to the Sheriff. "Please Your Worship," said he, "will you give me leave to string my bow? For I would fain help these fellows along the way, when they are swinging, with an arrow beneath the ribs."

Then Little John turned to the Sheriff. "Please, Your Honor," he said, "may I have permission to string my bow? I would really like to assist these guys on the way when they’re swinging, with an arrow under their ribs."

"With all my heart," said the Sheriff, "only, as I said before, make thou haste in thy doings."

"With all my heart," said the Sheriff, "but, as I mentioned earlier, please hurry with what you’re doing."

Little John put the tip of his bow to his instep, and strung the weapon so deftly that all wondered to see an old man so strong. Next he drew a good smooth arrow from his quiver and fitted it to the string; then, looking all around to see that the way was clear behind him, he suddenly cast away the wool from his head and face, shouting in a mighty voice, "Run!" Quick as a flash the three youths flung the nooses from their necks and sped across the open to the woodlands as the arrow speeds from the bow. Little John also flew toward the covert like a greyhound, while the Sheriff and his men gazed after him all bewildered with the sudden doing. But ere the yeoman had gone far the Sheriff roused himself. "After him!" he roared in a mighty voice; for he knew now who it was with whom he had been talking, and wondered that he had not known him before.

Little John placed the tip of his bow against his foot and strung it so skillfully that everyone was amazed to see an old man with such strength. Then he took a smooth arrow from his quiver and fitted it to the string. Looking around to make sure the path was clear behind him, he suddenly threw off the wool from his head and face, shouting in a powerful voice, "Run!" As quick as lightning, the three young men removed the nooses from around their necks and raced toward the woods like an arrow flying from a bow. Little John also darted toward the cover like a greyhound, while the Sheriff and his men watched him, completely stunned by what had just happened. But before the yeoman got far, the Sheriff snapped back to reality. "After him!" he shouted in a booming voice because he now realized who he had been talking to and was surprised he hadn’t recognized him sooner.

Little John heard the Sheriff's words, and seeing that he could not hope to reach the woodlands before they would be upon him, he stopped and turned suddenly, holding his bow as though he were about to shoot. "Stand back!" cried he fiercely. "The first man that cometh a foot forward, or toucheth finger to bowstring, dieth!"

Little John heard the Sheriff’s words, and realizing he couldn’t make it to the woods before they got to him, he stopped and turned suddenly, holding his bow as if he were about to shoot. “Stand back!” he shouted fiercely. “The first person who takes a step forward or touches the bowstring will die!”

At these words the Sheriff's men stood as still as stocks, for they knew right well that Little John would be as good as his word, and that to disobey him meant death. In vain the Sheriff roared at them, calling them cowards, and urging them forward in a body; they would not budge an inch, but stood and watched Little John as he moved slowly away toward the forest, keeping his gaze fixed upon them. But when the Sheriff saw his enemy thus slipping betwixt his fingers he grew mad with his rage, so that his head swam and he knew not what he did. Then of a sudden he turned his horse's head, and plunging his spurs into its sides he gave a great shout, and, rising in his stirrups, came down upon Little John like the wind. Then Little John raised his deadly bow and drew the gray goose feather to his cheek. But alas for him! For, ere he could loose the shaft, the good bow that had served him so long, split in his hands, and the arrow fell harmless at his feet. Seeing what had happened, the Sheriff's men raised a shout, and, following their master, came rushing down upon Little John. But the Sheriff was ahead of the others, and so caught up with the yeoman before he reached the shelter of the woodlands, then leaning forward he struck a mighty blow. Little John ducked and the Sheriff's sword turned in his hand, but the flat of the blade struck the other upon the head and smote him down, stunned and senseless.

At these words, the Sheriff's men stood completely still, knowing very well that Little John would keep his word, and disobeying him would mean death. The Sheriff yelled at them, calling them cowards and urging them to move as a group; they refused to budge, watching Little John as he slowly walked away toward the forest, keeping his eyes on them. But when the Sheriff saw his enemy slipping through his fingers, he became enraged, causing his head to spin and losing track of what he was doing. Suddenly, he turned his horse around, dug his spurs into its sides, shouted, and rose in his stirrups as he charged at Little John like a storm. Little John drew his deadly bow and pulled the gray goose feather to his cheek. But unfortunately for him, before he could release the arrow, the trusty bow that had served him so well broke in his hands, and the arrow fell harmlessly at his feet. Seeing this, the Sheriff's men shouted and rushed down after Little John, following their master. The Sheriff was ahead of the rest and caught up with the yeoman before he could reach the cover of the woods. Leaning forward, he struck a powerful blow. Little John ducked, and the Sheriff's sword turned in his hand, but the flat of the blade hit Little John on the head, knocking him down, stunned and senseless.

"Now, I am right glad," said the Sheriff, when the men came up and found that Little John was not dead, "that I have not slain this man in my haste! I would rather lose five hundred pounds than have him die thus instead of hanging, as such a vile thief should do. Go, get some water from yonder fountain, William, and pour it over his head."

"Now, I’m really glad," said the Sheriff, when the men arrived and saw that Little John was not dead, "that I didn’t kill this man in my rush! I’d rather lose five hundred pounds than have him die like this instead of hanging, as a filthy thief should. Go, get some water from that fountain over there, William, and pour it on his head."

The man did as he was bidden, and presently Little John opened his eyes and looked around him, all dazed and bewildered with the stun of the blow. Then they tied his hands behind him, and lifting him up set him upon the back of one of the horses, with his face to its tail and his feet strapped beneath its belly. So they took him back to the King's Head Inn, laughing and rejoicing as they went along. But in the meantime the widow's three sons had gotten safely away, and were hidden in the woodlands.

The man did as he was told, and soon Little John opened his eyes and looked around, dazed and confused from the blow. Then they tied his hands behind his back, lifted him up, and placed him on the back of one of the horses, facing its tail with his feet strapped underneath its belly. They took him back to the King's Head Inn, laughing and celebrating as they went. Meanwhile, the widow's three sons had managed to escape safely and were hiding in the woods.

Once more the Sheriff of Nottingham sat within the King's Head Inn. His heart rejoiced within him, for he had at last done that which he had sought to do for years, taken Little John prisoner. Quoth he to himself, "This time tomorrow the rogue shall hang upon the gallows tree in front of the great gate of Nottingham Town, and thus shall I make my long score with him even." So saying, he took a deep draught of Canary. But it seemed as if the Sheriff had swallowed a thought with his wine, for he shook his head and put the cup down hastily. "Now," he muttered to himself, "I would not for a thousand pounds have this fellow slip through my fingers; yet, should his master escape that foul Guy of Gisbourne, there is no knowing what he may do, for he is the cunningest knave in all the world—this same Robin Hood. Belike I had better not wait until tomorrow to hang the fellow." So saying, he pushed his chair back hastily, and going forth from the inn called his men together. Quoth he, "I will wait no longer for the hanging of this rogue, but it shall be done forthwith, and that from the very tree whence he saved those three young villains by stepping betwixt them and the law. So get ye ready straightway."

Once again, the Sheriff of Nottingham sat in the King's Head Inn. He felt a surge of happiness because he had finally accomplished what he had been trying to do for years: capture Little John. He said to himself, "This time tomorrow, the scoundrel will hang on the gallows in front of the main gate of Nottingham Town, and I will settle the score with him." With that, he took a big gulp of Canary. But it seemed like the Sheriff had swallowed a realization along with his wine, as he shook his head and set the cup down quickly. "Now," he mumbled to himself, "I wouldn't want this guy to slip away for a thousand pounds; but if his master escapes that foul Guy of Gisbourne, who knows what he might do? He is the cleverest rogue in the world—this same Robin Hood. Maybe I should hang him sooner rather than wait until tomorrow." With that thought, he quickly pushed back his chair, left the inn, and called his men together. He said, "I won't wait any longer to hang this scoundrel; it will be done immediately, from the very tree where he saved those three young thugs by stepping in between them and the law. So get ready right away."

Then once more they sat Little John upon the horse, with his face to the tail, and so, one leading the horse whereon he sat and the others riding around him, they went forward to that tree from the branches of which they had thought to hang the poachers. On they went, rattling and jingling along the road till they came to the tree. Here one of the men spake to the Sheriff of a sudden. "Your Worship," cried he, "is not yon fellow coming along toward us that same Guy of Gisbourne whom thou didst send into the forest to seek Robin Hood?" At these words the Sheriff shaded his eyes and looked eagerly. "Why, certes," quoth he, "yon fellow is the same. Now, Heaven send that he hath slain the master thief, as we will presently slay the man!"

Then once again they put Little John on the horse, facing its tail, and while one person led the horse he was on and the others rode around him, they made their way to the tree where they had planned to hang the poachers. They continued along the road, making a racket until they reached the tree. At that point, one of the men suddenly spoke to the Sheriff. "Your Worship," he exclaimed, "isn't that Guy of Gisbourne coming toward us? The same guy you sent into the forest to find Robin Hood?" At these words, the Sheriff shaded his eyes and looked intently. "Indeed," he replied, "that person is the same. Now, may Heaven grant that he has killed the master thief, just as we are about to kill this man!"

When Little John heard this speech he looked up, and straightway his heart crumbled away within him, for not only were the man's garments all covered with blood, but he wore Robin Hood's bugle horn and carried his bow and broadsword.

When Little John heard this speech, he looked up, and immediately his heart sank, because not only were the man's clothes stained with blood, but he wore Robin Hood's bugle horn and carried his bow and broad sword.

"How now!" cried the Sheriff, when Robin Hood, in Guy of Gisbourne's clothes, had come nigh to them. "What luck hath befallen thee in the forest? Why, man, thy clothes are all over blood!"

"What's going on!" yelled the Sheriff when Robin Hood, dressed in Guy of Gisbourne's clothes, got close to them. "What happened to you in the forest? Man, your clothes are covered in blood!"

"An thou likest not my clothes," said Robin in a harsh voice like that of Guy of Gisbourne, "thou mayst shut thine eyes. Marry, the blood upon me is that of the vilest outlaw that ever trod the woodlands, and one whom I have slain this day, albeit not without wound to myself."

"If you don't like my clothes," Robin said in a harsh voice like that of Guy of Gisbourne, "you can close your eyes. Truly, the blood on me is from the most wicked outlaw who ever roamed these woods, and I killed him today, though not without getting hurt myself."

Then out spake Little John, for the first time since he had fallen into the Sheriff's hands. "O thou vile, bloody wretch! I know thee, Guy of Gisbourne, for who is there that hath not heard of thee and cursed thee for thy vile deeds of blood and rapine? Is it by such a hand as thine that the gentlest heart that ever beat is stilled in death? Truly, thou art a fit tool for this coward Sheriff of Nottingham. Now I die joyfully, nor do I care how I die, for life is nought to me!" So spake Little John, the salt tears rolling down his brown cheeks.

Then Little John spoke up for the first time since he had fallen into the Sheriff's grasp. "Oh, you despicable, bloody monster! I recognize you, Guy of Gisbourne. Who hasn’t heard of you and cursed your terrible acts of violence and desolation? Is it by a hand like yours that the most gentle heart that ever beat is silenced in death? Truly, you’re a perfect tool for that coward Sheriff of Nottingham. Now I die happily, and I don’t care how I die, for life means nothing to me!" Little John said, tears streaming down his brown cheeks.

But the Sheriff of Nottingham clapped his hands for joy. "Now, Guy of Gisbourne," cried he, "if what thou tellest me is true, it will be the best day's doings for thee that ever thou hast done in all thy life."

But the Sheriff of Nottingham clapped his hands in excitement. "Now, Guy of Gisbourne," he exclaimed, "if what you’re telling me is true, it will be the best thing you've ever done in your entire life."

"What I have told thee is sooth, and I lie not," said Robin, still in Guy of Gisbourne's voice. "Look, is not this Robin Hood's sword, and is not this his good bow of yew, and is not this his bugle horn? Thinkest thou he would have given them to Guy of Gisbourne of his own free will?"

"What I've told you is true, and I'm not lying," said Robin, still using Guy of Gisbourne's voice. "Look, isn't this Robin Hood's sword, and isn't this his good yew bow, and isn't this his bugle horn? Do you think he would have given them to Guy of Gisbourne willingly?"

Then the Sheriff laughed aloud for joy. "This is a good day!" cried he. "The great outlaw dead and his right-hand man in my hands! Ask what thou wilt of me, Guy of Gisbourne, and it is thine!"

Then the Sheriff laughed out loud with joy. "This is a great day!" he shouted. "The infamous outlaw is dead, and his right-hand man is in my grasp! Ask whatever you want, Guy of Gisbourne, and it's yours!"

"Then this I ask of thee," said Robin. "As I have slain the master I would now kill the man. Give this fellow's life into my hands, Sir Sheriff."

"Then this I ask of you," said Robin. "Since I have killed the master, I now want to take this man's life. Hand his life over to me, Sir Sheriff."

"Now thou art a fool!" cried the Sheriff. "Thou mightst have had money enough for a knight's ransom if thou hadst asked for it. I like ill to let this fellow pass from my hands, but as I have promised, thou shalt have him."

"Now you're a fool!" shouted the Sheriff. "You could have had enough money for a knight's ransom if you had just asked for it. I don't like letting this guy slip away from me, but since I promised, you'll get him."

