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The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

by Howard Pyle · English · Gutenberg #10148 · 609,361 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

Author: Howard Pyle


        
Release date: November 1, 2003 [eBook #10148]
                Most recently updated: August 13, 2026

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10148

Credits: Produced by David Widger, Ted Garvin and PG Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD ***

THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD

by Howard Pyle




PREFACE

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.

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.

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.

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.




CONTENTS

 How Robin Hood Came To Be An Outlaw
 Robin Hood And The Tinker
 The Shooting Match At Nottingham Town
 Will Stutely Rescued By His Companions
 Robin Hood Turns Butcher
 Little John Goes To Nottingham Fair
 How Little John Lived At The Sheriff's
 Little John And The Tanner Of Blyth
 Robin Hood And Will Scarlet
 The Adventure With Midge, The Miller's Son
 Robin Hood And Allan A Dale
 Robin Hood Seeks The Curtal Friar
 Robin Hood Compasses A Marriage
 Robin Hood Aids A Sorrowful Knight
 How Sir Richard Of The Lea Paid His Debts
 Little John Turns Barefoot Friar
 Robin Hood Turns Beggar
 Robin Hood Shoots Before Queen Eleanor
 The Chase Of Robin Hood
 Robin Hood And Guy Of Gisbourne
 King Richard Comes To Sherwood Forest
 Epilogue




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.



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.

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.

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

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.

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?"

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

"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."

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."

"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."

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."

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

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."

"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."

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.

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

"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?"

"Catch him!" cried a third.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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

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

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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

"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."

"Marry, that meeteth my whole heart!" cried the stranger, twirling his
staff above his head, betwixt 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.

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

"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.

"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."

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."

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

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.

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

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

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.

"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?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

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.

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

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.

"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 Bell[1]
was a fair shot, but never shot he so!"

  [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.

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

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

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

"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."

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.

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

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.

"That do I," answered Will Stutely.

"And what name callest thou him?"

"Little John call I him."

"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.

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.

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.




PART FIRST
Telling how the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he would deal dole to
Robing Hood.  Also, how he made three trials thereat, but missed each
time by a good bow's length.


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."

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 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 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.

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.

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.

"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."

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.

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

"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?"

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

"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."

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

"Ay, that be I 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."

"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.

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.

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:

 "_In peascod time, when hound to horn
     Gives ear till buck be killed,
 And little lads with pipes of corn
     Sit keeping beasts afield_--"

"Halloa, good friend!" cried Robin.

"I WENT TO GATHER STRAWBERRIES--"

"Halloa!" cried Robin again.

"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."

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

"I come from Banbury," answered the Tinker.

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

"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."

"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!"

"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."

"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."

"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."

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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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?

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

"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."

"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."

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

"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."

"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."

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.

"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.

"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."

"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."

"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."

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 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 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."

At this the host smiled slyly, as though saying to himself the rustic
saw, "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.

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

"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?"

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

"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.

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

"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.

"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."

"But did not he pay thee?"

"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."

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

"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!"

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.

"Robin and I stripped yon ass of his pack main neatly," quoth 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:

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

"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."

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

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

"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?"

"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!"

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

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

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

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

"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."

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.




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

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.

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

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

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

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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.

"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."

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.

"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.

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.

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:

"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?"

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."

"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?"

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

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.

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.

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.

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 the herald stood forth and loudly proclaimed 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."

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."

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 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.

"Now," quoth the Sheriff to a man-at-arms who stood near him, "seest
thou 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."

"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, 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.

"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."

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.

"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."

"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."

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.

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

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.

"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."

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.

"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.

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?"

"Men do call me Jock o' Teviotdale, and thence am I come," 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?"

"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."

"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.

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.

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 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."

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.

"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."

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:

     "_Now Heaven bless Thy Grace this day
     Say all in sweet Sherwood
     For thou didst give the prize away
     To merry 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.




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."

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."

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.

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."

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.

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."

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."

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 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."

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?"

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

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

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

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.

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

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

"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."

"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!"

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.

"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.

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:

"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."

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 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."

"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.

"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."

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.

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:

"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."

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.

"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."

"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."

"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 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."

"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."

"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.

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.

"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!"

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.

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

"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.

"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!"

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.

"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!"

"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.

"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!"

"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.

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.

"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.

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 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.

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.




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.

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.

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.

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

"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?"

"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?"

"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?"

"A yeoman am I, and men do 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."

"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."

"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."

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?"

"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.

"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.

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:

 "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."

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."

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 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 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."

"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.

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."

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.

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 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.

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?"

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.

"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."

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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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?"

"Well," quoth Robin, "they are 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."

"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."

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."

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

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

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.

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.

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."

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."

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."

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?"

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."

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.

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

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.

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.

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."

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."

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 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 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 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."

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

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."

"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?"

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

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

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.

"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."

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.

"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."

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

"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 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.




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.

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.

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."

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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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

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.

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."

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.

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.

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."

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.

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?"

"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.

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!"

"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.

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 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 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 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.

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.

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.

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."

"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.

"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?"

"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."

"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."

"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.

"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."

"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 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.




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.

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.

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."

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'?"

"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!"

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

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

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

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

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

"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.

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."

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.

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?"

"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.

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.

"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."

"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."

"Lion or no lion," quoth the valorous Cook, "come thou straight forth,
else thou art a coward heart as well as a knavish 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."

