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THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

GIFT OF

Richard Petrie

ROBIN HOOD

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RICHARD CCEUR DE LION

BOLD

ROBIN HOOD

and

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THEIR FAMOUS EXPLOITS
IN SHERWOOD FOREST

PENNED AND PICTURED
BY

LOUIS RHEAD

HARPER & BROTHERS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

BOOKS ILLUSTRATED BY
LOUIS RHEAD

LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE

GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES

ARABIAN NIGHTS

GULLIVER'S TRAVELS

HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES

ROBIN HOOD

ROBINSON CRUSOE

SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON

TREASURE ISLAND

TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS

HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK
[ESTABLISHED 1817]

COPYRIGHT. 191:
MINTED IN THE

CHAPTER PACK

AUTHOR'S PREFACE xi

I. ROBIN HOOD — His BIRTH AND BOYHOOD i

II. WHY ROBERT FITZOOTH CHANGED His NAME ... 7

III. ROBIN THE OUTLAW 22

IV. ROBIN HOOD FIGHTS LITTLE JOHN 32

V. WILL GAMWELL BECOMES WILL SCARLET 41

VI. ROBIN HOOD WINS THE GOLDEN ARROW 52

VII. How ROBIN HOOD MET FRIAR TUCK 61

VIII. ROBIN MEETS Two PRIESTS UPON THE WAY ... 77

IX. ALLAN-A-DALE GETS His BRIDE 84

X. How ROBIN HOOD DID CHEAT THE TINKER .... 98

XI. LITTLE JOHN AND THE SHERIFF'S COOK 113

XII. ROBIN TRIES His HAND SELLING MEATS 132

XIII. ROBIN HOOD AND ARTHUR THE TANNER 140

XIV. ROBIN AND THE BISHOP OF HEREFORD 149

XV. ROBIN HOOD AND THE BEGGAR 162

XVI. ROBIN SELLS POTS AND DISHES 174

XVII. ROBIN AND SIR GUY OF GISBOURNE 186

XVIII. ROBIN RESCUES WILL STUTELY 201

XIX. ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD o' THE LEA 210

XX. ROBIN MEETS MAID MARIAN 227

XXI. KING RICHARD VISITS ROBIN 236

XXII. ROBIN WINS THE QUEEN'S PRIZE 245

XXIII. ROBIN PURSUED BY THE KING 261

XXIV. ROBIN RESCUES THE WIDOW'S SONS 272

XXV. ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL . 281

905404

RICHARD COEUR DE LION Frontispiece

A MAP TO SHOW THE SITUATION OF ROYAL HUNTING FORESTS

WHERE ROBIN HOOD LIVED A.D. Il6o-I247 Page I

ROBERT WOULD SHOOT WITH HIS OWN LITTLE BOW AT THE

SQUIRRELS " 3

"REMEMBER, THOU BOASTER, 'TIS THY HEAD is WAGERED" . " 13

ESPIED A GROUP OF FORESTERS AND TWO CAPTIVES ..." 25

ROBIN HOOD " 29

"PRITHEE, GOOD FELLOW, WHERE ART THOU NOW?" ... " 33

LITTLE JOHN " 37

"GOD-A-MERCY, GOOD FELLOW," QUOTH ROBIN, "FAIN WOULD

i KNOW THY NAME" ., . . .... " 45

MASTER WILL SCARLET " 49

AN ARROW CAME WHIZZING THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW . . " 57

THE FRIAR TOOK ROBIN ON HIS BACK . " 65

FRIAR TUCK " 71

"PRAY MORE EARNESTLY," QUOTH ROBIN " 81

"WE FIND THEE BEDRAGGLED AND DOWNCAST" " 87

ALLAN-A-DALE " 95

YE TINKER " IQI

WITH A SMILE ON HIS FACE HE REACHED OVER AND DREW

FORTH THE WARRANT " IO7

HE SMOTE ERIC FULL AND SQUARE ON HIS SKULL " 117

ERIC O* LINCOLN " 121

YE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM " 129

"NAY," QUOTH ROBIN, "FEAR NOTHING, FOR i WILL DO THEE

NO HARM" " 135

ARTHUR-A-BLAND, YE TANNER "14!

[ix]

ILLUSTRATIONS

"MY FREEDOM HAVE I WON THROUGH MY STAFF, AND NOT BY

GRACE OF THEE" Page 145

YE PROUD BISHOP OF HEREFORD " 153

"HERE'S MONEY ENOUGH, MASTER," QUOTH LITTLE JOHN, "TO

PAY THE RECKONING" " 157

YE CRUEL BEGGAR "165

THE BEGGAR FLUNG THE MEAL IN THEIR FACES " 169

"l GIVE ONE EXTRA, NO MATTER HOW LARGE OR SMALL " . " 179

YE SHERIFF'S WIFE " 183

GUY OF GISBOURNE " 189

ROBIN DROVE HIS BLADE THROUGH SIR GUY*S BODY ..." 197

WILL STUTELY " 2O3

LITTLE JOHN HASTILY CUT WILL STUTELY's BONDS . . . . " 207

SIR RICHARD O* THE LEA " 213

PRIOR VINCENT " 219

"l COME TO PRAY THEE THAT THOU WILT GIVE ME A LITTLE

TIME OF GRACE" " 223

MAID MARIAN " 229

ROBIN HOOD AND MARIAN IN THEIR BOWER "233

RICHARD CCEUR DE LION " 237

THE KING BEGAN TO ROLL UP HIS SLEEVE "24!

YE GOOD QUEEN ELEANOR " 249

ROBIN WINS THE QUEEN'S PRIZE " 257

PRIOR WILLIAM PROVIDES A FEAST FOR THE KING AND THE

BISHOP " 267

"COME, CHANGE THINE APPAREL FOR MINE, OLD MAN*'. . . " 273

ROBIN SHOOTS HIS LAST SHAFT " 283

AUTHOR'S
PREFACE

IN this version of the Robin Hood tradition I have endeavored
to group the various incidents in logical progression, and to
connect them as intimately as possible with the customs and
manners of the age in which it is supposed he lived — the latter
part of the twelfth century. Moreover, I have made character-
portraits of all the principals in the legend, paying particular
attention to historical accuracy in the matter of dress, arms, and
other accessories. It is a singular circumstance that the name
of an outlawed individual of the twelfth century should remain
as well known as that of Richard the Lion-hearted or the Black
Prince; that the echoes of his personality should be preserved
in household ballad and fireside tale; that his words and deeds
continue to be a familiar part of the Anglo-Saxon heritage —
all this is pretty conclusive proof that Robin Hood was an actual
living personage. There is nothing mythical about the achieve-
ments of the renowned outlaw; and though medieval English
historians never mentioned this notable man, it was probably
his avowed enmity to churchmen that caused the monks to refrain
from rendering homage to his virtues. History, in former times,
was written by none but monks.

It is remarkable that one of the best stories of Robin Hood
was written and illustrated by an American artist who had never
set foot on English soil. In this latter respect I am more for-
tunate, having been born in the same country as Robin Hood
and having passed much of my early life in roaming about what
still remains of Sherwood and Need wood forests. I have en-
deavored to retain the quaint, simple, yet direct style of the
ballads, which are surprisingly unaffected and natural in their

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

appeal to the youthful mind. These ballads supply the material
for all but three of the twenty-five chapters, and the titles are
printed on the contents-page. The first three chapters are
original matter, because no ballad describes and history is silent
concerning the childhood and youth of Robin Hood. Most of
the earlier versions begin with Robin at his meeting with Little
John, when he was a full-fledged outlaw of middle age. Some
of the ballads are very ancient — one, in particular, was printed
in black letter by Wynken de Worde about 1489, and is now
preserved in the public library at Cambridge. Others are of
later date, belonging to the time of Henry the Eighth, and none
are later than the period of Charles the Second.

The map of Royal hunting forests is intended to show only
those places which are connected with Robin Hood's life, omitting
the New Forest and other local stretches of woodland lying in the
south of England. It is stated that England at this period was so
covered with woods that a squirrel could hop from tree to tree
across the entire country. The great Watling Street and Ermine
Street roads, built by the Romans eight hundred years before, were
still in fair condition in the time of Robin Hood. This map will
doubtless be of greater service to American boys than to their
English cousins, for no English boy is ignorant of the where-
abouts of Sherwood and Nottingham.

Finally, I have derived Robin Hood's character and personality
from the testimony of the old balladists and strolling minstrels
who composed their rimes to be sung to their harps, and who
pictured him as the most humane and princely of outlaws. Robin
Hood and his merry men were not ordinary cutthroats, but a
band of merry fellows without guile, bold and fair in fight,
courteous and kind to women and children, bountiful to the poor
and needy, and striking hard at cruelty and tyranny in a period
when there were few to take the part of the poor and unlettered
man. My Robin Hood will be found a brave, virtuous, and
tactful leader, who wisely tested in personal combat each new
recruit before he was allowed to join the band, and who was loved
and revered by all for his many excellent and amiable qualities.

ROBIN HOOD — HIS BIRTH AND BOYHOOD

The Earl of Huntingdon, nobly born,

That came of noble blood,
To Marion went, with good intent,

By the name of Robin Hood.

N the reign of King Henry II., there lived
on an estate near Locksley Village in Eng-
land, about two miles from the famous old
town of Uttoxeter in the county of Staf-
ford and almost on the borders of the Royal
Forest of Needwood, a nobleman named
\ William Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon. Earl
William was a valliant warrior, and, a man of honorable fame.
Like so many of the knights and nobles in that troubled age, he
spent most of his time away from home, fighting in the great wars
and petty quarrels that were always afoot in England or France,
in Normandy, Ireland, or Wales. But during the brief intervals
of peace he would return to take his ease in his strong castle, and
at such times it was his chief delight to train and teach his sturdy
young son, Robert.

When the boy was but five years old his father would lift him
up to ride before him upon the great black war-steed through the
i [i]

ROBIN HOOD

winding fern-clad paths of Needwood Forest. Next to fighting,
the Earl loved hunting — whether with hawk or hound, with bow
or boar-spear — and he always took Robert with him when he rode
forth into the forest with his woodsmen and his dogs. Often the
boy would shout with glee when he saw his father pierce with his
spear and pin to earth a savage wild boar which the great dogs
had driven right into their path. Again, gazing down a leafy
glade with his sharp blue eyes, he would see a great hart come
leaping, affrighted by the baying hounds. Then his father, who
had been waiting with tense muscles and steady nerves, would
raise his mighty bow of yew and draw the arrow clear to its head,
the feathers brushing his cheek. The next instant, with a low
hum, the cloth-yard shaft would be loosed, and the stag, smitten
through the shoulder, would rise on its haunches and fall to its
knees in death. Ever and anon Robert would shoot with his
own little bow at the squirrels chattering and playing among
the leafy branches. He was a good marksman even then, and
it gladdened his father's heart to see him bring down many a
squirrel, martin, or sable.

In those far-off days there was no attending school. The
children of the rich barons were trained from their earliest years
in war-like exercises and in the rules of chivalry. They were
taught to be brave and honorable and courteous, to ride and to
fight. Robert grew apace into a tall youth, well skilled in the use
of arms. Yet he knew little of the great world. He bore him-
self as befitted an earl's son, with gentleness and yet with au-
thority, but he had been reared almost in the forest, among
yeomen and peasants. Of them he learned many good lessons —
to give and take hard knocks, to be plain and downright in speech,
to value every man at his true worth, to despise a coward and to
love a brave, honest fellow, even if he were of low degree. De-
spite his noble birth he was a yeoman at heart.

Up to his twelfth year he enjoyed a merry, care -free life,
saddened only by his father's long absences. Boy as he was, he
practised with broadsword and quarter-staff, for in those days
a man who had not learned to defend himself in his youth would

[2]

ROBERT WOULD SHOOT WITH HIS OWN LITTLE BOW
AT THE SQUIRRELS

ROBIN HOOD

have been in a sorry plight. But of all weapons he loved the
long-bow best. He fashioned his own bows and arrows and used
them constantly, so that ere long none had a steadier hand nor
a truer eye. In knowledge of woodcraft he became the equal of
the old foresters. He had a nimble wit, loved good company
and manly sports. He was always present at the fairs and merry-
making in Locksley and the near-by villages when the sturdy yeo-
men wrestled or fought with quarter-staves for prizes — a ram, a
bull, a real gold ring, or a pipe of wine. But he was never so
happy as when treading the soft, loamy, flower-bedecked sward
of Needwood Forest that stretched for miles and miles, thickly
covered with beech, oak, and chestnut trees.

When Robert was twelve years old news came of his father's
death. Earl William had joined the army with which King
Henry was invading Ireland. Landing at Waterford, the King
marched toward Dublin to fight a famous native prince named
Strongbow, and at the storming of one of the enemies' castles
Earl William was struck down headlong from his horse by a
barbed and poisoned arrow which pierced his eye through a
crevice in his helmet. Thus Robert became an orphan, for his
mother had died the previous year.

It was at about this time that Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of
Canterbury, was foully murdered. King Henry had reached the
age of forty, and had four sons living: Henry, in his eighteenth
year; Richard, in his fifteenth; Geoffrey, in his fourteenth; and
John, in his sixth. These were the sons of the good Queen
Eleanor.

Robert wept grievously when he heard that his father was dead,
and for many days he moped and felt bitterly toward the whole
world. But at length he took courage, telling himself that from
now on he must play the man. As time passed, his grief became
less sharp; but there was a budding fear in his heart lest his uncle,
now his guardian, might not prove true to his trust. This fear
proved all too well advised, for his uncle was a reckless spend-
thrift, insomuch that by the time the boy was fifteen his castle
and broad lands, his serfs and cattle, were all forfeited. So

ROBIN HOOD

Robert's guardian, to escape the trouble in store for him, wended
his way to the wars, leaving his poor young nephew to follow in
the same path — or perchance to seek an asylum in the forests of
his own and the neighboring counties of Nottingham, Derby, and
York.

II

WHY ROBERT FITZOOTH CHANGED HIS NAME

There are twelve months in all the year,

As I hear many say;
But the merriest month in all the year

Is the merry month of May.

N a bright May morn in the year of our Lord
1175 a youth strode with a rapid gait along
the woodland path on the very edge of Need-
wood Forest. Though it was yet early in the
day, the sun was high and warm; the throstle
and blackbird sang; the cuckoo from a high
tree-top called the double note to his mate,
and all the woods seemed glad. The bright yellow-green buds
were just bursting forth, and the forest sward as far as eye could
reach was a huge carpet of bright azure bluebells that gave a rich
odor to the fresh morning air. The tall, comely lad, straight as a
young birch, was scarce fifteen winters old, yet it needed but a
glance to see that he was a proper youth, stout and bold. He had
the keen, bright eyes of a falcon, full, rounded lips, and a com-
plexion deeply tanned His auburn curls hung down from be-
neath a jaunty cap of buckskin dyed old-gold, on the side of
which, pointing upward, was buckled the middle tail-feather of a
cock pheasant. He wore a deep olive-green jerkin, or coat, and
the hose on his well-formed limbs fitted like'a glove. His tough

ROBIN HOOD

yew long-bow hung from his shoulder in such a manner as to be
instantly ready when needed. His beautifully embroidered
quiver, chock-full of cloth-yard arrows, was slung from his
shoulder-belt on the left side. From the red girdle drawn
tightly round his waist hung a sheathed dagger or hunting-knife,
and below it, fastened by straps, was a leathern pouch containing
all his worldly possessions — his mother's rosary and gold ring, as
well as food for the day, some sliced brawn and wheaten cakes.
He had already gone many miles from Locksley, for he had been up
and on his way before the break of dawn — and now he was nearing
Tutbury town, where he would rest awhile at the old Dog and
Partridge Inn for a bite and a sup with the host, one of his father's
old retainers. Thus far he had not met a living soul. Following
the river Dove, which joins the Trent below Tutbury, he would
strike the Trent valley, due east for Nottingham town.

Presently he marched up High Street and stepped in through
the little tap-room door of the white-and-black oak-timbered inn.

" Hulloa, whither goest thou, Master Robert, dressed all so gay
and fine?" cried mine host of the Dog and Partridge.

"Knowest not, good Giles," quoth Robert, "of the shooting-
match to be held on the morrow at Nottingham town ? I go to
shoot, with other stout yeomen, for the prize — a silver bugle."

"Saist thou so?" quoth Giles. "Marry, and it may be thou
shalt win, for thou canst speed an arrow with the best; I know
it well."

Then the worthy Giles called to his good dame for a hearty
meal of the very best — nothing was too good for their master's
gallant son. So they brought a leveret pasty, some fried trout,
fresh from the river — a can of ale was too mean and coarse, it
must be a flagon of wine, and that of the finest quality. So
young Robert set to and made a hole in that pie that pleased
the good dame mightily.

"Now, my brave young master," quoth Giles, "if thou thinkest
to reach Nottingham town by nightfall thou must e'en away.
The path is easy enow to Repton, but poor and boggy at Sawley;
from thence, see to it thou leavest the Trent valley and dost

[8]

ROBIN HOOD

follow the upper woodlands. Then strike through the King's
forest for the town."

So Robert parted from the worthy host and hostess of the Dog
and Partridge with a full stomach and great store of good wishes.
He marched down High Street of Tutbury town, looking neither
to the right nor to the left while the townsfolk paused to stare
at him and the maids glanced at him coyly, for they thought
they never yet had seen a youth so fair. As for Robert, he
recked nothing of their looks, for his mind was all set on the
shooting-match at Nottingham. His head buzzed with pleasant
thoughts of the morrow, and his blood coursed briskly through
his veins. Soon he was swinging along the forest path at a five-
mile gait. Yet as he jogged on he was alert, always prepared
at a moment's notice to defend himself should harm threaten.

He knew full well his skill with the long-bow, for many a time
in friendly trials he had beaten the King's foresters and the men
of Locksley town. It was his fifteenth birthday on the morrow;
he would surely win a prize, and after that — he pondered, and
said to himself, "Mayhap I shall become one of the King's
foresters, then an archer of the King's guard, and so off to the
wars like my father before me."

Just at that moment he espied through the leafy glade a small
herd of hinds and young fawns led by a broad-antlered hart
passing slowly by beneath the branches of a wide-spreading oak.
Instantly his bow was in place, with an arrow nocked to the
string; but ere he loosed the shaft, he paused, bethinking himself
of what might follow should he kill. He was sorely tempted, for
he wished to make trial of his skill before to-morrow's test;
yet in a moment he sighed, lowered his arm, and slacked his bow.
He knew the penalty of killing the King's royal hart; not a soul
that could bend a bow in all merry England but knew it well.
Better by far to be shot and killed outright than to have both
eyes torn from their sockets, and the forefinger and thumb cut
from each hand, then to be led into the forest to bleed and die.
And so, as he strode along, right glad was he that he had with-
held his hand from slaying of the King's deer.

[9]

ROBIN HOOD

The sun was now at high noon. Since breakfast at the Dog
and Partridge he had covered over twenty miles, and his stomach
began to crave food. He made up his mind to rest awhile at
the first spring or brook that lay in his path. At last he came to
a little sparkling rivulet tumbling down a bank-side, where sat a
swineherd.

"Ho, good fellow/' cried Robert, "what news in these parts?"

"None that I wot of, my master, save that there be a shooting-
match in the town on the morrow, and many, like thee, do
wend their way to it. May our Good Lady grant thee a
prize!"

"Grammercy, good man, so I trust she may."

Thereupon Robert sat down beside him, and taking from his
pouch the brawn and bread, gave half to the swineherd, who
swallowed it like a hungry dog, in big gulps, long before the youth
had finished his share. Then, lying down at full length, Robert
took deep draughts of the cold, clear water, and again started on
his journey.

He had chosen to go afoot rather than on horseback because
he could thus more easily make his way through the tangled mass
of bracken and underbrush in the deep forest. This jaunt of
over twoscore miles taxed his strength not at all, for he was both
strong of limb and light of heart, and now, within half a dozen
miles of Nottingham town, he was almost as fresh as when he
had started. He had just heard the baying of a hound, when,
as he came forth from a thick, tangled path to the open, a loud,
angry voice shouted: "Hold! Who goes there that so boldly
marches through the King's deer forest?"

The lad turned aside and saw a band of foresters seated and
standing around the trunk of a giant oak. There were fifteen
of them. All except the speaker were ranged round an immense
dish of venison pie. Near by stood some barrels of ale. Leather
wine-bottles and drinking-cups of horn lay scattered about on
the mossy soft ground. All were dressed alike from top to toe
in Lincoln green.

"My name is Robert Fitzooth," quoth Robert, boldly, "and
[to]

ROBIN HOOD

I go to the shooting-match at Nottingham town, where I hope to
win a prize, and then, perchance, become a king's forester."

At this answer there arose a loud, boisterous laugh from every
throat.

"What!" cried the chief, "thou a king's forester! Alack! thou
couldst no more pull that man's bow hanging at thy back than
could a blind kitten! Why, thou young whippet, our company
needs men who can shoot a shaft from a goodly bow, not a babe
just weaned."

"Do but look at him, comrades," said one, holding up a can of
ale. "I trow a babe so young could never draw that string so
much as the shake of a lamb's tail."

"I'll hold the best of you twenty marks," Robert made answer,
turning red with anger and shame, "that I'll hit a mark at a
hundred rods."

"Wilt thou so?" jeered the chief forester. "Lay down thy
money."

"Alas! I have no money."

"0-ho! This young braggart hath no money, yet he layeth a
wager! Come now, my fine bantam cock, what wilt thou wager?"

At this, young Robert went clean beside himself with rage.

"I lay my head against thy purse," he cried, in a choking voice,
"whatsoe'er it contain, much or little, for there down the glade,
fivescore rods away, I see a herd of deer, and by the leave of
our Lady I will cause a hart to die."

"Done with you, and there is my purse," roared the angry
forester; and he threw his purse on the ground among a pile of
bows and quivers.

Now were the herd of deer in full view to all, led by a lordly
hart which, turning, seemed to sniff some danger in the air.
Then Robert took up his great bow, deftly tightened the string,
nocked his shaft, and drew it to his ear.

"Remember, thou boaster, 'tis thy head is wagered," cried one;
but Robert's hand trembled not, nor did his eye waver.

Twang! and the broad goose-feathered arrow flew through the
air like a skimming swallow. All the foresters bent forward

[nj

ROBIN HOOD

eagerly, for they saw at once that the lad was no boaster, 3ut as
good an archer as themselves. The entire band were struck
dumb when they beheld the great stag leap in the air, drop to its
knees, and roll over with the arrow clean through its heart.

"The wager is mine," cried Robert, "were it a thousand
pounds." Then he stepped forward to reach the purse.

"Hold!" thundered he who had lost the wager, amid the angry
shouts of the foresters. "The wager thou hast won is the loss
of thy two eyes. Thou art an outlaw, for thy arrow smote the
King's hart royal, and all who do so must die." Thereupon they
moved forward to encircle the lad, who stood ready with another
shaft nocked to his bow-string.

"Beware!" said he. "He that draws one step nigher shall die
like the hart."

Thereupon, one of the foresters, who had stealthily crept be-
hind him, leaped upon his back and bore him to the ground with
an arm about his neck.

"Now, by Saint Dunstan!" quoth the chief, "this naughty
fellow hath come in happy time. Our good Sheriff of Nottingham
hath taken it much amiss that we have brought no deer-stealers
to court, though many have been killed from the coverts. He
hath twice hinted that our time is spent in revels and feastings
beneath the greenwood-trees. This likely tale, forsooth, will now
be mended."

At this all laughed, and Robert's heart sank, but he lay still,
biding his time. One lazy fellow, whose head was humming with
ale, spake, and said:

"Marry, let us hang him on yon tall tree, and so an end."

"Nay, by 'r Lady, we owe the Sheriff a prize," quoth the chief.

"Ay, truly," said another. "We have need of the Sheriff's
good-will. If ye will do as I rede you, let us bind him up in the
skin of the royal hart he hath slain and sling him from our shoul-
ders on a stout oak limb."

"Well said! That we will," cried they all.

So Robert was tied fast, hand and foot, with bow-strings, and
carried to where the dead hart lay. When they had stripped

ROBIN HOOD

away the hot skin with their keen hunting-knives and laid it
flat on the greensward, they rudely threw him upon it and bound
it with thongs over his body, leaving naught uncovered but his
head. Robert's blood boiled, and he struggled with might and
main to loosen the bonds which cut and pained him ever the
more as he tried to free himself. Anon two strong fellows came,
bearing a stout oak limb on their shoulders, to which the shapeless
bundle was tied with rawhide thongs. Then they set off through
the woodland, pushing their way amid thickets of young trees
and stumbling over rough ground.

Robert was no great burden. Indeed, his body was but a
plaything; yet the chief bade his men carry in turns, so that
every one might have a chance to swing the living bundle from
side to side against the trees as they passed. Always, in changing,
the burden-bearers dropped their charge with a heavy thud to
the ground, thinking to make him curse or groan. Much they
marveled that he made no outcry, and some among the band
whose hearts were softer than the rest felt pity that a brave lad
should be so abused. As for Robert, he set his teeth and prayed
inwardly. How different, thought he, was his present state from
what it had been on that smiling May morn! He, who had
thought to be an archer of the royal guard and to die at need
for country and King, was to be killed without mercy as a felon.
If the King could only know how his dastard foresters had lured
a faithful subject with their taunts to a shameful death, it would
fare ill with these same cruel knaves. He bethought him again
and again of the tottering, sightless old man of his beloved
Locksley town, whose tale of woe he had heard full oft. At last,
what with the cramped and painful position in which he was tied
and the heat of his body sweltering in the hide, his wits began to
reel. His head dropped limp to one side and he knew no more.

"Hulloa!" cried a forester, "we've rocked our baby to sleep.
Come, wake up, my young hedgehog." Then with rude thumps
they sought to rouse him, but he awoke not.

The band had now left the forest and were treading the soft
green turf of a meadow through which meandered a slow-running

[IS]

ROBIN HOOD

stream. Just beyond the distant trees rose a church spire of a
village where the foresters would doubtless rest and refresh them-
selves at the White Hart Inn. Drawing nigh the banks of the
stream, the foremost of the two who bore the captive cried, " By
my faith, this is a jolly place for a bath to revive our sleepy young
blade."

"Thou saist truly," quoth the other; and with the words they
dipped their burden into the stream. The cool water flowed over
Robert's face and eyes, and he struggled, gasping, with dire fear
in his heart; for he thought that now they would drown him,
helpless, bound hand and foot, like a cat in a bag. But anon
they lifted him out, and as he lay prone on the bank, scarce know-
ing whether he were alive or dead, he heard the low voice of one
who had before shown some pity both by look and word.

"Nay, man,'* said the voice, "there is no need for that. To
wet the burden will but make it the heavier. Let Steve and me
take a turn."

"Ay, truly, Phil, our shoulders need a rest, and thou art young
and lusty."

So Phil called a companion, who stepped forward from the band;
and Robert's spirits rose to find some semblance of gentleness
among these men, though truly he feared that this might be but a
trick to torment him further. But his doubts soon fled. As
they moved along toward the village his sharp ear caught whis-
pered words between his carriers.

"I' faith," said one, "I am aweary of this life — hard words and
little pay!"

"What canst thou do, Phil?" the other made answer.

"With thy good help, Steve, we can save and avenge this brave
young lad."

"Ay, so we might, but to what end?"

"Marry, to be free, to be our own masters and live a merry life
under the greenwood-trees — above all, to save the life of one
who may prove to be the best archer that ever bent bow."

These low-spoken words were sweetest music to Robert, who
kept silent and waited till the time for action came. They had

[16]

ROBIN HOOD

now reached the village, and were within sight of the White Hart
Inn. The men were weary and athirst, and the chief forester,
nothing loath, gave them leave to rest, as they were still some
distance from Nottingham town. In those days the inns and
taverns were built with stables and outbuildings close to and
facing the front entrance, the whole being entirely surrounded by
a high stone wall, except the big oaken gates which led into the
small courtyard. Into this yard the troop of foresters filed, with
the prisoner carried by Phil and Steve in the rear.

"Shall we unbind the lad to stretch his limbs?" asked Steve.

"No, thou scurvy villain," roared the chief. "None but the
Sheriff shall do the stretching. Lay him in the stable and guard
him well. But hark'ee! We want no dead prisoner for our noble
Sheriff, therefore put in his craw some oaten cake and a swill of
water the while we quench our thirst with wine. Catching deer-
stealers is dry work."

With that he strode through the little front door along a short
passage into the big public chamber, and the rest followed him.
In this room sat two sturdy fellows drinking ale. Both were
armed, but their clothes showed them to be of the meaner sort
of folk, though one was much the better clad. After giving orders
for the best wine and food the chief turned to them, saying:

"What news, good fellows?"