"I thank thee right heartily for thy gift," cried Robin. "Take the rogue down from the horse, men, and lean him against yonder tree, while I show you how we stick a porker whence I come!"

"I sincerely thank you for your gift," shouted Robin. "Get the scoundrel down from the horse, guys, and prop him up against that tree, while I show you how we handle a pig where I come from!"

At these words some of the Sheriff's men shook their heads; for, though they cared not a whit whether Little John were hanged or not, they hated to see him butchered in cold blood. But the Sheriff called to them in a loud voice, ordering them to take the yeoman down from the horse and lean him against the tree, as the other bade.

At these words, some of the Sheriff’s men shook their heads; for, although they didn’t care at all whether Little John was hanged or not, they hated to see him killed in cold blood. But the Sheriff shouted at them, ordering them to take the yeoman down from the horse and lean him against the tree, as the other instructed.

While they were doing this Robin Hood strung both his bow and that of Guy of Gisbourne, albeit none of them took notice of his doing so. Then, when Little John stood against the tree, he drew Guy of Gisbourne's sharp, double-edged dagger. "Fall back! fall back!" cried he. "Would ye crowd so on my pleasure, ye unmannerly knaves? Back, I say! Farther yet!" So they crowded back, as he ordered, many of them turning their faces away, that they might not see what was about to happen.

While they were doing this, Robin Hood strung both his bow and Guy of Gisbourne's, though none of them noticed. Then, when Little John stood against the tree, he pulled out Guy of Gisbourne's sharp, double-edged dagger. "Step back! Step back!" he shouted. "Do you really want to crowd so close while I'm enjoying myself, you rude knaves? Back, I say! Even farther!" So they backed away as he commanded, many of them turning their faces away so they wouldn’t have to see what was about to happen.

"Come!" cried Little John. "Here is my breast. It is meet that the same hand that slew my dear master should butcher me also! I know thee, Guy of Gisbourne!"

"Come!" shouted Little John. "Here's my chest. It's only right that the same hand that killed my dear master should take me out too! I know you, Guy of Gisbourne!"

"Peace, Little John!" said Robin in a low voice. "Twice thou hast said thou knowest me, and yet thou knowest me not at all. Couldst thou not tell me beneath this wild beast's hide? Yonder, just in front of thee, lie my bow and arrows, likewise my broadsword. Take them when I cut thy bonds. Now! Get them quickly!" So saying, he cut the bonds, and Little John, quick as a wink, leaped forward and caught up the bow and arrows and the broadsword. At the same time Robin Hood threw back the cowl of horse's hide from his face and bent Guy of Gisbourne's bow, with a keen, barbed arrow fitted to the string. "Stand back!" cried he sternly. "The first man that toucheth finger to bowstring dieth! I have slain thy man, Sheriff; take heed that it is not thy turn next." Then, seeing that Little John had armed himself, he clapped his bugle horn to his lips and blew three blasts both loud and shrill.

"Calm down, Little John!" Robin said in a low voice. "You've said twice that you know me, but you really don’t know me at all. Can't you recognize me under this wild beast's hide? Just ahead of you are my bow and arrows, along with my broadsword. Grab them once I cut your bonds. Now! Hurry!" With that, he cut the ropes, and Little John, in a flash, jumped forward to snatch the bow, arrows, and broadsword. At the same time, Robin Hood pulled back the horsehide hood from his face and bent Guy of Gisbourne's bow, fitting a sharp, barbed arrow onto the string. "Stay back!" he shouted sternly. "The first person who touches this bowstring will die! I've already killed your man, Sheriff; make sure you're not next." Then, noticing that Little John was armed, he raised his bugle to his lips and blew three loud, sharp blasts.

Now when the Sheriff of Nottingham saw whose face it was beneath Guy of Gisbourne's hood, and when he heard those bugle notes ring in his ear, he felt as if his hour had come. "Robin Hood!" roared he, and without another word he wheeled his horse in the road and went off in a cloud of dust. The Sheriff's men, seeing their master thus fleeing for his life, thought that it was not their business to tarry longer, so, clapping spurs to their horses, they also dashed away after him. But though the Sheriff of Nottingham went fast, he could not outstrip a clothyard arrow. Little John twanged his bowstring with a shout, and when the Sheriff dashed in through the gates of Nottingham Town at full speed, a gray goose shaft stuck out behind him like a moulting sparrow with one feather in its tail. For a month afterward the poor Sheriff could sit upon nought but the softest cushions that could be gotten for him.

Now, when the Sheriff of Nottingham saw whose face was underneath Guy of Gisbourne's hood, and when he heard those bugle notes ringing in his ears, he felt like his time had come. "Robin Hood!" he shouted, and without another word, he turned his horse around and took off in a cloud of dust. The Sheriff's men, seeing their boss running for his life, figured it wasn’t their business to stick around, so they spurred their horses and raced after him too. But even though the Sheriff of Nottingham rode fast, he couldn't outrun a clothyard arrow. Little John twanged his bowstring with a shout, and when the Sheriff dashed through the gates of Nottingham Town at full speed, a gray goose feather stuck out behind him like a plucked sparrow with just one feather left in its tail. For a month afterward, the poor Sheriff could only sit on the softest cushions he could find.

Thus the Sheriff and a score of men ran away from Robin Hood and Little John; so that when Will Stutely and a dozen or more of stout yeomen burst from out the covert, they saw nought of their master's enemies, for the Sheriff and his men were scurrying away in the distance, hidden within a cloud of dust like a little thunderstorm.

Thus the Sheriff and a group of twenty men ran away from Robin Hood and Little John; so that when Will Stutely and a dozen or more strong companions broke out of the bushes, they saw none of their master’s enemies, as the Sheriff and his men were fleeing in the distance, concealed in a cloud of dust like a small thunderstorm.

Then they all went back into the forest once more, where they found the widow's three sons, who ran to Little John and kissed his hands. But it would not do for them to roam the forest at large any more; so they promised that, after they had gone and told their mother of their escape, they would come that night to the greenwood tree, and thenceforth become men of the band.

Then they all went back into the forest again, where they found the widow's three sons, who ran to Little John and kissed his hands. But they couldn’t just roam the forest freely anymore; so they promised that after they told their mother about their escape, they would come that night to the greenwood tree and join the band from then on.

 

 

 

 

King Richard Comes to Sherwood Forest

NOT MORE than two months had passed and gone since these stirring adventures befell Robin Hood and Little John, when all Nottinghamshire was a mighty stir and tumult, for King Richard of the Lion's Heart was making a royal progress through merry England, and everyone expected him to come to Nottingham Town in his journeying. Messengers went riding back and forth between the Sheriff and the King, until at last the time was fixed upon when His Majesty was to stop in Nottingham, as the guest of his worship.

Not more than two months had gone by since Robin Hood and Little John's exciting adventures, when all of Nottinghamshire was buzzing with activity. King Richard the Lionheart was traveling through merry England, and everyone anticipated his arrival in Nottingham Town. Messengers were constantly riding back and forth between the Sheriff and the King until the date was finally set for His Majesty to visit Nottingham as the guest of the Sheriff.

And now came more bustle than ever; a great running hither and thither, a rapping of hammers and a babble of voices sounded everywhere through the place, for the folk were building great arches across the streets, beneath which the King was to pass, and were draping these arches with silken banners and streamers of many colors. Great hubbub was going on in the Guild Hall of the town, also, for here a grand banquet was to be given to the King and the nobles of his train, and the best master carpenters were busy building a throne where the King and the Sheriff were to sit at the head of the table, side by side.

And now there was more activity than ever; people were running around, hammering, and chatting loudly everywhere, as they built large arches across the streets for the King to pass under, decorating them with silk banners and colorful streamers. There was also a lot of excitement going on in the town's Guild Hall, where a grand banquet was going to be held for the King and his nobles. The best master carpenters were hard at work constructing a throne for the King and the Sheriff to sit side by side at the head of the table.

It seemed to many of the good folk of the place as if the day that should bring the King into the town would never come; but all the same it did come in its own season, and bright shone the sun down into the stony streets, which were all alive with a restless sea of people. On either side of the way great crowds of town and country folk stood packed as close together as dried herring in a box, so that the Sheriffs men, halberds in hands, could hardly press them back to leave space for the King's riding.

It felt like the good people of the town believed the day when the King would arrive would never actually happen; however, it eventually came in due time, and the sun shone brightly down into the stony streets, which were buzzing with a restless crowd. On either side of the road, large groups of townsfolk and country people stood packed together like sardines, making it difficult for the Sheriff’s men, with their halberds in hand, to push them back and create room for the King’s procession.

"Take care whom thou pushest against!" cried a great, burly friar to one of these men. "Wouldst thou dig thine elbows into me, sirrah? By'r Lady of the Fountain, an thou dost not treat me with more deference I will crack thy knave's pate for thee, even though thou be one of the mighty Sheriff's men."

"Watch who you’re shoving!" shouted a big, hefty friar at one of the men. "Are you trying to elbow me, buddy? By the Lady of the Fountain, if you don’t show me more respect, I’ll smash your head for you, even if you’re one of the Sheriff’s men."

At this a great shout of laughter arose from a number of tall yeomen in Lincoln green that were scattered through the crowd thereabouts; but one that seemed of more authority than the others nudged the holy man with his elbow. "Peace, Tuck," said he, "didst thou not promise me, ere thou camest here, that thou wouldst put a check upon thy tongue?"

At this, a big burst of laughter came from a group of tall men in Lincoln green who were scattered around the crowd. But one of them, who seemed to hold more authority than the others, nudged the holy man with his elbow. "Calm down, Tuck," he said, "didn't you promise me, before you came here, that you would hold your tongue?"

"Ay, marry," grumbled the other, "but 'a did not think to have a hard- footed knave trample all over my poor toes as though they were no more than so many acorns in the forest."

"Yeah, really," complained the other, "but I didn’t expect to have a clumsy guy stomp all over my poor toes like they were just a bunch of acorns in the woods."

But of a sudden all this bickering ceased, for a clear sound of many bugle horns came winding down the street. Then all the people craned their necks and gazed in the direction whence the sound came, and the crowding and the pushing and the swaying grew greater than ever. And now a gallant array of men came gleaming into sight, and the cheering of the people ran down the crowd as the fire runs in dry grass.

But suddenly all the arguing stopped, as a clear sound of many bugle horns echoed down the street. Then all the people strained their necks and looked in the direction of the sound, and the crowding, pushing, and swaying increased even more. Now a stunning group of men came into view, and the cheering of the people spread through the crowd like fire spreading in dry grass.

Eight and twenty heralds in velvet and cloth of gold came riding forward. Over their heads fluttered a cloud of snow-white feathers, and each herald bore in his hand a long silver trumpet, which he blew musically. From each trumpet hung a heavy banner of velvet and cloth of gold, with the royal arms of England emblazoned thereon. After these came riding fivescore noble knights, two by two, all fully armed, saving that their heads were uncovered. In their hands they bore tall lances, from the tops of which fluttered pennons of many colors and devices. By the side of each knight walked a page clad in rich clothes of silk and velvet, and each page bore in his hands his master's helmet, from which waved long, floating plumes of feathers. Never had Nottingham seen a fairer sight than those fivescore noble knights, from whose armor the sun blazed in dazzling light as they came riding on their great war horses, with clashing of arms and jingling of chains. Behind the knights came the barons and the nobles of the mid-country, in robes of silk and cloth of gold, with golden chains about their necks and jewels at their girdles. Behind these again came a great array of men-at-arms, with spears and halberds in their hands, and, in the midst of these, two riders side by side. One of the horsemen was the Sheriff of Nottingham in his robes of office. The other, who was a head taller than the Sheriff, was clad in a rich but simple garb, with a broad, heavy chain about his neck. His hair and beard were like threads of gold, and his eyes were as blue as the summer sky. As he rode along he bowed to the right hand and the left, and a mighty roar of voices followed him as he passed; for this was King Richard.

Twenty-eight heralds dressed in velvet and gold cloth rode forward. Above them floated a cloud of snow-white feathers, and each herald carried a long silver trumpet that he played melodiously. Hanging from each trumpet was a heavy banner made of velvet and gold cloth, featuring the royal arms of England. Following them rode eighty noble knights, two by two, fully armored except for their heads, which were uncovered. They held tall lances, from which waved pennants of various colors and designs. Beside each knight walked a page dressed in luxurious silk and velvet, carrying his master's helmet adorned with long, flowing plumes of feathers. Nottingham had never seen a more beautiful sight than those eighty noble knights, whose armor shone in dazzling light as they rode on their magnificent warhorses, making a loud clanging of arms and jingling of chains. Behind the knights came the barons and nobles of the mid-country, dressed in silk and gold cloth robes, wearing golden chains around their necks and jewels on their belts. Following them was a large group of armed men, wielding spears and halberds, and in the midst of them were two riders side by side. One was the Sheriff of Nottingham in his official robes. The other, who was a head taller than the Sheriff, wore rich yet simple clothing, with a broad, heavy chain around his neck. His hair and beard shone like threads of gold, and his eyes were as blue as the summer sky. As he rode along, he bowed to the left and right, and a mighty roar of voices erupted as he passed; for this was King Richard.

Then, above all the tumult and the shouting a great voice was heard roaring, "Heaven, its saints bless thee, our gracious King Richard! and likewise Our Lady of the Fountain, bless thee!" Then King Richard, looking toward the spot whence the sound came, saw a tall, burly, strapping priest standing in front of all the crowd with his legs wide apart as he backed against those behind.