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?"

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."

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.

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.

"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?"

"Truly, I have trolled one now and then," quoth the Cook, "yet I would
not sing alone."

"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.

"So be it, pretty boy," quoth the Cook.  "And hast thou e'er heard the
song of the Deserted Shepherdess?"

"Truly, I know not," answered Little John, "but sing thou and let me
hear."

Then the Cook took another draught from the pottle, and, clearing his
throat, sang right sweetly:

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_.'"

"Now, by my faith," cried Little John, "that same is a right good song,
and hath truth in it, also."

"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."

"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:

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_."

"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 thou art a man of shrewd opinions," quoth Little John, "and I love
thee truly as thou wert 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."

"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."

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.

"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."

"And I had thought to do the same by thee," quoth the Cook, "but I have
missed the mark somehow."

"Now I have been thinking within myself," quoth Little John, "what we
are fighting for; but albeit I do not rightly 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."

"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, 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?"

"Men do call me Little John, good fellow."

"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.

"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."

"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.

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?"

"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.

"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."

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.

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.

"Why, Reynold Greenleaf!" cried the Sheriff, "whence comest thou and
where hast thou been?"

"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."

"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf," cried the Sheriff, "art thou dreaming
or art thou mad, that thou dost bring me such, a tale?"

"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."

So the party all rode forward, and Little John led them downward into
the forest.

"Now, good master," quoth he at last, "we are nigh where I saw this
herd."

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."

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."

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?"

"Nay, Heaven forbid!" said the Sheriff in tones of deep earnest. "I care
for no feast and have no hunger 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."

Then he led the Sheriff, willy-nilly, to the seat he knew so well
beneath 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."

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.

"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.

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, 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.

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.




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.

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.

Suddenly Robin Hood smote 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."

"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."

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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," 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 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.

"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.

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.

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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.'"

"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.

"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!"

"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."

"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."

So, without more ado, each gripped his staff in the middle, and, with
fell and angry looks, they came slowly together.

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."

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.

"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.

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.

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."

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.

"Hold!" roared Little John.  "Wouldst thou strike a man when he is
down?"

"Ay, marry would I," quoth the Tanner, giving him another thwack with
his staff.

"Stop!" roared Little John.  "Help!  Hold, I say!  I yield me! I yield
me, I say, good fellow!"

"Hast thou had enough?" asked the Tanner grimly, holding his staff
aloft.

"Ay, marry, and more than enough."

"And thou dost own that I am 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.

"Then thou mayst go thy ways; and thank thy patron saint that I am 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."

"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.

"Men do call me Arthur a Bland," spoke up the Tanner boldly, "and now
what may be thy 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."

"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."

"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."

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."

"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."

"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.




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.

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."

"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.

"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."

"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?"

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?"

So saying, they all stepped out once more, with the right foot foremost,
as the saying is.

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.

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.

"Heyday!" quoth he, "yon is a gaily feathered bird, I take my vow."

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.

"By my life!" quoth Robin Hood, laughing, "saw ye e'er such a pretty,
mincing fellow?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

"Some great baron's son, I doubt not," answered Little John, "with good
and true men's money lining his purse."

"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!"

"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."

"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.

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.

"Hold!" cried Robin, when at last the other had come close to him.
"Hold!  Stand where thou art!"

"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."

"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.'"

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."

"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."

"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."

"Nay, thou goest not," quoth Robin, "till thou hast shown me thy purse."

"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."

"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.

"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.

"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."

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.

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.

"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."

Whatever Robin Hood thought, he stood his ground, and now he and the
stranger in scarlet 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.

"Hold!" cried Robin Hood, when he saw the stranger raising his staff
once more.  "I yield me!"

"Hold!" cried Little John, bursting from his cover, with the Tanner at
his heels.  "Hold! give over, I say!"

"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."

"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."

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."

"A plague on thy aid!" cried Robin angrily.  "I can get to my feet
without thy help, good fellow."

"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.

"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?"

"My name is Gamwell," answered the other.

"Ha!" cried Robin, "is it even so?  I have near kin of that name. Whence
camest thou, fair 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--"

"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."

"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.

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 gavest great promise of being
a keen archer. And dost thou not mind how I taught thee to fend and
parry with the cudgel?"

"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."

"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?"

"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."

"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?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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--"

"Nay, good Little John," said Robin hastily, "I do bethink me I have
said full enough on that score."

"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--"

"Nay, then," said Robin Hood testily, "I was mistaken. I remember me now
it did seem to threaten 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?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

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.




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."

"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!'"

"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."

"For the matter of that, thou knowest I have money by me, good master,"
quoth Little John.

"Why, so thou hast, Little John," said Robin.  "How much money will it
take, good Arthur, to buy us meat and drink?"

"I think that six broad pennies will buy food enow 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."

So Little John gave Arthur the money, and the others stepped to the
thicket, there to await the return of the Tanner.

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 this no man spake more, but each munched away at his bread and
cheese lustily, with ever and anon a pull at the 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.

"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.

"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."

"Truly, I do not mind turning a tune," answered Will Scarlet, "but I
would not sing alone."

"Nay, others will follow.  Strike up, lad," quoth 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 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_."

"'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."

"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."

"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."

"Nay, an ye will ha' a poor thing," said Arthur,

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