"We know of none, your honor, save the shooting-match at
Nottingham town on the morrow. Belike thou, too, goest
thither."

"Oh, we have a saucy young rogue of a deer-stealer to be hung
by our pious Sheriff — ay, and the best hand to shoot a shaft we've
seen full many a day."

Then the foresters sat down to feast and sing a jolly lay, but
the two others left the room. As they crossed the yard Phil
accosted them, crying, "Good friend, wilt thou go within and beg
the chief forester for a flagon of wine for the men on guard ?"

"Marry, that will I," one of the strangers made answer, and
straightway hastened to do as he was bid.

"Who is thy charge?" asked the other. Then, looking round,

ROBIN HOOD

he beheld in a corner the young lad trussed up in the skin. At
that moment his companion returned with the wine, whereat
Robert, catching sight of them, cried out of a sudden, "It is Giles
and the swineherd!"

"Alack!" cried Giles. "Tell me what thou hast done, beloved
son of my master, that was so happy and free this morn!"

Then Phil and Steve saw their chance and had hope of rescue.
In hurried whispers the four debated.

"Let us haste, good comrades," said Giles, cutting the bonds
with his sharp dagger. Then Robert got up from the ground
with limbs stiff and sore, yet ready to do and dare any deed for
his freedom. A plan was soon made. Phil and Steve with
young Robert were to run outside the wall and through a little
thatched cottage into a back garden, at the end of which flowed
the stream. This stream, being too deep to ford, they must
swim, pitching across their bows and quivers to keep them dry.
In the forest, but a hundred rods away, they could make a stand
behind the broad trunks of the friendly trees, to cover the escape
of Giles and the swineherd should they be pursued. Meanwhile,
Giles would quietly fasten the inn front door while his com-
panion locked the big oak gates of the yard. Then, taking a
light ladder used to climb the stable loft and placing it against the
wall, Giles would get over and take the ladder with him.

Robert took up his bow and quiver, which the chief had meant
to put in as evidence, along with the hide, before the SherifF, and
crept softly along the wall, Phil and Steve close behind him. He
had stoutly refused at first to lead the way because of the extra
risk to his friends. With his long-bow they knew he was no mean
foe, but all were in the same plight, and he bent to their desire.
All three were now safely outside the yard gate. The swineherd
softly closed it, turned the big key round in the lock, and, taking
it along, nimbly climbed the ladder. He dropped down lightly
upon the other side and ran to follow the leaders.

In the mean time Giles was in great peril of his life, for he knew
that as soon as he closed the front door the men inside would
stop drinking and carousing. In his hand he held some of the

[18]

ROBIN HOOD

rawhide thongs that had bound Robert, with which he meant to
tie fast the round iron handle to the latch. This, he hoped,
would give him time to scale the wall. He now pulled the door
— slowly at first, that the men within might not perceive the
fading light in the passage. It was now half-way; every moment
gave him comfort, for his companions were getting farther and
farther away. He thought of his dead master, whose orphan son
he wished to save, and said to himself:

"I never yet did repent of doing good, nor shall not now."

Silently and suddenly he closed the door and tied it fast.
Straightway there arose a terrible uproar inside. The door was
tried, kicked, and banged amid cries and oaths. But the stout
rawhide thongs held, and Giles's foot was on the first rung of the
ladder. He heard the angry chief shout, above the din, "To the
windows, my lads! Shoot the traitors dead!"

Two foresters now crashed through the windows into the court-
yard, and nocked their shafts. The bow-strings twanged, the
arrows flew; but Giles was safe. He saw the top of the ladder
pierced with arrows as it lay outside the high wall, and as he ran
like the wind down the garden path he heard them thundering at
the gate, shut in for the nonce, like rats in a trap. He knew that
danger threatened him still as he plunged into the stream, swam
across, and began to run along the meadows toward the forest.
He heard a shout, and, turning, saw the swineherd, who could not
swim, vainly searching a fording-place. Whate'er the danger,
Giles was not the man to leave a comrade in distress. He went
back again, crossed the stream, and then started afresh, swimming
with the swineherd on his back. Just as he stretched forth his
hand to the bank he heard the whizz of an arrow close by his
ear; another, shot by the foremost forester, struck with deadly
aim right at the back of the swineherd's neck, going through at
the throat with such force as to pierce Giles's shoulder. With a
scream the man tore the arrow from him, and Giles fell forward,
with his companion lying beside him writhing in his last agony.

Recking naught of the danger, Robert sprang forth from the
sheltering trees, and with set teeth, his eyes fixed on the deadly

[19]

ROBIN HOOD

marksman, chose a shaft and nocked it to the string. A dozen
arrows came sailing over the meadows toward him, but they fell
short by full twenty rods. He hesitated, standing there alone,
with the bow half raised. He doubted not the trueness of his
aim nor the strength of his bow, though the distance was great.
Never before in all his happy boyhood had he wished for any
man's death; yet the cruel treatment he had lately undergone
from the very man who was now his target, hardened, for the
moment, a naturally tender heart and burned to tinder all ves-
tiges of forgiveness. As he thought how shamefully they had dealt
with him, and how this very man had slain one of his friends,
his face flushed with anger. He lifted his bow, drawing the
shaft to its head. For a bare instant he hung at full stretch.
Then with a loud twang the arrow sped. The chief, raising both
arms, howled like a wolf, leaped forward, and fell flat on his face
to the earth, with the arrow right through his heart.

The whole band of foresters were thunderstruck. Helpless to
do aught against the young archer who so easily overshot them,
they turned and fled, leaving their chief in his dying struggles
on the ground. Steve and Phil now came from the forest, where
they had waited, well assured that the lad would outshoot his
pursuers. All three ran to the river-bank to succor Giles and
the swineherd. Giles, who had but a glancing flesh-wound on his
shoulder, had climbed up the bank and lay quite still, deeming that
the foresters would think him dead. Robert then turned to the
swineherd, whose lifeless body lay rigid in a pool of blood that had
run from his throat, his mild blue eyes wide open. The sun had
gone down in a blaze of glorious gold. The sky began to
redden and turned to a cold purple gray. The long evening
twilight had fallen. The moon and stars would soon be their
only lamps.

Robert was sad at heart, and repented him sore of what he had
done. With all his shooting he had never bethought him that
he might as easily kill a man as a stag. He knew that men slew
and were slain in fair fight, but the thought that he had taken a
life was very bitter to him. As he watched his companions

[20]

ROBIN HOOD

tenderly carry away the limp, lifeless form that but an hour before
had been so strong and lusty he wept and repeated time and again,
"I, too, have killed a man." What the cruel chief had done, the
crafty wager, the taunts at his skill and his youth, the unfeeling
wish to win the Sheriff's favor through his torture, finally, the
slaying of one of his generous rescuers — all these seemed now but
poor excuses for his deed. So, though he had killed in hot blood
and in defence of his life, it seemed to him that he would never
again be blithe and care-free.

Sadly and silently they laid the body of the swineherd in the
crevice of a rock and covered it with branches of oak, intending
to return later and bury it. Each one muttered a prayer and
turned away. Then, taking a path that led right into the depths
of the forest, they were soon lost to view in the gathering darkness
of the night.

III

ROBIN THE OUTLAW

Come listen to me, you gallants so free,
All you that love mirth for to hear;

And I will tell you of a bold outlaw
Who lived in Nottinghamshire.

rIVE years flew by, and Robert dwelt as an
outlaw in the forest; but he no longer called
himself Robert Fitzooth. Men knew him as
Robin Hood. He was now twenty years old,
i scarce taller than of yore, but, from a slight,
thin sapling of a youth, he had developed into
' a man broad of shoulder and deep of chest, with
arms and legs of solid brawn and sinew. His hands and face were
now 'deeply bronzed, and he had a short curly beard and a mus-
tache of auburn red. Truly, he was a young man goodly to look
upon, clad from head to foot in Lincoln green.

We last saw him and his companions cover the dead swineherd
with leaves, and march, sad-hearted, into the deep forest. They
knew full well that they must put many a mile betwixt them and
the foresters, for when the Sheriff learned of what had happened
he would set men and dogs upon their tracks. Then rewards
would be offered to any who should make them captive and bring

[22]

ROBIN HOOD

them, alive or dead, to the court of the King. So they hasted
through the forest, going northward, guided by the stars now
faintly gleaming. Anon darkness came upon them, but by good-
fortune they espied before them a charcoal-burner's hut, where
they lay down and rested for the night. Before sunset of the
next day they had reached Barnesdale Forest in Yorkshire, and
here they dwelt awhile in peace, far away from the Sheriff and
his men.

At this time King Henry had marched to the north with a
great array to quell the Scotch Rebellion, and all four men joined
the ranks as archers. Then, quitting the army, they journeyed
north again to Plompton Forest, in Cumberland, where they bided
for a space. King Henry was greatly troubled by the disobe-
dience of his sons, Earl Henry and Richard, and his mind was ill
at ease after the murder of Becket. That he might in some sort
atone for it he made a pilgrimage to Canterbury, and there
allowed himself to be scourged with a knotted cord by the priests.
He spent a night in a dark crypt, and the next day rode, fasting,
to London, where he fell ill of a fever.

At length Robin and his band became aweary of the cold
northern winters and longed for their old haunts and companions.
So they agreed to go back to the warmer lowlands. They had
many adventures and narrow escapes by the way, but, keeping
together in fair weather and foul, they made their way into
Nottinghamshire and halted on the borders of Sherwood Forest
hard by Newstead Abbey. Choosing a trysting-place surrounded
by boggy land, with one narrow safe path leading from a clump
of hazel bushes, they sallied forth in search of food and drink and
other things of which they had need.

The little band was moving slowly along down a hillside.
Though it was early in the day, yet was it hot and sultry.

"We shall have a storm before sundown," said one.

"Ay," quoth Giles, "and a heavy one, too, methinks."

While they spoke thus Robin said of a sudden: "Listen, com-
rades, there are strangers near by. I hear a lusty voice."

Standing still, they waited, listening, for they could see naught
[23 1

ROBIN HOOD

through the maze of leafy trees. Anon they heard a loud voice
close at hand. Robin led the way toward the sound, carefully
treading the soft sward and hiding behind the trees. Soon they
espied a group of foresters seated, with their backs to them,
beneath a chestnut-tree, to which were bound two captives.
They had often wished to add some stout followers to their com-
pany, and here, it seemed, was a chance. But how were they to
free the captives? They agreed to bide until the two men were
cut loose; so, lying down flat on the ground, each kept his eye
fixed upon the scene before them. At last they grew weary.

"Phil," quoth Robin, "do thou steal round to yon tall elm and
climb among its thick-branching leaves, then cry out, 'Help!
Murder!' Then moan softly, while I creep along the other way
nigh unto' the captives."

Anon the cry was heard loud and clear in the silent woodland,
and the foresters all started to their feet and ran forward, sore
astonished, not knowing whence the sound came. Robin saw his
chance as they rushed forth. Nimbly he sped toward the cap-
tives' tree and cut the thongs with his sharp dagger, saying,
"Come quickly to freedom."

Giles and Ste've, making a wide turn, joined them, and together
they were soon out of the foresters' sight and hearing, and back to
their chosen meeting-place. All were agreed that Phil was safe
up in his tree. Yet, as the day wore on, their hearts misgave
them. Just as they were planning to return in search of their
comrade the storm burst forth in torrents of rain, with thunder
and lightning. When it had passed they saw Phil come trudging
along the little path over the bogs.

"Marry! Here am I," quoth Phil.

"Right welcome thou art. Tell us, good comrade, what hath
befallen thee."

So they sat down in merry humor to listen.

"Well," began Phil, "when I had hid me in the tree, I shouted.
Up rose the band, taking up their quarter-staffs and nocking
their shafts as they rushed down. I was well covered, and they
saw me not, but when they had beaten the woods well, yet found

[24!

ROBIN HOOD

no sign of a living soul, I heard one say, ' Tis the foul fiend, and
some one of us must surely die/ 'Nay,' quoth another, 'it was
the cry of a man in sore distress. Then a third cried out, 'The
foul fiend is truly about us. See! our prisoners have dropped
into the bowels of the earth.' Forthwith they scampered back
to find the hole where the fiend had taken the captives, yet they
saw naught but the broken thongs. Then it behooved me to cry
again to draw them away from following in thy tracks. So back
they came to the tree, more bewildered than ever. Oh ! how sore
I pined to send a shaft among their addled pates, but that would
end me, quoth I. With that the storm broke, and off they trudged
through the rain to Nottingham town in sorry plight. But I lay
still, snug and dry, till the rain stopped. Then down I came right
gladly from my bower, and straightway came hither. An my
eyes be not crooked and a-squint, ye have stout Tom Lee and
Dick the Draper among you."

"Ay, here we are safe and sound, thanks to thee and thy friends.
Right glad are we to meet so stout a band," quoth Dick.

Then said Robin, "It were well that these two lusty fellows, an
it please them, should join with us."

Thereupon Tom Lee and Dick the Draper looked at each other
and smiled.

"Nay, rather," quoth Dick, "come ye with me, for to say
sooth we belong to a band of merry outlaws, as stout as ever drew
bow, who dwell under the greenwood-trees in Sherwood Forest."

"No better life do I crave," quoth Robin, "than to be an out-
law in the green forest with brave and true men for comrades."

So they all followed Dick, who guided them through the path-
less forest half a score of miles. Robin thought, as he strode
along, that an outlaw's life had not been his choice, but it had
been forced upon him, willy-nilly. A price was on his head, and
he must either lose it or follow the life his comrades offered. Such
a life need not be one of rapine and murder. He thereupon made
a vow to do good deeds, so far as lay in his power. And that vow
he kept through many a long year of forest life.

Dick led them deeper and deeper into the forest, and at
[27!

ROBIN HOOD

last they reached a small clearing of softest greensward, in the
midst of which on a little hummock rose the trunk of a giant
oak, hollowed out in the center, so that there was room within
for a dozen stout yeomen to lie hid. In the hollow was a trap-
door on the ground, which led by steps along a passage to the
outlaws' treasure-store. At the back of the tree was a huge stone
round tower with walls six feet thick — the remains of a Roman
temple. It lacked both doors and windows, so that none might
enter save by the trap. Another passage led from the treasure-
store back to an outlet, in the forest, covered over by thick
bushes.

A group of outlaws sitting and lying in the shade raised a shout
of welcome to see their companions return safely with new friends.
Then Dick and Tom told how they had been rescued from the
foresters and who had done it. Robin Hood's skill as an archer
was well known to them, and there was none in that country
who thought not the better of him because he had put an end
to the chief forester's brutal deeds. Dick wound his horn
to draw the whole band together under the tree, and thus ad-
dressed them:

" Brother outlaws, so far we have done well and worked to-
gether without fear or favor in this our happy life. But I say we
need and must have a captain and leader — one that is bold and
the best archer in merry England. Therefore let us straightway
set up a target, and he that shall prove the best marksman with
gray-goose shaft, let him be our chief."

"Well said!" cried they all; and straightway they set up a
target against a tree a hundred rods away.

"Nay," quoth Robin Hood, "that target is no test of an
archer's skill. Let me place a target that is worthy of a stout
bowman."

"That is but fair," cried the yeomen.

So Robin cut a six-foot hazel wand, set it upon the soft earth,
and hung from it a garland of wild roses.

"The archer," cried Robin, "who sends his cloth-yard shaft
through yon fair garland and touches not flower nor leaf at two

[28]

ROBIN HOOD

hundred rods away I call him worthy to be captain of this merry
band." At that there fell a silence, and none stepped forward
to make the test.

"If none other will shoot at this mark," quoth Dick the
Draper, "do thou, good Robin, show our comrades what thou
canst do."

Then Robin stepped forth with his great long-bow, nocked a
shaft, and shot it clear through the garland so that neither leaf
nor flower quivered so much as a hair's breadth.

"Do it again," cried Dick, "that it may seem to all no false
shot."

"Ay!" quoth Robin, "and thrice again shall my arrow speed."

And thus it was that Robin Hood, amid jocund shouts, became
the captain of the merry band of outlaws in Sherwood Forest.
The fivescore outlaws seated themselves beneath the branches
of the great oak, and Robin spake unto them.

"My merry men, all," quoth he, "as your captain and sworn
leader I pray you to join me in a vow to spoil only our op-
pressors— sheriff or Norman baron, prior or abbot, knight or
squire, any and all who grind and rob the poor. From such only
will we take to help those who are needy, but to helpless women
or children we will do no scathe."

Up rose the band with one accord and swore to obey and keep
the vow. Then they fell to work to make ready a great feast,
and the next fourteen days were set apart for feasting and merry
sports. With wrestling-matches, bouts at quarter-staff, archery
contests, bowling on the green turf, high jumping, and pole-leap-
ing, the time passed blithely.

IV

ROBIN HOOD FIGHTS LITTLE JOHN .

When Robin Hood was about twenty years old,

With a hey down, down, and a down;
He happened to meet Little John,
A jolly brisk blade, right fit for the trade;
For he was a lusty young man.

IT last the great feast and merry sports were
done. Then Robin said to his jolly bowmen :
"This day I mean to fare forth to seek ad-
ventures. Mayhap I shall find some tall
knight or fat abbot with an overfull purse."
Picking out a few followers, he said to the
rest: "Pray tarry, my merry men, in this our
grove, and see that ye heed well my call, for should I be hard
bestead I will sound three blasts on my horn, and then ye shall
know that I am in dire need. So come to help me with all
speed."

So saying, he wended his way with those he had chosen, to the
outskirts of Sherwood Forest. At last they came to a meadow
hard by a village, through which flowed a stream, little but
deep.

"Bide here, my lads," quoth Robin, "behind these trees, while
[32]

PRITHEE, GOOD FELLOW, WHERE ART THOU NOW?"

ROBIN HOOD

I go forth to meet yon tall fellow whom I see stalking forth this
way."

So Robin started toward a long, narrow bridge made of a huge,
flattened tree-trunk that spanned the brook. Now it chanced
that both he and the stranger set foot upon the bridge at the same
instant. They eyed each other up and down, and Robin said
to himself, "This tall, lusty blade would be a proper man for
our band, for he stands nigh seven foot high, and hath a mighty
frame." Then, to test if the fellow's valor were equal to his
height, bold Robin sturdily stood and said: "Get off the bridge
and give way. Dost thou not see there's no room for both to
cross?"

"Get off thyself, thou saucy knave, or I'll baste thy hide with
my staff," the stranger replied.

Then Robin drew from his quiver a long, straight shaft and
fitted it to his bow-string.

"Thou pratest like an ass," quoth he. "Ere thou couldst
strike me one blow I could send this goose-winged shaft through
thy heart."

"None but a base coward would shoot at my breast while I
have naught but a staff in my hand to reach thee."

At this Robin lowered his bow and thrust the shaft back into
the quiver. "I scorn thee," he said, "as I do the name of a
coward, and to prove that I fear thee not let me lay by my long-
bow and choose a tough staff of ground-oak from yonder thicket.
Then here upon this narrow bridge we will fight, and whosoever
shall be doused in the brook shall own himself beaten."

The tall stranger replied, "That suits me full well to a dot,
and here will I abide till thou comest."

Then bold Robin strode off to the thicket, where he cut and
trimmed a trusty, knotted six-foot staff. Sooth to say, the more
he looked upon the stranger the less he relished coming to blows
with him, for he thought he had never seen a sturdier knave.
None the less he stepped upon the bridge and began to flourish
his staff above his head right bravely. With watchful eyes and
careful tread both stepped forward till they met in the middle.

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ROBIN HOOD

In a trice Robin gave the stranger a crack on his broad neck
that made his bones ring like stones in a tin can; but he was
as tough as he was big, and he said naught but, "One good turn
deserves another." With that he whirled his great staff faster
and faster, bringing it down on Robin's guard with such a rain
of blows that one would think twenty men were at it. Both
played so rapidly and the blows were so deftly struck that neither
one after half an hour's battle seemed to gain a whit. Robin
tried all his skill in parrying and feinting, but he could do no more
than give the stranger a whack on his ribs and shoulder which
only made him grunt. As he began to grow weary the other
laid on the faster, so that Robin's jacket smoked with many a
thwack and he felt as if he were on fire.

At last he got a crack on the crown that caused the blood to
flow down his cheek, but he only fought the more fiercely and
pressed on so hard that the stranger slipped and nigh fell over.
But he regained his footing, and with a furious onslaught he
brought his staff down with such tremendous force that he
smashed Robin's staff into smithers and toppled him with a great
splash full on his back into the brook.

"Prithee, good fellow, where art thou now?" quoth the stranger.

"Good faith, in the flood," quoth Robin, "and floating along
with the tide."

Thereupon he waded the stream and pulled himself up on the
bank by an overhanging branch. He sat him down, wet to
the skin, and laughingly cried, "My brave soul, thou hast won
the bout, and I'll no longer fight with thee." So saying, he set his
horn to his lips and blew a loud blast, whereat the stout yeomen
came running forth from behind the trees.

"Oh, what is the matter, good master?" they cried. "Thou
art as wet as a drown'd rat."

"Matter or no matter," quoth Robin, "yon tall fellow hath in
fighting tumbled me into the brook."

"Seize him, comrades, for in the brook he shall likewise go
to cool his hot spirit," said one.

"Nay, nay, forbear," cried Robin, "he is a stout fellow. They
[36]

ROBIN HOOD

shall do thee no harm, my tall friend. These bowmen are my
followers, with three score and nine others, and if thou wilt, my
jolly blade, thou shalt join us and be my good right-hand man.
Three good suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have each year and
a full share in all we take. We'll teach thee to shoot the fat
fallow deer, and thou shalt eat sweet venison steak whene'er
thou wilt, washed down with foaming ale. What saist thou,
sweet chuck?"

The stranger replied, "Here is my hand on't, and with my
whole heart will I serve so bold a leader, for no man living doubt-
eth that I, John Little, can play my part with the best. But on
one condition will I join your band."

"And what may that be?" quoth Robin.

"It is that ye show me an archer who can mend a shot I shall
shoot with stout long-bow and arrow."

"Well, thou shalt shoot," quoth Robin, "and we will mend thy
shot if we may." So saying, he went and cut a willow wand
about the thickness of a man's thumb and, peeling off the skin,
set it up before a tree fivescore paces away. "Now," quoth he,
"do thou choose a bow to thy liking from among all my men,
and let us see thy skill."

"That will I, blithely," quoth John. Choosing the stoutest
bow and straightest arrow he could find among a group lying on
the sward, he took most careful aim, pulling the arching bow to
its utmost stretch. The arrow flew, and lodged with its point
right through the wand. "A brave shot!" cried the archers all.

"Canst thou mend that, bold outlaw?" asked John.

"I cannot mend the shot, but I'll noch thy shaft in twain."
So saying, Robin took his bow, put on a new string, and chose a
perfect, straight arrow with gray goose feathers truly tied. Then,
bending the great bow, he let fly the shaft. For a moment the
archers watched, breathless; then, with shouts of glee, they saw
the stranger's arrow split fairly in twain.

"Enough," quoth John. "Never before have I seen so true
an eye guide a shaft. Now I know an archer fit to serve."

All cried out that he had said well, and then in right merry
[39]

ROBIN HOOD

mood they started back to their forest home, there to feast and
christen their new comrade. The rest of the outlaw band gave
them a joyful welcome, and soon brought in a brace of fat does
roasted to a nut-brown color, with casks of humming strong ale.
When all were seated 'neath the friendly shade of the great oak,
Robin placed John beside him, and they all feasted to their hearts'
content, with song and merry jest, and oft Robin told the tale
of the great fight on the bridge.

"And now, my jolly companions, let us have the christening,"
quoth he, at last.

So they made big John sit down, and seven archers formed in a
circle round him. Then a bald-headed yeoman offered to act
the part of priest. He came forth holding up a tankard of ale, and
asked :

"What name shall we call this pretty sweet babe?"

As no one spake, he answered himself.

"This infant," quoth he, "was called John Little, but that name
we shall change anon. Henceforth, wherever he goes, not John
Little, but Little John shall he be called."

The liquor was then poured over John's head, trickling down
his face; and so they baptized him. With shouts of laughter that
made the forest ring, in which Little John merrily joined, the
christening came to an end with sweet song and jocund jest.

Then Robin took Little John to the treasure chamber and gave
him a suit of Lincoln green and a great bow of yew.

WILL GAMWELL BECOMES WILL SCARLET

IGHT glad was Robin Hood that he had
gotten so bold and trusty a blade for his com-
rade. He wanted no braver friend to stand
beside him in fight, nor merrier heart to play
and feast withal. As for the rest of the merry
men, they loved Little John well, and all
I stood in awe of his great strength. For in the
whole band was none that might withstand him in a bout with
the quarter-staff, nor, saving only Robin, was there such another
archer in all the land. So Little John became Robin's right-
hand man, and they loved each other like brothers. Such a pair
of bold spirits were equal to a troop, and in sooth the King's men,
knowing full well the outlaws' strength and the deadly aim of
their shafts, wisely kept many miles away from their trysting-
place.

Of hiding-places Robin had full many, scattered far and wide,
which his men found as they went back and forth through the
forest. Whenever they chanced upon a fit place, were it cave or
bower, Robin called the band together, and all fell to work with a
will, clearing and building, to make a forest home good for winter
or summer. None molested them, for their name and fame were

[41]

ROBIN HOOD

known throughout the land, and most people thought it best to
keep to the great highway or little lanes between the towns and
villages rather than to journey through the forest with a chance of
being robbed for their pains. Moreover, the country-folk held
Robin in high esteem, for they knew him to be the friend of the
poor.

It happened one day at noontide that Robin called to Little
John and said: "Our larder is low. We will together seek to re-
plenish it. To Ermine Street we will go, for, peradventure, we
may meet with some fat abbot or mayhap a stout foe. Do thou
get thy trusty staff, and I will don my sword and buckler in case
of need." So with their good long-bows hanging at their sides
they started off through the forest. Anon they came to a path
which led to a lane that went curving up to a hill, at the top of
which stood the castle walls of a neighboring knight.

Quoth Little John, "Look who cometh down the lane."

"Marry," quoth Robin, "a gay spark, indeed! Truly his
raiment is of so hot a color, methinks there is danger he may set
the woods afire."

The stranger wore a doublet of silk, and hose of bright scarlet;
he carried a long-bow, with a sword and buckler at his side.
Glancing from side to side as he came, he perceived down a
narrow woodland path a herd of deer leisurely pass by. Robin
and Little John watched him as he quickly bent his long-bow and
slew the best of all the herd at forty rods away.

"He shooteth fair enough," quoth Robin. "Yet by 'r Lady,
I like not these gaudy popinjays. Do thou, good comrade, hide
behind yon thicket while I step forth and speak him fair."

With that Little John strode away to hide; and Robin marched
up to the stranger, who now stood bending over the great hart
lying dead at his feet.

"Marry," quoth Robin, "who gave thee leave to kill the deer
in this forest ?"

The scarlet stranger turned not aside and answered never a
word. Again Robin spake.

"How now, gay spark, art thou dumb?"
[42!

ROBIN HOOD

"And what is that to thee, good fellow? Pass on. I have no
need of thee, and I like not thy clattering tongue. Go thy ways
whence thou earnest."

This answer nettled Robin and stirred his blood, for the fellow
spoke insolently as to one beneath him. "Marry, come up,"
quoth Robin. " It is my wont to take toll of all who come this
way. Therefore thou shalt either give me thy purse or else thou
shalt not pass."

"And who art thou that dost threat me so boldly?" sneeringly
asked the stranger.

"I am the King of Sherwood Forest, and all in these parts do
obey me."

"Nay, good friend, king or no king, I care not for thee or for
aught that thou canst do. Therefore, pass on, unless perchance
thou cravest a buffet of my fists."

At these words Robin cried, "Were I to blow my horn I have
those who would help me to make thee do whatever I wish."

"Ah! then," replied the stranger, "with my good broadsword
would I put to flight a-many such as thee." With that the gaily
dressed fellow disdainfully turned his back and bent down, feeling
the antler's prongs. He seemed to think that Robin had gone.

Then, to make a test of this outwardly brave show, Robin drew
his bow, pointing the shaft straight on the stranger's heart.

"How now, thou villain," cried the other, "what woulds't
thou?"

"By Saint Dunstan," quoth Robin, angrily, "I would take thy
purse, and make thee pay toll for that saucy tongue of thine."

"Ah, well, as to that, take it and welcome." Then, making
believe to unlace his pouch, he quickly got his long-bow before
him and stood boldly facing Robin with his shaft pointed to kill.

" Hold ! Hold thy hand !" exclaimed Robin. " It were vain for
both to shoot and each to slay the other. I have a mind that one
should be the victor. Let us take our broadsword and bucklers
and under yon tree try which of us be the better man."

"As I hope to be saved." quoth the stranger, "I will not flee
one foot."