Then, above all the commotion and the shouting, a powerful voice could be heard booming, "Heaven and its saints bless you, our gracious King Richard! And may Our Lady of the Fountain bless you too!" King Richard, looking toward the source of the sound, spotted a tall, strong priest standing in front of the crowd with his legs spread wide as he leaned against those behind him.

"By my soul, Sheriff," said the King, laughing, "ye have the tallest priests in Nottinghamshire that e'er I saw in all my life. If Heaven never answered prayers because of deafness, methinks I would nevertheless have blessings bestowed upon me, for that man yonder would make the great stone image of Saint Peter rub its ears and hearken unto him. I would that I had an army of such as he."

"By my soul, Sheriff," the King said, laughing, "you have the tallest priests in Nottinghamshire that I've ever seen in my life. If Heaven never answered prayers because of deafness, I still think I'd be blessed, because that guy over there would make the big stone statue of Saint Peter rub its ears and listen to him. I wish I had an army of people like him."

To this the Sheriff answered never a word, but all the blood left his cheeks, and he caught at the pommel of his saddle to keep himself from falling; for he also saw the fellow that so shouted, and knew him to be Friar Tuck; and, moreover, behind Friar Tuck he saw the faces of Robin Hood and Little John and Will Scarlet and Will Stutely and Allan a Dale and others of the band.

To this, the Sheriff didn’t say a word, but all the color drained from his face, and he grabbed the pommel of his saddle to keep from falling; for he recognized the guy who shouted as Friar Tuck; and, on top of that, behind Friar Tuck, he saw the faces of Robin Hood, Little John, Will Scarlet, Will Stutely, Allan a Dale, and other members of the gang.

"How now," said the King hastily, "art thou ill, Sheriff, that thou growest so white?"

"What's wrong?" the King said quickly. "Are you sick, Sheriff, that you look so pale?"

"Nay, Your Majesty," said the Sheriff, "it was nought but a sudden pain that will soon pass by." Thus he spake, for he was ashamed that the King should know that Robin Hood feared him so little that he thus dared to come within the very gates of Nottingham Town.

"Actually, Your Majesty," said the Sheriff, "it was just a momentary pain that will pass quickly." He said this because he was embarrassed that the King should know that Robin Hood was so unafraid of him that he dared to come right into the gates of Nottingham Town.

Thus rode the King into Nottingham Town on that bright afternoon in the early fall season; and none rejoiced more than Robin Hood and his merry men to see him come so royally unto his own.

So the King rode into Nottingham Town on that bright afternoon in early fall, and no one was happier than Robin Hood and his merry men to see him arrive so royally.

Eventide had come; the great feast in the Guild Hall at Nottingham Town was done, and the wine passed freely. A thousand waxen lights gleamed along the board, at which sat lord and noble and knight and squire in goodly array. At the head of the table, upon a throne all hung with cloth of gold, sat King Richard with the Sheriff of Nottingham beside him.

Evening had arrived; the grand feast in the Guild Hall at Nottingham Town was over, and the wine flowed freely. A thousand candle lights shimmered along the table, where lords, nobles, knights, and squires were elegantly seated. At the head of the table, on a throne draped in gold cloth, sat King Richard with the Sheriff of Nottingham next to him.

Quoth the King to the Sheriff, laughing as he spoke, "I have heard much spoken concerning the doings of certain fellows hereabouts, one Robin Hood and his band, who are outlaws and abide in Sherwood Forest. Canst thou not tell me somewhat of them, Sir Sheriff? For I hear that thou hast had dealings with them more than once."

The King said to the Sheriff, laughing as he spoke, "I've heard a lot about some guys around here, one Robin Hood and his crew, who are outlaws living in Sherwood Forest. Can you tell me something about them, Sheriff? I hear you've had some run-ins with them more than once."

At these words the Sheriff of Nottingham looked down gloomily, and the Bishop of Hereford, who was present, gnawed his nether lip. Quoth the Sheriff, "I can tell Your Majesty but little concerning the doings of those naughty fellows, saving that they are the boldest lawbreakers in all the land."

At this, the Sheriff of Nottingham looked down sadly, and the Bishop of Hereford, who was there, bit his lower lip. The Sheriff said, "I can tell Your Majesty very little about what those troublemakers are doing, except that they are the bravest lawbreakers in the entire land."

Then up spake young Sir Henry of the Lea, a great favorite with the King, under whom he had fought in Palestine. "May it please Your Majesty," said he, "when I was away in Palestine I heard ofttimes from my father, and in most cases I heard of this very fellow, Robin Hood. If Your Majesty would like I will tell you a certain adventure of this outlaw."

Then young Sir Henry of the Lea, a favorite with the King, spoke up. "If it pleases Your Majesty," he said, "while I was in Palestine, I often heard from my father, and most of the time he talked about this very man, Robin Hood. If Your Majesty is interested, I can share a story about this outlaw."

Then the King laughingly bade him tell his tale, whereupon he told how Robin Hood had aided Sir Richard of the Lea with money that he had borrowed from the Bishop of Hereford. Again and again the King and those present roared with laughter, while the poor Bishop waxed cherry red in the face with vexation, for the matter was a sore thing with him. When Sir Henry of the Lea was done, others of those present, seeing how the King enjoyed this merry tale, told other tales concerning Robin and his merry men.

Then the King laughed and told him to share his story, and he explained how Robin Hood had helped Sir Richard of the Lea with money he had borrowed from the Bishop of Hereford. Over and over, the King and everyone there burst into laughter, while the poor Bishop turned bright red with frustration, as it was a sensitive issue for him. When Sir Henry of the Lea finished, others in the group, seeing how much the King enjoyed this funny story, shared more stories about Robin and his merry men.

"By the hilt of my sword," said stout King Richard, "this is as bold and merry a knave as ever I heard tell of. Marry, I must take this matter in hand and do what thou couldst not do, Sheriff, to wit, clear the forest of him and his band."

"By the hilt of my sword," said strong King Richard, "this is as brave and cheerful a rogue as I've ever heard of. Indeed, I must handle this myself and do what you couldn’t, Sheriff, which is to rid the forest of him and his gang."

That night the King sat in the place that was set apart for his lodging while in Nottingham Town. With him were young Sir Henry of the Lea and two other knights and three barons of Nottinghamshire; but the King's mind still dwelled upon Robin Hood. "Now," quoth he, "I would freely give a hundred pounds to meet this roguish fellow, Robin Hood, and to see somewhat of his doings in Sherwood Forest."

That night, the King was in his designated room in Nottingham Town. With him were young Sir Henry of the Lea, two other knights, and three barons from Nottinghamshire; however, the King's thoughts were still on Robin Hood. "Now," he said, "I'd gladly pay a hundred pounds to meet this mischievous guy, Robin Hood, and to witness some of his activities in Sherwood Forest."

Then up spake Sir Hubert of gingham, laughing: "If Your Majesty hath such a desire upon you it is not so hard to satisfy. If Your Majesty is willing to lose one hundred pounds, I will engage to cause you not only to meet this fellow, but to feast with him in Sherwood."

Then Sir Hubert of Gingham laughed and said, "If Your Majesty really wants that, it’s not too hard to make it happen. If Your Majesty is ready to part with one hundred pounds, I’ll make sure you not only meet this guy but also have a feast with him in Sherwood."

"Marry, Sir Hubert," quoth the King, "this pleaseth me well. But how wilt thou cause me to meet Robin Hood?"

"Sure, Sir Hubert," said the King, "I like this very much. But how will you arrange for me to meet Robin Hood?"

"Why, thus," said Sir Hubert, "let Your Majesty and us here present put on the robes of seven of the Order of Black Friars, and let Your Majesty hang a purse of one hundred pounds beneath your gown; then let us undertake to ride from here to Mansfield Town tomorrow, and, without I am much mistaken, we will both meet with Robin Hood and dine with him before the day be passed."

"Well then," said Sir Hubert, "let Your Majesty and the rest of us put on the robes of seven members of the Order of Black Friars, and let Your Majesty hang a purse with one hundred pounds under your gown; then let's plan to ride from here to Mansfield Town tomorrow, and, unless I'm very wrong, we’ll likely meet Robin Hood and have dinner with him before the day is over."

"I like thy plan, Sir Hubert," quoth the King merrily, "and tomorrow we will try it and see whether there be virtue in it."

"I like your plan, Sir Hubert," the King said cheerfully, "and tomorrow we'll give it a try and see if it actually works."

So it happened that when early the next morning the Sheriff came to where his liege lord was abiding, to pay his duty to him, the King told him what they had talked of the night before, and what merry adventure they were set upon undertaking that morning. But when the Sheriff heard this he smote his forehead with his fist. "Alas!" said he, "what evil counsel is this that hath been given thee! O my gracious lord and King, you know not what you do! This villain that you thus go to seek hath no reverence either for king or king's laws."

So it happened that early the next morning, when the Sheriff arrived at the place where his liege lord was staying to pay his respects, the King shared what they had discussed the night before and the fun adventure they were planning to undertake that morning. But when the Sheriff heard this, he struck his forehead with his fist. "Oh no!" he exclaimed, "what terrible advice is this that you've received! My gracious lord and King, you don’t realize what you're doing! This scoundrel you’re going to seek has no respect for either the king or the king’s laws."

"But did I not hear aright when I was told that this Robin Hood hath shed no blood since he was outlawed, saving only that of that vile Guy of Gisbourne, for whose death all honest men should thank him?"

"But did I hear correctly when I was told that this Robin Hood hasn't shed any blood since he was outlawed, except for that despicable Guy of Gisbourne, whose death all decent people should be grateful for?"

"Yea, Your Majesty," said the Sheriff, "you have heard aright. Nevertheless—"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said the Sheriff, "you heard correctly. However—"

"Then," quoth the King, breaking in on the Sheriffs speech, "what have I to fear in meeting him, having done him no harm? Truly, there is no danger in this. But mayhap thou wilt go with us, Sir Sheriff."

"Then," said the King, interrupting the Sheriff's speech, "what do I have to fear in meeting him, having harmed him in no way? Honestly, there's no danger in this. But perhaps you'll come with us, Sir Sheriff."

"Nay," quoth the Sheriff hastily, "Heaven forbid!"

"Nah," the Sheriff said quickly, "God forbid!"

But now seven habits such as Black Friars wear were brought, and the King and those about him having clad themselves therein, and His Majesty having hung a purse with a hundred golden pounds in it beneath his robes, they all went forth and mounted the mules that had been brought to the door for them. Then the King bade the Sheriff be silent as to their doings, and so they set forth upon their way. Onward they traveled, laughing and jesting, until they passed through the open country; between bare harvest fields whence the harvest had been gathered home; through scattered glades that began to thicken as they went farther along, till they came within the heavy shade of the forest itself. They traveled in the forest for several miles without meeting anyone such as they sought, until they had come to that part of the road that lay nearest to Newstead Abbey.

But now, seven habits similar to those worn by Black Friars were brought in, and the King and his entourage dressed in them. His Majesty even hung a purse with a hundred golden pounds beneath his robes. Then they all stepped outside and mounted the mules that had been brought to the door for them. The King instructed the Sheriff to keep quiet about their activities, and so they set out on their journey. They traveled on, laughing and joking, until they moved through the open countryside; between bare harvest fields where the crops had been collected; through scattered glades that began to thicken as they continued on, until they reached the deep shade of the forest itself. They traveled in the forest for several miles without encountering anyone they were looking for, until they arrived at the part of the road that was closest to Newstead Abbey.

"By the holy Saint Martin," quoth the King, "I would that I had a better head for remembering things of great need. Here have we come away and brought never so much as a drop of anything to drink with us. Now I would give half a hundred pounds for somewhat to quench my thirst withal."

"By holy Saint Martin," said the King, "I wish I had a better memory for important things. We've come this far and didn’t bring even a drop to drink with us. Now I would give fifty pounds for something to quench my thirst."

No sooner had the King so spoken, than out from the covert at the roadside stepped a tall fellow with yellow beard and hair and a pair of merry blue eyes. "Truly, holy brother," said he, laying his hand upon the King's bridle rein, "it were an unchristian thing to not give fitting answer to so fair a bargain. We keep an inn hereabouts, and for fifty pounds we will not only give thee a good draught of wine, but will give thee as noble a feast as ever thou didst tickle thy gullet withal." So saying, he put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. Then straightway the bushes and branches on either side of the road swayed and crackled, and threescore broad-shouldered yeomen in Lincoln green burst out of the covert.

No sooner had the King finished speaking than a tall man with a yellow beard and hair and bright blue eyes stepped out from the bushes by the roadside. "Really, holy brother," he said, placing his hand on the King's reins, "it would be unchristian not to properly respond to such a fair offer. We run an inn around here, and for fifty pounds, we’ll not only serve you a good drink of wine but also provide you with a feast as grand as any you’ve ever enjoyed." As he said this, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. Immediately, the bushes and branches on both sides of the road rustled and cracked, and thirty sturdy yeomen dressed in Lincoln green emerged from the brush.

"How now, fellow," quoth the King, "who art thou, thou naughty rogue? Hast thou no regard for such holy men as we are?"

"What's up, buddy," said the King, "who are you, you little troublemaker? Don't you have any respect for holy men like us?"