[43]

ROBIN HOOD

No sooner were the words spoken than they strode off to a level
sward under the branches of a beech-tree. Both calmly made
ready for battle, each fastening his buckler upon his left arm.
Soon they were wielding their broad blades with a right good
will, and the woods rang with the sound as sword clashed on
shield. As the fight grew hot each perceived in the other a tough
and skilful foe. With a keen eye Robin watched the stranger,
who guarded himself well, warding off many a stout blow that
otherwise would have drawn blood, making his skin the color of
his scarlet doublet. At last Robin gave him a clout which
glanced from his buckler, just missing his ear, and nipping off a
long red plume from his cap. The scarlet stranger grew more
wary. He waited, parried and feinted, then drew back, and of a
sudden leaped forward again. As he leaped he struck, beating
down the buckler, which but partly turned the blow. The sword
cut a long gash across Robin's skull, making the blood trickle
down from every hair of his head and blinding his eyes so that
he could no longer see to fight.

"God-a-mercy, good fellow," quoth Robin, "tell me truly who
and what thou art. Fain would I know thy name."

"My name is Will Gamwell," answered the stranger, "and I
was born and bred in Maxwell town. I seek mine uncle, who
dwelleth in these parts. Some do call him Robin Hood."

At this, bold Robin jumped from the ground on which he lay,
and cried, "Art thou, indeed, young Will Gamwell, mine own
dear cousin, with whom I played as a boy?"

"What, art thou Robin Hood? Then I am indeed thine own
sister's son, and sore I do repent me of the wound I gave thee,
for I knew thee not. But now right glad am I that I have found
thee. And art thou in good sooth the famous Robin Hood ? Good
faith, little did I think to hold mine own against so stout a man.
Truly had not fortune favored me, I know right well I should
now be lying stretched upon earth, and not thou."

"Nay," quoth Robin, "the blow was fairly struck, and thou
art the stoutest fellow of thy hands that ere I coped withal. As
for the wound, it is but a scratch."

[44]

"GOD-A-MERCY, GOOD FELLOW," QUOTH ROBIN, "FAIN
WOULD I KNOW THY NAME"

ROBIN HOOD

Thereupon they embraced and kissed each other on both
cheeks.

Meanwhile Little John had seen his master fall and the stranger
bend over him, but had never dreamed that he was wounded until
he failed to rise. Then, dashing forward, he shouted, "Give me
thy sword, my master. We will see if he can beat me."

"Nay, nay," cried Robin, "hold thy hand, Little John, for
this same tall youth is none other than my sister's son, Will
Gamwell, and he shall be one of our merry band."

Little John thereupon changed his tone, and turned to greet
the new-found cousin with a hearty handshake and a right good
hug of welcome to his broad chest. For Little John's heart, like
his body, was big, and the three were soon on the best of terms.
Then and there a love grew up between them which lasted many
a long year. Arm in arm, with the mighty Little John in the
middle, they started off to find a cool spring or rivulet to bathe
Robin's still bleeding wound. This done and Robin's pate
bound up with a piece of linen, they strode along a fern-lined
path, with the great dead hart slung from the brawny back of
Little John.

"Come now," quoth jolly Robin, "tell me, good nephew, how
it befell that thou didst leave thy home and come to seek me, an
outlawed man, in the forest; for methought thou hadst house
and lands enough."

"That will I, blithely," quoth young Gamwell. Then he told
how, when his father died and he fell heir to the estate, a dastard
Norman baron whose lands lay anigh his had plotted with his
father's old steward to slay him that the lands might be his.
So the steward, being bribed with a great sum, gave his
word. On a day young Will was hunting in the forest when
he spied the old rascal with bow bent and shaft pointed at his
breast.

"And so without more ado," quoth Will, "I got me behind a
tree and shot him where he stood. Then was I made an outlaw
for killing a man, and straightway betook myself to the forest
to seek out my good uncle. For, in faith, they are fain to walk

[47]

ROBIN HOOD

in wood who may not walk in town. And now thou knowest
all."

Then said Robin: "In happy time thou comest, fair coz, and I
thank the saints that this day I have escaped with my life from
the stoutest swordsman in England, found a dear nephew, and
gained a brave comrade for my merry men."

Soon they reached their trysting-place, and much the outlaws
wondered to see bold Robin with a cloth about his head and a
tall stranger in scarlet beside him. But when they knew who
Will Gamwell was and how stoutly he had fought with Robin,
they welcomed him gladly.

"Go now," said Robin to Will, "I long to see thee dressed as
one of our band; so get thee a change of good Lincoln green in
place of that most fiery raiment, which shall not be forgotten.
Since the law is on thy head and name, that name shall hereafter
be Will Scarlet. And next to Little John here, thou shalt be my
right-hand man."

Anon Will Scarlet returned dressed all in Lincoln green. All
were hungry, and straightway they spread a great feast on the
soft greensward. Robin sat at the head, with Little John on his
right and his nephew, now Will Scarlet, on his left. The great
haunch of smoking-hot venison was always placed before Little
John to do the carving. Other dishes there were — roast geese,
ducks and swans, grouse, partridges, pastry pies of rabbits, hares,
and squirrels. Then came salmon and trout from the rivers, and
great pikes from the ponds and lakes — some boiled, others
roasted and stuffed. In good sooth, the outlaws had no lack of
meat and drink. The broad forest was their domain, and all its
creatures were theirs for the taking. From time to time great
tubs of wine and barrels of nut-brown ale were brought by pack-
horses to a certain spot, to be carried thence by the outlaws to
their trysting-place. All fared alike, and all were well fed, sum-
mer and winter.

As for Will Scarlet, he was at first amazed, then wondrous glad
to have found a life so goodly and free from care. While the
merry jests went round he, at Robin's request, told how his life

[48]

ROBIN HOOD

had been spent and what troubles he had passed through since
both were boys together. Robin's thoughts went back to his
old home by Needwood Forest; but he had no real desire to leave
the greenwood, and he knew full well that such a thing might
not be. An outlaw he had been since his fifteenth year, and an
outlaw he must remain till the breath left his body.

VI

ROBIN HOOD WINS THE GOLDEN ARROW

a fine morning a sennight after the merry
feast in honor of Will Scarlet you might have
seen a tall fellow dressed in ragged clothes
striding through the forest toward the out-
laws' bower. As he came nigh the great oak
he gave a call like the hoot of an owl. Some
of the band heard him, and hooted in turn,
call," quoth one, "of our worthy spy — the honest
servant of the Sheriff's house, that hath news to tell of what goes
on in Nottingham town."

Striding forth from the trees into the open glade came the
ragged spy.

"What news hast thou, Tom o' Clayton?" asked Robin.
"Brave news, good outlaw," quoth he, "for his worship the
Sheriff hath hied him to London town with a troop of his re-
tainers all dressed in gay attire and made complaint to King
Henry and Queen Eleanor of the great scathe done his good name
and chattels by one Robin Hood and his outlaw band."
"And what said the King?" asked Robin.

"The King was sore wroth, as I have heard tell. 'Why,' quoth
he, 'what wouldst thou that I should do? Art thou not sheriff

IS*]

ROBIN HOOD

for me? The law is in force, therefore do thou execute it as is
thy bounden duty. Get thee gone and sweep the forest clear
of all these thieving rogues, or, by my golden crown, thou art no
sheriff for me/ Then was the Sheriff sorely troubled and crest-
fallen, and he left the court with a fiery-red face amid the laughter
of all the King's attendants. And now he hath proclaimed a
great shooting-match to be held in fair Nottingham town three
days hence, with a prize of a cunningly wrought arrow with a
golden head and shaft of white silver."

With that stepped forth a brave yeoman, young David of
Doncaster. "Master," he said, "be ruled by me, and let us
not stir from the greenwood. This same match is but a
wile of the Sheriff's to entrap thee. The shrewd old rogue
thinks to get us all together in the town and so to take us
unawares."

Quoth Robin: "Thy words do not please me, for they savor
of cowardice. With bow and staff and good broadsword we may
match the Sheriff and all his base churls. Natheless, good David,
thou saist truly, 'tis a crafty plan — but we will meet guile with
guile. Let us all disguise ourselves and be clad as common
yeomen, tinkers and tanners, beggars and friars. If we scatter
and mix in the crowd none shall know that outlaws be among
them. But let each take care to have a stout coat of chain mail
beneath his jerkin."

Then up spake brave Little John. "The plan I like full well.
What say ye, my comrades?"

"With right good will," cried every one, right lustily.

"Then make ye ready, my merry men all," quoth Robin Hood.
"I, with tattered scarlet coat and black patch over one eye, will
shoot my best for this same golden arrow, and if I win we shall
keep it in our bower as a trophy."

So on that bright sunshiny morning early, they made ready
with shouts of laughter, for in such strange guise were they
tricked out that scarce any man could name his neighbor. Some
had dyed their beards, and all doffing their garb of Lincoln green
bad donned raiment that suited them full ill. Truly such a

[53 I

ROBIN HOOD

gathering of tall, lusty beggars, tinkers, friars, and men of all
trades was ne'er before seen in Sherwood Forest.

The little birds caroled; the titlark and goldfinch, the green
linnet and spotted thrush, sang from every bush and tree as the
merry company started forth from their leafy bower with hearts
all firm and stout, each resolving that, should he fall foul of the
Sheriff's men, he would clout their pates with right good will.
Anon they left the forest in different places by threes and fours,
that none might get an inkling of their purpose to be present at
the butts. Every street and every little lane was dotted with a
mixed crowd — mostly afoot, though here and there a knight rode
by with his proud dame by his side or a haughty abbot astride
his sleek cob, disdainful of the poorer folk that louted low as he
passed. Many strangers could be seen with their bows slung at
their sides, dust-covered and tired, who were on their way to this
famed trial of skill. So Robin and his band mingled with the
people that journeyed toward Nottingham.

The shooting range — or butts — lay outside the town on a level
field of green turf, flanked on one side by sloping banks, where the
poorer people sat on the grass. On the other side, shaded from
the sun's rays, were benches and a gallery set apart for the
Sheriff, his wife, and other officers of the town. Here, too, sat
barons and knights with ladies fair, dressed in state and decked
in colors gay. The stands were trimmed in bright draperies,
buntings, ribbons, and flags, and were guarded by men-at-arms
with hauberks and spears. Heralds with trumpets stood ready
to announce the beginning of the sports.

The field was crowded early, long before the great folk arrived,
for you must know it had been noised abroad that the Sheriff
had gathered together a large troop of the King's foresters, be-
sides his own men, that he might the better take Robin Hood
and his fellow-outlaws. The beautiful and costly prize had
brought many famous archers from neighboring counties. From
Tutbury, Stoke, and Stafford came the well-known Ned o' Tin-
kersclough, Simon of Hartshill, and Roger o' Thistlebery — the
latter a brawny blacksmith from Newcastle who had ne'er been

[54]

ROBIN HOOD

vanquished. From Derbyshire came two stout archers named
Ralph of Rowsley and Hugh o' the Moors — both confident to
bear away the prize. So everybody was on tiptoe awaiting what
might betide. Some feared a battle, but many there were among
the poor and lowly who hoped to see the Sheriff's men soundly
drubbed.

All the outlaws save Robin Hood scattered through the crowd
and none knew them. The Sheriff, when he had taken his seat,
signaled the herald to sound three blasts as a warning to the
archers to be prepared, and then the rules were proclaimed, that
every one might understand them. All was now ready, the silver
horn again sounded three blasts, and the archers began to shoot.
The Sheriff looked anxiously round about, peering from side to
side, first at the archers and then at the crowd.

"Ah," quoth he, scratching his head, "I see none in Lincoln
green, such as the outlaws are wont to wear. I weened he would
have come, for it is little like Robin Hood to bide at home when
there is fair sport toward. Nay, rather would he risk his head.
Yet perchance he feareth."

Calling a trumpeter to him, he said, " Dost thou see Robin Hood
among these archers?"

"Nay, truly I see him not, your worship. Those that foot the
line are all well known to me. Moreover, the bold outlaw's beard
is golden as the setting sun, yet none here hath a beard save the
ragged stranger in scarlet with but one eye — and his beard is
dark brown."

"He cUirst not come, and is a cowardly knave," murmured the
Sheriff.

Meanwhile, the ragged man in red stood up beside the crowd
of archers without a fear and waited till most of the men had
shot. The four targets surrounding the small one in the center
were well covered and spotted with shafts, yet none had hit the
inner circle. The great throng applauded, for such shooting was
seldom seen. Already a goodly number had dropped out, leaving
but five archers, Roger o' Thistlebery, Hugh o' the Moors, two
strangers, and the ragged red one with the black eye. At the

[55]

ROBIN HOOD

third round Roger planted his shaft but the breadth of a groat
from the center.

"That shot can ne'er be mended," roared the Sheriff, rising from
his seat. "The man from Stafford wins the prize unless yon
ragged robin redbreast shall outdo him, which is scarce likely
sithen he hath but one eye."

He of the black eye and red coat never looked toward the
Sheriff.

"A fair shot, Roger," quoth he. "Hadst thou but allowed for
the slight breeze thy shaft would have pinked the clout."

Hugh o' the Moors came next, and he saw the wisdom of what
the stranger had said. So, taking good heed of the wind, he let
go the string with a twang, and his arrow pierced the very center.
Thereat the people shouted and then fell silent of a sudden as the
one-eyed archer took up his great bow and with seeming careless-
ness let fly his shaft. Then, gaping with open mouths and eyes,
they saw Hugh's arrow fall to the ground split to pieces, and the
stranger's shaft lodged right in its place.

"Red-coat wins; Red-coat hath the prize," they cried. Then,
surging forward, they half dragged, half carried the winner in front
of the Sheriff's stand, where the fair ladies cheered and waved
their ribbons.

"And now, brave archer," quoth the Sheriff, " here is the prize
thou hast fairly won. Thine eye is true, and bearing bold.
Where dost thou hail from, and what name dost thou go by?"

"From Locksley town I come, and Nat the Blinker am I called."

"Well, Nat, though thou canst only blink with one eye, thou
art the best archer my two eyes have ever seen. Surely thou
needest a better coat. If thou wilt serve me and enter my
company, I will make thee captain, with good pay, enough to eat
and drink, and a chance to capture that knavish thief, Robin
Hood, who loved his hide too well to venture here this day.
Come now, by Saint Hubert, is it a bargain?"

"Nay," quoth the man in scarlet. "No master will I serve."

"Then out upon thee, thou saucy fellow! Get thee gone ere
my men whip thee from out the town. Thou art a fool or else

[56]

AN ARROW CAME WHIZZING THROUGH THE OPEN
WINDOW

ROBIN HOOD

thou art a knave. I have a mind to put thee in a dungeon cell
to cool thy hot blood, and so would I do but that thou hast pleased
me with thy shooting."

So the tattered stranger turned away and, mingling with the
crowd, was seen no more.

The sun was setting behind the great oak in the forest glen,
and the balmy evening air was tinged with the savory smell of
roast venison and great steaming game pies that lay on the ground
amid barrels and tankards of foaming nut-brown ale. Sur-
rounding this great feast sat the merry band of outlaws, ready to
begin carving with their sharp daggers, when a tattered stranger
in scarlet appeared, bearing in his hand an object that all might
see. Then a mighty shout was heard that echoed through the
forest:

"Welcome and long life to our dear captain, brave Robin
Hood that won the prize."

So Robin Hood brought the arrow of silver and gold to Sher-
wood Forest.

The feast was a jolly one. All had merry jests to tell of what
they had done in the strange garb they wore, for they knew
many that knew them not, and in sooth their own fathers would
have passed them by. So with songs and jollity the joyous
feast went on till the stars began to peep; and the outlaws,
like the birds, went to roost before night's mantle wrapped the
leafy trees in darkness. But before they dispersed Robin said
to Little John:

" I like not the Sheriff's words, and fain would I have him know
that it was Robin Hood to whom he gave the prize."

"Ah!" quoth Little John, "that would be sour mash to his crop,
but how to do it passeth my wits. Yet hold, I have it." And for
a time he spake earnestly with Robin Hood, who laughed aloud
and clapped him upon the back.

On the morrow, as the Sheriff sat at his meal at the head of a
long table of guests, he spake loud in praise of the shooting. " But
sore grieved am I," quoth he, "that Robin Hood was not — "

[S9l

ROBIN HOOD

As that last word came from his lips an arrow came whizzing
through the open window, landing right in the breast of a fat
capon that lay on the table. The Sheriff and his guests started
up in dismay at so strange a sight.

"What means this — a plot or treason?" roared the Sheriff.

Then in a calmer tone he bade an attendant get the shaft

and bring it to him. As he took it up he saw a strip of bark

wrapped around it, which he straightway tore off and unwound.

Within was writing, and, with staring eyes, he read:

"It was Robin Hood that bore away the golden arrow."
Then the Sheriff dropped to his chair in a limp mass, crying:
"The crafty villain hath again covered me with shame and
sorrow! What am I to do? What can I do? It was that black
patch on his evil eye that deceived me. I felt in my bones none
but that saucy knave would beard me so." Then, bringing down
his fist with a bang upon the table and breaking the arrow to
splinters, he cried, " By the bones of Saint Swithin, I will patch
his other eye — yea, both eyes, that are much too keen for my
peace. When I do catch him I will stretch his neck the length
of a goose."

VII

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET FRIAR TUCK

'OR a time after the winning of the golden
arrow the merry outlaws kept them close in
Sherwood Forest. When the larder was well
supplied with game the great oak glade was
given up to sport. Some would play at bowls,
or at dice; others would have wrestling-
matches, bouts at quarter-staff, or mock duels
with sword and buckler. But their favorite and never-ending
delight was shooting with the long-bow — that trusty weapon
which made them so justly famed and feared.

Will Scarlet, being the last to join the band, had many friendly
challenges to stand up against. He knew his own skill, as like-
wise did Robin Hood and Little John, but many others wished
to put him to the test. In all these contests Will acquitted him-
self honorably. One day Little John took a bow-string and hung
up a dead squirrel from a bough at five hundred feet away, and
after taking careful aim, because the wind swayed the mark, he
sped his shaft clean through the squirrel's body amid resounding
cheers.

"God's blessing on thy head," quoth Robin. "Gladly would
I walk a hundred miles to see one that could match thee."
At that Will Scarlet laughed full heartily.
"That is no such hard matter," quoth he, "for at Fountains
Abbey there dwells a curtal friar that can beat both him and thee."

[61]

ROBIN HOOD

Then Robin leaped up lightly from the greensward, where he
had been lying stretched at length.

"Now, by'r Lady/* quoth he, "neither food nor drink will I
touch until I have seen this friar of thine, were he in very truth
a hundred miles away. Therefore make ready to lead us, while
I don my cap of steel, broadsword, and buckler, to meet this
holy archer/'

"It be no hundred miles, good uncle," quoth Will. "We
shall gain Fountains Abbey ere noon."

So Little John, Will Scarlet, and Robin strode through the
forest at a quick gait, mile after mile without a stop, till they
came to Needwood Forest, hard by Tutbury, where Friar Tuck
had in days past received Will Scarlet to his broad bosom, learned
to love him, and taught him all his skill with sword and long-
bow and quarter-staff. Fountains Abbey was so called from a
sparkling silver rivulet that danced down the moss-grown, fern-
lined rocks, at the side of which the Friar had built a hermitage
of rocks and boulders carried from a brook close by. Here he
dwelt alone — cool and sheltered in summer, warm and snug in
winter. In such a place a man might fast and pray undisturbed,
or perchance drink good wine and feast upon the dun deer, if
he liked better; for there was none to say him nay. From time
to time a wandering knight on his war-horse, or pious abbot on
an ambling pad, caught a glimpse in passing of the little forest
abode, and would there alight for a drink at the sparkling foun-
tain and a blessing from the Friar. But Friar Tuck held aloof
from all save the few he chose as friends, and among them was
the young curly-headed lad Will Gamwell, whose estates ran
hard by the forest.

When the three outlaws were still some way off they caught
sight of Fountains Abbey, below them, through a slight opening
of the trees.

"There," quoth Will Scarlet, "thou wilt find the holy man
thou seekest."

"Well," said Robin, "do ye two remain here. I fain would
parley with this man alone."

[62]

ROBIN HOOD

"Nay, that we will not/' Little John replied. "Thou art
always over-ready to put thy head in danger without a cause."

"Truly, as to danger from a holy man I have no fear," said
Robin, "but I would have my way in this."

So saying, he strode forward alone, leaving Little John and
Will behind, till a blast from his bugle should call them. He
trudged along till he came to a brook, by the side of which, seated
upon the ground among a bunch of tall ferns, he espied a man
with a missal book on his lap and a leather bottle at his lips
in the act of drinking. So long the bottle remained tilted in
air that Robin stole anigh ere the other saw him. Robin stood
still, and the bottle was slowly lowered, displaying a perfectly
round, fat face as red as a cherry, with small, laughing blue eyes
fringed with heavy black eyebrows. The friar's shaven crown
shone like glass, and it too was fringed with a circlet of curly
black hair. His broad, fat neck was quite bare, and back of it
was a cowl of rough, brown cloth attached to a loose, flowing robe
of the same stuff, covering a powerful and strong-limbed body.
Round his middle was buckled a leathern belt that held some
keys, a string of beads, and a dagger. Beside him on the ground
lay a sword, a buckler, and a steel cap.

As he slowly took the bottle from his lips he beheld the stout
yeoman standing there, and straightway such a look of amaze-
ment came over his funny red face that Robin burst forth into
a loud, hearty laugh. "Holy man," quoth he, "methought that
bottle was glued to thy face, so long and lovingly did it cling to
thy cherry lips. If there be aught left within it, the draught
must be right pleasant. I would fain drink thereof, to sweeten
my dry throat withal."

"Ah! wouldst thou?" was the answer. "Then why not test
yon cool, sparkling brook from whence the bottle was filled?"

"Nay, nay, good Friar, thou wouldst make no such pretty
gurgling music with water as I heard from thee but now. What
is more, gin thy rosy cheeks belie thee not, precious little water
hath passed thy lips this many a day."

"Well," said the Friar, "a pious man ought not to deny a
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ROBIN HOOD

stranger who asks a drop to quench his thirst." So saying, he
passed the bottle to Robin.

Robin took a long pull and found the liquor so good that he
tipped the bottle higher and higher, keeping it so long tilted
upright that at last the Friar jumped to his feet with a roar like
a bull, saying:

"Thou greedy guts, thou tap without end, by Saint Wilfrid I
will part thy mouth and my bottle with a cuff over thy ribs
that will land thee on the other side of the brook!"

"Ay," quoth jolly Robin, smacking his lips, "right good
Rhenish water, I trow! Grammercy for the loan of thy bottle,
which I will straight refill from the brook for thy future use."

"Nay, mock me not," cried the Friar, peering anxiously down
the neck of the bottle, "but go thy ways while there yet is peace
betwixt us, and trifle no more."

"Dost thou not know," asked Robin, "of a certain curtal
friar in these parts named Tuck?"

"Mayhap I do, and mayhap I do not. If thou meanest him
of Fountains Abbey, the place is but a few rods down the glade
when thou hast crossed the brook."

"Ay, truly," said Robin, "but I see no place to cross without
wetting my new hosen. I pray thee, therefore, kind and good
Friar, carry me across on thy broad shoulders. Come, tuck up
thy robe and bend thy back that I may meet this same curtal
friar in seemly fashion."

Then the Friar closed one eye, screwed up his mouth, and
placed his finger upon his brow as in deep thought. At last he
said: "What — if the good Saint Christopher were so willing, my
unworthy self should not refuse." So saying, he laid down his
missal and, tucking up his skirts, took Robin Hood on his back.
He plunged into the flowing water up to his waist, carefully
feeling his way over the pebbles on the bottom, and spake no
word, good or bad, until he reached the further bank.

Then Robin leaped lightly from his back and set off briskly for
Fountains Abbey.

"Hold! Not so fast, my fine fellow!" cried the Friar. "For
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THE FRIAR TOOK ROBIN ON HIS BACK

ROBIN HOOD

now I bethink me I have left my missal and my steel cap upon
the other side."

"Well," quoth Robin, "naught hinders thee to go back and
get them."

"Nay, but," quoth the Friar, smiling, "one good turn de-
serves another, and therefore thou must e'en carry me back
on thy shoulders, for peradventure, with another ducking I may
take a chill or fall sick of divers pains and rheums."

"What if I should not?" quoth Robin.

"Then I will baste thy hide with thine own sword which I
carried safely over and now hold."

Now Robin liked not the thought of playing pack-horse to
this burly Friar. But he bethought him that the fellow spake
truly enough concerning the sword, so he bent his back, with
no very good grace. Straightway the Friar began to prod his
heels into Robin's sides to make him go the faster, though in
sooth he had to go slowly and carefully over the rough bottom
with so weighty a burden. But he spake no word, and after much
floundering and splashing they reached the bank in safety,
where the Friar got his steel cap and his buckler.

"Now," quoth Robin, panting and sweating with his hard
work, "it's my turn, and thou shalt carry me back, or I will
put a shaft through thy fat body as easily as a maid skewers
a capon."

"Why, so I will," quoth the Friar. "So put up thy bow,
and come along, for it is ill to shoot upon a holy man that hath
done thee a service."

So Robin once more mounted the broad back of the lusty Friar,
and, becoming jubilant, shouted, "Come up, gee, woa!" rapping
with his heels the stout Friar's shins, who quietly plodded along,
without a word, toward the middle of the brook. But of a sudden
he gave a mighty heave of his shoulders, and Robin flew right
over his head into the brook with a loud splash, while the Friar
stood holding his broad ribs from bursting with laughter.

"Now, my fine fellow," he cried, "choose thou whether thou
wilt sink or swim!"

[67!

ROBIN HOOD

Robin Hood spake no word, for his nose and mouth were full
of water, and he had no breath to spare. He swam to a bush of
broom that overhung the bank and dragged himself ashore.
Meanwhile the Friar leisurely waded out, shaking with mirth.

Robin, full wroth, met him with bow bent and arrow nocked to
the string.

"Now, thou false Friar, thou shalt die," he cried, grimly.

But the other never blenched. Raising up his buckler he said:

"Shoot on, thou fine fellow. I tell thee if thou shootest here a
summer's day, I will never flee thee."

Thereat Robin lowered his bow. "Nay," quoth he, "on second
thought, I will not shoot thee dead where thou standest, rascally
hedge priest though thou be'st. But with my good broadsword I
will let thy blood. Therefore, arm thyself and make ready, for
if I do not carve the brawn from ofF thy fat jowl, by Saint Dun-
stan, I'll supperless to bed for two moons."

"Be not so hasty," quoth the Friar, calmly. "I'm ready and
willing as a maid is to wed." He slowly set his steel cap upon
his head, and then, grasping his broadsword firmly in his great
fist, he faced Robin with a bold front, bawling out: "Now. my
crowing cockerel, I'll clip thy comb and spurs anon — yea, shake
thy wet feathers!"

Thereupon they rushed together with a loud clash of steel
and flying sparks, but ere long Robin saw that he must curb
his hot blood or soon have it spilled; for the Friar, though angry,
was calm and determined, bearing down Robin's guard with his
heavy arm. So they fought from right to left, up and down, back
and forth in the glade, with a savage fury and noise as if 'twere
a whole company at fray.

Hour after hour the battle went on, with short pauses for rest,
both panting and sweating, eying each other in silence, for
neither had breath to waste in speech. From ten o'clock that
morn had they struggled, and now past noon they were still
tearing, slashing, and cutting with aching arms and tired backs;
yet neither had a scratch.

"Hold!" bellowed the Friar. "Let us give o'er for a space
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ROBIN HOOD

to take a midday bite and quench our thirst. Then, to it
again."

"Not so, thou tough mountain of flesh," shouted bold Robin
Hood. "Not till my sword hath taken toll on some part of thy
body will I give o'er."

"Nay, hold thy hand but a moment, thou doughty fellow,"
quoth the Friar. "Wilt thou not suffer me to take oflf this hot
steel cap to cool my brow? For the sweat poureth down in
mine eyes to blind me."

"Yea, do so, but quickly," said Robin, the better pleased
that now the broad shining poll would be a fair mark for his
sword. Then the battle began afresh. Do all he could, Robin
failed to strike the Friar's crown; and he in turn missed Robin
a hundred times — and so the grim fight raged till four in the
afternoon.

The ferns and woodland flowers were trodden into a shapeless
mass among the soft, black loam. The song-birds had long flown
away affrighted at the clashing din. At last bold Robin cried:

"A boon, a boon, thou curtal Friar! Give me leave to set
my horn to my mouth, and to blow three blasts upon it."

"That will I," quoth the curtal Friar, lowering the point of
his sword. "I care not for thy blast, though thou blow so
passing well that both thine eyes fall out."

So Robin set his horn to his lips and blew three loud blasts.
Scarce had the Friar heard the echo when he saw two tall archers
with shafts ready nocked come running over the lea.

"Whose men are these," cried he, "that come so hastily at
thy call?"

"These men are mine," said Robin Hood. "And what is that
to thee?"

Then the curtal Friar saw that he had been tricked, but he
abated no whit of his boldness.

"A boon, a boon," he cried, mimicking Robin, with a shrewd
glint in his eye, "like to that I granted thee! Give me but
leave to set my fist to my mouth and whistle thrice."

"That will I," quoth Robin, "for it is but just and fair. Three
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ROBIN HOOD

whistles from a Friar's fist will be a glad and blithesome sound,
I trow."

So the Friar put his fist to his mouth and gave three loud
whistles. The next moment there came half a dozen great
mongrel dogs tearing along, barking loud as they drew nigh.

"Here, thou cowardly villain," said the Friar, "are a couple
of shaggy hounds for each of thy men, and I myself will be enough
for thee. At 'em, my pets, tear their green jerkins to shreds,
my hearties."

Thereupon, two great, ugly mastiffs climbed in front and back
of Robin in a trice before he had time to defend himself or flee.
At last, torn and ragged, he got him to a tree and sat, with legs
astride a stout limb, watching Little John shoot at the fierce
brutes. Then he saw what made him doubt his eyes, for the dogs
leaped aside from the flying arrows, caught them in their mouths,
and broke them in twain.

"This is witchcraft," thought Robin, "and the Friar is a
wizard, for never might dogs do so of their own nature." His
wonder grew when he saw Will Scarlet step forth boldly toward
the hounds with no weapon in his hand.

"Down, Beauty; down, Bess," cried Will, cuffing them right
and left. Straightway the dogs began to cower down and fawn
upon him, and gamboled about him as he stepped toward their
master.

"What meaneth this?" quoth the Friar. "Have my dogs
gone daft to love the company of thieves and cutthroats? Have
I not, with their aid, kept Fountains Abbey seven long year and
more from baron, knight, and squire, and must I now yield
myself to three beggarly yeomen that dare to beard me in mine
own dale? Tear them, tear their limbs asunder, good dogs!"

Will Scarlet now came forward, petting a great, ugly hound.

"Marry, stout Friar," quoth he, "cease thy brawling and curb
thy wagging tongue."

"What!" said the Friar. "Do mine eyes behold young Will
Gamwell in company with such a brace of deer-stealers ? Now,
I swear by holy Saint Boniface I will — "

[70]

ROBIN HOOD

"Peace, Friar, and hear!" cried Will.

Then, pointing to Robin, he said: "This stout yeoman who
seemeth ill at ease perched in yonder tree is none other than my
good uncle, Robin Hood. The other tall fellow is Little John, his
good right-hand man; and hither they have come to bid thee join
our merry band of outlaws in Sherwood Forest. Call off thy
mongrel dogs and let us speak together and set matters right."

"Right well," quoth the Friar, "do I know Robin Hood by
report, but doth he think to get me by cracking my bones? In
troth, I ache and am full sore."

At length, somewhat appeased and soothed by Will's manner
and words, he whistled off his hounds. Then Robin climbed down
the tree and Little John with him drew nigh unto the Friar.

"For a holy man," quoth Robin, "truly thou art the stoutest
fighter that e'er I clapped eyes upon."

"Nay, good Robin, thou art the better man, I trow, for never
was I so weary of any man in fight." With that he pushed
forth his brawny palm, saying, "Right glad am I to meet the bold
outlaws of Sherwood Forest."

"And now," quoth Robin, "all being well, we will together
go in search of Friar Tuck, whom we came seeking; and thou, holy
Friar, must guide us."

"By my troth," laughed Will, "thou hast not far to seek, for
that same holy friar now stands before thee."

"What?" exclaimed Robin. "Surely thou art not Friar Tuck!"

"The same," quoth the Friar, with a twinkle in his naughty,
laughing eyes, "that gave thee a duck in yon stream."

"And the same," laughed merry Robin, "that drained the
bottle of good Rhenish wine. Truly my mouth waters to think
upon it. Hast thou no more of the like by the fountain? for after
such sound buffets, given and ta'en, we would both, I trow, be the
better for good meat and drink."

"Right gladly," quoth the Friar, "will I welcome you to my
humble hermitage, though I fear me the fare is but a sorry crust.
But come away all to my abbey, and mayhap with endeavor we
may find enough."

[731

ROBIN HOOD

Then all strode down the glade, and the Friar unlocked the
stout door with a large key hanging from his belt.

"Welcome," quoth he, "to my poor lodging and its scanty
fare."

They were ushered into a little room, entirely bare, except for a
small, plain table and stool. "Tarry here while I make search
for food and drink." So saying, the Friar disappeared for a time,
and returned anon with a broad smile on his fat face. Silently
he beckoned them to follow down a dark passage to another room.
It was much larger and wider than the other, with a low ceiling,
into which was let a large stained-glass window, which gave the
only light. This window the Friar had carried away in pieces,
earlier in life, when he had helped to build the beautiful priory
at Coventry.

For you must know that in those early days only the churchmen
were architects, artists, and writers. Many of the beautiful cathe-
drals, like Lichfield, were then a-building, and up to the present
time nothing to equal them in church-building has been done.

Thus it was that the room had plenty of light; but nothing
could be seen in it from the outside. In the corners were low
couches covered with rich fabrics, and from the walls hung a
number of images of the saints and a large, beautiful crucifix.
But Robin and his men had eyes only for the table in the middle
of the room, with four chairs ready set; for upon it were a big,
uncut venison pie, large pots of honey, plenty of cakes, and many
tankards and beakers of good ale and wine.

"This room," quoth Friar Tuck, with a merry twinkle, "is only
used by mine own dear friends — the outer room serves for
strangers. And now fall to, merry brothers, after a blessing, and
let us see what we shall do."

They did as they were bid, doing full justice to the jolly Friar's
bounteous fare. Amid the laughter and merriment Will told how
he had joined the band; and, together with Robin and Little
John, he begged Friar Tuck to become one of them.

"We are," quoth Little John, "much in need of a holy man, to
christen and to marry, and oft to chasten us when we quarrel."

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ROBIN HOOD

"Well," quoth Friar Tuck, "in truth, I like not well to change
my quiet life to live among a band of outlaws. But it may be
that it is my duty sithen ye say ye have no holy man among you.
Nay, go to," quoth he, wagging his head, "methinks as a holy
man I have no choice. What saith the good Saint Christopher
touching the saving of sinners?"

At this Will Scarlet laughed loudly. "Nay, if thou comest,
'twill be because of thy most unholy love of hunting, quaffing, and
good company. But make an end, sweet chuck, and say thou
wilt come."

Then they all urged him right heartily, until at last he gave his
word.

"Let us away," quoth Robin, "without more ado, for the hour
groweth late."

"By the mass, not so fast!" said the Friar. "Tarry ye here and
rest for the night with me. Then on the morrow early we will
gather up all needful things for my comfort, and ye shall help
convey them to Sherwood. Also my dogs must not be left behind,
and I must lock up the Abbey snug and tight against the time we
may need it."

To this Robin agreed, and after big draughts of nut-brown
ale each lay down on a couch, tired but happy, for a good night's
slumber. In five minutes all were fast asleep save Robin, who
could scarce rest for his aching bones. Anon he heard a strange,
rasping sound in the neighborhood of the Friar's couch, which
grew louder and louder till it became such a deep roar as to
make the room tremble.

"Holy Saint Withold!" thought Robin. "What is that horrid
sound like unto a wild bull's roar? In truth, I cannot rest with
such a din. Let me search, and mayhap I shall find the cause."
So saying, he got up, moving toward the couch on which the Friar
lay, to find the deep tones proceeding from Tuck's wide-open
mouth. "So, it is thou!" quoth he, and gave the Friar a dig in
the ribs, whereat the other did but give a loud grunt. But after
more digs he at last raised himself sleepily, saying, "How now,
good Robin? 'Tis not the morn as yet."

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ROBIN HOOD

"Nay," quoth Robin. "Good faith, I wish it were. Thy
snores grievously disturb my slumber, so thunderous and so
awful that in sooth my spirit quakes. Canst thou not sleep
where the din cannot reach me?"

"Lie down," said the Friar, "and I will keep awake till thou
sleepest."

So Robin got to rest and waked no more till he heard loud
shouts from the Friar, which told him that the morning meal was
ready. Straightway they all arose and went to the fountain for
a cold dash of water on their faces and a deep draught to drink.

The day was yet very early; 'twas scarce three o'clock. The
purple haze and a yellow streak in the sky proclaimed the sun
was up. The skylark soared aloft, its song fading in the distant
clouds, and the woods resounded with joyous bird-notes. Full
merrily they set to work, when their meal was ended, to help the
Friar gather his belongings, while the dogs ran hither and thither,
happy to be free. Slowly the Friar turned the key in the great
lock. Then, with a wistful, last look at Fountains Abbey, he
turned his face toward the forest, and with his companions silently
strode forward on the road to Sherwood.

VIII

ROBIN MEETS TWO PRIESTS UPON THE WAY

lUST as the sun reached high noon the four
travelers came forth from the forest trees into
the glade of the great oak. A rousing cheer
greeted Robin and his companions. They
were well weighted down with things owned
by the Friar, who was fain to bring all his
gear and his weapons — his many bows, shields,
and mail-coats, and great store of arrows. "For they are my
dear friends," quoth he. The six mongrel dogs felt strange
among so great a press of men, and were, as yet, in no humor to
be petted or to make friends.

"I warrant them to be kind in a few days," quoth the Friar,
as they snapped and snarled.

Quoth Robin to his men: "Have any of you heard aught of
what goes on in the great world?"

"Yea," answered one. "Our spies in Nottingham town hear
that King Henry hath died in his palace of Chinon in France
of a broken heart, because of his sons, John and Richard, who,
with the barons, joined the French King against their own father.
Now Richard is soon to be crowned King of England, and after
that, say they, he goeth upon a crusade to the Holy Land. All

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ROBIN HOOD

the highways are thick with people on their way to London
from York, Chester, and other big towns. The whole kingdom
is sore distraught."

So Robin Hood bethought him that now would be a good
time to enlarge their treasures — to give back to the poor what
the rich and powerful had stolen. Straightway he and Little
John laid their heads together. Small companies of the band,
each under a leader chosen by Robin, were set to guard and
watch certain roads and lanes nigh unto the forest. For the
most part, the outlaws were disguised. As beggars, palmers,
minstrels, or monks went they forth.

On a fair morn, as the warm, yellow sunlight trickled through
the branching leaves, Robin boldly strode alone through the
forest, bound for a certain bend of the great highway that a
forest path joined. For while he dearly loved his companions —
Little John most of all — it was his great delight to seek ad-
venture alone. Many a hard knock had he gotten because of
his hardihood, yet so sure was he of his own strength and skill
that he hated the thought of help even from friends.

So, garbed as a friar with hood, gown, beads, and crucifix,
and with his trusty sword hidden beneath his gown, he struck
through the forest and came to the highroad. For once he had
left his quarter-staff and long-bow behind. Anon he stopped to
rest, and sat him down by the roadside upon a large fallen tree-
trunk, mossy-green with age. Three happy, smiling maidens
passed by with a "Good day, dear father," that brought forth
in deep tones a solemn reply, " Benedicite !" At last he spied
some distance down the road two lusty priests, clad all in black,
riding comfortably upon the broad back of a strong, heavy-
limbed horse. Going forth to meet them, Robin, with his hand
on the horse's bridle, addressed them:

"Benedicite! Take pity on me, for our Dear Lady's sake.
Nay, but one silver groat shall content me. For truly I have
been a-wandering all this day and have gotten naught — not
so much as one poor cup of drink nor bit of bread."

"I prithee, Friar, let go the bridle," quoth one of the priests,
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ROBIN HOOD

"for by our Holy Dame, we have not a penny. Early this morning,
hard by the forest, we were robbed of all we had by two bold
varlets dressed like thee."

"Nay, by the mass," quoth Robin, "I fear me thou speakest
false, for I am well acquainted with all the honest outlaws of
Sherwood, and know full well that none but myself weareth hood
and gown." At these words, catching a glimpse of a broadsword
handle peeping through his robe, the priests began thumping
the horse with their heels. But Robin picked up his gown round
his waist, and with running soon overtook them.

"Now, by my faith, ye shall both come down in a trice," quoth
he. Then, reaching up, he caught both their cowls and pulled
them from their horse.

"O, spare us, Friar," cried the priests. "Thou wouldst not
rob from the Church. Think of thy cloth, take pity, and have
some remorse. No good can come of such a foul deed."

"Now, look ye," quoth jolly Robin, "if indeed ye have no
silver, no harm shall befall you. For as much as ye said but
now that ye had none, I am resolved that without more ado we
all three shall fall down upon our knees and try whether we
may get it by praying. So, down upon your knees and pray
with all your hearts."

The priests looked up and down and all about them, but
they saw naught save the blue sky, the green trees, and the white
road. At last, perceiving that there was no help for it, they got
them to their knees, and in right mournful tones besought the
saints to aid them. "Send us, O send us silver to serve our
need," they cried — then in a whisper, "that this bold, wicked
villain may go his way and leave us in peace."

"Pray more earnestly," quoth Robin. "I fear me we shall
get no great sum at this rate."

Then they began to wring their hands, calling upon the saints
right lustily. Sometimes they wept, while Robin did merrily
sing to cheer them on. But after a space he wearied of this
sport.

"Now, by the mass," said he, "we will see what the good
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ROBIN HOOD

saints have sent us, and will be sharers all alike of their bounty
without deceit or guile."

Then the priests with doleful countenances put their hands
into their pockets, but drew them out empty.

"Marry," quoth Robin, "ye have both prayed mightily, and
it cannot be that ye have not been heard. Therefore, let us,
one by one, search one another."

So first of all Robin searched the priests, and anon he poured
out upon the grass a great store of gold — full five hundred pieces.

The two priests watched him with very sour faces and sorrow-
ful hearts. "Alas," quoth one, "had we given him the groat he
asked for, this grievous thing would not have befallen." Trem-
bling, they waited on their knees to see what would be done with
the money. At last quoth Robin:

"Here truly is a brave show — such a store of gold as does mine
eyes good to look upon and maketh our hearts glad. I warrant
neither of you looked for such a windfall. Sithen ye have prayed
so heartily, ye shall each have a part. I shall give to each fifty
pounds, and the rest I will keep for myself."

Both priests sighed wondrous 'deep, but never a word they
spake. Rising from their knees, they moved away to mount their
horse lest Robin should happen to change his mind and make them
divide again, or perchance take away from them that which he
had freely given. When they had taken but a few steps Robin
said:

"Nay, tarry awhile. One thing more I have to say ere ye
leave this place."

"What wouldst thou more?" they asked.

"Marry, this: ye shall make three vows that I shall tell you.
The first is, that ye shall never again tell lies wheresoever ye go.
And the second oath, that ye will be charitable to the poor and
needy; and the third oath ye shall swear is to tell it abroad that
ye met with a holy friar who taketh only from him that hath and
giveth to him that hath not." With much groaning and murmur-
ing and shaking of heads, they took the three vows. Then Robin
set them on their horse; and away they went down the road at a

[80]

TRAY MORE EARNESTLY," QUOTH ROBIN

ROBIN HOOD

sharp trot, glad indeed to have escaped without further harm.
Robin watched them, chuckling.

"Faith, Robin, thou hast done very well," he said to himself,
as he took a by-path toward the forest. "I would fain have had
thy service in this matter" — patting the hilt of his broadsword —
" but patience, good friend, we must bide our time." As he moved
leisurely along, thus communing with himself, he heard snatches
of a merry lay, accompanied by the notes of a harp, blending
together in sweet harmony.

"Truly," quoth he, "one who can trill such silvery notes must
surely carry a purse, wherein some golden coins may perchance
jingle another tune with my good aid."

So he stood behind a tree and listened as the singer came
toward him. The stranger was a tall young stripling with long,
golden, curly locks, and dressed in bright scarlet. He carried
the harp before him as he played, and seemed a happy and free
minstrel. "I will be sworn," thought Robin, "that yon tuneful
bird hath nothing to pluck save his scarlet hosen, and them,
forsooth, I want not; so let the light-hearted youth go by.
Twere foul shame to break the tune."

As the singer passed on the music grew softer in the distance
and at last died away. Then, since the sun was near setting,
Robin set out for his woodland home, well content with the money
he had taken from the two priests.

IX

ALLAN-A-DALE GETS HIS BRIDE

|HEN Friar Tuck heard Robin tell the tale of
the two priests he laughed so heartily that he
split asunder his leathern waistband, and, with
tears trickling down his fat cheeks, quoth he:
"Truly, Robin, thou art too kind and forgiv-
ing. Had I been there, the fifty pounds would
never have rested again in their pouch."
lay, Friar," quoth Robin, "in that thou art wrong, for be
it remembered we make it a rule to strip none bare, but to leave
a crust even to a lying priest. What is more, they withstood me
not, but obeyed like lambs led to the slaughter/'

"Ay," said the Friar, "they well knew that to fight with such
a one as thou would surely gain them naught but cracked crowns.
Howbeit, I have it in my mind to join thee in the next adven-
ture and take my part as may befit an outlaw friar." Then he
sucked in his lips as if such a deed would taste as sweet as roast

pig-

"Well," quoth Robin, "we will at once make ready — Little
John, Will Scarlet, thou, and I."

Then Robin went to attire himself as a merry harper, with
many-colored ribbons tied about him and with a gay plume of

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ROBIN HOOD

feathers in his cap, his trusty broadsword and bow for weapons.
Soon all four were striding through the forest.

They had gone scarce a mile when they espied a young man
with head drooping who at every step fetched forth a sigh and
oft wrung his hands, crying, "Alack, and well-a-day!"

"By my faith," quoth Robin, "I warrant this youth is none
other than the same gaily dressed scarlet bird whom I heard but
yester eve singing a roundelay in the forest. How comes it that
he is changed so soon to a sniveling, ragged, ill-clothed varlet
such as we now behold. Go thou, good nephew Will, and bring
him to us, for verily I would know the reason of so strange a turn
of fortune."

So Will Scarlet stepped forth toward the weeping, unhappy
youth, who, upon seeing a man approach, nocked a shaft and bent
his long-bow, crying, "Stand off, stand off! What is your will
with me?"

"Naught that is harmful," quoth Will. "Our master, Robin
Hood, whom thou seest standing beneath yon greenwood-tree,
bids thee straightway go before him to answer certain questions
he shall ask of thee."

At last the doleful youth laid by his long-bow and, going quietly,
without demur, stood before bold Robin Hood, who spake him
fair and courteously.

"How is this? Last eve I saw thee gaily dressed, blithesome,
and jolly, singing like a happy cock robin to his mate, and now,
behold, we find thee bedraggled and downcast. How may this
be?"

Thereupon the youth drew himself up and looked upon Robin
with a show of boldness.

"Nay, why should I tell thee this ?" quoth he. "If thou meanest
aught of ill to me, let me tell thee thou hast naught to do to harm
so poor and wretched a man. Truly I have naught in the world
save five shillings and a ring that I have kept these seven long
years against the time of my marriage."

"Do but tell us thy woe," quoth Robin, "and mayhap it
shall be well with thee."

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ROBIN HOOD

Then the youth, seeing kindness in Robin's face, took courage
and said:

"In sooth, I know not why thou askest, yet I will tell thee the
whole matter, for it is all one to me whether thou meanest well
or ill. Yesterday I was to wed a lovely maid, but she was torn
away from me by her cruel father, who chose to make her marry
a rich old knight. Wherefore my heart is slain, because I have
neither money nor lands."

"Does the maid love thee, or hath she changed her mind of
a sudden, as maids will?"

"In truth, she loveth me dearly, but they have torn us asunder,
and will force her to be married this very day, and that is the
cause of my unhappy state."

"Truly," quoth Tuck, "if she love thee, and be willing, why
dost thou not take her away by main force ? Thou wert ready
enough but now to use thy bow upon us. Try the same trick
upon the old knight. I'll warrant he will soon repent of his
bargain."

"It is her father I fear," replied the youth, "and to him I
would do no harm."

"Come, tell me," quoth Robin, "what is thy name?"

" By the faith of my body," said the sad fellow, " my name is
Allan-a-Dale."

"Now what wouldst thou give," quoth Robin, "to one that
would help thee to thy true love again and deliver her 'into thee?"

"I have no money," quoth the tearful youth, "nor ready
gold, nor fee, therefore mock me not."

"I mock thee not," said Robin, "but I have a mind to help
thee."

"If thou dost the thing thou sayest," cried Allan, "right
gladly will I swear upon a Book forevermore to be thy true
servant and to do any deed for thee that is laid upon me."

"Well," said Robin, "tell me without guile, how many miles
from here is the church where the wedding is to be?"

"In sooth, it is but five short miles, and by an easy path could
I guide thee thither."

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(WE FIND THEE BEDRAGGLED AND DOWNCAST"

ROBIN HOOD

"What say ye, my comrades, shall we help the poor lad to
his true love?"

"Ay, that we will," chimed in the others, with one accord.

"But," quoth Little John, "we shall need help from our com-
rades. Do thou, Will Scarlet, go back to our trysting-place and
choose twenty stout fellows to meet us at the church."

"Yea," quoth Robin, "and tarry not by the way. As for us,
we will go with this youth to see how they make ready for the
wedding."

So Will Scarlet strode off at a good gait, while Robin, Little
John, and Friar Tuck started down a path toward the church,
which they reached within an hour. They found no signs of a
wedding, so they waited under a great yew-tree in the church-
yard. Anon came Will Scarlet with his men, and Robin bade
them keep hidden under the forest trees, but within sound of
bugle-call.

Meanwhile, Friar Tuck had observed a priest trying to open
the great church doors, and, stepping forth, he addressed him.

"Let me, aged brother, give aid to unlock the door."

"Grammercy, holy Friar, that will I gladly. Thy brawny
hand is more fit to wield so large a key, and, I doubt not, hath
handled a more dangerous weapon ere now."

"Nay, not so, pious priest. Thou seest before thee a most
peaceful man, Friar Tuck of Fountains Abbey, most happy
and content when at his beads and fasting. They tell me," he
went on, "there is to be a wedding here this day."

"Ay, worthy Friar, and in brotherly love I will tell thee, from
such an unfitting bond can come no good."

"Saist thou so? And why?" asked Tuck.

"The noble knight, good man though he be, is old enough
to be the maiden's grandfather — a gaunt, rickety bag-o'-bones
with one leg in the grave — and the poor, pretty maid stark
crazy in love with a more fitting mate. But her father, mis-
guided man, for money will force her to it, and vows she shall
marry the knight willy-nilly."

"Here they come," quoth Tuck. "The cavalcade now rides
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ROBIN HOOD

up the road. Canst thou not, good priest, hide me that I may
witness the wedding in the church?"

"In truth, I can. Go behind yon stone column in the little
chapel, where thou wilt hear and see all."

The wedding procession was slowly coming up the road toward
the church. In front rode the knight, Sir Hugo de Ferrico, with
the Bishop of Hereford on one side and on the other the Prior
of Emmet. The knight, on a gray charger, with his sallow,
gaunt face between the jolly, fat, red faces of his companions,
looked like a honeysuckle between two peonies. Then came the
maid's father, a sour-looking Saxon franklin; and behind him
rode the daughter, a beautiful maid on a white palfrey. Behind
her, again, rode the wedding guests, four of the knight's men-at-
arms, and the attendants of the churchmen.

When Robin saw the haughty churchmen dismount from
their horses, he borrowed Allan-a-Dale's harp, then strode boldly
up to the church door and began to thrum and sing.

"What," quoth the fat Bishop, "do we have sweet music to
welcome the wedding guests?" Then, eying Robin closely, he
said, "What art thou, and what doest thou here dressed so
gaily in bright ribbons and feathers?"

"I am a bold harper, the best in the north country," said
Robin. "Men say the strains of my music do make the heart
glad, and the newly wedded to love each other forevermore.
Many a happy bridegroom hath crossed my palm with golden
coins, from the river Dee to Trent, from Derwent to Avon."

"Ah, truly," said the Bishop, "then do thou at once show us
thy skill while the fair bride dismounts to enter the holy church."

"Nay, by the mass," quoth Robin, "that is against my rule."
For, to say sooth, he could not play a tune to save his life. "I
always play a march while the wedding guests walk up the aisle,
and softly soothe the harp to silence as the ceremony begins."

"I vow," quoth the Prior, "the harper is right, and a very
pretty thing 'twill be."

Thus it was that Robin waited till all had entered. He closely
watched the rickety old knight hobble up in an effort to hand

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ROBIN HOOD

the fair maid from her palfrey, and he thought he never before
had seen a face so sweet and gentle as hers. Pale and sad, she
looked about like a frightened fawn, seeming to hope that even
at that late hour some good saint would intervene and save her
from the vow that would bind her to this old dotard of trembling
limbs.

When all had entered, and the Bishop was ready to march
with stately strides up to the chancel, he turned sharply round
upon Robin, saying, "Now tune thy harp and make music, thou
lazy rogue, for see, the bride moves toward the altar."

"Marry, that I will not, till I see thee with the Book."

"Thou saucy, beribboned varlet, I will have thee flogged when
all is done." So saying, the Bishop took his place and opened
the Book to marry. Robin then boldly marched up and placed
himself between the bride and the groom.

"By holy Saint Dunstan," he loudly cried, "this is no fit
match. Thou art too old and shaky, Sir Knight, to wed a maid
so young and tender. The bride shall choose and wed her own
dear love that is of her own age and sound of heart and limb."

Then all the company stared in silent surprise at Robin, who
put his horn to his mouth and blew three loud blasts that made
the rafters ring. Straightway the knight reached for his sword —
but he had forgotten it when putting on his wedding clothes.
He shouted to his men-at-arms: "Slay this bold varlet that dares
disturb the rites of Holy Church."

But as they were about to lay hands on Robin, who had no
weapon, but stood ready with the harp to defend himself, running
up the church came twenty archers clad in Lincoln green, led by
Little John, Allan-a-Dale, and Friar Tuck.

Allan thrust Robin's trusty long-bow into his hands, and as he
took it the maid's father said to him, in angry tones:

"Thou art a knavish hind to bring this trouble on us now."

"Nay, say not so! I, Robin Hood, and my stout archers,
have come hither to right a woeful wrong and see two fond lovers
united."

"It shall not be," quoth the father, "unless thou first slay me."
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ROBIN HOOD

At the name of Robin Hood all the people stood aghast, the
men-at-arms shrank back, and the knight turned in stately si-
lence away. Robin boldly stood his ground, holding his trusty
bow, with Little John and the others at his side. A solemn still-
ness reigned in the church; the Bishop and the Prior held each
other up in trembling fear, saying to themselves, "May the saints
protect us from this naughty villain and his wicked green-
clad hinds." Then they tottered toward the door, but Robin
shouted:

"Stop, holy churchmen, I have use for you ere you depart,
and mean you no harm."

Then Sir Hugo, the knight, spake in pride to the maiden's
father.

"Had I known thy fair daughter loved and was beloved of
another, by the mass, I would not have wished her to share my
castle, my lands, and my proud title. Take thy daughter and
give her to the poor minstrel if so be she loveth poverty better
than riches." Then with his men-at-arms he hobbled down to the
church door, mounted his horse, and rode away.

"Be this as it may," the father cried out, "she shall never
marry a poor starveling, who, I'll warrant, hath not a groat to
patch a torn doublet."

"In that I vow thou art wrong," quoth Robin. "Give him the
bag of gold, Little John, that I took the other day from the lying
priests."

Then the bag of three hundred golden coins was emptied out to
appease the angry father. At sight of them his face changed.

"Is all this money thine, Allan-a-Dale?" quoth he.

"Nay," quoth Robin, "it is thine, an ye give us thy blessing
on the wedding now to be, though she shall be wedded, blessing or
no, for we doubt, coming from so sour a father, if it be of any
avail."

The heap of gold was tempting, and the old franklin bethought
him that since Sir Hugo had taken himself off he would not easily
find another rich suitor. So at last he said, sighing deeply, "If
my daughter must e'en marry Allan-a-Dale, why, good faith,

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ROBIN HOOD

marry him she shall." Then all the wedding party cheered and
were glad at heart.

"Now," quoth Robin, "my Lord Bishop, we do but wait upon
thee to join this loving couple without more ado. So get thee to
thy place and open thy Book."

"Nay, thou saucy varlet," said the Bishop, with flashing eye,
"this may not be. The banns have not been read in church
three times o'er, as thou shouldst know is the law of the land and
of Holy Church."

"Then cry the banns thyself, Lord Bishop, to marry these two
lovers whose plighted troth needs but thy good help."

"Nay, by the mass, that will I not," shouted the Bishop.