"Not a whit," quoth merry Robin Hood, for the fellow was he, "for in sooth all the holiness belonging to rich friars, such as ye are, one could drop into a thimble and the goodwife would never feel it with the tip of her finger. As for my name, it is Robin Hood, and thou mayst have heard it before."

"Not at all," said cheerful Robin Hood, for it was he, "because honestly, all the holiness that rich friars like you have could fit in a thimble, and the goodwife wouldn’t even notice it with the tip of her finger. As for my name, it’s Robin Hood, and you might have heard it before."

"Now out upon thee!" quoth King Richard. "Thou art a bold and naughty fellow and a lawless one withal, as I have often heard tell. Now, prythee, let me, and these brethren of mine, travel forward in peace and quietness."

"Now get out of my way!" said King Richard. "You are a bold and troublesome guy, and a lawless one too, as I have often heard. Now, please, let me and my brothers move forward in peace and quiet."

"It may not be," said Robin, "for it would look but ill of us to let such holy men travel onward with empty stomachs. But I doubt not that thou hast a fat purse to pay thy score at our inn since thou offerest freely so much for a poor draught of wine. Show me thy purse, reverend brother, or I may perchance have to strip thy robes from thee to search for it myself."

"It might not be," said Robin, "because it wouldn't reflect well on us to let such holy men travel on with empty stomachs. But I have no doubt you have a fat wallet to cover your bill at our inn since you're so eager to offer so much for a simple glass of wine. Show me your wallet, good brother, or I might just have to take your robes off to search for it myself."

"Nay, use no force," said the King sternly. "Here is my purse, but lay not thy lawless hands upon our person."

"Don't use any force," the King said firmly. "Here is my purse, but don't lay your unlawful hands on me."

"Hut, tut," quoth merry Robin, "what proud words are these? Art thou the King of England, to talk so to me? Here, Will, take this purse and see what there is within."

"Hut, tut," said merry Robin, "what arrogant words are these? Are you the King of England to speak to me like that? Here, Will, take this purse and see what's inside."

Will Scarlet took the purse and counted out the money. Then Robin bade him keep fifty pounds for themselves, and put fifty back into the purse. This he handed to the King. "Here, brother," quoth he, "take this half of thy money, and thank Saint Martin, on whom thou didst call before, that thou hast fallen into the hands of such gentle rogues that they will not strip thee bare, as they might do. But wilt thou not put back thy cowl? For I would fain see thy face."

Will Scarlet took the purse and counted the money. Then Robin told him to keep fifty pounds for themselves and put fifty back in the purse. He handed this back to the King. "Here, brother," he said, "take this half of your money and thank Saint Martin, whom you called upon earlier, for letting you fall into the hands of such kind rogues who won’t strip you clean, as they could have. But won’t you take off your hood? I’d really like to see your face."

"Nay," said the King, drawing back, "I may not put back my cowl, for we seven have vowed that we will not show our faces for four and twenty hours."

"Nah," said the King, pulling back, "I can't take off my hood, because we seven have promised that we won't show our faces for twenty-four hours."

"Then keep them covered in peace," said Robin, "and far be it from me to make you break your vows."

"Then keep them safe and sound," said Robin, "and it’s not my place to make you break your promises."

So he called seven of his yeomen and bade them each one take a mule by the bridle; then, turning their faces toward the depths of the woodlands, they journeyed onward until they came to the open glade and the greenwood tree.

So he called seven of his men and asked each of them to take a mule by the bridle; then, turning their faces toward the depths of the woods, they traveled on until they reached the open glade and the greenwood tree.

Little John, with threescore yeomen at his heels, had also gone forth that morning to wait along the roads and bring a rich guest to Sherwood glade, if such might be his luck, for many with fat purses must travel the roads at this time, when such great doings were going on in Nottinghamshire, but though Little John and so many others were gone, Friar Tuck and twoscore or more stout yeomen were seated or lying around beneath the great tree, and when Robin and the others came they leaped to their feet to meet him.

Little John, with sixty yeomen following him, had also set out that morning to wait along the roads and bring a wealthy guest to Sherwood glade, hoping luck would be on his side, since many people with fat wallets were traveling the roads at this time, with all the big events happening in Nottinghamshire. However, even though Little John and so many others were out, Friar Tuck and twenty or more strong yeomen were sitting or lying around beneath the large tree, and when Robin and the others arrived, they jumped to their feet to greet him.

"By my soul," quoth merry King Richard, when he had gotten down from his mule and stood looking about him, "thou hast in very truth a fine lot of young men about thee, Robin. Methinks King Richard himself would be glad of such a bodyguard."

"By my soul," said merry King Richard, when he had gotten down from his mule and stood looking around him, "you truly have a fine group of young men with you, Robin. I think King Richard himself would be happy to have such a bodyguard."

"These are not all of my fellows," said Robin proudly, "for threescore more of them are away on business with my good right-hand man, Little John. But, as for King Richard, I tell thee, brother, there is not a man of us all but would pour out our blood like water for him. Ye churchmen cannot rightly understand our King; but we yeomen love him right loyally for the sake of his brave doings which are so like our own."

"These aren’t all my friends," Robin said proudly, "because another sixty are out on business with my right-hand man, Little John. But as for King Richard, I tell you, brother, there isn’t a single one of us who wouldn’t gladly spill our blood for him. You churchmen don’t really understand our king; but we commoners love him fiercely because of his brave deeds, which are so similar to our own."

But now Friar Tuck came bustling up. "Gi' ye good den, brothers," said he. "I am right glad to welcome some of my cloth in this naughty place. Truly, methinks these rogues of outlaws would stand but an ill chance were it not for the prayers of Holy Tuck, who laboreth so hard for their well-being." Here he winked one eye slyly and stuck his tongue into his cheek.

But now Friar Tuck came hurrying over. "Good day to you, brothers," he said. "I'm really glad to see some of my fellow clergy in this troublesome place. Honestly, I think these outlaws wouldn’t stand a chance if it weren't for the prayers of Holy Tuck, who works so hard for their well-being." He winked one eye playfully and poked his tongue into his cheek.

"Who art thou, mad priest?" said the King in a serious voice, albeit he smiled beneath his cowl.

"Who are you, crazy priest?" said the King in a serious tone, even though he smiled beneath his hood.

At this Friar Tuck looked all around with a slow gaze. "Look you now," quoth he, "never let me hear you say again that I am no patient man. Here is a knave of a friar calleth me a mad priest, and yet I smite him not. My name is Friar Tuck, fellow—the holy Friar Tuck."

At this, Friar Tuck looked around slowly. "Now listen," he said, "never say again that I'm not a patient man. Here is a rogue of a friar who calls me a crazy priest, and yet I don't strike him. My name is Friar Tuck, my friend—the holy Friar Tuck."

"There, Tuck," said Robin, "thou hast said enow. Prythee, cease thy talk and bring some wine. These reverend men are athirst, and sin' they have paid so richly for their score they must e'en have the best."

"There, Tuck," said Robin, "you've said enough. Please stop talking and bring some wine. These respected men are thirsty, and since they've paid so much for their bill, they deserve the best."

Friar Tuck bridled at being so checked in his speech, nevertheless he went straightway to do Robin's bidding; so presently a great crock was brought, and wine was poured out for all the guests and for Robin Hood. Then Robin held his cup aloft. "Stay!" cried he. "Tarry in your drinking till I give you a pledge. Here is to good King Richard of great renown, and may all enemies to him be confounded."

Friar Tuck was annoyed at being interrupted, but he went ahead and did what Robin asked. Soon, a big pot was brought in, and wine was served for all the guests, including Robin Hood. Then Robin raised his cup high. "Wait!" he said. "Hold off on drinking until I make a toast. Here’s to good King Richard, who is famous, and may all his enemies be defeated."

Then all drank the King's health, even the King himself. "Methinks, good fellow," said he, "thou hast drunk to thine own confusion."

Then everyone toasted the King's health, including the King himself. "I think, my good friend," he said, "you've drunk to your own downfall."

"Never a whit," quoth merry Robin, "for I tell thee that we of Sherwood are more loyal to our lord the King than those of thine order. We would give up our lives for his benefiting, while ye are content to lie snug in your abbeys and priories let reign who will."

"Not at all," said merry Robin, "because I tell you that we in Sherwood are more loyal to our lord the King than those in your order. We would give up our lives for his benefit, while you are happy to stay comfortably in your abbeys and priories, letting whoever will reign."

At this the King laughed. Quoth he, "Perhaps King Richard's welfare is more to me than thou wottest of, fellow. But enough of that matter. We have paid well for our fare, so canst thou not show us some merry entertainment? I have oft heard that ye are wondrous archers; wilt thou not show us somewhat of your skill?"

At this, the King laughed. He said, "Maybe King Richard's well-being matters more to me than you realize, my friend. But let's move on from that. We’ve paid well for our meal, so can you entertain us a bit? I've often heard that you are incredible archers; will you show us some of your skills?"

"With all my heart," said Robin, "we are always pleased to show our guests all the sport that is to be seen. As Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, 'Tis a hard heart that will not give a caged starling of the best'; and caged starlings ye are with us. Ho, lads! Set up a garland at the end of the glade."

"With all my heart," said Robin, "we're always happy to show our guests all the fun that's available. As Gaffer Swanthold says, 'It’s a tough heart that won't give the best to a caged starling'; and caged starlings you are with us. Hey, guys! Let's put up a garland at the end of the glade."

Then, as the yeomen ran to do their master's bidding, Tuck turned to one of the mock friars. "Hearest thou our master?" quoth he, with a sly wink. "Whenever he cometh across some poor piece of wit he straightway layeth it on the shoulders of this Gaffer Swanthold—whoever he may be— so that the poor goodman goeth traveling about with all the odds and ends and tags and rags of our master's brain packed on his back." Thus spake Friar Tuck, but in a low voice so that Robin could not hear him, for he felt somewhat nettled at Robin's cutting his talk so short.

Then, as the workers ran to do their boss’s bidding, Tuck turned to one of the fake friars. "Did you hear our boss?" he said with a sly wink. "Whenever he comes across a poor joke, he immediately dumps it on this Gaffer Swanthold—whoever that is—so that the poor guy ends up wandering around with all the random ideas and scraps from our boss’s mind loaded on his back." Friar Tuck said this, but in a low voice so that Robin couldn’t hear him, as he felt a bit annoyed that Robin interrupted his conversation.

In the meantime the mark at which they were to shoot was set up at sixscore paces distance. It was a garland of leaves and flowers two spans in width, which same was hung upon a stake in front of a broad tree trunk. "There," quoth Robin, "yon is a fair mark, lads. Each of you shoot three arrows thereat; and if any fellow misseth by so much as one arrow, he shall have a buffet of Will Scarlet's fist."

In the meantime, the target they were supposed to shoot at was set up six score paces away. It was a garland of leaves and flowers two spans wide, hung on a stake in front of a wide tree trunk. "There," said Robin, "that's a good target, guys. Each of you shoot three arrows at it; and if anyone misses with even one arrow, he’ll get a punch from Will Scarlet."

"Hearken to him!" quoth Friar Tuck. "Why, master, thou dost bestow buffets from thy strapping nephew as though they were love taps from some bouncing lass. I warrant thou art safe to hit the garland thyself, or thou wouldst not be so free of his cuffing."

"Hear him out!" said Friar Tuck. "Why, master, you take those punches from your beefy nephew as if they were gentle taps from some playful girl. I bet you're in enough shape to hit the target yourself, or you wouldn't be so relaxed about his hitting you."

First David of Doncaster shot, and lodged all three of his arrows within the garland. "Well done, David!" cried Robin, "thou hast saved thine ears from a warming this day." Next Midge, the Miller, shot, and he, also, lodged his arrows in the garland. Then followed Wat, the Tinker, but alas for him! For one of his shafts missed the mark by the breadth of two fingers.

First, David from Doncaster shot and landed all three of his arrows in the garland. "Well done, David!" shouted Robin, "you’ve saved your ears from a beating today." Next up was Midge, the Miller, who also managed to hit the garland with his arrows. Then came Wat, the Tinker, but unfortunately for him, one of his arrows missed the mark by the width of two fingers.

"Come hither, fellow," said Will Scarlet, in his soft, gentle voice, "I owe thee somewhat that I would pay forthwith." Then Wat, the Tinker, came forward and stood in front of Will Scarlet, screwing up his face and shutting his eyes tightly, as though he already felt his ears ringing with the buffet. Will Scarlet rolled up his sleeve, and, standing on tiptoe to give the greater swing to his arm, he struck with might and main. "WHOOF!" came his palm against the Tinker's head, and down went stout Wat to the grass, heels over head, as the wooden image at the fair goes down when the skillful player throws a cudgel at it. Then, as the Tinker sat up upon the grass, rubbing his ear and winking and blinking at the bright stars that danced before his eyes, the yeomen roared with mirth till the forest rang. As for King Richard, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Thus the band shot, each in turn, some getting off scot free, and some winning a buffet that always sent them to the grass. And now, last of all, Robin took his place, and all was hushed as he shot. The first shaft he shot split a piece from the stake on which the garland was hung; the second lodged within an inch of the other. "By my halidom," said King Richard to himself, "I would give a thousand pounds for this fellow to be one of my guard!" And now, for the third time Robin shot; but, alas for him! The arrow was ill- feathered, and, wavering to one side, it smote an inch outside the garland.