"Then, an thou wilt not," quoth Robin, laughing, "I will make
mine own bishop. Stand forth, Friar Tuck, and put on the
bishop's robes."

With that Robin pulled off the Bishop's coat, then took off
the Prior's gown for Little John. All the people howled with
laughter to see Friar Tuck tricked out in such fine array. The
faces of the Bishop and the Prior were purple with anger and
shame, but they dared not stir a finger.

"If thou art ready, Little John, step up and take thy place to
cry in church this loving couple three times aloud, that Friar Tuck
may wed them."

Then Little John went up into the choir, whereat the people
began to titter. But he was no whit put out of countenance,
and he cried the banns seven times o'er lest three times should
not be enough.

When he had finished, Robin called him down, and to see him
walk with head up and chest pushed out, so like the Bishop,
sent a merry peal of laughter through the church. But the
laughter swelled into a very roar, as Friar Tuck, with a wink of
his mischievous eye, took the Book. With a show of spirit the
Bishop cried in fiery tones, pointing to the gorgeously attired
Friar: "This man is no true priest. 'Tis but a rascally hedge
priest."

"What saist thou, proud Bishop?" bellowed forth Tuck, his
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ROBIN HOOD

body shaking with rage; and, dropping the Book, he rushed toward
the Bishop like an angry bull at a red coat. "No priest, quoth-a!
I stand here before thee as much a priest as thou art, a holy clerk
in orders, the Vicar of Fountains Abbey, a pious, holy man that
loveth his neighbors, that doth not rob the poor to cover his back
with fine clothes, nor line his belly with good food. Go to, proud
churchman, and be thankful that I am a man of peace and that
my quarter-staff is at mine abbey, or it would soon play a tune
upon thy gross body."

His choler somewhat abated by so long a speech, he turned,
puffing and blowing, again to take up the Book, which he calmly,
half smilingly, opened, and in a loud, husky voice began to read.
At last came the question, "Who gives this maid to wed?"

Quoth Robin Hood: "That do I, and he that takes her from
Allan-a-Dale shall buy her full dearly."

Then the ring was placed on the finger of the blushing, happy
bride, whose face, heretofore so pale and wan, was now like a
blooming, rosy peach. The wedding was over and the noisy,
happy crowd pushed forward to speak fair words to the wedded
lovers. Then Robin said :

"Take off the churchmen's robes, and give them back, for, in
truth, we have no further need of them. Here, Prior, is thy robe,
and we thank thee for thy holy presence; and, Bishop, here is
thy coat. But, stop, that gold chain round thy neck is unbecom-
ing to a holy man, and more seemly for the pretty throat of our
queenly bride."

The Bishop made a wry face and turned to go.

"Give it up," roared Robin, "or I will tear it from thy fat
neck in a trice."

Meekly the Bishop obeyed, and Robin gracefully wound the
massive golden chain round the neck of Allan's bride. So then
the Bishop and the Prior trotted down the church at a merry
pace, glad indeed to get away with their skins whole.

"Thus," said Robin, "having ended this merry wedding, we
will now go hence to our happy glade among the leaves so green."

So they hied them back to Sherwood Forest, where they feasted
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ROBIN HOOD

and pledged the bride in flagons of foaming ale. Allan sang for
them until his voice grew hoarse.

If you remember, Allan had promised Robin that he would be
his servant forevermore. So the outlaws built a bower for him
and his bride, who dwelt thereafter in the forest with Robin and
his men. And for many a long year Allan-a-Dale's tuneful songs
shortened the weary hours in foul weather and made the sunshine
seem brighter. At their feasts or their sports he never once
refused a song, and sometimes of a moonlight summer night he
would leave his happy bower for a while, then softly go to where
the outlaws lay sleeping on their leafy, open-air beds to sing a
love song or lullaby of ancient days. Or perchance he would rise
very early before the dawn and awaken them with a morning
hymn. Thus he entwined himself in the hearts of them all.

7

X

HOW ROBIN HOOD DID CHEAT THE TINKER

OU must know that the Bishop of Hereford
and Prior Emmet as they rode away from the
little church were in a towering passion and
spake many harsh words of the merry outlaws,
but more especially of Robin Hood.

"The shameless, thieving rogue!" said the
Bishop, dolefully. "The bold, naughty vil-
lain, to tear off my chain, every link of which is solid gold, that
would exchange for six tuns of good wine! But I'll have it back,"
quoth he. "I'll have it back, for I'll set the Sheriff's men to
scour the woods and make these same outlaws skip away like
rats, that we may be rid of such vermin."

"We ought to thank the saints," quoth the Prior, "that the
saucy varlet took no more."

"Good faith, holy father, what more could he have ta'en
from us save the coats from our backs or the skin from our
bodies?"

"Thou wottest not," answered the Prior, "that my pouch con-
tained fivescore golden coins, and I do wonder his sharp eye noted
it not when first we met. But so soon as I saw what was toward

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ROBIN HOOD

I hid the pouch in the folds of my robe, that he might not be
tempted to give the maid a dower. So shouldst thou have done
with thy golden chain, my Lord Bishop."

"The chain is too costly for the child of a Saxon hind to keep,"
grumbled the Bishop. "Natheless, the villain spake with a
semblance of truth when he said such gauds do ill become a holy
churchman."

Thus they talked, sadly enough, as they rode toward Notting-
ham town. The Sheriff received them with such courtesy as
their high state in the Church demanded; but as the tale of the
wedding was unfolded he grew paler, and his body shrank to-
gether, till at last, when he heard of the golden chain, he threw
up his hands in despair, crying:

"Alack, alack-a-day! will my whole life be ruined? Is there
no end ? Will troubles never come singly ? The barons rob the
Jews, the outlaws rob the Church — what is to become of our un-
happy land? For I need an army to cope with such fell deeds.
The King's foresters will not go near this hornets' nest, for fear of
being stung with their arrows. My men-at-arms start and grow
pale at the very name of Robin Hood. Indeed, I myself dare
speak his name but in a whisper for fear the wretch may at any
moment rise from the very floor of my house like an evil spirit.
Day or night, sleeping or waking, the name haunts me so
that I am like to go daft. Do thou, good Bishop, cudgel thy
brain to find some remedy, for mine own groweth soft and
watery."

"All I can advise," said the Bishop, "is to draw up a warrant
in the King's name, and to publish broadcast that a great reward
is offered for the outlaw's capture. Surely there are many
strolling, hardy villains outside Nottingham who, for a round sum,
will attempt to rid our land of this pest. I myself will give a
hundred pounds to get my chain again, and do thou, Sheriff,
offer another hundred. Such a noble sum will doubtless draw
many brave hearts to the adventure."

So it was soon noised about in Nottingham town that a great
reward had been offered to any who should capture the bold

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ROBIN HOOD

outlaw, Robin Hood. Messengers on horseback carried the news
north and south. A notice was posted upon the door of the
Town Hall, but the townsfolk only laughed. They knew it was
no hard matter to offer a reward, but not so easy to earn it.
Indeed, they were sure no single man would be found foolish
enough to try.

It so happened one day that a number of men were seated
on a bench, drinking ale at the door of the Blue Boar Inn, round
the corner from the Town Hall, in a narrow street hard by the
Convent of St. Andrews. The talk ran upon the warrant, and
the most interested listener was a burly, ragged tinker, with
turned-up nose, rough, shaggy face and hair, and dirty leathern
apron. Traveling from town to town all over the country, he
earned but little with mending of pots and pans, and what little
he earned was soon exchanged for ale and beer.

"What do I hear," quoth he, "two hundred pounds to catch a
thief? Dick o' Banbury, thou hast been tinker long enough; a
thief-catcher is a better trade. No more kettles to mend for me!
If my crab-tree staff doth not crack a hole in this rogue of an out-
law's pate, then I am no man of metal. For now my motto is to
crack instead of to mend."

So he hied him to the Town Hall door, where he found the
proclamation posted.

"Truly," quoth he, "I am no scholar, and must e'en search for
one that can read and expound the substance."

As he stood there scratching his head a cowled monk stepped
up to him.

"What wouldst thou here, my son?" asked he.

"Fain would I read what is here written, but I cannot."

"That is easily mended," quoth the monk, "for I will read it to
thee."

After carefully listening and nodding his approval at each item,
Dick the tinker started off at full speed to the Sheriff's house.
The steward came forth angrily at the loud crack of Dick's staff
on the door. Before the tinker could find his tongue the steward
said, gruffly:

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ROBIN HOOD

"Go thy way. We have no pots and kettles that want mending
in this place."

"Look you, fellow, I mend no pots, but I would ask the Sheriff
to give me the King's warrant to catch that vile outlaw, Robin
Hood."

"Truly, good tinker, that's a cat of another color. Step in,
brave tinker, bold tinker" — then, to himself — "fool tinker, thou
art in the way of trouble."

Dick o' Banbury was the first to come seeking the warrant,
and you may well believe the Sheriff was right glad to receive
him. "Ay," thought he, looking Dick up and down, "he's lusty,
and looketh bold, but is he sly?"

"Well, my brave lad," he said, aloud, "so thou seekest to win
our reward?"

"Ay, marry, that I do, my Lord Sheriff. If the saucy deer-
thief be still alive I shall nab him with the help of this, my good
crab-tree staff."

"I warrant he's alive," quoth the Sheriff. "Thou lookest bold
and strong withal, but art thou sly?"

"Ay, that I be," said Dick, "slyer than a fox. Was ever~a
weasel caught asleep, was ever a dog seen to run from a meaty
bone, or a cat from a sparrow, or a mouse to leave a bit of cheese ?
So surely am I sly !"

"Well, tinker, here is the warrant," said the Sheriff. "And
now thou hast it, see that thou dost act as boldly as thou speakest.
Catch this fellow, snare him, trap him, beat him, or kill him,
I care not. If thou dost bring him to me dead or alive, thou shalt
surely have the reward and we will attach thee to our service at
good wage, to boot."

Then, calling the steward to give Dick a foaming tankard of
good ale, he hurried him off on his quest. The ale put the bold
tinker in fine fettle, so that as he strode along he twirled his staff
round his head so fast that the passers-by blinked and stood
aloof.

But, being full of vainglory and pride because he held the King's
warrant, he could not refrain from stopping once again at the

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ROBIN HOOD

Blue Boar Inn. He had no money to wet his whistle; yet,
though talking was dry work, he wished to make it known to all
that he, the man of metal from Banbury, would show these north-
country folk how to crack pates.

Just as he had sat him down a fine fellow, dressed all in red
with a long sword at his side, came up and stood anigh him.
Straightway Dick's tongue began to wag.

"Good sir," quoth he, "if thou dwellest in these parts, mayhap
thou hast heard of a varlet named Robin Hood."

"Surely," quoth the man in red, "thou art a stranger that
asketh this. All men hereabout do know Robin Hood, by report,
for a rascally, bold outlaw. But what is thy name and whence
comest thou?"

"I am from the south, and Dick the Tinker o' Banbury am
I called. Having cracked all the noddles in those parts, I have
come hither, by the mass, to crack more."

"I thought thy trade was to mend, not to crack," quoth the
stranger. "I have doleful news for thee."

"Marry, I warrant thou canst say naught that would grieve
me."

" 'Tis that two of thy tinker brethren were set in stocks for
getting drunk on ale/"

"I care naught for thy gibes," snarled Dick. "There be no
true tinkers but could drink all day, and still be sober. I'll war-
rant thou durst not try me."

"Well," said the stranger, laughing, "now that my news is
stale, what is thy news ? For in thy gadabout Jife thou hast
surely gathered some moss of that kind. Perchance a tankard
of ale will grease thy throat and make the news run more
smoothly."

"Ay, that it will. Well," said Dick, after a deep draught,
wiping his grizzly beard on the dirty sleeve of his doublet, "I
will tell thee a thing to make thee marvel. Thou seest me, a
poor man — a mender of pots and pans, forsooth — yet I tell thee
I am about to pick up two hundred pounds without even stoop-
ing— in faith, as easily as a rabbit slips down his warren."

[104]

ROBIN HOOD

"By St. Withold, saist thou so? Come, out with it; let's
hear of so marvelous a trick."

"Why," quoth Dick, " 'tis no great matter, if a man be bold
and strong and cunning withal. Marry, 'tis this: I hold the
King's warrant to seize that naughty thief and outlaw rogue,
Robin Hood. An I clap eyes upon him, I'll Robin him. I'll
singe his red breast, and make him whistle another tune. Some-
where near by in this forest he lies. Can'st thou not guide me
to where this fox hath a hole? Do so, and I'll give thee some part
of the reward — a vast sum, truly — two hundred pounds, and
the Sheriff's dear love, to boot. Nay, by the mass, I can feel
the gold coins clink in my pouch already. Hast ever seen the
villain?"

"Ay, marry, that I have," replied the stranger.

"And what is he like?" asked Dick.

"In truth, he is of about my size; folk say we are as like as
two peas from a pod."

"Bah!" quoth the tinker. "I thought he was a very bearded
giant. An he be like thee, I vow to bind up one arm, and cudgel
him with t'other."

"Yet they tell me," was the reply, "that he swings a quarter-
staff right smartly, and hath some skill with the sword. In
good sooth, tinker, he carries a long-bow full seven feet long —
but let me see thy warrant to know if it be right."

"That I will not," the tinker said, "for none will I trust
with it."

"But drink, brave tinker, thou art not afraid of the stocks."

"How can I drink from an empty mug?"

"Thou saist truly," quoth the stranger. "Bide here awhile,
and I will ask mine host to tap a certain brew of foaming Ut-
toxeter ale, that I wot of." With that he slipped inside the tap-
room and told the host to mix some strong liquor in the ale,
which he then took out to the tinker.

"Marry," quoth Dick, "that is the right ale for stout hearts."

"Drink up, spare it not, there is more on tap," cried the
stranger, just sipping a little to keep company. "Ay, empty

[105]

ROBIN HOOD

again! Good mine host, fill up the tankard with that right
good liquor. The tinker likes it well."

By the time the next cup was finished, the tinker waxed so
jolly that he began to sing snatches of a merry ditty of the
southland. Then, gradually becoming quieter, his eyes closed,
his head nodded to one side, and in a twinkling he was fast asleep,
snoring loudly. Thereupon the stranger rose silently from his
seat. With a smile on his face he reached over, unbuttoned the
tinker's pouch, and drew forth the warrant. Then on tiptoe he
stole into the Blue Boar Inn and paid the host his score.

"But wake not the tinker," quoth he, "till I be out of call."

In a little while mine host bethought him that it ill became his
well-kept house to have a dirty-looking tinker fast asleep at his
front door, so he stepped outside and shook him roughly.

"No more," yawned Dick, "my jolly blade. We had enow;
I am content, good comrade."

With another hearty shake, mine host angrily replied:

"Nay, do not comrade me, thou drunken rogue. Get thee
gone."

The tinker, now half awake, opened his eyes and saw the fat
landlord of the Blue Boar Inn. "Where, what, how, why am I
here?" he muttered. "And where is that scarlet fellow that was
here but now? Methought he would lead me to that bold thief,
Robin Hood."

"That jolly blade with whom thou didst drink," said mine
host, "was none other than Robin Hood himself."

"What saist thou — Robin Hood — for whom I hold in this
very wallet a warrant!"

Then looking down, he saw that the pouch was open and the
warrant gone. Straightway he leaped up and stared about him
wildly. He thrust his hand into his pouch and drew it forth
empty. He looked in his bag of tools, under the table, under the
chair. Then, taking up his staff and swinging it above his head,
he roared:

"My warrant hath been stolen from me while I slept, and
thou, pig-faced villain, doubtless watched that sly red fox take

[106]

WITH A SMILE ON HIS FACE HE REACHED OVER AND
DREW FORTH THE WARRANT

ROBIN HOOD

the King's warrant from my very body. Thou scurvy hog, I
will beat thy back till it be as blue as the boar on thy swinging
sign."

"Pay thy score or I will have thee put in the stocks as a
drunken knave."

This answer brought the tinker to a quieter mood. "Did
not the naughty thief pay for me?" he asked.

"No, not a farthing, he!" said mine host.

"Alack-a-day!" quoth Dick, with a rueful face. "Not a
farthing have I. Oh, could I but meet him now, I would square
the score with both him and thee!"

"Thou wilt best do that by leaving here thy bag o' tools
and thy quarter-staff."

"Nay, good landlord, without tools and staff I can neither
work nor fight. Let be the staff, that I may have wherewith to
beat the thief to jelly, if by good hap I meet him, and so get
the reward to pay thy score."

"Very good," said mine host, somewhat softened. "Bring
me back ten shillings, and thou shalt have thy bag of tools again."

"But," quoth Dick, "in sooth I know not which way to turn
to catch this wily thief."

"The only way," said mine host, "is to seek him among the
parks, where thou mayest find him killing the King's deer."

So the tinker departed from the Blue Boar Inn with a sore
heart and downcast mien. But soon he grew more cheerful.
"I care not for the warrant," he muttered, "could I but see
him once again," and he strode on at a quicker pace, ever and
anon playing his crab-tree staff right merrily as though Robin
even then stood before him. After an hour or more he had wan-
dered aimlessly some distance along a forest path and had made
up his mind to a leafy bed in the forest that night.

"Patience, good Dick!" he said to himself, "and on the mor-
row thou shalt belabor this knave!"

Scarce had he spoken when he saw a red-coated fellow approach-
ing through the leafy glade. "Holy Saint Swithin!" he whis-
pered. "I vow 'tis the pretty Robin redbreast, as sure as a

[109]

ROBIN HOOD

cuckoo steals eggs. May that good saint clip his wings that
he fly not nor escape me. An he be nimble, so am I. He comes
nearer. Shall I hide? Nay, I'll go forward and meet him; if the
villain run, I'll run faster."

They were now but a few paces apart. So far, Robin had not
noticed the tinker, but looking up he caught his angry glare full
upon him. So furious, indeed, was Dick that he stood speechless
in front of Robin, who calmly said :

"What knave is this that doth come so near my path in the
forest?"

" Knave or no knave, thou scurvy red villain, my crab-tree staff
shall show which of us hath wronged the other."

Then like lightning did the tinker whirl his quarter-staff so
near that Robin barely had time to draw his sword and save
his head. Dick the tinker was in a tearing rage, for he had more
than one count to settle — first, to gain the reward; second, to get
revenge for the stealing of his warrant; third, to punish Robin for
the loss of his tools of trade and forced payment of the score at
the Blue Boar Inn.

In truth, he was an ill fellow to meet in fight, for he was taller
and bigger of bone than Robin. He had a bullet-head set upon
a bull neck, from which big blue veins bulged out with exercise
and fiery passion. Moreover, what with long practice in every
town he visited and brawls with every sort of men, his quarter-
staff play was of the best. As for Robin, he had but his broad-
sword— a weapon unsuited to parry the heavy two-handed
strokes of the mighty tinker.

Never in his life did Robin flinch or give way to any man he
met, but now he found that he had thought too lightly of the
tinker's strength and skill. Thus it was that from the beginning
he was forced to defend himself very shrewdly. Dick's powerful
staff, seven feet long, with great ugly knots at each end, was
played with wonderful nimbleness, and soon he gave Robin a
fearful crack that half stunned him and made him reel forward.

Then Robin put forth his utmost strength, clashing his broad-
sword against the staff so that the splinters flew, guarding many a

[no]

ROBIN HOOD

blow and rapidly flashing his sword so close to the tinker's head
that he seemed every moment to miss it only by a hair. The
blade was of finely tempered steel, and it neither snapped nor
showed a dent. Oft the edge would have carved a sore wound
but that the tinker's staff was handled with wondrous deftness.
The furious encounter went on for some time in silence, save
for the sound of wood beating upon steel and the heavy panting
and grunts of the foemen. The outlaw seemed to gain slightly,
pushing his more burly antagonist backward, though the crab-tree
staff whirled around as before. The tinker was very hard pressed,
and almost fit to flee, yet he fought right manfully, and at last
with a sudden turn he brought the heavy cudgel down in a swift
and cruel blow that fell upon Robin's arm and numbed it so that
his fingers lacked strength to grasp the hilt. Then the sword
dropped to the ground.

"A boon, a boon," Robin cried. "Do but grant me a boon!"

"Not I," quoth the tinker. "Before I do I'll hang thee on
this tree." Then, tired as he was, he began to dance about in
high glee, shouting in a merry voice, "The reward is now mine
own, for the outlaw rogue is under my thumb."

As for Robin, he spake no word, but he set his bugle to his lips
and blew three loud blasts.

"How now!" growled the tinker. "I like not thy music, so
come with me straightway, or I'll sauce thy goose with my cudgel
again." So saying, he pointed his staff unpleasantly close to
Robin's head.

At that moment three men came running at full speed toward
the spot.

"What is the matter, Robin," quoth Little John, "that thou
sittest so sore astonied and sad-looking on the highway side?"

"Matter enow," said Robin. "There stands a tough rogue
with his quarter-staff that hath belabored my hide and made it
full sore. I warrant he hath broken my arm, so much it paineth
me."

"Good faith," quoth Little John, "I fain would try if he'll
do so much for me." Gripping his quarter-staff by the middle, he

[in]

ROBIN HOOD

wrathfully approached the tinker, who backed against a tree and
roared:

"Come on, thou daddy-long-legs. I'll tie thy spindle-shanks
in a Staffordshire knot and serve thee as I served thy master."

Their quarter-staffs had scarcely crossed when Robin cried out:
"Hold, good comrade! The man had good cause to beat me
so. I took from him the warrant for my arrest with which he
hoped to mend his poor estate. Come forth, tinker, I am too
sore as yet to move. I love to have brave and handy men in my
band, and thou art both, meseems. But, tinker, remember the
odds are now against thee. Our holy Friar, my cousin Will
Scarlet, and my right-hand man, Little John, all three hunger to
beat thee to jelly. Yet I would now have peace. Without the
reward, what is thy lot?"

"In sooth," quoth Dick, "a sad one. Without tools I cannot
work to redeem them."

"Look you, then," said Robin. "I would have thee join our
band in merry Sherwood. A fair share in all we take shalt thou
have — plenty of venison to eat, good ale to drink, a suit of Lincoln
green, and a hundred pounds to boot. What saist thou — wilt
thou join us ?"

"Marry, that I will, right gladly," quoth the tinker, joyfully.
"A bold outlaw's life will suit me well, and I will ever be thy true
servant."

So Dick the Tinker o' Banbury joined the band, and you will
hereafter see how well he played his part among the merry, brave
outlaws in Sherwood Forest.

XI

LITTLE JOHN AND THE SHERIFF'S COOK

)BIN'S arm was broken, indeed, so that for
weeks he had to have it bandaged and keep
it in a sling. But the tinker, who grieved
sorely that he had caused this hurt, bound it
up and dressed it right skilfully. For you
must know he had himself been wounded so
| oft that there were few men who knew more
of broken bones or bruises. So from that time forth he was
often called upon to act as bone-setter or leech. It was Dick's
peculiar pride to show the wondrous number of dents and holes
in his pate. Indeed, he always spoke of his head as "my pepper
caster." In less than a week every outlaw in the band had felt
for these same holes and dents through Dick's shaggy hair, and
much they marveled at his pluck and the thickness of his skull.
Nearly always, when Robin Hood gained a stout fellow for his
band, he got a sound beating at the same time, but he never
changed his brave demeanor nor ceased to try each man in
hand-to-hand fight to prove his worthiness to join the company of
gallant outlaws. All must be bold and brave like himself, so
that when a final test should come each should be found true
as steel. But in shooting with the long-bow Robin excelled
8 [113]

ROBIN HOOD

them all, and was never beaten either in accuracy or distance.
Thus till the day of his death all his men loved him for himself
and nigh worshiped him for his skill with the bow.

At this period of England's greatness, the bowmen were most
feared on the field of battle. Many famous warriors were shot
to death by arrows. At the battle of Hastings, King Harold
was shot through the eye, and many others fell pierced by shafts
from the long-bow. The second Norman King, William Rufus,
was shot through the heart with an arrow while hunting in the
New Forest. Even the lion-hearted King Richard himself,
after so many hand-to-hand fights, was slain at last by an arrow
shot by a young French archer.

And as the bow was the greatest of weapons, so Robin was
known far and wide as the greatest of archers. Never was there
another like him either before or after his time. He was not
only a brave captain, but a wise one; and he looked well to the
comfort of his men, that they might have good store of food
and clothing. Each and every one was called upon to do his
share in providing for their daily needs. Those who were deft
in making arrows and bows had their duties. In forging or
mending steel weapons each took a part. Others had to bake,
roast, and boil the victuals for so large a company. Their food
was mostly venison, game, and wild fowl, fish in plenty from the
rivers, and oaten, rye, or wheaten cakes. Wild berries, fruit, and
nuts, and wild honey eked out their supply. On such wholesome
fare did the outlaws thrive, and as each season advanced a
goodly supply was stored.

During the cold, dark, stormy days of winter they kept them
to their caves and snug retreats, sitting round the blazing logs
for warmth and light as darkness fell. They wiled away the
long evenings with never-ending tales of love and war; of ancient
sagas and legends, interspersed with the ever-welcome harp notes
and songs of Allan-a-Dale, their minstrel. In such fashion the
days passed quickly and merrily by. It was now nutting-time,
and the yellow leaves had begun to fall; but Robin still kept
him to his bower nursing his wounded arm. Outside Sherwood

[114]

ROBIN HOOD

Forest, Nottingham town was busily astir with its great annual
feast and October fair. The great King Richard had taken a
mighty army of nearly all the young men in the country on his
crusade to fight the Turks in the Holy Land. But Robin cared
little enough in his pleasant forest retreat for wars or the doings
of kings and armies.

On a day, when the merry men had returned from gathering
great skin bags full of hazel, beech, and chestnuts for roasting
at the winter's fire, Little John came to the bower to beg his
master's leave to see the fair. Thereat Robin considered for a
space and seemed right loath. At last he said:

"Yea, go, if thou hast such a stomach for the adventure; but
see that thy disguise be good, for the loss of my right-hand man
would be a sore hurt to me and all our band."

"Marry, I will go clad as a sturdy, tattered beggar with a
crooked shoulder and a limp of one leg."

So Little John cast off his well-fitting suit of Lincoln green
and donned such a rag-tag jumble of clothes that the merry men
roared with laughter when they beheld him. Then, with sword
at his side and bow slung across his shoulders, he strode off through
the forest in high spirits toward Nottingham Fair.

The fair brought always a vast throng of idlers and merry-
makers to the town. Since it lasted a week, or rather from
Monday to Saturday night, there was need of many shows,
games, trials of skill, and wonders of all sorts to entertain the
great throng that poured in from all over the country, even from
the far-away towns of Derby, Lincoln, and York.

Little John passed down the long line of booths, gaily decked
with buntings, where ribbons, gewgaws, and such things as
women and children love were sold. Then he sauntered to a
part of the fair where only men and boys seemed to gather.
Here a raised stand had been set up with a wooden railing about
twenty feet square. Its rough, wooden floor had been sprinkled
over with a good supply of fine white sand. Here were held
public contests in boxing, wrestling, and quarter-staff play; and
here among the laughing, noisy crowd stood bold Little John

f"5]

ROBIN HOOD

in his beggar disguise, watching intently a famous wielder of
the quarter-staff, Eric o' Lincoln, who was cracking the pates
of any and all the Nottingham lads who dared try their
hands and risk their heads against this champion from Lincoln
town.

Eric was one of those who visited fairs and such like gatherings
in different towns to fight with quarter-staff for prizes and wagers.
He was a tall, well-made fellow with broad shoulders and sinewy
arms. His knotted muscles, through constant exercise with a
heavy staff, were of unusual size, and he was right vain of them.
He had just toppled over on the boards, with little effort, two
brawny Staffordshire fellows from Stoke and Trentham, and now
stood bolt upright holding his staff in front of him, shouting in
a defiant voice: "Marry, come up, my lads! The day is not far
spent, yet I tarry too long for a bout. Are all the brave lads
dead, or are one and all afeard to meet Eric o' Lincoln?"

The bustling crowd fell silent for a space, staring at one an-
other, but none ventured to mount the stand. Still Eric urged
them to come on, even with promises of a prize could they with-
stand him for but a brief space. At last Little John could con-
tain himself no longer. He turned to the crowd, saying, "Will
any lad lend me a stout staff to try a bout with this crowing
braggart?"

Such a speech from a ragged, crooked beggar raised a laugh.
Nevertheless, many held out their weapons. Little John quietly
looked them over, and' chose the one used by the man from
Stoke, a wicked-looking staff of hickory, heavy and long, neatly
crossed with hide thongs to make the hand-grasp less slippery.
Still pretending a bent and crooked form, he climbed up the
steps and placed himself in a fighting attitude on the stand facing
stout Eric, who said, loud enough for all to hear:

"To think I be forced to cross my staff with a saucy beggar!
I vow to befriend him with a few pennies when he is carriedjjff
the stand with a cracked noddle."