"Come here, friend," said Will Scarlet in his soft, gentle voice, "I owe you something that I want to pay right away." Then Wat, the Tinker, stepped forward and stood in front of Will Scarlet, scrunching up his face and shutting his eyes tightly, as if he could already feel his ears ringing from the hit. Will Scarlet rolled up his sleeve, and, standing on tiptoe to add more force to his swing, he struck with all his strength. "WHOOF!" came his palm against the Tinker's head, and stout Wat fell down to the grass, heels over head, just like the wooden figure at the fair tumbles when the skilled player hits it with a stick. Then, as the Tinker sat up on the grass, rubbing his ear and blinking at the bright stars that danced in front of his eyes, the yeomen burst into laughter until the forest echoed. King Richard laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. Thus, the group took their turns, some escaping scot-free, while others got a hit that always sent them to the grass. Finally, Robin took his place, and everyone fell silent as he shot. His first arrow split a piece off the stake where the garland was hung; his second landed within an inch of the first. "By my word," King Richard thought to himself, "I would pay a thousand pounds for this guy to be one of my guards!" Then, for the third time, Robin shot; but, unfortunately for him, the arrow was poorly feathered, and it veered to one side, striking an inch outside the garland.

At this a great roar went up, those of the yeomen who sat upon the grass rolling over and over and shouting with laughter, for never before had they seen their master so miss his mark; but Robin flung his bow upon the ground with vexation. "Now, out upon it!" cried he. "That shaft had an ill feather to it, for I felt it as it left my fingers. Give me a clean arrow, and I will engage to split the wand with it."

At this, a big cheer erupted as the yeomen sitting on the grass rolled around and shouted with laughter, because they had never seen their master miss so badly before; but Robin threw his bow on the ground in frustration. "Now, how could this happen!" he exclaimed. "That arrow had a bad feather, I could feel it as it left my fingers. Hand me a good arrow, and I promise I’ll split the wand with it."

At these words the yeomen laughed louder than ever. "Nay, good uncle," said Will Scarlet in his soft, sweet voice, "thou hast had thy fair chance and hast missed thine aim out and out. I swear the arrow was as good as any that hath been loosed this day. Come hither; I owe thee somewhat, and would fain pay it."

At these words, the yeomen laughed even harder. "No, good uncle," said Will Scarlet in his soft, sweet voice, "you’ve had your fair chance and completely missed your target. I swear the arrow was as good as any that’s been shot today. Come here; I owe you something, and I’d like to pay it back."

"Go, good master," roared Friar Tuck, "and may my blessing go with thee. Thou hast bestowed these love taps of Will Scarlet's with great freedom. It were pity an thou gottest not thine own share."

"Go ahead, good master," shouted Friar Tuck, "and may my blessing be with you. You’ve received these affectionate hits from Will Scarlet quite freely. It would be a shame if you didn’t get your own share."

"It may not be," said merry Robin. "I am king here, and no subject may raise hand against the king. But even our great King Richard may yield to the holy Pope without shame, and even take a tap from him by way of penance; therefore I will yield myself to this holy friar, who seemeth to be one in authority, and will take my punishment from him." Thus saying, he turned to the King, "I prythee, brother, wilt thou take my punishing into thy holy hands?"

"It might not be," said cheerful Robin. "I am the king here, and no subject can raise a hand against the king. But even our great King Richard can submit to the holy Pope without shame, and even accept a light punishment from him for penance; so I will submit myself to this holy friar, who seems to be in a position of authority, and will accept my punishment from him." Saying this, he turned to the King, "Please, brother, will you take my punishment into your holy hands?"

"With all my heart," quoth merry King Richard, rising from where he was sitting. "I owe thee somewhat for having lifted a heavy weight of fifty pounds from my purse. So make room for him on the green, lads."

"With all my heart," said merry King Richard, getting up from where he was sitting. "I owe you something for taking a heavy weight of fifty pounds from my wallet. So make some space for him on the green, guys."

"An thou makest me tumble," quoth Robin, "I will freely give thee back thy fifty pounds; but I tell thee, brother, if thou makest me not feel grass all along my back, I will take every farthing thou hast for thy boastful speech."

"Unless you make me fall," said Robin, "I'll gladly give you back your fifty pounds; but I tell you, brother, if you don’t make me feel grass all along my back, I’ll take every penny you have for your bragging."

"So be it," said the King, "I am willing to venture it." Thereupon he rolled up his sleeve and showed an arm that made the yeomen stare. But Robin, with his feet wide apart, stood firmly planted, waiting the other, smiling. Then the King swung back his arm, and, balancing himself a moment, he delivered a buffet at Robin that fell like a thunderbolt. Down went Robin headlong upon the grass, for the stroke would have felled a stone wall. Then how the yeomen shouted with laughter till their sides ached, for never had they seen such a buffet given in all their lives. As for Robin, he presently sat up and looked all around him, as though he had dropped from a cloud and had lit in a place he had never seen before. After a while, still gazing about him at his laughing yeomen, he put his fingertips softly to his ear and felt all around it tenderly. "Will Scarlet," said he, "count this fellow out his fifty pounds; I want nothing more either of his money or of him. A murrain seize him and his buffeting! I would that I had taken my dues from thee, for I verily believe he hath deafened mine ear from ever hearing again."

"Fine," said the King, "I'm ready to take the risk." With that, he rolled up his sleeve to reveal an arm that made the yeomen stare in awe. But Robin, with his feet planted firmly apart, stood his ground, smiling. The King then swung back his arm, steadied himself for a moment, and delivered a punch at Robin that hit like a thunderbolt. Robin went crashing down onto the grass, as that blow would have knocked over a stone wall. The yeomen erupted in laughter until their sides hurt, as they had never seen such a punch delivered in all their lives. As for Robin, he eventually sat up and looked around as if he had fallen from the sky into a totally unfamiliar place. After a moment, still surveying the laughing yeomen, he gently touched his ear and felt around it carefully. "Will Scarlet," he said, "take this guy's fifty pounds; I don't want anything else from him or his money. Curse him and his punch! I wish I had taken my dues from you, because I honestly believe he's deafened my ear for good."

Then, while gusts of laughter still broke from the band, Will Scarlet counted out the fifty pounds, and the King dropped it back into his purse again. "I give thee thanks, fellow," said he, "and if ever thou shouldst wish for another box of the ear to match the one thou hast, come to me and I will fit thee with it for nought."

Then, while bursts of laughter still came from the group, Will Scarlet counted out the fifty pounds, and the King returned it to his purse. "Thanks, my friend," he said, "and if you ever want another slap across the face to match the one you just got, come to me and I'll give it to you for free."

So spake the merry King; but, even as he ended, there came suddenly the sound of many voices, and out from the covert burst Little John and threescore men, with Sir Richard of the Lea in the midst. Across the glade they came running, and, as they came, Sir Richard shouted to Robin: "Make haste, dear friend, gather thy band together and come with me! King Richard left Nottingham Town this very morning, and cometh to seek thee in the woodlands. I know not how he cometh, for it was but a rumor of this that reached me; nevertheless, I know that it is the truth. Therefore hasten with all thy men, and come to Castle Lea, for there thou mayst lie hidden till thy present danger passeth. Who are these strangers that thou hast with thee?"

So spoke the cheerful King; but just as he finished, there suddenly came the sound of many voices, and out from the trees burst Little John and sixty men, with Sir Richard of the Lea in the middle. They came running across the glade, and as they approached, Sir Richard shouted to Robin: "Hurry, my dear friend, gather your group and come with me! King Richard left Nottingham Town this very morning and is coming to find you in the woods. I don't know how he is coming, as it was just a rumor that reached me; still, I know it's true. So hurry with all your men and come to Castle Lea, where you can hide until this danger passes. Who are these strangers with you?"

"Why," quoth merry Robin, rising from the grass, "these are certain gentle guests that came with us from the highroad over by Newstead Abbey. I know not their names, but I have become right well acquaint with this lusty rogue's palm this morning. Marry, the pleasure of this acquaintance hath dost me a deaf ear and fifty pounds to boot!"

"Why," said cheerful Robin, getting up from the grass, "these are some friendly guests that came with us from the main road by Newstead Abbey. I don’t know their names, but I’ve gotten pretty familiar with this lively rogue's hand this morning. Honestly, the joy of this encounter has cost me a deaf ear and an extra fifty pounds!"

Sir Richard looked keenly at the tall friar, who, drawing himself up to his full height, looked fixedly back at the knight. Then of a sudden Sir Richard's cheeks grew pale, for he knew who it was that he looked upon. Quickly he leaped from off his horse's back and flung himself upon his knees before the other. At this, the King, seeing that Sir Richard knew him, threw back his cowl, and all the yeomen saw his face and knew him also, for there was not one of them but had been in the crowd in the good town of Nottingham, and had seen him riding side by side with the Sheriff. Down they fell upon their knees, nor could they say a word. Then the King looked all around right grimly, and, last of all, his glance came back and rested again upon Sir Richard of the Lea.

Sir Richard stared intently at the tall friar, who straightened up to his full height and returned the knight's gaze. Suddenly, Sir Richard's cheeks turned pale, as he realized who he was facing. He quickly jumped off his horse and knelt before the other man. Seeing that Sir Richard recognized him, the King pulled back his hood, and all the yeomen saw his face and recognized him too, as they all had been part of the crowd in Nottingham and had seen him riding alongside the Sheriff. They all dropped to their knees, unable to speak. The King looked around sternly, and finally, his gaze returned to rest on Sir Richard of the Lea.

"How is this, Sir Richard?" said he sternly. "How darest thou step between me and these fellows? And how darest thou offer thy knightly Castle of the Lea for a refuge to them? Wilt thou make it a hiding place for the most renowned outlaws in England?"

"How is this, Sir Richard?" he asked firmly. "How dare you step between me and these guys? And how could you offer your knightly Castle of the Lea as a refuge for them? Are you going to turn it into a hiding place for the most famous outlaws in England?"

Then Sir Richard of the Lea raised his eyes to the King's face. "Far be it from me," said he, "to do aught that could bring Your Majesty's anger upon me. Yet, sooner would I face Your Majesty's wrath than suffer aught of harm that I could stay to fall upon Robin Hood and his band; for to them I owe life, honor, everything. Should I, then, desert him in his hour of need?"

Then Sir Richard of the Lea looked up at the King's face. "I would never want to do anything that would make you angry, Your Majesty," he said. "But I would rather face your wrath than let any harm come to Robin Hood and his group; I owe them my life, my honor, everything. Should I abandon him in his time of need?"

Ere the knight had done speaking, one of the mock friars that stood near the King came forward and knelt beside Sir Richard, and throwing back his cowl showed the face of young Sir Henry of the Lea. Then Sir Henry grasped his father's hand and said, "Here kneels one who hath served thee well, King Richard, and, as thou knowest, hath stepped between thee and death in Palestine; yet do I abide by my dear father, and here I say also, that I would freely give shelter to this noble outlaw, Robin Hood, even though it brought thy wrath upon me, for my father's honor and my father's welfare are as dear to me as mine own."

Before the knight finished speaking, one of the fake friars standing near the King stepped forward and knelt beside Sir Richard. Throwing back his hood, he revealed the face of young Sir Henry of the Lea. Sir Henry then took his father's hand and said, "Here kneels someone who has served you well, King Richard, and, as you know, has intervened between you and death in Palestine. But I stand by my dear father, and I also say that I would willingly offer shelter to this noble outlaw, Robin Hood, even if it brought your anger upon me, for my father's honor and well-being are as important to me as my own."

King Richard looked from one to the other of the kneeling knights, and at last the frown faded from his brow and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "Marry, Sir Richard," quoth the King, "thou art a bold-spoken knight, and thy freedom of speech weigheth not heavily against thee with me. This young son of thine taketh after his sire both in boldness of speech and of deed, for, as he sayeth, he stepped one time betwixt me and death; wherefore I would pardon thee for his sake even if thou hadst done more than thou hast. Rise all of you, for ye shall suffer no harm through me this day, for it were pity that a merry time should end in a manner as to mar its joyousness."

King Richard looked from one kneeling knight to another, and finally the frown disappeared from his face and a smile appeared at the corners of his lips. "Well, Sir Richard," the King said, "you’re a bold knight, and I don’t hold your honesty against you. This young son of yours takes after you in both his bold words and actions, for, as he says, he once stepped between me and death; therefore, I would forgive you for his sake even if you had done more than you have. Stand up, all of you, for you won’t face any harm from me today, as it would be a shame for a joyful time to end in a way that spoils its happiness."

Then all arose and the King beckoned Robin Hood to come to him. "How now," quoth he, "is thine ear still too deaf to hear me speak?"

Then everyone got up, and the King signaled for Robin Hood to come over. "So, what's going on," he said, "is your ear still too deaf to hear me?"

"Mine ears would be deafened in death ere they would cease to hear Your Majesty's voice," said Robin. "As for the blow that Your Majesty struck me, I would say that though my sins are haply many, methinks they have been paid up in full thereby."

"Even in death, my ears would be deafened before they stop hearing Your Majesty's voice," said Robin. "As for the hit that Your Majesty gave me, I would say that, although my sins are possibly many, I think they have been fully paid for with that."