"Peace, thou chattering cockatoo, and defend thyself!" quoth
Little John sternly; and, falling to right merrily, he deftly rapped

[116]

HE SMOTE ERIC FULL AND SQUARE ON HIS SKULL

ROBIN HOOD

Eric a stiff blow upon the shoulder, which made the crowd stare
and then laugh.

Eric eyed the beggar more closely and noticed that his broad
shoulders began to straighten up to a height even greater than
his own. Then began the battle in good earnest, each man feeling
that he had met a worthy foe. The blows fell thick and fast,
so that time and again the men in the crowd caught their breath,
thinking that one or the other of the combatants must surely
fall. But every stroke was stoutly met and parried. Quoth one,
"Never was such play seen before in this town." Another asked,
"Who can this tall lad be?"

Meanwhile, the fight continued with no advantage on either
side. The beggar now seemed a very giant that with crashing
blows time after time made Eric's staff tremble. The temper of
the crowd had changed. It was all for the beggar now, and en-
couraged him with ringing cheers and promises of plenty of
money and good things should he win this famous bout.

At last, amid a din of yelling jeers and groans, Eric crashed a
heavy blow on John's broad chest, but as the blow fell so did
John bring his staff down on Eric's skull with a resounding whack
that was heard by all the throng. Another shout went up, then
all fell silent.

Before John could strike another blow Eric had gotten over the
stupor caused by the stroke. He ducked, then ran back while
John's staff crashed on the floor with a terrific bang. The staff
was a good one, and held sound, else Little John would then have
bit the sandy floor, so savagely did Eric now run upon him.
Careless of his guard, in a fury of madness, Eric put forth all his
strength and skill, and for a few minutes the air was filled with
cracking blows that none but a tower of strength like John could
have withstood for a moment. But he stood there on guard,
calm and crafty, waiting an opening for a final blow, which he
well knew from such careless, angry fighting would sooner or later
come.

In quarter-staff battles a loss of temper was fatal. Both
fighters knew that a cool, watchful guard was the only way to

["9]

ROBIN HOOD

victory. But Eric understood by now that, in truth, it was no
beggar who opposed him, and his anger swept away his prudence.
That Little John bided his time so coolly but enraged him the
more. For some minutes his fearful, crashing blows fell without a
break or pause. Many and many a time did John just escape an
ugly stroke that would have laid him low. But he steadily par-
ried and feinted until at last his time came. Then with a quick,
downward, heavy swing of both ponderous arms he smote Eric
full and square on his skull, so that his body dropped, limp, with
a thud upon the sandy floor.

Instantly from the quiet, hard-breathing crowd came a volley
of deafening cheers. The battle had lasted fully two hours and
had drawn nearly every man from all parts of the fair. Many now
crowded round Little John with offers of money and other good
things as he gave back the staff to the man who had loaned it
and had held his long-bow while he fought. Then, tired and
thirsty, John and the man from Stoke together strode away, and
were soon lost in the press of people. They made their way to
the Blue Boar Inn to refresh themselves, it being now somewhat
past the hour of noon.

"Thou art no beggar," quoth the sharp-eyed man from Stoke,
"and dost go in such guise for some purpose of thine own. Tell
me, brave comrade, thy name, for if thou canst use thy long-bow
with half the skill wherewith thou didst wield my staff, the
archery prize is thine to take this afternoon."

"What saist thou?" quoth John. "Is there a shooting-match
this afternoon?"

"Ay, that there be," said his companion. "The Sheriff offers
a prize, and we will together go and try for it."

"Marry, that we will," quoth Little John.

So now together they strode toward the shooting-butts, where
they found the archers ready to begin. Then, entering their
names as competitors, they made ready for the shooting. The
place was crowded with a great mass of men and women, all
eager to catch a glimpse of those who were about to shoot, for
in those days every skilled archer was known far and wide, so

[120]

ROBIN HOOD

that as each man took his place folk told each other what prizes
he had won and what feats he had performed. Foremost in the
crowd were those who had witnessed the quarter-staff bouts earlier
in the day, and a shout went up as they recognized the man who
had overcome stout Eric o' Lincoln.

"Ho for the mighty beggar!" they cried. "Now for some good
sport. Now, Sir Tatters, thou dost surely deserve a prize."
Such words were sweet music to the ear of Little John, though he
showed it not, but waited patiently his turn.

Marvelous shots were made — so keen indeed was the rivalry
that the beggar's admirers cooled somewhat toward him. Were
not the cream of the best archers competing, drawn forth from
three surrounding counties — men whose equals could scarce be
found in merry England!"

"Now, rag-bag, 'tis thy turn," quoth Adam Caverswall, who
up to now had beaten all the rest. "Canst thou mend that
shot?"

"Maybe, and maybe not," quietly replied Little John.

Two targets had been set up, and between them a wand stood
upright holding a small wreath of flowers. Adam had planted
a shaft in the center of each target, and thought that he would
surely win. So thought the crowd who, fickle as the wind, now
cheered him instead of the beggar. Chuckling slyly to himself,
but saying not a word, Little John nocked his shaft so slowly
and deliberately that both the other archers and the people
waxed impatient, for they longed to see what he would do.

"Wake up, beggar," quoth one. "Bestir thyself, and let us
see if thou canst hit the mark."

But no reply came from Little John's smiling lips while his
bow bent farther out, till the point of the cloth-yard shaft nigh
touched his thumb. Then he loosed the string with a twang.
Hastily fitting another arrow, he shot again, and still once more —
three shots, one after another, without a pause. Then the ex-
pectant crowd gave vent to a mighty roar. "A champion, a cham-
pion!" they cried. "The ragged beggar shoots more true than
Robin Hood." For the first arrow had sped through the middle

[123]

ROBIN HOOD

of the floral wreath, and each of the others had cut one of Adam's
shafts from the target.

As for the Sheriff, he swore a deep oath. "This man," quoth
he, "is the best archer that ever I saw. Not even that bold
knave Robin Hood could best him, and right well hath he upheld
the honor of the town in quarter-staff play."

Then Little John stood in the presence of the proud Sheriff,
who thus addressed him:

"Tell me now, strong young man, what is thy name, and in
what town wert thou born?"

Little John replied, "In Holderness was I born, and when I
am at home men call me Reynard Greenleaf."

"Look you, Reynard, 'tis foul shame to see so young and brave
a man in rags a-begging alms. I need full sore stout hearts about
me. Wilt thou enter my service? Besides proper attire and a
full stomach, every year I will give twenty marks to thy fee."

Then Little John thought awhile, and at last he smiled. "Your
worship," quoth he, "I have a master, a courteous knight.
Before I may enter thy service, noble Sheriff, I must e'en get
leave of him."

To this the Sheriff agreed, and he promised that should Little
John get leave to serve him for a twelvemonth he would make
a present to the knight of a good strong horse.

So Little John went away and bided for a day, after which he
came back and told the Sheriff that all was arranged. He took
the horse and rode away to a little cottage in which dwelt a spy
who knew the outlaws' trysting-^lace. Setting him upon the
horse, he bade him ride away to Robin Hood, to give him this
message: that Little John had entered the service of the Sheriff,
and that for the short time he was there he would make the
worst servant the Sheriff ever had. As for the horse, Robin was
to keep it for himself. Little John returned to the Sheriff's
house, where he was given a fine new suit of clothes and was
made acquainted with the butler, the cook, and other members
of the household.

On the following day the Sheriff started out early to go hunting;
[124]

ROBIN HOOD

and Little John, being very tired, overslept himself, lying in his
bed till long past the noon-hour. At last he got up and dressed,
then marched down to the pantry, crying out:

"Good Sir Steward, I pray thee give me to dine. Too long
hath Greenleaf fasted, therefore prithee bestir thyself."

The surly steward was in a sour mood and liked not to serve
dinners at odd hours.

"Thou shalt never eat till my lord be come to town,'* he said,
gruffly.

"I make it my vow, thou saucy rogue, to crack thy crown
unless both meat and drink be set before me straightway."

The fat steward strode back and forth in anger, then rushed
for the buttery and shut fast the door; but with a running kick
Little John smashed it open. It flew back with a thunderous
bang, and the steward was sent flying over a barrel of ale. Then
Little John forced him to drink so much that if he lived a hundred
winters he would never forget having refused a meal to Reynard
Greenleaf. Straightway the outlaw sat him down and made a
hearty meal of all the good things in the buttery, not forgetting
a full share of ale and wine.

While he sat feasting at his ease, the steward stole out through
the door and hurried to the cook in the kitchen to tell him what
had befallen. This cook was both stout and bold, and, though
he had little love for the steward, yet he liked not that a saucy
rogue should lord it where he was wont to rule. So he strode
off to the buttery in a fiery rage, meaning to teach the new servant
a lesson in manners.

"I make my vow," quoth the cook, when he found Little
John still eating, "thou art a shrewd knave. What! Thinkest
thou to eat when thou listest, and beat whom thou wilt? I will
show thee who is master here." So saying, he let fly three good
buffets which made Little John's ears ring and sent flying across
the buttery a jellied chicken's wing, which he had just raised
to his lips.

Little John slowly rose from his feast, saying, "In sooth, thou
art bold, thou art hardy; but before I make another stride from

[125]

ROBIN HOOD

this spot I hope to settle two debts I owe thee. Thy cooking I
like pretty well, and thy cuffs a little more. Now draw thy sword,
for I mean to baste thy body with hot gravy."
1 The cook was not slow to obey, for he was no man to flee,
and in truth he loved fighting better than feasting. Together
they parried, slashed, and cut for over an hour, yet neither
harmed the other.

"By my faith," quoth bold John, "thou art one of the best
swordsmen that ever yet I saw. If thou canst shoot as well
with a bow, to the greenwood I fain would have thee go, to
join Robin Hood and his merry outlaws. I could get thee twenty
golden marks every year for thy fee, two changes of clothing,
and all the venison and foaming ale a reasonable body could
wish."

At that the cook lowered his sword, and his eyes grew round
as saucers.

"Who art thou that dost say this?" he cried. "Art thou,
Reynard Greenleaf, one of Robin Hood's merry men?"

"Ay, that I am. Little John am I, and none other."

"Put up thy sword," cried the cook, "for I will no longer
fight with thee. Bless the good-fortune that brought us twain
together, for there is naught in all the world for which my heart
so longeth as to be one of Robin Hood's merry men. And art
thou in good sooth the famous Little John?"

"Yea, and right glad would I be to resume the meal thou
didst so lovingly interrupt."

So they began to eat and drink together in the friendliest
fashion. When they had stuffed themselves as full as they
could hold, they strode off to the Sheriff's treasure-house, but
found it locked and barred. Then the cook said:

"Tarry awhile, and I will go and get a heavy hammer
from the kitchen." He soon returned and smashed in the door.
After helping themselves to a number of silver vessels, cups, and
other table silver, they opened a drawer and emptied therefrom
three hundred pounds in money. Placing all together in tw©
bags, they left the house, making straight for the forest.

[126]

ROBIN HOOD

They soon arrived at the glade, and both were made welcome
by Robin Hood.

"Tell me, good John," quoth he, "what tidings dost thou bring
from Nottingham town?"

"God save thee, my dear master," quoth Little John. "The
proud Sheriff greeteth thee full lovingly and sendeth thee his
cook and a-many of his silver vessels, with three hundred pounds
in good money."

"Nay, by the mass," said Robin Hood, "I warrant it was
never by his good-will so much kindness is done to me." Then
the cook told what had befallen, and they all roared with laughter.

Little John then bethought him of a merry conceit. So off
he started through the forest to a certain place where he thought
he would find the proud Sheriff hunting with hounds and horn.

When he saw the Sheriff he knelt down before him and said :

"God save thee, my master dear."

"Reynard Greenleaf!" cried the Sheriff, in great surprise.
"What hast thou now for me?"

"I have been in the forest," said John, "and I saw the fairest
sight that mine eyes ever beheld. In yonder glade I saw a right
fair hart, his color being of green, and by his side were seven-
score deer, all ranged in a circle. The antlers of this hart had
over sixty points, so sharp that I durst not shoot for fear it would
slay me."

"I make my vow," said the Sheriff, "that marvelous sight I
fain would see."

"Come with me, dear master, and I will show it thee."

The Sheriff gladly rode after the nimble, fleet-footed outlaw,
and after a long trot they came to the glade and stood before
Robin Hood. Then said Little John:

"Behold, there stands the master hart in the green coat."

The proud Sheriff stood still, and with a sorry face and sad
voice replied: "Reynard Greenleaf, thou hast betrayed me.
Thou art well named, for the fox is sly in the woods."

"In truth, master," said Little John, "thou art to blame, for I
was refused a good dinner when I was a servant at thy house.

[127]

ROBIN HOOD

So now I will return good for evil and send you home with a good
dinner."

In a very short time the feast was spread, and all the food was
served upon silver vessels. When the Sheriff took up the cup
of wine he looked very closely at it, then at the silver plate, and
then at Little John. He could not eat for very sorrow when he
found that the meal was spread upon his own silver.

"Make good cheer, for charity's sake," said Robin. "I war-
rant, Sir Sheriff, the fare is good. So eat and be merry. For the
love I bear thy servant, Reynard Greenleaf, we will spare thy
life and do no harm to thee, so fall to and prove thyself a good
trencherman."

But the Sheriff was too sad; all he could do was to watch in
silence while the others ate heartily.

When the evening began to close and the time came when all
should go to rest Robin commanded John to draw off the Sheriff's
hose and shoes, his cape of fine furs, and cap with plumes. John
gave him a green mantle to wrap his body in, that the cold night
dew might not give him a chill, and told off a number of young
men to lie beside him on the greensward under the great oak.

But the Sheriff, used to soft living, lay awake all night long,
shivering with cold, till his ribs began to smart and grow stiff.
At last the long night was over and the dawn appeared. One
by one the outlaws awakened and arose. Robin then asked the
Sheriff:

"How didst thou fare in our way of sleeping?"

"A hard and miserable bed," replied the Sheriff, "and for all
the gold in merry England I would not dwell in such a state."

"Nay," quoth Robin, "thou shalt dwell with me, I vow, a full
twelvemonth, for I fain would teach thee to be a merry outlaw."

Quoth the Sheriff: "Were I to spend such another night I
would rather that thou shouldst smite off my head, and would
forgive thee for it. Let me go for sweet charity, and I will
afterward be thy best friend."

"Then we will let thee go," said Robin, "but before thou art
gone thou shalt swear to me a great oath on my bright sword —

[128]

ROBIN HOOD

that thou wilt never more strive to harm me, and that if thou
findest any one of my men by night or by day thou wilt help him
as well as thou mayest."

The Sheriff was so wretched that he promised everything and
took the oath. Then Little John put him on his horse and,
leading him through the greenwood a little way, parted from him
with hearty good wishes for a safe return home.

XII

ROBIN TRIES HIS HAND SELLING MEATS

BIN HOOD was a little piqued at the crafty
means by which Little John had gotten the
better of the Sheriff. By the name he chose
— Reynard Greenleaf, which means "fox from
the woods" — he seemed to boast of his own
slyness; and while Robin owned that his right-

_ hand man was craftier than he had thought,

he resolved that he would not be outdone, but would himself
show the Sheriff a thing or two. He and his band had no hatred
against the Sheriff, nor, for that matter, against any one else,
much cause as they had to be bitter against the world, for they
were all outlawed men. What they did was done in a spirit
of jovial frolic and fun. It is certain that they never did any
foul misdeed. They robbed the rich, who robbed others, that
they might live and have means to help the poor and needy. In
those cruel old days, when might seemed to make right, few were
so kind and honest as Robin Hood and his merry men. Robin
himself often went to mass at the little church on the outskirts
of the forest, where he was welcomed because of his many lavish
gifts. For he loved the humble and sincere churchmen even as
he hated the purse-proud and selfish.

[132]

ROBIN HOOD

It fell upon a day that Robin started off alone through the
forest singing a blithesome song. He had not gone far when he
chanced to meet a jolly butcher, who likewise was singing merrily
as he rode through the wood among the leaves so green. The
butcher bestrode a fine mare, and swinging from behind on each
side hung two great silk bags full of the meat he was taking to
Nottingham market to sell.

"Good morrow, my fine fellow," quoth jolly Robin. "Tell me
what goods thou hast in thy panniers, for I have a mind for thy
company and would fain know thy trade and where thou dost
dwell." "

"Truly, a butcher am I, and to Nottingham do I go to sell my
meats. But what is it to thee where I do dwell? Tell me thy
name."

"My name is Robin Hood, and in Sherwood do I dwell."

Then in a trembling voice the butcher said: "I cry your
mercy, good Robin, for I fear that name. Have mercy on me
and mine; let me go my way."

"Nay, jolly butcher," quoth Robin, "fear nothing, for I will do
thee no harm. Come, tell me, what is the price of thy meat and
of thy mare, for, by the mass, be it never so dear, I fain would be
a butcher."

"I will soon tell thee," quoth the butcher. Then he looked
straight before him and for a space seemed lost in thought. At
last he said: "Good Robin, I like thee well and would not of-
fend thee. Therefore thou shalt have my meats, and eke my
bonny mare, for four marks, though the price be beggarly."

"Get down from thy horse," quoth Robin, "and come, count
out the money from my bag. Right gladly do I pay thy price,
for I long to be a butcher for a day, and I warrant I shall sell
my wares first of them all at the market."

When the butcher had seen the money counted aright he
snugly packed it away in a little bag in his pouch, well content
with his bargain; and Robin, mounting the horse, jogged off to
Nottingham market. First of all, he got from the officers of
the guild a market-stand, for which he paid 'a small fee. Then

[I33l

ROBIN HOOD

he put on the butcher's apron, cap, and jacket, cleaned off the
stand, got out all the legs and shoulders of mutton and veal,
sharpened his knives, and was soon busy with cleaver and saw,
cutting up pieces to make the best display in the market. All
the other butchers looked askance at Robin because he was a
stranger and seemed ignorant of the ways and sly tricks of the
trade. However, when all was set out to the best advantage,
he began to cry out in a loud voice:

"Come hither, good people, come and buy, buy, buy. I sell
good meat cheap, and cheap meat good. Pay no heed to the
other butchers, for they sell naught but bone and skin. Be not
backward, good wives, good maids, good widows, and good
spinsters; come up, come up and buy. I sell as much meat for
one penny as you will get from the other butchers for three
pennies. I will cut away all the fat and sell you the lean. An it
please you, good dames, I will strip away all the bones and sell
naught but flesh. As for the bones, ye shall take them home to
your dogs. Six pounds of good fresh meat, with never a bone,
for one penny!"

So lustily did Robin cry his wares that soon a throng of dames
and lasses pressed about his stand, while scarce a soul came near
the booths of the other butchers. Ere long his trade was so
brisk that he had no need to shout. Then, when a pretty lass
asked the price of a piece of meat, he would answer: "Naught,
but one kiss from thy pretty lips." Thus the handsome young
butcher got many a kiss, which gladdened him more than silver
coins. Long before the market closed Robin was clean sold out,
and the others were full wroth because they had not thriven that
day. They talked with one another, saying, "Surely he is some
prodigal, that hath sold his father's land and now wastes the
money in selling meat at so low a price." Said one: "Perhaps
he is a man of much store and cattle. We had best be friendly
with him." So several of them stepped up to Robin, saying,
"Come, brother, we be all of one trade, and the Butchers'
Guild is to dine with the Sheriff. Wilt thou join us in the
feast?"

[i34]

'NAY," QUOTH ROBIN, "FEAR NOTHING, FOR I WILL
DO THEE NO HARM"

ROBIN HOOD

"Ay, marry, that will I," quoth merry Robin. "I will go with
my true brethren, as fast as I can hie."

So they all marched off together to the Sheriff's house. The
Sheriff had been told of this wonderful butcher who could afford
to sell as much meat for a penny as the others did for three
pennies, so he made up his mind to place Robin beside him
as the honored guest, thinking to lure the young spendthrift into
some bad bargain. When they had all sat down to eat, he asked
Robin to say grace. Then Robin stood up, but he could think
of naught to say. At last he muttered :

"Pray God bless us all within this place and eke our meat.
A cup of good sack will nourish our blood — and so I do end my
grace."

Then they all fell to and enjoyed the feast full well.

"Come, brother butchers," quoth jolly Robin, "while we do
stay, let us be merry. Come, pour us more wine. I vow to pay
the reckoning if it cost me five pounds ere I go. The cost is
mine, so be merry, good friends, be merry."

While the butchers were drinking at Robin's expense they
smiled and nudged one another and talked in whispers. "This
is a mad blade," said one of them; "a wise one saves, and a
fool spends." The Sheriff whispered to his left-hand neighbor,
"His father hath left him lands which he hath sold for silver
and gold, and now means to be rid of its cares." Then he said to
himself, " 'Twere a good deed to help him in so worthy a purpose."

"Good fellow," quoth he to Robin, "hast thou any horned
beasts to sell unto me?"

"Yea, good master Sheriff, that I have — some two hundred,
as well as a hundred acres of good land, an it please you to
see it. And I will make as good a bargain of it to you as my
father did make to me."

"What is the price thou askest, my good fellow, for the two
hundred horned beasts ? For if the price be within reason, I warrant
I shall find one who will buy."

"The price to thee, noble Sheriff, shall be small enough. Tis
but two hundred pounds."

[137]

ROBIN HOOD

"Ay," thought the Sheriff, "but one quarter of their true
worth. I must go to see these same horned beasts before it
chance he change his price. By my faith, good fellow," he said
aloud, "I fain would look upon thy two hundred horned beasts."

"That is easily done," quoth Robin, "for they are not far to
seek."

So when the feast was ended the Sheriff had his palfrey
saddled, put two hundred pounds in gold in his pouch, and made
ready to go with the spendthrift butcher. Robin saddled his
mare, and away they rode to the forest of merry Sherwood.

As they were passing through the leafy woods the Sheriff
crossed himself, saying, "God save us this day from that naughty
varlet, Robin Hood!"

"Amen, so be it," said jolly Robin, who was leading deeper
and deeper into the forest.

When they had gone a little farther, bold Robin chanced to
spy a hundred head of good red deer that came tripping along
full nigh their path. "Look you," quoth he, "how like you my
horned beasts, good master Sheriff? Are they not fat and fair
to see?"

Then the Sheriff was wroth and fearful. He trembled in his
boots, for a sad thought of a sudden flashed through his brain.
Quoth he, "I tell you, good fellow, I would I were gone from
this forest, for I like not thy company nor thy fat beasts."

"Tarry but a moment, Sir Sheriff," quoth Robin, and, putting
his horn to his mouth, he blew three blasts, whereat Little John
and all his company came running.

"What is thy will, my good master?" cried Little John.

"I have brought hither," laughed jolly Robin, "the Sheriff oi
Nottingham this day to dine with thee."

"Then, by Saint Swithin, he is right welcome to me, and I hope
he will honestly pay for the feast, for I know he has gold. I can
smell it in his pouch, and I warrant if it be well counted there will
be enough to serve us with wine to drink a whole year."

Then Little John lovingly grasped the Sheriff round the waist
and drew him down from his palfrey. Taking his mantle gently

[138]

ROBIN HOOD

from his back, he laid it on the ground. The proud Sheriff stood
still and doleful while Robin opened his pouch and jingled out
the two hundred pounds in golden coins into the mantle. Little
John carefully picked up the golden pieces and deftly cast the
cloak again upon the Sheriff's back, then set him upon his dapple-
gray palfrey, saying, "Adieu, good Sheriff, I wish thee a safe
journey home."

Robin took the bridle-rein and led the palfrey to the edge of
the forest, where he bade the Sheriff God-speed.

"Commend me to your lady wife at home," quoth he, "and
tell her that Robin Hood found much profit in the butcher's trade
in fair Nottingham town this day." So Robin went away laugh-
ing to his bower.

XIII

ROBIN HOOD AND ARTHUR THE TANNER

iOU will perhaps remember how Little John
gave Eric o' Lincoln a mighty crack at Notting-
ham Fair, and how Eric went back home with
a very sad heart and a sore head. He had
purposely made the journey to meet and fight
another famous wielder of the quarter-staff —
Arthur-a-Bland, the jolly tanner of Notting-
At that time Arthur was away at the wars in the Holy
Land fighting against the Turks with King Richard. He had
now returned with a large body of archers, while his King had
been treacherously captured and imprisoned in a castle.

Now when Arthur came home he found the tanning trade —
along with others — in very evil state; and, though for a time he
was treated and toasted at every tavern in the town as a brave
English archer who had seen the Holy Sepulcher, all this naturally
came to an end, and his wonderful tales grew a trifle stale. Thus
it was that Arthur became lonesome and pined for something
to do.

During the hot midsummer days he was sorely tempted to
enter into the cooling shade of Sherwood Forest and try his hand
with the long-bow on some fat hart. The great autumn fair was

[140]

ROBIN HOOD

months away, so he could make no use of his quarter-staff, for it
would do him no good to crack the pate of some passing stranger
while he dwelt in the town. One fine morning very early he made
up his mind to take the risk of killing a fine buck, so he girded on
his sword, and, with his long-bow swinging at his back and stout
cudgel in hand, he started off, twirling his staff round his head to
the tune of a jolly roundelay. It was his first venture into the
woodland glade since he had come home from the wars, and the
quiet, cool peacefulness of the forest made him glad that he was
no longer in the hot, sandy deserts of the East. The birds sang
a blithesome tune, as he thought, in response to his merry song,
so that soon he forgot all about sheriff's men, or King's foresters,
and gave himself up wholly to his joy in the pleasant day.

Arthur was a shrewd, bold fellow, who would hold his own in
any fight so long as he did not meet more than one foe at a time.
His great cudgel was a thing to beware of. Nevertheless, as he
strode deeper and deeper into the forest he became silent and
glanced about him watchfully, not only in case of meeting a
stranger, but to keep from frighting the deer.

Anon his sharp eye made out the antlers of a fine young buck
coming toward him with a herd of deer. Crouching down among
the ferns, he crept along till within fair shooting distance and
nocked a shaft. He had not observed behind a tree a stranger
dressed in Lincoln green who, like himself, carried a quarter-staff
and bow. Just as Arthur tightened the string to let the arrow
fly, the stranger in a loud voice cried out:

"Hold, thou thieving rogue and villain! Who art thou that
rangest so boldly here? In sooth, thou lookest like a thief that
comes to steal our King's deer."

In blank surprise Arthur turned round to view the bold stranger
who dared accost him thus, and on seeing a single man no taller
or stouter than himself, he replied :

"Nay, by the mass, what lying rogue art thou to call me a
thief and a villain when I am neither any more than art thou?
Marry, what is it to thee what I do?"

Then the stranger said: "I am the keeper of this forest, and the
[143]

ROBIN HOOD

King hath put me in charge of his deer; therefore I do hinder
thee from shooting at them."

"If thou art a keeper in this forest," quoth Arthur, boldly,
"and hast such a great charge, thou must needs have some help
of others before thou canst hinder me, for thou art not of thyself
able to do it."

"Truly," replied the stranger, "I have none here to help me to
make thee stand, nor have I need of any, but I have here a good
oaken staff that I know full well will do the deed."

"Thou green grasshopper," yelled the angry tanner, "I care
not a straw for thy staff, thy sword, nor thy bow. If I but once
rap thy bare noddle, thou wilt be put in bed well covered with
sticking-plaster."

"Speak less boastingly," said jolly Robin, "and use better
terms to me, or I will e'en mend thy manners without more words."

So saying, he unbuckled his belt, laid down his long-bow, and
then, being aware that the tanner was making ready with his
staff, he said:

"If thou dost choose to fight with staff rather than sword, so let
it be. But before we begin our fray let us measure staffs, for if
mine should prove the longer thou wilt count it foul play."

"I pass not for length," bold Arthur replied. "My staff is
of oak — eight feet and a half. It will knock down a calf, and I
hope it will knock down thee."

Then Robin rushed upon him and gave him such a wicked
knock that the blood gushed forth from the side of his head.
For the first half-hour the fight was a fierce staff-cracking tattoo.
From the way in which Arthur ran around nimbly and laid on
and parried, Robin saw from the first that he would have enough
to do to defend himself. They were both running like wild boars,
and both were bleeding from head wounds. The woods re-
sounded with their lusty knocks, as each strove full sore to reach
the other's leg, arm, or any part of his body. For two hours they
plied their staffs with heavy strokes as if they were cleaving
wood. Both were grimly silent, watching each other carefully
for an opening that would end the strife. Arthur had met his

Ii44l

"MY FREEDOM HAVE I WON THROUGH MY STAFF,
AND NOT BY GRACE OF THEE"

ROBIN HOOD

match — much greater obstinacy and skill than he ever had met
before or now looked for in his foe. He had not the least idea
whom he was fighting, but he swore to master this bold fellow,
whoever he might be, who dared to question his freedom in the
forest. As for Robin, he remembered all too well the beating
the tinker had bestowed upon him, and fain would he show
Little John and his men that he could gain the mastery with
some other weapon than the long-bow.

Another half-hour of the ceaseless din and clatter, and both
combatants were a sorry sight, their faces covered with blood and
sweat, both utterly tired out and aching with their wounds.
"Hold thy hand, fellow," quoth Robin, "and let thy quarrel
fall. Though we crack our bones all to pieces, we gain no prize,
nor any other good thing, thereby. Hereafter in this forest
of merry Sherwood thou shalt be free to do thy will."

This speech somewhat nettled the fiery tanner, who replied:
" God-a-mercy for naught. My freedom have I won through
my staff, and not by grace of thee."

^ Prithee tell me, good fellow," quoth Robin, "what trade
thou art of and in what place thou dost dwell, for I would fain
know both these things."

Bold Arthur replied: "A tanner am I, and in Nottingham
town have L long plied my trade. Shouldst thou ever go there,
I make a vow, I will tan thy hide for naught."

"God-a-mercy, good fellow," said jolly Robin; "since thou
art so kind, I will do as much for thee. My name is Robin Hood,
and in sooth if thou'lt forsake thy tanner's trade to live in the
greenwood with me, thou mayest shoot the deer and eat venison
to thy fill — besides gold and fee, a fair share of all we take."

"I vow," quoth Arthur, "if thou be'st indeed the outlaw
Robin Hood — and by the bruises of my body I doubt it not at
all — then here is my hand in loving kindness. My name is Arthur-
a-Bland, and we two will never be parted."

Robin gladly grasped the strong palm, happy in having stood
up so long against a champion known far and wide as the boldest
and deftest hand that ever plied a quarter-staff.

[1471

ROBIN HOOD

"But tell me," said Arthur, "oh, tell me, where is my dear
kinsman, brave Little John, whom I've not seen for many a
year? On my mother's side we are related, and I fain would
set eyes upon him once more."

"He is ever," said Robin, "within sound of my bugle-call."
Then he blew full loud and shrill, and scarcely had the echo
died away in the distance when Little John appeared, running
as fast as his long legs could carry him through the forest glade.

"Oh, what is the matter?" cried Little John. "And why dost
thou, my master, sit there so sad and befouled? I fear me that
all is not well with thee."

"Oh, my comrade," quoth Robin, "this tanner did make me
stand, but he tanned my hide so soundly that now perforce I
must sit. He is a brave blade and a master tanner, too. That
I should know, having tasted of his trade."

"He is to be commended," quoth Little John, "for so great a
feat, but if he be so smart at his trade, let him try to tan my
hide, too."

"Nay, nay, stay thy hand," said Robin, "for he tells me that
he is of thine own blood, and his name is Arthur-a-Bland."

Then Little John threw away his staff as far as he could fling
it. Running up to Arthur, he put his great arms around his
neck, and both did weep for very joy. When they had drawn
apart, Arthur swore a great oath that hereafter, as long as he
lived, the three should be as one; and, all joining hands, they
danced round the oak tree, singing:

" For three merry men, and three merry men,
And three merry men we be."

XIV

ROBIN AND THE BISHOP OF HEREFORD

T is not likely that even such hard-headed
fighters as Friar Tuck, the Tinker, and the
Tanner had more dents and holes in their
pates than had Robin. But he, brave and
big-hearted, looked upon such matters as part
and parcel of an outlaw's life. Of like dis-
positions were all his merry men, and they
obeyed and followed him willingly. The life they had chosen,
from either choice or necessity, was more enjoyable than any
other they could find — yet they were not held against their
wills. They could leave at any time if another and better path
could be found. So they loved and trusted one another, and there
was never the least chance that any would take aught from the
secret store of treasures without the captain's leave, for all had
enough.

The treasure was kept in a place so strong that the band
could defend it against an army without being dislodged except
by famine. After going through the trap-door of the great oak
you emerged from a tunnel inside the massive walls into a court-
yard, at each end of which was a square tower, built directly in
front on either side of the cave-opening. This cave, being used

[I49l

ROBIN HOOD

only for winter sleeping, was lighted and warmed by great log-
fires. The side towers, built of solid blocks of stone, had each
three large chambers, one above the other, reached by a winding
staircase. The north tower was the armory, in the lower chamber
of which suits of chain armor, knives, daggers, swords, bucklers,
bows and arrows, and other weapons were plentifully stored.
Above it was the clothiery, where great piles of cloth of every
color and material were kept on shelves, together with many
suits of clothes, both for disguise and general use. At the very
top was the treasury, of which Little John and Will Scarlet had
charge. In this chamber were heavy, iron-bound boxes holding
bags full of coins, both silver and gold. In other boxes were
jewels, ornaments, embroidered silks and velvets, and rare furs.

The southern square tower was the kitchen for cooking and
roasting in winter-time only. The second chamber was the
pantry, where all the venison pies, pastry, and bread were kept
for emergency stores. The top floor was the buttery, or store-
house, where were kept meal, flour, honey, spices, and other things
used for cooking and eating. This last room was entered from
the outside by. winding stairs. Beneath the towers were the
cellars for wines and ales. Except in winter this inner court was
deserted most of the time, for in spring, summer, and autumn out-
law life was out-of-doors.

Cooking was done in great clay ovens built over holes in the
ground, where the wood-fires were lighted. General work and
cleaning was done on long tables roofed over with thatched straw
and reeds as a protection from rain. On rainy days the band ate
under shelter, but in fair weather the food was best enjoyed served
on the grassy turf.

When Robin was fully restored, after his bout with Arthur-
a-Bland, and as vigorous as ever, he was in such a jolly mood that
he made a vow to have a feast and invite some noble guest to
share it. Early that morning some spies had brought news —
the Bishop of Hereford with a numerous retinue would pass
by the forest that day on his way to Nottingham town.
Thereat Robin was full glad, for, since the fat Bishop had lost his

[ISO]

ROBIN HOOD

golden chain at Allan-a-Dale's wedding, he had threatened many a
time to have Robin hanged, should he chance to catch him, to
the nearest tree. And so it was that the Bishop, who v traveled
much, never went abroad without a troop of men-at-arms. Robin
knew of the threat against him but cared not a whit. Only he
took good care to find out what road the Bishop would follow
in passing by the forest. On this bright, sunshiny morning he
called together half a dozen stout companions and said to them:

"Come, kill me a good fat deer. I mean this day to have com-
pany to dine with me, and the Bishop of Hereford will be among
them. I'll warrant he shall pay well for his cheer."

Then Robin and six of his men, all dressed as shepherds, started
off in quest of a fat buck, which they shot and carried to the high-
way side. Straightway they skinned it, dressed it, and made a
fire ready for cooking; but they let the carcass lie by the roadside,
waiting till the Bishop should come riding by. At last the Bishop
came along, decked out in all his fine attire (for he was a very
vain man), with his men-at-arms in the rear. When he saw the
shepherds, and what they had done, he called out in no friendly
tone:

"What is the matter, ye thieving knaves, and for whom do ye
make such a feast? Can it be that a few base hinds have the
hardihood to kill the King's deer and carouse by the wayside?
Who are ye, and how dare ye place your lives in such jeopardy?"

"We are poor shepherds, your lordship," quoth Robin, "who
work hard at keeping sheep all the year round without any flesh
food, and now have a mind to be merry for once by killing one of
the King's fat deer."

"Ye are bold villains," roared the Bishop, "and I will make it
my business to acquaint the King with these high doings. There-
fore come with me forthwith, and pick up the deer, for before the
King ye shall surely go."

"Oh, pardon!" said bold Robin Hood. "For it becomes not
your lordship's coat to take so many lives away."

"Pardon, forsooth, ye wretched varlets!" quoth the Bishop.
"No pardon do I owe thee. Wherefore should I pardon such

ROBIN HOOD

wanton mischief? The land has come to a pretty pass when even
shepherds crave to live like barons!"

Just at that moment one jf his retainers whispered to him,
"That same base churl is Robin Hood in disguise."

Thereat the Bishop's red face turned white, and he trembled
as if about to fall from his palfrey. None the less, he soon plucked
up courage and boldly shouted to his men-at-arms to surround
Robin and his comrades that they might catch him alive and
bring him to the dungeon in Nottingham Castle. But Robin
was too quick for them. Setting his back against a tree, he drew
from beneath his shepherd's smock his silver bugle; and, putting
it to his mouth, he blew a loud blast that reached far and wide.
This loud call affrighted the men-at-arms, for they knew its
meaning and feared that just as they were about to carry off Robin
his outlaw band would attack them and slay them without
mercy. So they stood stock still and heeded not the Bishop's
orders.

"How now, my men-at-arms!" he cried, angrily. "Seize the
villains at once!"

Just at that moment the soldiers saw threescore and ten of
bold Robin's men come tripping o'er the lea, and without more
ado they set their horses at a gallop and scampered off like rats
before the housewife's broom, leaving the Bishop to wonder
how he should get himself out of this sorry pickle. All the
outlaws filed in a row before Robin and made obeisance to him,
making as pretty a sight as the Bishop had e'er seen. Then
Little John said:

"What is the matter, my brave master, that thou blowest
so loud and hastily?"

"Oh, matter enow," cried Robin Hood. "Here is the Bishop
of Hereford, and no pardon shall we have from him."

"Cut off his head, master," quoth Little John, "and throw
him into his grave."

"Oh, pardon," said the Bishop. "For if I had known it had
been you, I would have gone some other way."

"No pardon do I owe thee," quoth bold Robin Hood. "Did
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ROBIN HOOD

I not, proud Bishop, ask pardon of thee but a little while agone,
and didst thou not bid thy brave followers to take me and bring
me to the King? Why should I now pardon thee? There-
fore make haste and come with me, for to merry Sherwood thou
shalt surely go as mine honored guest."

So the Bishop made the best of a bad matter, and they all
set out for the trysting-place, the outlaws carrying the carcass
of the deer on their shoulders. Robin took the Bishop's horse
by the bridle and led him along the woodland path till they
arrived at the great oak. Quoth the Bishop:

"I have much business in Nottingham this night that will
not stay my waiting. Moreover, I am in no need of victuals or
drink."

"No matter," said Robin. "Thou shalt sup with me to-
nigh ^whether thou likest or not, but I'll warrant thou art hungry
and athirst."

Now the Bishop was really very tired, hungry, and thirsty,
yet withal he would gladly have escaped, for he knew that
something more than a merry feast was toward. After a little
delay the feast was spread, the Bishop being placed between
Robin and Little John. The hot, smoking venison was set
before them, and the Bishop forgot himself and his troubles
so much as to say, "By the mass, it hath a savory smell."

"Yea," laughed Little John, "and the wine will please thy
palate as well."

When the Bishop had stuffed himself with meat and drink,
he shouted out: "Come, my merry masters, bring the reckoning,
that I may pay for this most excellent feast. Methinks, if it
goes on much longer, the score will grow wondrous high."

"Lend me your purse, good Bishop," quoth Little John, "and
I'll tell you the price of the feast by and by." Then Little John
took the Bishop's cloak and spread it upon the greensward,
and, turning the purse upside down, poured forth a clinking
stream of golden coins.

"Here's money enough, master," quoth he, "to pay the
reckoning, and 'tis a comely sight to see. Let us count the

ROBIN HOOD

coins; such a full purse makes me feel charitable toward the
Bishop, though I warrant he loveth me not so heartily." When
the money was counted they found it to be just three hundred
pounds.

"Pick it up carefully," said Robin, "and go place it in my
treasury. To the Bishop we will return the empty purse. In
sooth, when he getteth more money he will have a pouch to keep
it, ready for our next merry meeting."

Then they took the Bishop by the hand, and bade Allan-a-Dale
to play lively music upon his harp. Hand in hand, they made
the fat old Bishop dance in his boots round and round the oak-
tree. At last, both tired and weary, he was set upon his horse.
Robin told off two men for guides; and the Bishop, glad indeed
to get away, was soon jogging through the forest on his way
to Nottingham town.

Later the outlaws learned from a spy that the Bishop's urgent
business in Nottingham was to receive church tithes and doles
gathered from certain lands and property held by him round-
about Nottingham town. Angry and ill-tempered toward every
one of his men, whom he found awaiting him, he conceived it
his first duty to keep dinning loud complaints into the ears of
the poor, half-distracted Sheriff. After patiently listening to
the tale the Sheriff made answer:

"I tell thee, pious Bishop, if thou lovest thy skin and dost
wish to keep it whole, the next time thou goest upon the highway
nigh Sherwood, turn neither to the right nor the left. Bid thy
men march straight on, and tarry not."

"But," interrupted the Bishop, "if we see a pack of rascals
feeding and feasting on the King's deer by the wayside, we must
in the King's name protect his own."

"Nay, nay, by our Good Lady, thou art wrong. This sly fox
knows our doings, our goings and comings. He doth devise all
manner of disguises, wicked plots, and audacious schemes to
encompass thee and thy money. No matter if thou shouldst
espy the King bound to a tree, thy best course would be e'en
to let the King care for his own; for I'll warrant it to be a stuffed

[156]

"HERE'S MONEY ENOUGH MASTER," QUOTH LITTLE
JtfHN, "TO PAY THE RECKONING"

ROBIN HOOD

image of his majesty. When thou dost journey through the
country hereabout, go with empty purse and in plain attire.
Let thy servants carry thy gold."

"Nay, by the mass!" quoth the Bishop. "They are greater
thieves than Robin Hood."

"Hast thou, good Bishop, no trusty followers to carry thy
wealth ? " f

"None so trusty as myself," said the Bishop.

"Then in good sooth," said the Sheriff, "I am at a loss to
advise thee, unless thou likest to return home by another road,
which perchance may baffle the villain and his band."

That night the Bishop rested with Friar Bertrand — a sly,
unsavory man, with wide jaws and wicked little black eyes, who
lived by his wits. This Bertrand was by far too timid to at-
tempt aught against the Bishop, but he was glib of tongue and
ready with advice.

"If your Grace goes the other way, that will be just what the
outlaw will expect you to do. Therefore go back the same way
as you came. Such a bold act will deceive the villain."

"Thou saist truly," quoth the Bishop; and the next morning,
sure enough, he started back on the road by which he had come.
Now it chanced that this Bertrand had a servant just as false as
his master, who acted as a spy; and he gave the outlaws warning
of the Bishop's new plans. The next morning was bright and sun-
shiny, and Robin was taking a stroll through the forest by him-
self. He had bidden a number of his comrades to go by another
path and meet him on the highway. Presently he was aware of
strangers approaching, but could not see them through the thick
maze of woodland trees. Then he bethought him, "If I stay any
longer, alone as I am, I shall be taken prisoner." So off he ran
down a path.

The strangers proved to be the Bishop and his company of
soldiers, who at once recognized Robin by his green mantle.
Seeing that he was alone, they gave chase and pressed closely
behind him. Robin turned about and chanced to spy a little
cottage, into which he ran crying out to the old wife:

[i59l

ROBIN HOOD

"Haste thee, good dame, and give me means to save my life."

"Why, who art thou?" said the old woman. "Come, tell me,
for thine own good."

"I am an outlaw; many do call me by the name of Robin Hood.
Out yonder is the Bishop of Hereford, with his men-at-arms, who
would fain take me. If they do, the Bishop hath sworn to hang
me on the limb of a tree."

"If thou art Robin Hood," said the good old wife, "as I am
full sure thou art, I will make some means to foil the Bishop
and all his company. For I remember one Saturday night thou
didst bring me both shoon and hosen. Therefore, I will hide
thee and keep thee from thine enemies."

"Then give me thy old coat of gray," said Robin, "and take
thou my mantle of green, and I will take up thy spindle and twine
in exchange for my bow and arrow." Thus arrayed, bold Robin
issued forth, passing by the Bishop's soldiers, to join his comrades
by the wayside; and as he drew nigh them Little John spied him
coming along the glade.

"See, my merry men," cried he, "that old witch stalking along
the path. I will let fly an arrow that she may do no more harm
to little children."

"Hold thy hand," shouted Robin. "I am thy good master,
Robin Hood, arrayed thus to escape the Bishop's men."

Meanwhile the Bishop in a furious voice called out to the old
woman: "We saw that traitor thief, Robin Hood, enter thy cot-
tage. Let us search, or bring him unto us."

The frightened old woman then opened the cottage door; and
the Bishop, upon seeing a figure dressed in a mantle of green,
holding a bow, dragged her out and placed her on a milk-white
steed and rode beside her on a dapple-gray mare. Chuckling
and laughing with great glee at so easy a capture of the bold
outlaw, the Bishop said:

"By my faith, this will be joyful news for the Sheriff. We will
ride back to Nottingham and place this precious rogue in a
dungeon where he hath belonged this many a year — and nobody
brave enough but a churchman to catch him!"

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ROBIN HOOD

Thus talking and laughing, they rode along, till at length the
Bishop spied a hundred brave bowmen standing in a line fronting
on their path. Then quoth he:

"Oh, who are those men yonder that range within the woodland
shade?"

"Marry," said the old woman, "I think it be Robin Hood and
his merry men."

"God-a-mercy then," the Bishop cried, "who art thou which
I have here by my side?"

"Why, I am an old woman; look on my long gray hair," cried
she.

"Woe is me," said the Bishop, "that ever I saw this day!"

When the Bishop's company saw the bold array of the outlaw
band come marching forth, with Little John at their head, they
straightway scurried off to hide, as they had done before, leaving
the Bishop once more alone. Even the old woman rode off on
the Bishop's white steed without being noticed, so frightened he
was at this sudden turn of fortune.

"Take courage, good Bishop," said Robin, "and get off thy
horse while I tie it to a tree; for I see thy purse is wondrous fat,
and would fain know what is in it." Then he took off his mantle
and spread it on the ground.

"Now," quoth Little John, laughing, "let us see the purse."

So they turned it over and found five hundred pounds of good
money.

"Now he can go," said Robin.

"Nay," quoth Little John, "that may not be, for I vow before
he leaves us he shall sing a mass to us and our good outlaw band."

The Bishop obeyed their order in a most doleful tone of voice.

Then they set him upon his horse backward and gave him the

tail for a bridle, sending six stout fellows to guide him to the

road, where he could again meet his men and go upon his way.

11

XV

ROBIN HOOD AND THE BEGGAR

)BIN HOOD had been outlawed when he
was only fifteen years old — in other words,
officers and soldiers of the Crown could kill
him at sight without a trial. Of his own free
will he chose to lead such a life in defiance
of the law. At the age of thirty-five he had
(gathered about him a large band of brave
[lowers who would, one and all, shed their last drop of blood for
him if need were. Wise and just he was in his dealings, oft-
times charitable to the poor and needy, brave and dangerous in
fight. The rich barons and churchmen who ground the faces of
the poor trembled at his very name. What he took from those
that fell in his way he did not waste, but found good means — as
you will see later — to help many who were sadly in need of
succor. His love of adventure did not wane with the passing
years; and, though he needed no more men for his band, he was
just as ready as ever to test the bravery in fair fight of all who
crossed his path.

Now it fell upon a fair afternoon that Robin went alone through
a fern-clad forest path. After a while he got upon the highroad,
where he met a beggar going sturdily along at a good pace, looking

[162]

ROBIN HOOD

neither to the right nor to the left, noticing no one as he strode on
his way. In his hand he held a pike-staff that was both stout and
strong, while wound about his body was a clouted cloth folded
many times, making an excellent covering from wind and rain.
Tied to a leathern strap there hung from his neck a large meal-
bag, firmly fastened to a stout, broad buckle, and upon his head
were three hats stuck fast together, one above the other, so
that wherever he went little did he care either for sun or for
rain.

When good Robin spied this oddly attired stranger he stepped
boldly right in front of him, for he had a shrewd thought that
the beggar was not so poor as he seemed.

"Tarry," quoth Robin. "Tarry awhile and speak with me."

But the beggar, making as if he had not heard him, went
but the faster on his way, without so much as a turn of his
head.

"Marry," said Robin, "thou showest me scant courtesy.
Thou must tarry, for I have somewhat to say to thee."

"By my three hats," cried the beggar, in a harsh voice, "to
tarry I have no will, for it groweth late, and it is yet far to my
lodging-house. Should they have supper before I get there,
perchance my stomach shall go bare of food."

"Now, by my troth," said good Robin, "I see well that in
thinking only of thine own supper, thou hast no care of mine.
All this day have I eaten no food, and wot not where to lie this
night. To the tavern would I go, but in sooth I have no money.
Sir stranger, you must lend me some till we meet again."

The beggar answered peevishly: "I have no money to lend;
methinks thou art as young as I and as strong, I warrant. If
thou dost fast till I lend thee money, thou shalt eat naught this
year."

"Then," said bold Robin, "by my troth, since we are to-
gether here, if thou hast but a dipt farthing I'll take it from
thee ere thou go. Come, beggar, lay down thy clouted cloth
and cease to stand there staring me in the face; for I will open
up all thy bags, thy tag-rags and bobtails, and rip them to

[163!

ROBIN HOOD

pieces with my hands. Shouldst thou make an outcry, I vow
by the saints to try how far a broad arrow can pierce a beggar's
skin."

The beggar looked at Robin with a wry smile upon his face
and made answer thus:

"Far better let me be; for do not think I care a straw, or be
afeard for thy nip-crooked tree that thou call'st a bow, nor that
I care any whit for thy curn sticks that thou call'st arrows,
which are no more, in sooth, than skewers to fasten up a pudding
bag withal. Here do I defy thee to do me harm — for all thy loud
talk thou wilt get nothing from me but ill."

Such fearless words from a ragged beggar roused Robin's
wrath. Straightway he nocked a broad arrow and bent his
great bow. But e'er 'twas drawn a span, the beggar with his
stout pike-staff reached forward with so swift a stroke that the
bow burst in twain. Nothing daunted, Robin with a bound
darted to strike down the beggar with his sword, but that proved
likewise vain, for the fellow with his pike-staff struck such a
fierce blow on Robin's hand that his sword fell to the ground.

Good Robin could not speak a word, for he was sick at heart
and faint from bitter pain. Unable either to fight or to flee, he
knew not what to do. Yet still the beggar with his terrible
pike-staff laid lusty blows upon his side and back, till at last
Robin fell down on the soft sward in a swoon, lying helpless and
bleeding at the mercy of his terrible foe.

"Stand up, stand up/' the beggar man said; " 'tis a shame to
go to rest. In truth, I think it were best to stay till thou gettest
thy money. Then go to the tavern and buy both food and wine
with the beggar's money. There thou canst boast of what thou
didst get in the forest."

Good Robin answered ne'er a word, but lay still as a stone.
Closed were both his eyes, and his cheeks were pale as any clay.
With a few more blows upon his body the beggar thought him
dead, and leaving him to lie stark and still, his face upturned
to the sky, he strode on his way.

Now it so happened that by good chance three of Robin's

ROBIN HOOD

band came walking by the way and found their master lying on
the ground, wounded, bleeding, and senseless.

"Who hath done this foul deed, comrades?" said one. "Let
us take our dear master up, and carry him to yon brook, that we
may sprinkle water on his face and so bring him to life." So they
took up good Robin, who made a piteous moan, while blood
gushed forth from his mouth and nose. Yet though they searched
all over his body, they found no cuts, but many cruel bruises.
When his brow had been bathed with cold water, Robin at last
came to his senses enough to speak a little.

"Tell us, dear master," said his men, "tell us what is the
matter, and how thou didst fall into such an evil case."

Good Robin sighed deep e'er he began to tell of his disgrace.
"For twenty years and more have I been outlaw and forester
in this wood, yet I was never so hard bestead as ye have found
me here. A beggar with a clouted cloak hath with his pike-staff
so mauled my back that I fear 'twill never be well. He went
o'er yon hill, and upon his head he carried three hats. If e'er
ye loved your master, go now to revenge me of this vile deed
and bring him back to me again. Take care that he escape
you not, for if ye cannot bring him to me, 'twere a great shame
upon us all."

"One of us shall stay with thee because thou art in no state
to be left alone, and the other two, I warrant, shall bring the
villain beggar back to use as thou listest."

"Now, by my faith," said good Robin, "enough has been said.
Take good heed, for I fear me ye will both be evil a-paid if he get
a chance to swing his wicked tree around your noddles."

"Be not afraid, dear master, that we two can be bested by
any base beggar that carries naught but a staff! Thou shalt
shortly see that his staff will stand him in no stead. He shall
be brought back again, fast bound, to see if thou wilt have us
slay him."

"Be sly, then," said Robin, "and by stealth work your way
into his path before he is aware. Then pounce upon him, and
first of all lay hands on his staff."

[167]

ROBIN HOOD

The two outlaws then left Robin, clinging to a tree, like a
poor, tottering old man. Now the beggar had mended his pace
and was striding along over the hill, giving no thought to the
trouble he had caused and only anxious to reach his lodging ere
nightfall. The two outlaws ran at full speed by a lower path,
careless of the mud and briars along the way, going a distance
of over three miles. Then, turning to a little clump of bushes
in a glen that the beggar must surely pass, they hid themselves
close behind trees on each side of the path, standing ready till the
beggar drew nigh. After a little they saw him coming, and just
as he got betwixt them both leaped upon him. One gripped the
pike-staff; and the other, with drawn dagger at his breast,
cried :

"False and bloody knave, quit thy staff, or thou shalt need a
priest. Stir but a hair under thy three hats and, by Saint Wil-
frid, I will drive this dirk to the hilt in thy black heart."

Taken off his guard, the beggar was so affrighted that he dared
not move. He could not run, he could not wield his staff. He was
not sure but other outlaws might be near; so in despair, thinking
that at last his life's end was near at hand, he began to crave
mercy.

"Grant me my life," he pleaded, "and hold away that ugly
knife. I never harmed you in all my life, neither by night nor
day, and indeed you do a great sin if you slay a poor silly
beggar."

"Thou liest, false and cruel varlet," cried the outlaw who held
his staff. "Thou hast near slain the gentlest and kindest man
that e'er was born. Back again to him thou shalt be led, fast
bound with thongs, to see if he will have thee slain or bid us hang
thee on a tree."

Then the beggar thought that all was done with him, though if
he could but escape out of their hands and get hold of his staff
he was sure that he would teach them another game. While
they made ready to bind him he cudgeled his brains for some wily
scheme to free himself. The only way that came into his mind
was to tempt them with money; so he said:

[168!

THE BEGGAR FLUNG THE MEAL IN THEIR FACES

ROBIN HOOD

" Brave gentlemen, be good to me, and let me go. It helps you
not a flea to take a beggar's blood. 'Twas but to save mine own
hide that I did hurt your master, and listen, good friends — I will
give you a recompense that shall make you rich if you will but
set me free and do me no more harm. I will give you a hundred
pounds, and much more odd silver that I have gathered these
many years. Under this clouted cloak I have it, far hidden
beneath its folds next to my skin and eke in the bottom of my
meal-bag."

To this neither of the young men answered a word, but each
looked at his companion to see whether he would be false to his
honor and disgrace the band. One argued, "We will take the
money to our captain and tell him that the beggar is slain."
The other said, "Our orders were 'Bring him back alive or dead/"
At last they agreed to yield to the beggar's counsel and let him
go, then follow after and take him again by stealth when they had
his money; for, being swift of foot, they might easily overtake
him.

"False knave," said one, "say no more, but get the money
and count it out. 'Tis little enough to pay for the ill turn thou
hast done our master; yet come what may, if thou dost give us
the money now we will not take thee back."

So the beggar thanked them right heartily, and straightway set
about loosening his clouted cloak to spread it on the ground. Then
he took from his neck a bag containing over two pecks of meal,
which he set down upon the cloak. Opening wide the bag, he
bent down and felt in every nook and corner for the money. Both
young men drew their faces closer to see the gold appear, when of
a sudden the beggar lifted out two great handfuls of meal and
flung it in their faces, blinding them so that they could do naught
with their hands save strive to wipe the meal from eyes, nose, and
mouth. In a trice the beggar grasped his pike-staff and, with a
gleeful laugh, cried :

"Now, my pretty pair of blades, if I've done you wrong in
mealing of your clothes, with my staff I will strike off the meal
again."

ROBIN HOOD

With that, he began to ply his staff, filling the air with meal
from their bodies as his mighty blows fell on their shoulders,
necks, and arms. The young outlaws, half blinded and choked,
could do naught to help themselves. They turned and ran with
all the speed they could muster, leaving the beggar shaking his
staff in the air and calling upon them to stay awhile and get well
dusted.

"What's all this haste?" he cried. "May not you tarry still?
I'll pay you with a right good will until ye have had enough and
to spare. The shakings of my meal-bag have by chance blown
into your eyes, but what of that? I have a good pike-staff
that will soon make them clear."