"Thinkest thou so?" said the King with somewhat of sternness in his voice. "Now I tell thee that but for three things, to wit, my mercifulness, my love for a stout woodsman, and the loyalty thou hast avowed for me, thine ears, mayhap, might have been more tightly closed than ever a buffet from me could have shut them. Talk not lightly of thy sins, good Robin. But come, look up. Thy danger is past, for hereby I give thee and all thy band free pardon. But, in sooth, I cannot let you roam the forest as ye have done in the past; therefore I will take thee at thy word, when thou didst say thou wouldst give thy service to me, and thou shalt go back to London with me. We will take that bold knave Little John also, and likewise thy cousin, Will Scarlet, and thy minstrel, Allan a Dale. As for the rest of thy band, we will take their names and have them duly recorded as royal rangers; for methinks it were wiser to have them changed to law-abiding caretakers of our deer in Sherwood than to leave them to run at large as outlawed slayers thereof. But now get a feast ready; I would see how ye live in the woodlands."

"Do you really think so?" said the King, his voice a bit stern. "Now let me tell you that if it weren't for three things—my mercy, my fondness for a brave woodsman, and your loyalty to me—your ears might have been shut tighter than anything I could have done. Don't take your sins lightly, good Robin. But come, look up. Your danger is over, for I hereby grant you and all your group a full pardon. However, I can’t allow you to wander the forest as you have before; so I will take you at your word when you said you would serve me, and you will return to London with me. We'll also bring that bold fellow Little John, along with your cousin Will Scarlet and your minstrel, Allan a Dale. As for the rest of your crew, we’ll take their names and officially record them as royal rangers; it seems wiser to turn them into lawful caretakers of our deer in Sherwood rather than let them run wild as outlaws. But now, get a feast ready; I want to see how you live in the woods."

So Robin bade his men make ready a grand feast. Straightway great fires were kindled and burned brightly, at which savory things roasted sweetly. While this was going forward, the King bade Robin call Allan a Dale, for he would hear him sing. So word was passed for Allan, and presently he came, bringing his harp.

So Robin instructed his men to prepare a lavish feast. Immediately, big fires were lit and burned brightly, roasting delicious food. While this was happening, the King told Robin to call Allan a Dale, as he wanted to hear him sing. So the message was sent to Allan, and soon he arrived with his harp.

"Marry," said King Richard, "if thy singing match thy looks it is fair enough. Prythee, strike up a ditty and let us have a taste of thy skill."

"Marry," said King Richard, "if your singing matches your looks, it's good enough. Please, start a song and let us hear your talent."

Then Allan touched his harp lightly, and all words were hushed while he sang thus:

Then Allan lightly played his harp, and everyone fell silent as he sang:

 "'Oh, where has thou been, my daughter?
     Oh, where hast thou been this day
          Daughter, my daughter?'
 'Oh, I have been to the river's side,
 Where the waters lie all gray and wide,
 And the gray sky broods o'er the leaden tide,
     And the shrill wind sighs a straining.'

 "'What sawest thou there, my daughter?
     What sawest thou there this day,
          Daughter, my daughter?'
 'Oh, I saw a boat come drifting nigh,
 Where the quivering rushes hiss and sigh,
 And the water soughs as it gurgles by,
     And the shrill wind sighs a straining.'

 "'What sailed in the boat, my daughter?
     What sailed in the boat this day,
          Daughter, my daughter?'
 'Oh, there was one all clad in white,
 And about his face hung a pallid light,
 And his eyes gleamed sharp like the stars at night,
     And the shrill wind sighed a straining.'

 "'And what said he, my daughter?
     What said he to thee this day,
          Daughter, my daughter?'
 'Oh, said he nought, but did he this:
 Thrice on my lips did he press a kiss,
 And my heartstrings shrunk with an awful bliss,
     And the shrill wind sighed a straining.'

 "'Why growest thou so cold, my daughter?
     Why growest thou so cold and white,
          Daughter, my daughter?'
 Oh, never a word the daughter said,
 But she sat all straight with a drooping head,
 For her heart was stilled and her face was dead:
     And the shrill wind sighed a straining."
"Oh, where have you been, my daughter?  
     Oh, where have you been today,  
          Daughter, my daughter?  
 'Oh, I have been by the riverside,  
 Where the waters are gray and wide,  
 And the gray sky looms over the heavy tide,  
     And the sharp wind sighs a lament.'  

 'What did you see there, my daughter?  
     What did you see today,  
          Daughter, my daughter?  
 'Oh, I saw a boat drifting near,  
 Where the trembling rushes hiss and whisper,  
 And the water murmurs as it flows by,  
     And the sharp wind sighs a lament.'  

 'What was in the boat, my daughter?  
     What was in the boat today,  
          Daughter, my daughter?  
 'Oh, there was one dressed all in white,  
 And a pale light surrounded his face,  
 And his eyes shone bright like the stars at night,  
     And the sharp wind sighed a lament.'  

 'And what did he say, my daughter?  
     What did he say to you today,  
          Daughter, my daughter?  
 'Oh, he said nothing, but did this:  
 Thrice he pressed a kiss on my lips,  
 And my heartstrings tightened with a profound bliss,  
     And the sharp wind sighed a lament.'  

 'Why do you look so cold, my daughter?  
     Why do you look so cold and pale,  
          Daughter, my daughter?  
 Oh, the daughter said not a word,  
 But she sat straight with her head hung low,  
 For her heart was silent and her face was blank:  
     And the sharp wind sighed a lament."

All listened in silence; and when Allan a Dale had done King Richard heaved a sigh. "By the breath of my body, Allan," quoth he, "thou hast such a wondrous sweet voice that it strangely moves my heart. But what doleful ditty is this for the lips of a stout yeoman? I would rather hear thee sing a song of love and battle than a sad thing like that. Moreover, I understand it not; what meanest thou by the words?"

Everyone listened in silence, and when Allan a Dale finished, King Richard let out a sigh. "By my word, Allan," he said, "you have such a wonderfully sweet voice that it truly touches my heart. But why such a mournful song from a brave man like you? I'd rather hear you sing about love and battle than a sad song like that. Besides, I don't understand it; what do you mean by those words?"

"I know not, Your Majesty," said Allan, shaking his head, "for ofttimes I sing that which I do not clearly understand mine own self."

"I don't know, Your Majesty," Allan said, shaking his head, "because sometimes I sing things that I don't fully understand myself."

"Well, well," quoth the King, "let it pass; only I tell thee this, Allan, thou shouldst turn thy songs to such matters as I spoke of, to wit, love or war; for in sooth thou hast a sweeter voice than Blondell, and methought he was the best minstrel that ever I heard."

"Well, well," said the King, "let it go; but I’ll tell you this, Allan, you should focus your songs on topics like I mentioned, namely, love or war; because truly you have a sweeter voice than Blondell, and I thought he was the best musician I’d ever heard."

But now one came forward and said that the feast was ready; so Robin Hood brought King Richard and those with him to where it lay all spread out on fair white linen cloths which lay upon the soft green grass. Then King Richard sat him down and feasted and drank, and when he was done he swore roundly that he had never sat at such a lusty repast in all his life before.

But then someone stepped up and said the feast was ready; so Robin Hood brought King Richard and his companions to where it was laid out on nice white tablecloths spread across the soft green grass. King Richard then sat down to eat and drink, and when he finished, he confidently declared that he had never enjoyed such a lively meal in all his life before.

That night he lay in Sherwood Forest upon a bed of sweet green leaves, and early the next morning he set forth from the woodlands for Nottingham Town, Robin Hood and all of his band going with him. You may guess what a stir there was in the good town when all these famous outlaws came marching into the streets. As for the Sheriff, he knew not what to say nor where to look when he saw Robin Hood in such high favor with the King, while all his heart was filled with gall because of the vexation that lay upon him.

That night he lay in Sherwood Forest on a bed of soft green leaves, and early the next morning he set off from the woods to Nottingham Town, with Robin Hood and all his crew accompanying him. You can imagine the commotion in the good town when all these famous outlaws marched into the streets. As for the Sheriff, he didn’t know what to say or where to look when he saw Robin Hood in such good favor with the King, while his heart was full of bitterness because of the frustration he felt.

The next day the King took leave of Nottingham Town; so Robin Hood and Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale shook hands with all the rest of the band, kissing the cheeks of each man, and swearing that they would often come to Sherwood and see them. Then each mounted his horse and rode away in the train of the King.

The next day the King said goodbye to Nottingham Town; so Robin Hood, Little John, Will Scarlet, and Allan a Dale shook hands with the rest of the group, kissing each man's cheeks and promising to visit Sherwood often. Then each of them got on their horse and rode away with the King.

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

THUS END the Merry Adventures of Robin Hood; for, in spite of his promise, it was many a year ere he saw Sherwood again.

THUS END the Merry Adventures of Robin Hood; for, despite his promise, it was many years before he saw Sherwood again.

After a year or two at court Little John came back to Nottinghamshire, where he lived in an orderly way, though within sight of Sherwood, and where he achieved great fame as the champion of all England with the quarterstaff. Will Scarlet after a time came back to his own home, whence he had been driven by his unlucky killing of his father's steward. The rest of the band did their duty as royal rangers right well. But Robin Hood and Allan a Dale did not come again to Sherwood so quickly, for thus it was:

After a year or two at court, Little John returned to Nottinghamshire, where he lived a tidy life, though still in sight of Sherwood, and gained great fame as England's champion with the quarterstaff. Will Scarlet eventually returned to his home, from which he had been forced to leave due to the unfortunate killing of his father's steward. The rest of the band performed their duties as royal rangers very well. However, Robin Hood and Allan a Dale didn't come back to Sherwood as quickly, because this was the situation:

Robin, through his great fame as an archer, became a favorite with the King, so that he speedily rose in rank to be the chief of all the yeomen. At last the King, seeing how faithful and how loyal he was, created him Earl of Huntingdon; so Robin followed the King to the wars, and found his time so full that he had no chance to come back to Sherwood for even so much as a day. As for Allan a Dale and his wife, the fair Ellen, they followed Robin Hood and shared in all his ups and downs of life.

Robin, famous for his archery skills, became a favorite of the King, quickly rising to become the chief of all the yeomen. Eventually, the King recognized his loyalty and made him the Earl of Huntingdon; Robin then joined the King in battle, finding himself so busy that he couldn't return to Sherwood, not even for a day. As for Allan a Dale and his wife, the lovely Ellen, they followed Robin Hood and shared in all the highs and lows of his life.

And now, dear friend, you who have journeyed with me in all these merry doings, I will not bid you follow me further, but will drop your hand here with a "good den," if you wish it; for that which cometh hereafter speaks of the breaking up of things, and shows how joys and pleasures that are dead and gone can never be set upon their feet to walk again. I will not dwell upon the matter overlong, but will tell as speedily as may be of how that stout fellow, Robin Hood, died as he had lived, not at court as Earl of Huntingdon, but with bow in hand, his heart in the greenwood, and he himself a right yeoman.

And now, my dear friend, you who have traveled with me through all these joyful adventures, I won’t ask you to come along any longer; I’ll let go of your hand here with a “goodbye,” if that’s what you want. The story that follows talks about endings and shows how joys and pleasures that are lost can never be revived. I won’t spend too much time on this, but I’ll quickly share how that brave guy, Robin Hood, died just as he lived—not at court as the Earl of Huntingdon, but with a bow in hand, his heart in the woods, and as a true common man.

King Richard died upon the battlefield, in such a way as properly became a lion-hearted king, as you yourself, no doubt, know; so, after a time, the Earl of Huntingdon—or Robin Hood, as we still call him as of old— finding nothing for his doing abroad, came back to merry England again. With him came Allan a Dale and his wife, the fair Ellen, for these two had been chief of Robin's household ever since he had left Sherwood Forest.

King Richard died on the battlefield in a manner befitting a brave king, as you probably already know. After a while, the Earl of Huntingdon—or Robin Hood, as we still call him—returned to merry England, having found nothing to do abroad. Along with him came Allan a Dale and his wife, the lovely Ellen, since these two had been the mainstays of Robin's household ever since he left Sherwood Forest.

It was in the springtime when they landed once more on the shores of England. The leaves were green and the small birds sang blithely, just as they used to do in fair Sherwood when Robin Hood roamed the woodland shades with a free heart and a light heel. All the sweetness of the time and the joyousness of everything brought back to Robin's mind his forest life, so that a great longing came upon him to behold the woodlands once more. So he went straightway to King John and besought leave of him to visit Nottingham for a short season. The King gave him leave to come and to go, but bade him not stay longer than three days at Sherwood. So Robin Hood and Allan a Dale set forth without delay to Nottinghamshire and Sherwood Forest.

It was spring when they landed once again on the shores of England. The leaves were green, and the little birds sang happily, just like they used to in beautiful Sherwood when Robin Hood wandered the woods with a carefree heart and a light step. The sweetness of the season and the joy of everything reminded Robin of his life in the forest, filling him with a strong desire to see the woodlands again. So he went straight to King John and asked for permission to visit Nottingham for a short time. The King allowed him to come and go but instructed him not to stay longer than three days in Sherwood. So Robin Hood and Allan a Dale set off right away to Nottinghamshire and Sherwood Forest.

The first night they took up their inn at Nottingham Town, yet they did not go to pay their duty to the Sheriff, for his worship bore many a bitter grudge against Robin Hood, which grudges had not been lessened by Robin's rise in the world. The next day at an early hour they mounted their horses and set forth for the woodlands. As they passed along the road it seemed to Robin that he knew every stick and stone that his eyes looked upon. Yonder was a path that he had ofttimes trod of a mellow evening, with Little John beside him; here was one, now nigh choked with brambles, along which he and a little band had walked when they went forth to seek a certain curtal friar.

The first night they stayed at an inn in Nottingham Town, they didn’t go to pay their respects to the Sheriff, since he held a deep grudge against Robin Hood, which had only gotten stronger with Robin's rise in status. The next day at dawn, they saddled their horses and headed out to the woods. As they rode along the road, Robin felt like he recognized every tree and stone around him. There was a path he often walked on mellow evenings with Little John; over here was another path, now almost choked with brambles, where he and a small group had walked when they set out to find a certain friar.

Thus they rode slowly onward, talking about these old, familiar things; old and yet new, for they found more in them than they had ever thought of before. Thus at last they came to the open glade, and the broad, wide-spreading greenwood tree which was their home for so many years. Neither of the two spoke when they stood beneath that tree. Robin looked all about him at the well-known things, so like what they used to be and yet so different; for, where once was the bustle of many busy fellows was now the quietness of solitude; and, as he looked, the woodlands, the greensward, and the sky all blurred together in his sight through salt tears, for such a great yearning came upon him as he looked on these things (as well known to him as the fingers of his right hand) that he could not keep back the water from his eyes.

They rode slowly on, talking about these familiar things; old yet new, as they discovered more in them than they had ever realized before. Eventually, they reached the open glade and the broad, sprawling greenwood tree that had been their home for so many years. Neither of them spoke as they stood beneath that tree. Robin glanced around at the familiar sights, so similar to how they used to be but yet so different; where once there had been the hustle and bustle of many busy people, now there was only the silence of solitude. As he looked, the woodlands, the grass, and the sky all blurred together in his vision through salty tears. A profound yearning washed over him as he gazed at these things—just as familiar to him as the fingers of his right hand—that he couldn't hold back the tears.

That morning he had slung his good old bugle horn over his shoulder, and now, with the yearning, came a great longing to sound his bugle once more. He raised it to his lips; he blew a blast. "Tirila, lirila," the sweet, clear notes went winding down the forest paths, coming back again from the more distant bosky shades in faint echoes of sound, "Tirila, lirila, tirila, lirila," until it faded away and was lost.

That morning he had thrown his trusty old bugle horn over his shoulder, and now, with a sense of nostalgia, he felt a strong desire to play his bugle again. He lifted it to his lips and blew a blast. "Tirila, lirila," the sweet, clear notes flowed down the forest paths, returning from the distant wooded areas in soft echoes, "Tirila, lirila, tirila, lirila," until it faded away and disappeared.

Now it chanced that on that very morn Little John was walking through a spur of the forest upon certain matters of business, and as he paced along, sunk in meditation, the faint, clear notes of a distant bugle horn came to his ear. As leaps the stag when it feels the arrow at its heart, so leaped Little John when that distant sound met his ear. All the blood in his body seemed to rush like a flame into his cheeks as he bent his head and listened. Again came the bugle note, thin and clear, and yet again it sounded. Then Little John gave a great, wild cry of yearning, of joy, and yet of grief, and, putting down his head, he dashed into the thicket. Onward he plunged, crackling and rending, as the wild boar rushes through the underbrush. Little recked he of thorns and briers that scratched his flesh and tore his clothing, for all he thought of was to get, by the shortest way, to the greenwood glade whence he knew the sound of the bugle horn came. Out he burst from the covert, at last, a shower of little broken twigs falling about him, and, without pausing a moment, rushed forward and flung himself at Robin's feet. Then he clasped his arms around the master's knees, and all his body was shaken with great sobs; neither could Robin nor Allan a Dale speak, but stood looking down at Little John, the tears rolling down their cheeks.

That morning, Little John was walking through a part of the forest on some business. As he walked, lost in thought, he heard the soft, clear notes of a distant bugle. When that sound reached him, Little John jumped up like a stag feeling an arrow in its heart. All the blood in his body rushed into his cheeks as he leaned in to listen. The bugle sounded again, thin and clear, and then again. Little John let out a loud, wild cry of longing, joy, and sadness before he dove into the thicket. He pushed through the underbrush like a wild boar, not caring about the thorns and brambles that scratched his skin and tore his clothes; all he wanted was to reach the greenwood glade where he knew the bugle was coming from. He burst out of the dense brush, twigs falling around him, and without stopping, he rushed forward and threw himself at Robin's feet. Then he wrapped his arms around Robin's knees, shaking with sobs; neither Robin nor Allan a Dale could speak, but they stood there looking down at Little John, tears streaming down their faces.

While they thus stood, seven royal rangers rushed into the open glade and raised a great shout of joy at the sight of Robin; and at their head was Will Stutely. Then, after a while, came four more, panting with their running, and two of these four were Will Scathelock and Midge, the Miller; for all of these had heard the sound of Robin Hood's horn. All these ran to Robin and kissed his hands and his clothing, with great sound of weeping.

While they stood there, seven royal rangers burst into the open glade and shouted with joy at the sight of Robin; leading them was Will Stutely. After a short while, four more arrived, out of breath from running, and two of them were Will Scathelock and Midge, the Miller; all of them had heard the sound of Robin Hood's horn. They all rushed to Robin and kissed his hands and clothes, crying loudly.

After a while Robin looked around him with tear-dimmed eyes and said, in a husky voice, "Now, I swear that never again will I leave these dear woodlands. I have been away from them and from you too long. Now do I lay by the name of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, and take upon me once again that nobler title, Robin Hood, the Yeoman." At this a great shout went up, and all the yeomen shook one another's hands for joy.

After a while, Robin looked around with tear-filled eyes and said in a shaky voice, "I promise that I will never leave these beloved woodlands again. I've been away from them and from you for too long. Now, I set aside the name of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, and take up once more the nobler title of Robin Hood, the Yeoman." At this, a great cheer erupted, and all the yeomen shook hands with each other in joy.

The news that Robin Hood had come back again to dwell in Sherwood as of old spread like wildfire all over the countryside, so that ere a se'ennight had passed nearly all of his old yeomen had gathered about him again. But when the news of all this reached the ears of King John, he swore both loud and deep, and took a solemn vow that he would not rest until he had Robin Hood in his power, dead or alive. Now there was present at court a certain knight, Sir William Dale, as gallant a soldier as ever donned harness. Sir William Dale was well acquainted with Sherwood Forest, for he was head keeper over that part of it that lay nigh to good Mansfield Town; so to him the King turned, and bade him take an army of men and go straightway to seek Robin Hood. Likewise the King gave Sir William his signet ring to show to the Sheriff, that he might raise all his armed men to aid the others in their chase of Robin. So Sir William and the Sheriff set forth to do the King's bidding and to search for Robin Hood; and for seven days they hunted up and down, yet found him not.

The news that Robin Hood had returned to live in Sherwood like before spread quickly across the countryside, so that within a week, nearly all of his old followers had gathered around him again. But when King John heard this news, he swore loudly and passionately, making a serious vow that he wouldn't rest until he had Robin Hood in his grasp, dead or alive. Present at the court was a knight named Sir William Dale, as brave a soldier as ever wore armor. Sir William was familiar with Sherwood Forest because he was the head keeper of the part near Mansfield Town. So the King called on him, instructing him to take an army of men and immediately go in search of Robin Hood. The King also gave Sir William his signet ring to show the Sheriff, so he could raise all his armed men to help in the hunt for Robin. Thus, Sir William and the Sheriff set out to fulfill the King's orders and search for Robin Hood; for seven days, they searched high and low, but they did not find him.

Now, had Robin Hood been as peaceful as of old, everything might have ended in smoke, as other such ventures had always done before; but he had fought for years under King Richard, and was changed from what he used to be. It galled his pride to thus flee away before those sent against him, as a chased fox flees from the hounds; so thus it came about, at last, that Robin Hood and his yeomen met Sir William and the Sheriff and their men in the forest, and a bloody fight followed. The first man slain in that fight was the Sheriff of Nottingham, for he fell from his horse with an arrow in his brain ere half a score of shafts had been sped. Many a better man than the Sheriff kissed the sod that day, but at last, Sir William Dale being wounded and most of his men slain, he withdrew, beaten, and left the forest. But scores of good fellows were left behind him, stretched out all stiff beneath the sweet green boughs.

Now, if Robin Hood had been as peaceful as he used to be, everything might have ended without any drama, like other similar attempts usually did; but he had fought for years under King Richard and was no longer the same person. It wounded his pride to run away from those sent after him, like a hunted fox escaping from the hounds; so eventually, Robin Hood and his men confronted Sir William and the Sheriff with their forces in the forest, leading to a bloody battle. The first person killed in that fight was the Sheriff of Nottingham, who fell off his horse with an arrow in his brain before half a dozen arrows had even been shot. Many a better man than the Sheriff fell that day, but eventually, Sir William Dale was wounded and, with most of his men dead, he retreated in defeat and left the forest. However, dozens of good men lay stiff beneath the sweet green branches.

But though Robin Hood had beaten off his enemies in fair fight, all this lay heavily upon his mind, so that he brooded over it until a fever seized upon him. For three days it held him, and though he strove to fight it off, he was forced to yield at last. Thus it came that, on the morning of the fourth day, he called Little John to him, and told him that he could not shake the fever from him, and that he would go to his cousin, the prioress of the nunnery near Kirklees, in Yorkshire, who was a skillful leech, and he would have her open a vein in his arm and take a little blood from him, for the bettering of his health. Then he bade Little John make ready to go also, for he might perchance need aid in his journeying. So Little John and he took their leave of the others, and Robin Hood bade Will Stutely be the captain of the band until they should come back. Thus they came by easy stages and slow journeying until they reached the Nunnery of Kirklees.

But even though Robin Hood had defeated his enemies in a fair fight, all of this weighed heavily on his mind, causing him to dwell on it until a fever took hold of him. For three days it gripped him, and although he tried to shake it off, he was eventually forced to give in. So, on the morning of the fourth day, he called Little John to him and told him that he couldn’t get rid of the fever, and that he would go to his cousin, the prioress of the nunnery near Kirklees in Yorkshire, who was a skilled healer. He wanted her to open a vein in his arm and take a little blood to improve his health. Then he told Little John to get ready to go too, as he might need help during the journey. So, Little John and he said goodbye to the others, and Robin Hood asked Will Stutely to be the captain of the band until they returned. They traveled at a slow and steady pace until they reached the Nunnery of Kirklees.

Now Robin had done much to aid this cousin of his; for it was through King Richard's love of him that she had been made prioress of the place. But there is nought in the world so easily forgot as gratitude; so, when the Prioress of Kirklees had heard how her cousin, the Earl of Huntingdon, had thrown away his earldom and gone back again to Sherwood, she was vexed to the soul, and feared lest her cousinship with him should bring the King's wrath upon her also. Thus it happened that when Robin came to her and told her how he wished her services as leech, she began plotting ill against him in her mind, thinking that by doing evil to him she might find favor with his enemies. Nevertheless, she kept this well to herself and received Robin with seeming kindness. She led him up the winding stone stair to a room which was just beneath the eaves of a high, round tower; but she would not let Little John come with him.

Now Robin had done a lot to help his cousin; it was thanks to King Richard's favor that she became the prioress of the place. But there's nothing in the world so easily forgotten as gratitude. So, when the Prioress of Kirklees heard that her cousin, the Earl of Huntingdon, had given up his title and returned to Sherwood, she was deeply upset and worried that her relationship with him might bring the King's anger down on her as well. When Robin approached her and asked for her help as a healer, she secretly started plotting against him, thinking that by causing him harm, she might win favor with his enemies. However, she kept her true intentions hidden and welcomed Robin with apparent warmth. She led him up the winding stone stairs to a room just beneath the eaves of a tall, round tower but wouldn't allow Little John to come with him.

So the poor yeoman turned his feet away from the door of the nunnery, and left his master in the hands of the women. But, though he did not come in, neither did he go far away; for he laid him down in a little glade near by, where he could watch the place that Robin abided, like some great, faithful dog turned away from the door where his master has entered.

So the poor farmer turned away from the nunnery door and left his boss in the care of the women. However, even though he didn't go inside, he didn't go far. He lay down in a small clearing nearby, where he could keep an eye on the place where Robin was, like a big, loyal dog waiting by the door where his owner had gone in.

After the women had gotten Robin Hood to the room beneath the eaves, the Prioress sent all of the others away; then, taking a little cord, she tied it tightly about Robin's arm, as though she were about to bleed him. And so she did bleed him, but the vein she opened was not one of those that lie close and blue beneath the skin; deeper she cut than that, for she opened one of those veins through which the bright red blood runs leaping from the heart. Of this Robin knew not; for, though he saw the blood flow, it did not come fast enough to make him think that there was anything ill in it.

After the women brought Robin Hood into the room under the eaves, the Prioress sent everyone else away. Then, using a small cord, she tied it tightly around Robin's arm, as if she were about to draw blood. And she did draw blood, but the vein she opened wasn't one of the shallow, blue ones just beneath the skin; she cut deeper, opening one of the veins that carries bright red blood pumping from the heart. Robin wasn't aware of this; even though he saw the blood flowing, it didn't come out quickly enough for him to think anything was wrong.

Having done this vile deed, the Prioress turned and left her cousin, locking the door behind her. All that livelong day the blood ran from Robin Hood's arm, nor could he check it, though he strove in every way to do so. Again and again he called for help, but no help came, for his cousin had betrayed him, and Little John was too far away to hear his voice. So he bled and bled until he felt his strength slipping away from him. Then he arose, tottering, and bearing himself up by the palms of his hands against the wall, he reached his bugle horn at last. Thrice he sounded it, but weakly and faintly, for his breath was fluttering through sickness and loss of strength; nevertheless, Little John heard it where he lay in the glade, and, with a heart all sick with dread, he came running and leaping toward the nunnery. Loudly he knocked at the door, and in a loud voice shouted for them to let him in, but the door was of massive oak, strongly barred, and studded with spikes, so they felt safe, and bade Little John begone.

After committing this terrible act, the Prioress turned and left her cousin, locking the door behind her. All day long, the blood flowed from Robin Hood's arm, and he couldn't stop it, no matter how hard he tried. He cried out for help repeatedly, but none came, for his cousin had betrayed him, and Little John was too far away to hear him. He lost more and more blood until he felt his strength fading. Struggling to rise, he steadied himself against the wall and finally reached his bugle horn. He blew it three times, but it was weak and faint, as his breath was fleeting due to sickness and blood loss. Nevertheless, Little John heard it from where he was resting in the glade, and filled with dread, he ran and leaped toward the nunnery. He knocked loudly on the door and called out for them to let him in, but the heavy oak door was securely barred and spiked, so they felt safe and told Little John to go away.

Then Little John's heart was mad with grief and fear for his master's life. Wildly he looked about him, and his sight fell upon a heavy stone mortar, such as three men could not lift nowadays. Little John took three steps forward, and, bending his back, heaved the stone mortar up from where it stood deeply rooted. Staggering under its weight, he came forward and hurled it crashing against the door. In burst the door, and away fled the frightened nuns, shrieking, at his coming. Then Little John strode in, and never a word said he, but up the winding stone steps he ran till he reached the room wherein his master was. Here he found the door locked also, but, putting his shoulder against it, he burst the locks as though they were made of brittle ice.

Then Little John's heart was filled with grief and fear for his master's life. He looked around wildly, and his gaze landed on a heavy stone mortar, something that would take three men to lift today. Little John took three steps forward, bent his back, and lifted the stone mortar from where it stood deeply rooted. Staggering under its weight, he moved forward and hurled it against the door. The door burst open, and the terrified nuns fled, screaming, at the sight of him. Then Little John stepped inside, and without a word, he ran up the winding stone steps until he reached the room where his master was. He found the door locked as well, but putting his shoulder against it, he broke the locks as if they were made of brittle ice.

There he saw his own dear master leaning against the gray stone wall, his face all white and drawn, and his head swaying to and fro with weakness. Then, with a great, wild cry of love and grief and pity, Little John leaped forward and caught Robin Hood in his arms. Up he lifted him as a mother lifts her child, and carrying him to the bed, laid him tenderly thereon.

There he saw his beloved master leaning against the gray stone wall, his face pale and drawn, and his head swaying back and forth with weakness. Then, with a loud, desperate cry of love, grief, and compassion, Little John rushed forward and caught Robin Hood in his arms. He lifted him up like a mother lifts her child, and carrying him to the bed, laid him down gently.

And now the Prioress came in hastily, for she was frightened at what she had done, and dreaded the vengeance of Little John and the others of the band; then she stanched the blood by cunning bandages, so that it flowed no more. All the while Little John stood grimly by, and after she had done he sternly bade her to begone, and she obeyed, pale and trembling. Then, after she had departed, Little John spake cheering words, laughing loudly, and saying that all this was a child's fright, and that no stout yeoman would die at the loss of a few drops of blood. "Why," quoth he, "give thee a se'ennight and thou wilt be roaming the woodlands as boldly as ever."

And then the Prioress rushed in, scared about what she had done and worried about the revenge of Little John and the other members of the group. She quickly stopped the bleeding with clever bandages, making sure it didn’t flow anymore. Little John stood there grimly, and once she finished, he firmly told her to leave, which she did, pale and shaking. After she left, Little John spoke comforting words, laughing loudly, claiming that it was all just a silly scare and that no brave man would die from losing a few drops of blood. "Come on," he said, "give it a week and you’ll be roaming the woods as boldly as ever."

But Robin shook his head and smiled faintly where he lay. "Mine own dear Little John," whispered he, "Heaven bless thy kind, rough heart. But, dear friend, we will never roam the woodlands together again."

But Robin shook his head and smiled weakly where he lay. "My dear Little John," he whispered, "Heaven bless your kind, rough heart. But, my friend, we will never wander the woods together again."

"Ay, but we will!" quoth Little John loudly. "I say again, ay—out upon it—who dares say that any more harm shall come upon thee? Am I not by? Let me see who dares touch"—Here he stopped of a sudden, for his words choked him. At last he said, in a deep, husky voice, "Now, if aught of harm befalls thee because of this day's doings, I swear by Saint George that the red cock shall crow over the rooftree of this house, for the hot flames shall lick every crack and cranny thereof. As for these women"—here he ground his teeth—"it will be an ill day for them!"

"Yeah, but we will!" Little John shouted loudly. "I say it again, yeah—who dares say that any more harm will come to you? Am I not here? Let me see who dares to touch you"—He suddenly stopped, as his words caught in his throat. Finally, he said in a deep, raspy voice, "Now, if anything bad happens to you because of what happened today, I swear by Saint George that the red rooster will crow over the roof of this house, because the fierce flames will consume every crack and crevice of it. As for these women"—here he ground his teeth—"it will be a terrible day for them!"

But Robin Hood took Little John's rough, brown fist in his white hands, and chid him softly in his low, weak voice, asking him since what time Little John had thought of doing harm to women, even in vengeance. Thus he talked till, at last, the other promised, in a choking voice, that no ill should fall upon the place, no matter what happened. Then a silence fell, and Little John sat with Robin Hood's hand in his, gazing out of the open window, ever and anon swallowing a great lump that came in his throat. Meantime the sun dropped slowly to the west, till all the sky was ablaze with a red glory. Then Robin Hood, in a weak, faltering voice, bade Little John raise him that he might look out once more upon the woodlands; so the yeoman lifted him in his arms, as he bade, and Robin Hood's head lay on his friend's shoulder. Long he gazed, with a wide, lingering look, while the other sat with bowed head, the hot tears rolling one after another from his eyes, and dripping upon his bosom, for he felt that the time of parting was near at hand. Then, presently, Robin Hood bade him string his stout bow for him, and choose a smooth fair arrow from his quiver. This Little John did, though without disturbing his master or rising from where he sat. Robin Hood's fingers wrapped lovingly around his good bow, and he smiled faintly when he felt it in his grasp, then he nocked the arrow on that part of the string that the tips of his fingers knew so well. "Little John," said he, "Little John, mine own dear friend, and him I love better than all others in the world, mark, I prythee, where this arrow lodges, and there let my grave be digged. Lay me with my face toward the East, Little John, and see that my resting place be kept green, and that my weary bones be not disturbed."

But Robin Hood took Little John's rough, brown fist in his white hands and gently scolded him in his soft, weak voice, asking when Little John had ever thought of harming women, even in revenge. He talked like this until Little John finally promised, with a choked voice, that nothing bad would happen to the place, no matter what occurred. Then a silence fell, and Little John sat with Robin Hood's hand in his, gazing out the open window, occasionally swallowing a large lump in his throat. Meanwhile, the sun slowly set in the west, lighting up the sky with a red glow. Then Robin Hood, in a weak, trembling voice, asked Little John to lift him so he could look out at the woodlands one more time; so Little John picked him up in his arms as he requested, and Robin Hood's head rested on his friend's shoulder. He gazed for a long time, taking in the view, while Little John sat with his head bowed, hot tears streaming down his face, dripping onto his chest, as he felt that the moment of parting was close. Then, Robin Hood asked him to string his sturdy bow and pick a smooth arrow from his quiver. Little John did this without disturbing his friend or getting up from where he sat. Robin Hood's fingers wrapped lovingly around his bow, and he smiled faintly when he felt it in his hand; then he nocked the arrow on that part of the string he knew so well. "Little John," he said, "Little John, my dear friend, the one I love more than anyone else in the world, please remember where this arrow lands, and let that be where my grave is dug. Lay me with my face toward the East, Little John, and make sure my resting place stays green, and that my weary bones are not disturbed."

As he finished speaking, he raised himself of a sudden and sat upright. His old strength seemed to come back to him, and, drawing the bowstring to his ear, he sped the arrow out of the open casement. As the shaft flew, his hand sank slowly with the bow till it lay across his knees, and his body likewise sank back again into Little John's loving arms; but something had sped from that body, even as the winged arrow sped from the bow.

As he finished speaking, he suddenly straightened up and sat upright. His old strength seemed to return to him, and, pulling the bowstring to his ear, he released the arrow out of the open window. As the arrow flew, his hand slowly lowered the bow until it rested across his knees, and his body sank back into Little John's loving arms; but something had left that body, just like the winged arrow had flown from the bow.

For some minutes Little John sat motionless, but presently he laid that which he held gently down, then, folding the hands upon the breast and covering up the face, he turned upon his heel and left the room without a word or a sound.

For a few minutes, Little John sat still, but eventually, he gently placed what he was holding down, then folded his hands on his chest and covered his face. He turned on his heel and left the room without saying a word or making a sound.

Upon the steep stairway he met the Prioress and some of the chief among the sisters. To them he spoke in a deep, quivering voice, and said he, "An ye go within a score of feet of yonder room, I will tear down your rookery over your heads so that not one stone shall be left upon another. Bear my words well in mind, for I mean them." So saying, he turned and left them, and they presently saw him running rapidly across the open, through the falling of the dusk, until he was swallowed up by the forest.

At the top of the steep staircase, he encountered the Prioress and some of the main sisters. He spoke to them in a deep, trembling voice, saying, "If you go within twenty feet of that room, I’ll tear your place down on top of you so that not one stone will be left on another. Keep my words in mind, because I mean it." With that, he turned and left them, and soon they saw him sprinting quickly across the open area, disappearing into the forest as dusk fell.

The early gray of the coming morn was just beginning to lighten the black sky toward the eastward when Little John and six more of the band came rapidly across the open toward the nunnery. They saw no one, for the sisters were all hidden away from sight, having been frightened by Little John's words. Up the stone stair they ran, and a great sound of weeping was presently heard. After a while this ceased, and then came the scuffling and shuffling of men's feet as they carried a heavy weight down the steep and winding stairs. So they went forth from the nunnery, and, as they passed through the doors thereof, a great, loud sound of wailing arose from the glade that lay all dark in the dawning, as though many men, hidden in the shadows, had lifted up their voices in sorrow.

The early gray light of dawn was just starting to brighten the dark sky in the east when Little John and six others from the group hurried across the open ground toward the convent. They didn’t see anyone, as the sisters were all hidden away, frightened by Little John's words. They rushed up the stone stairs, and soon the sound of crying was heard. After a while, this quieted down, followed by the scuffling and shuffling of men’s feet as they carried a heavy burden down the steep, winding stairs. They emerged from the convent, and as they passed through the doors, a loud sound of wailing erupted from the dark glade, as if many men hidden in the shadows were mourning.

Thus died Robin Hood, at Kirklees Nunnery, in fair Yorkshire, with mercy in his heart toward those that had been his undoing; for thus he showed mercy for the erring and pity for the weak through all the time of his living.

Thus died Robin Hood, at Kirklees Nunnery, in beautiful Yorkshire, with compassion in his heart for those who had brought about his downfall; for he demonstrated mercy for the misguided and pity for the vulnerable throughout his entire life.

His yeomen were scattered henceforth, but no great ill befell them thereafter, for a more merciful sheriff and one who knew them not so well succeeding the one that had gone, and they being separated here and there throughout the countryside, they abided in peace and quietness, so that many lived to hand down these tales to their children and their children's children.

His workers were spread out from then on, but nothing bad happened to them afterward, as a kinder sheriff who didn’t know them as well took over from the previous one. Being scattered throughout the countryside, they lived in peace and quiet, so many of them lived to share these stories with their children and their grandchildren.

A certain one sayeth that upon a stone at Kirklees is an old inscription. This I give in the ancient English in which it was written, and thus it runs:

A certain person says that there’s an old inscription on a stone at Kirklees. I present it in the old English in which it was written, and here it is:

HEAR UNDERNEAD DIS LAITL STEAN LAIS ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTUN
NEA ARCIR VER AS HIE SAE GEUD AN PIPL KAULD IM ROBIN HEUD SICK
UTLAWS AS HI AN IS MEN VIL ENGLAND NIDIR SI AGEN OBIIT
24 KAL. DEKEMBRIS 1247.

HEAR UNDERNEATH THIS LITTLE STONE LIES ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGDON
NEAR HERE AS HE SAID GOOD AND PEOPLE CALLED HIM ROBIN HOOD SUCH
OUTLAWS AS HE AND HIS MEN WILL ENGLAND NEVER SEE AGAIN
24 KAL. DECEMBER 1247.

And now, dear friend, we also must part, for our merry journeyings have ended, and here, at the grave of Robin Hood, we turn, each going his own way.

And now, dear friend, we must say goodbye, for our joyful travels have come to an end, and here, at Robin Hood's grave, we go our separate ways.



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intro (56K)

 

 

 

 

 

 


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