Thus he went on entreating them in right loving fashion to
tarry, but the young outlaws heard him not, for they were far
away. Since the night was creeping on apace, it would be vain
to follow and attack him now, so they thought it wise to return,
and with sad hearts and downcast looks they got them back to
their master.

"Well, my comrades," asked Robin, "how did ye speed in your
quest?"

They answered him, "Full ill, and we were evil a-paid."

"That cannot be," quoth Robin. "A man would think to
look at your clothes that ye have been working for the miller.
Tell me the matter truly — how ye fared, and what ye have done
with the bold beggar I sent you for but now."

The young men drooped down, hanging their heads for very
shame, and could not speak a word. Then, with true anger in
his voice, Robin said :

"Because I fell beneath the cudgel of this beggar fiend I think
ye feared he would serve you in the same fashion."

At these words, so true and so just, the young men confessed,
and told Robin the truth all to the end — how the beggar
blinded them with the meal, how he basted their bones so
sore to dust it from their clothes, and how they fled to the
forest.

Good Robin cried out: "Fie, fie for shame! We are dis-
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ROBIN HOOD

honored forevermore. Help me to lift my weary bones, and
take me quickly to my bower."

As they carried him along the path he thought he would full
fain have revenge, yet even in his pain he smiled to think that
two of his merry young men had gotten a taste of that beggar's
pike-staff besides himself.

XVI

ROBIN SELLS POTS AND DISHES

)BIN was angered to the depths of his heart
at thought of the beggar's brutishness, for he
himself had never in his life struck a fallen
foe, to say nothing of beating a man who lay
senseless and helpless at his feet. Yet anon
he bethought him: "In sooth, I was to blame!
I brought it upon mine own head, and must
perforce bear the pain I got." Such were his thoughts as he
painfully dragged his aching bones along, with the help of his
two followers, back through the forest to the oak glade. It
seemed an age before he got there, and twice he fainted from
weakness. Little John met them with a very sad face, and he
wept to see his master in such a plight. Then with his strong
arms he fairly carried Robin to his bower, there to lie a month
or more till his swollen, bruised body grew strong and well once
more.

Many a time he bemoaned himself bitterly to Little John
because he could not go abroad. Then, with comforting words,
mixed with a spice of sound advice, Little John would soothe
him, saying:

"In truth, my dear master, thou art too prone to fight with
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ROBIN HOOD

quarter-staff against a foe more used to that weapon. With
thy good long-bow, the case is different, for thou would'st ever
be the victor."

"I cannot in cold blood," quoth Robin, "send a shaft through
a foe's body with but a pace or two between us. Once I slew a
man, and ne'er again will I take life save at dire need or in the
heat of combat. But, by the mass, I will no longer lie here like
a cat tied in a bag."

Again Little John would gently chide his master, bidding him
wait at least till he could stand upon his legs without wabbling.
"For," said he, "our treasure is ample, our wants are all sup-
plied, and the men content. Be patient, therefore, for in a week
or more, once again thou wilt be strong — long before the wintry
wind blows through the glade.'*

At last, toward the end of summer, the three best leeches of
the band — Friar Tuck, Arthur-a-Bland, and Little John — agreed
that Robin was well enough to go upon short trips to hunt the
deer. Shooting contests were held and games resumed, as a
change from the more serious work of gathering in the winter
stores. It was now the middle of August. The days were
warm, the evenings long and light till ten o'clock, so that the
band was in a merry mood, as was their wont when all went
well.

Thus it was that, on the next day, a bright, fair morn, being a
Saturday and a market-day, Robin, Little John, and others of the
band set forth toward the great highway that ran along the forest
edge, to gather tolls from any that were able to pay, and give
away, for charity's sake, to those in dire need. Anon they saw
a man sitting on the shafts of a rude little cart pulled by a pony.
The cart was filled with mugs, basins, and other pottery vessels,
which the man bought very cheap at Stoke, where they were
made, and carted from town to town to sell at a good profit.
He was singing a merry ditty, now and then whipping up his
pony that he might reach Nottingham market in good time.
It was plain by his looks that he could take good care of his
pots as well as himself.

[i7Sl

ROBIN HOOD

"Yonder comes a stout potter," quoth jolly Robin, "that
hath crossed this forest many a time, yet hath never paid one
penny of passage money to us. He shall not escape us this time,
I warrant."

"Better let him pass, good master," said Little John. "I met
the fellow once at Wentbridge, and he gave me three such clouts
that I want no more from him, though I gave him clout for clout.
I will lay forty shillings there is not a man among us that can
make the potter pay toll."

Bold Robin could not let that pass. "Here are forty shillings,"
he cried, "and more will I lay that I can make that bold potter
pay some token for his passage."

"He will give thee his staff for a token! I vow that from him
thou wilt get no other pay, my master," said John. But Robin,
without more words, strode to the middle of the highroad, and,
standing firm as a rock till the potter drew nigh, laid his hand
on the bridle, bidding the man stand.

"Fellow," bawled the potter, "what is thy will?"

"All these three years and more, potter," quoth Robin, "thou
hast passed by this way, yet never hast been so courteous as to
pay a penny of toll to us."

"What is thy name?" said the potter, "and what is thy right
to ask for passage money of me on the King's highway?"

"Robin Hood is my name, and king of these woods am I, to
whom it is thy bounden duty to pay toll."

"Not a bad farthing shalt thou get from me," said the potter.
"Let go thy hand from my horse, or I vow to strike it off with
my staff." Straightway leaping down from the shaft, he un-
strapped from under the cart a stout pike-staff, saying in angry
tones: "Now, bold outlaw, take thy hand from my horse."

Robin drew his sword and, with a buckler upon his arm, ad-
vanced to meet the potter, who with a powerful balk-stroke
smote off the shield. In a trice the naughty pike-staff was brought
down with another fierce blow on Robin's neck as he stooped
to get his buckler again. So stiff was the stroke that it sent
Robin sprawling on the ground.

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ROBIN HOOD

"Let us go to help our master," cried Little John, "or yon
potter will do him harm."

Then, running toward Robin, with shouts of laughter, he said :
"Who has won the wager now? Shall I have the forty shillings,
or shall ye, master, have mine?"

"Yea, were they a hundred shillings," said Robin, "in faith,
they are all thine."

"There is little courtesy," said the potter, "as I have heard
wise men say, to take from a poor yeoman what little he hath
while driving along the highway."

"By my faith, thou saist true," said Robin, "and from this
day forth thou shalt never be hindered; for a friendship would
I have with thee, and good payment will I give. Make exchange
with me of thy clothing, for I will sell pots in Nottingham town,
and thou shalt stay here in the forest to feast on good venison.
When I come back, if I sell all, thine shall be the gain."

"Marry, to that I will agree," quoth the potter. "Thou shalt
find me an honest fellow; and if thou canst sell my pots well,
come back again when thou dost list."

Then spake Little John and his comrades, saying: "Master,
take care and beware of the Sheriff, for he would gladly slay thee
by fair means or foul. Alone, thou shalt be in great jeopardy."

"Nay, my good comrades," quoth Robin, "let me be, for by
the help of our Good Lady to Nottingham will I go."

So Robin changed clothes with the potter, and, with some
touches here and there to make a better disguise, he jumped
on the shaft of the cart and drove away in a jolly mood, singing
a merry song. When he reached Nottingham, he drew up his
horse close by the Sheriff's gate, and gave it some oats and hay.
Then setting forth his pots, both large and small, upon the cart,
so as to make the best show, he began to cry out:

"Crocks and pots, jugs and mugs, who wants to buy? I
give one extra, no matter how large or small."

This way of bargaining was new to the wives and widows of
Nottingham, and soon drew a large crowd round his cart. Not
content with throwing in an extra pot, Robin sold pots worth

12 [177]

ROBIN HOOD

five pence for three pence. This made the women gape, both
old and young; and while they bought they said to each other,
slyly, "This potter will never thrive at this rate."

"Thou wilt have none left'ere long, if thou dost sell so cheap,"
said one buxom wife.

"For that cause came I hither," quoth smiling Robin, "to
sell all I have." And he did sell so fast that before noon only
five pieces were left.

"Well done, thou cunning potter," said Robin to himself.
"These five unsold pots will I give with my compliments to the
Sheriff's wife." And so, in sooth, he did.

"Grammercy, sir," said the Sheriff's wife, with a tender smile
on good Robin. "When thou dost come to this town again I
shall buy what pots I want from you, so much do I like thy
courtesy. Thy kindness is truly great, and I would that thou
mightest come and dine with the Sheriff and me."

"God's mercy, good lady," said Robin, "thy bidding shall
be done."

Then a young maid carried in the pots, and Robin followed the
Sheriff's wife to the hall, where he met the Sheriff, who spake
him fair.

"Look," quoth the lady, "what this potter hath given thee
and me for a present — five pots, both large and small."

"He is full welcome," said the Sheriff. "Let us enter and go
to dine."

As they sat at the table, with merry talk and laughter, two
of the Sheriff's men began to speak of a prize of forty shillings
offered for the best shooting with the long-bow among the towns-
people that day. "Now, as I am a true Christian man," Robin
said to himself, "this shooting-match will I see."

When they had appeased their hunger upon the very best of
bread, ale, and wine, to the shooting-butts they all went to see
who would win the prize. The Sheriff's men began to shoot,
but they were very poor archers, and none of them got nearer
the mark than half the length of a long-bow. The potter looked
on with great contempt; and when the Sheriff said, "What

I GIVE ONE EXTRA, NO MATTER HOW LARGE OR SMALL"

ROBIN HOOD

thinkest thou, good potter, of our archery?" he made answer:
"In plain truth, it seemeth to me to be very vile. An I had a
bow, with one shot I would beat them all."

"I warrant thou shalt have a bow for that one shot," quoth the
Sheriff, "the best thou mayst choose from such as we have. Thou
seemest strong and stalwart as any here." He then bade a yeo-
man that stood by bring some bows for the potter to choose from.

" Tis the best here," quoth Robin, as he took up a bow,
"though in sooth 'tis a poor, weak thing. Nevertheless, with it
I will make good my word."

So without more ado he strode up to the line, side by side with
the Sheriff's men, who smiled and twitted him upon his impu-
dence in daring to shoot in such company. The potter answered
naught, but, pulling the string to his ear, he carelessly shot the
arrow within a foot of the mark. Then the Sheriff's men tried
once more with little better success. When the potter again took
his place to shoot, they had greater respect for his skill and
waited anxiously to see what he would do. Taking much more
careful aim, he let fly the shaft and cleft the wand apart, much
to the wonder of the Sheriff's men, who thought it great shame
that a common potter should win the prize from them. But
the Sheriff and his wife were both mightily pleased, and said to
the potter:

"Thou art a man worthy to bear a bow in whatever place thou
goest."

"In my cart," he made answer, "I have a bow that I had
from Robin Hood."

"Knowest thou Robin Hood?" asked the surprised Sheriff.
"Prithee, tell me of him."

"A hundred times," replied the potter, "have I shot with him
under his trysting-tree."

"By my faith," quoth the Sheriff, "I would give a hundred
pounds to have that villainous outlaw now stand before me here."

"I would fain win that hundred pounds," said the potter, "and
to-morrow after we have taken our breakfast, if thou wilt boldly
go with me, I will e'en show thee Robin Hood."

[181]

ROBIN HOOD

"I will requite thee well," said the Sheriff, joyfully. "By my
faith, thou shalt not repent of serving me in this matter."

Upon the morrow the potter was early ready with horse and
cart. Taking leave of the Sheriff's wife, he thanked her heartily
for her good cheer.

"Good dame," quoth he, "for my love to you, be pleased to
wear this gold ring."

"Grammercy, good sir, I yield to thy wish, for I trow the
Sheriff's heart was never so light to see the fair forest as in the
company of so gallant a companion."

So the Sheriff, on his horse, and the potter, seated in his little
cart, both set off for Sherwood.

The morning was bright and warm, and the little birds sang
merrily among the green leaves. "The greenwood is a merry
place," said Robin, "for a man that has aught to spend, and by the
sound of my horn we shall soon know if Robin Hood be near at
hand." Then he set his horn to his mouth and blew a blast both
loud and long, that could be heard far adown the forest glade.

"I hear my master's call," said Little John. "Let us haste,
and run to see if all be well." Anon through an opening of the
trees they appeared before the potter and addressed him, saying:

"Master, how hast thou fared in Nottingham? Hast thou sold
all thy wares?"

"Yea, by my troth, Little John. Look thou and see. I have
brought the Sheriff of Nottingham in exchange for my goods."

"He is full welcome," said Little John. "Such tidings make
us glad."

'Twas then that the Sheriff saw the trick that the potter had
served him, and he thought he would rather have given a hundred
pounds than to have met Robin Hood that day.

"Had I known," quoth he, "that thou wert Robin Hood, thou
shouldst not have seen this fair forest for a thousand years."

"That wot I well," said jolly Robin, laughing. "Therefore
thou shalt leave thy horse and other gear with us. Hither thou
earnest a-horseback, and back thou shalt go afoot to give my
greetings to thy good wife at home. I shall give her a white

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ROBIN HOOD

palfrey, and thou mayst tell her that had she used less courtesy
thou wouldst have fared much more sadly at our hands." Thus
the Sheriff parted from Robin, and to Nottingham he took his
way.

His wife was there to give him a welcome. "How didst thou
fare in the greenwood?" she said. "And hast thou brought
Robin home?"

The Sheriff swore a great oath and said: "I have been basely
scorned, and tricked of all the moneys I took to the greenwood.
My large, fine horse, its gold trappings, my pouch with a hundred
pounds, were all stript from me amid the jeers and merry quips
of that vile band."

Upon that, the good dame laughed loud and long. "Now,"
quoth she, "he has then been well paid for all those pots he gave
to us."

So we leave the unhappy Sheriff and return to the greenwood,
where Robin called the potter to him, saying, "Good potter, what
were thy pots worth that I sold in Nottingham market?"

Quoth the potter: "They were worth two pounds, but I should
have traded and made more by my traffic."

"Thou shalt have ten pounds," said jolly Robin. "And re-
member, bold potter, when thou comest to the greenwood thou
shalt ever be welcome."

So they parted as the best of friends, each well satisfied with
the other. Then the potter set off blithe and merry on his way
back to Stoke to get his cart refilled with pots and crocks, hoping
to make as good a trade again. " But of that," quoth he, " I have
grave doubts — there is but one Robin Hood."

XVII

ROBIN AND SIR GUY OF GISBOURNE

>HIS latest clever trick of Robin Hood's was
the last straw that broke the Sheriff's pa-
tience. He wept and sobbed; he wailed and
sighed full sore. Each man that sat at meat
with him or passed him upon the streets of
Nottingham town seemed to be Robin Hood in
disguise. The disgrace was so much the harder
to bear because his wife found delight in constantly talking of the
comely, courteous outlaw and his present of the gold ring, which she
still wore. So the Sheriff longed for a dire revenge, and searched
eagerly for some means whereby he might put an end at once and
forever to the troubles he had borne for twenty-odd years.

At last he bethought him to give a great feast and invite as
many as would come of the barons and knights of the shire. For
he thought that if they would not help him with money and men
they might at least advise him how best to rid the near-by forests
of these pests. He had oft tried to get the aid of bold yeomen
of his town, but they had flatly said him nay, for many of them
had received kindness from Robin and his men. So the Sheriff
bade his servants prepare a great feast, to which came not a few
of the barons and knights.

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ROBIN HOOD

When they had eaten of the good things and drunk well of
the wine, the Sheriff arose and addressed them, laying bare all
his woe. Thereat one brave knight got upon his feet and said:

"Sir Sheriff, while we grieve with thee in this trouble, not
one of us can soil his knightly hands to draw sword in so mean
a cause — to wit, the catching of a rascally deer-stealer. Such
base deeds are meet for thy yeomen or the King's foresters."

"Oft have I promised them much gold," quoth the Sheriff,
"but they either will not or dare not encounter this band. Yea,
they all turn pale at the name of Robin Hood."

"In faith," quoth the knight, "I know not any other means
whereby thou canst have thy will unless, haply, some knight
down at the heels for want of friends and gold were willing to
lead a company of trained men to the forest and drive the out-
laws away."

"Dost thou, Sir Knight, know of such a one?*'

"There is one," replied the knight, "who would do thy bid-
ding, if the prize were great. This Sir Guy of Gisbourne is
bold enough to do any deed thou mayst set for him, nor will
he value his knightly honor above five hundred pounds."

After the guests had gone the Sheriff lost no time in seeking
out this Sir Guy, and on the morrow he sent a messenger on horse-
back to the little market-town of Gisbourne in the west Riding
of Yorkshire. Now Sir Guy was poor; he had wasted his sub-
stance in riotous living; but, instead of repenting, he was ever
ready to do any deed, however base, not only because he needed
gold, but for the mere love of doing evil.

In his native town he was feared by every man, and ab-
horred by every wife, widow, or lass. Besides his wickedness he
was the ugliest creature in merry England. His naturally savage
features were scarred by many wounds and cuts, for he had
been to the wars in the Holy Land, in Ireland, in Scotland, and
in the South. Everywhere he went, ever fighting; yet he seemed
to bear a charmed life. Utterly cruel, with a black and stony
heart, his bold and fierce demeanor affrighted all men. When
he was angry, his face 2nd scars turned a livid blue, so awful to

[i87l

ROBIN HOOD

look upon that his foes took him for a demon risen from the
regions below. It was his wont to go clad from head to foot in
the hide of a horse. The ears stood up from a hood, back of
which hung the mane, and below was the horse's tail. This
body-covering was tanned soft with the hair outside, so that he
who wore it looked more a beast than a man. Such, then, was
the evil Sir Guy, whom the Sheriff's messenger went to seek
as a leader to fight and destroy the good and kind Robin Hood
and his merry outlaws.

When he reached the little town of Gisbourne, the messenger
had little trouble in learning the whereabouts of him he sought.

"What is the price?" roared Sir Guy, when he had heard the
tale. "Repeat to me the sum, that I be not mistaken."

"Five hundred pounds in good coin," said the messenger,
"for the living body of Robin Hood, or his head if thou slayest
him."

' 'Tis a fair sum for so slight a deed," said Sir Guy, slowly,
"and, to be brief, I will do the Sheriff's will. The outlaw's head
is mine; the money is earned. Dost thou hear that?" Down
came his fist with such a crack on the table that the messenger
nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Yea, Sir Guy, I hear, and doubt it not."

"Well for thee thou hast no doubts. What, ho! knavish hind!"
he shouted to a servant. "Get my horse, and furnish him for
combat. Get me my two Irish daggers and my longest brown
Egyptian blade. There is work afoot for us, so choose the tough-
est yew long-bow and double-pointed shafts, and be ready anon."

All was soon in readiness, and ere long the two were riding
back toward Nottingham; which they reached late on the fol-
lowing day. Meanwhile, the Sheriff had not been idle. He fore-
saw that Sir Guy would willingly do a work so much to his taste,
especially for a prize so large. He had already gathered together
a hundred of his own men and two hundred of the King's foresters.
The latter he would place under the command of Sir Guy, and
he himself would lead his own servants. He was no coward, to
say sooth, though his men were not of the same metal.

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ROBIN HOOD

When the knight presented himself, the Sheriff's joy was un-
bounded. "Such a fierce-looking monster did I ne'er behold,"
he thought. "Surely he will slay bold Robin." Then he said
aloud: "Thrice welcome art thou, Sir Knight of Gisbourne. Let
us dine and then talk of what we have to do."

So they went into the hall, where Sir Guy seated himself
opposite the place where the Sheriff's wife would sit. Un-
sheathing his two Irish daggers, he laid one shining blade close
beside his platter, the other beside his wine-goblet, and pre-
pared to eat. The Sheriff's wife had been told of this man,
and what he was about to do, but she was so affrighted at the
knives and the fellow's evil looks that she fainted dead away
in the arms of her husband, who helped the servants to carry
her away from the table.

"What is the matter with thy good lady, Sir Sheriff?" asked
Guy.

"In sooth," said he, "she is overcome with joy to know that
the outlaw's end is near."

"Ay, by the bones of Saint Withold!" growled Sir Guy, "of
a truth it is so. But tell me, what manner of man is this Robin
Hood, famed as he is so far and wide? Is he big of bone and
broad of chest, like King Richard, that all men fear him?"

"Nay, by the mass," quoth the Sheriff, "he is as mild as a
sucking pig and gentle as a lamb. Marry, the cooing turtle-
dove could not match him in soft persuasion. But mark thee
well, Sir Knight, no fox was ever so sly; no adder creeping through
the damp sward is so silent as his footfall on the grass."

"And what of his prowess?" asked Sir Guy. "I have heard
of his skill in archery, but doubt it."

"Doubt it not, Sir Knight, for no archer liveth, nor ever lived,
that can match him. With the broadsword and buckler, and
eke with the quarter-staff, he hath met in combat the strongest
and best in merry England, and he hath drawn them to his band.
I know not of any means to take him save to outnumber him.
Outwit him — 'tis impossible! Outfight him — 'tis doubtful!
Haply if thou canst meet him alone, thou mayst have the

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ROBIN HOOD

better of him. Indeed, rather would I see it done in such a
manner than in any other. Therefore it were well that thou
shouldst go before us to tempt the wily fox, if that may be,
to single combat. It is well known that he loves such fights;
and many, so I hear, have met him, hand to hand, alone in divers
parts of the forest."

"Truly," said the Knight, "the thieving rogue hath affrighted
all the bravery out of Nottinghamshire. Nevertheless, I will
do as thou biddest. A blast from this horn shall tell that he is
dead. But come, good Sheriff, we tarry over-long. Rest assured
that Robin Hood shall meet his end before the moon doth cast
her beams through the forest leaves."

So the Sheriff gave command, and soon his three hundred stal-
wart yeomen and foresters stood ready to follow the two leaders,
who, both on horseback, rode in front on their way through
the forest to destroy the outlaws' nest.

On that very same morning, just before sunrise, you might
have seen all of Robin's merry men wrapped snugly in their
night-cloaks, fast asleep on the grassy sward, round about the
great oak. On a low-hanging branch above Robin's head sat
a throstle, singing so loud that it roused him from his sleep.
Half raising himself, he looked at the bird, which kept pouring
forth its mellow notes and would not cease to sing. Then Robin
said:

"Now, by my faith, this night I had a dream, and it seemed
to me that two strong yeomen fought with me fast and furiously.
Methought they did beat me and bind me fast to a tree, taking
from me both bow and arrows. If I be Robin, and am awake
in this merry wood, I will take revenge on those two."

Little John, who lay by his side, had also been awakened
by the song-bird and heard what Robin said.

"Dreams are swift, master," quoth he, "even as the wind
that blows o'er the hill. For if it be never so loud this night, to-
morrow, none the less, it may be still enough."

"Marry, that is truth," quoth Robin, "but I shall go to
seek yonder strong yeomen, if in the forest they be."

[192]

ROBIN HO O D

So he leaped up, and, throwing off his covering, shouted to
his comrades: "My merry men, bestir yourselves, and all make
ready. Little John, thou shalt go with me."

So they all cast off their cloaks, took up their bows, and, after
partaking of a hearty breakfast, stood ready to march wherever
their brave captain should direct. And a fine body of men they
were — alert, strong, brave, obedient — so Robin and Little John
thought, as they strode past in single file away to the green forest.

By the time the sun had risen high in all his glorious splendor,
the little birds were singing on every spray and twig; the cool
morning air was just crisp enough to make walking in the fair
forest a delight and put all in a joyous mood. The band had
struck a different path under the leadership of Will Scarlet,
though ever within sound of Robin's bugle-call as he strode along
by the side of Little John. Anon the two came in sight of a tall
figure leaning against a tree. He had a long sword and two
sharp daggers that he wore by his side, and his body was covered
with the hide of a horse, ears, mane, and tail complete.

"God-a-mercy," said Robin, "what is this thing? Is it man
or beast?"

"Stand still," quoth Little John, "under this greenwood tree
while I go forth to yon strange thing to know what it doth mean."

"Ah, John," quoth Robin, "I see well thou settest no store by
me. When was I ever wont to send my men before and tarry
myself behind ? Were it not for the breaking of my bow, John,
I would break thy head."

These words rankled harshly in John's breast. He spake not
a word in answer, but turned aside with tears in his eyes, and
then strode swiftly away to join the main band, leaving Robin
standing silent, alone.

He had gone but a short distance when he heard sounds. As
he hurried forward, the sounds became shouts and cries, and at
last, when he came near, he beheld a full pitched battle 'twixt
the outlaw band and the Sheriff's men. As he rushed along
his heart grew sick with heaviness, for he saw two of the band
lying dead in a hollow piece of ground by the side of a glade,
13 [ 193 1

ROBIN HOOD

and in the distance was Will Scarlet, leaping along over rocks
and stones for his very life, with the Sheriff and seven score of
his men close at his heels.

"One shot now I will shoot," quoth John, "with all my might
and main to make yon Sheriff that presses on so fast stop in his
career."

Then he bent his great long-bow and pulled so hard that it
burst in twain and the parts fell down at his feet.

"Woe is me," he cried, "thou wicked wood, that ever thou
didst grow on a tree; for now this day I am undone when I
need thee most."

The arrow flew, but with such a bad aim that instead of
hitting the Sheriff it struck Will-a-Trent to the ground — one
of the Sheriff's men who was very friendly to the band. Little
John's heart was crushed, and his hands hung limp by his side.
Heedless of all that was going on in the fight, he was caught
by a number of the Sheriff's men, who took him and quickly
bound him to a tree.

When the Sheriff heard that Little John was taken, he came
up to where the outlaw was pinioned, to jeer and mock at him.
"I have thee now," snarled he. "Thou shalt be drawn uphill
and down dale tied to a horse's tail. Then I will hang thee on
the topmost tower of Nottingham Castle."

"Yet," quoth Little John, unafraid, "thou mayst fail of thy
purpose, if the good saints have their will. Our men are not
all in my case."

"No," roared the Sheriff, "but Robin Hood is now in the toils
of the brave Sir Guy of Gisbourne."

Little John knew of this fell knight, and his heart sank lower
than ever to think that Robin was left alone with this villain,
whom he now knew to be the creature standing by the tree.
So he repented sore that he had crossed his dear master and had
left him to his fate.

So soon as Little John was gone, Robin Hood marched up to
the man in the horse-hide robe.

"Good morrow, good fellow!" quoth he.
fiQ4]

ROBIN HOOD

"Good morrow, good fellow, to thee," the other made answer.

"Methinks by that bow thou dost bear in thy hand thou
shouldst be a fair archer," said Robin.

"I have lost my way," said the stranger, "and know not where
to go."

"I'll lead thee, good fellow, through the forest and be thy
guide," quoth Robin.

"I am seeking for an outlaw," the stranger went on, "that
men call Robin Hood, and I would give forty pounds if I could
meet with him here."

"Then come along with me, bold fellow, and Robin thou
shalt soon see. But first, under this greenwood tree let us test
each other's skill with bow and shaft, for haply we may meet
this Robin Hood by some odd chance in the mean time."

"I like thy plan, brave archer," said the stranger; and forth-
with they cut a thin sapling that grew among the underbrush,
which they set in the ground, with a little garland on the top,
threescore rods away.

"Lead on, good fellow," quoth Robin, "and shoot, I prithee."

"Nay, by my faith, good fellow," said the other, "thou shalt
shoot first."

"Well, so be it," quoth Robin; "I will even do as thou sayest."
The first time Robin shot he missed the wand by an inch; and
the stranger, though a right good archer, shot a foot or more
away. But upon the second trial he placed the arrow inside the
garland. Then Robin, as he had done many times before, loosed
a shaft that cut the wand in twain.

"A blessing upon thy heart," said the stranger. "Fellow, thy
shooting is good; and if thy heart be as good as thy hand, Robin
Hood could do no better. Now tell me thy name, brave archer."

"Nay, by my faith," quoth bold Robin, "that will I not tell
till thou hast told me thine."

"I dwell," said he, "upon the moorlands of Yorkshire, and when
I am called by my right name, men call me Sir Guy of Gisbourne."

"My dwelling," slowly said Robin, "is in this very wood, and
men know me as Robin Hood."

[i9Sl

ROBIN HOOD

Then, with his hand upon the hilt of his sword, Sir Guy roared
out: "Thou art he whom I have long sought."

"Well," quoth Robin, "I am ready, and care naught for thee.
Prepare thyself, for with my good broadsword will I cut short
thy evil day."

Robin drew his sword, and Sir Guy his, at the same time
unsheathing his long, pointed Irish dagger, which he held in his
left hand. Facing each other with keen eyes, they watched their
chance. Both knew the combat was to be long and fierce; both
were equally determined to win. Each found the other a worthy
foe, for in skill and hardihood they were well matched. No one
was by to see fair play, save the little birds, and they were soon
scared away by the noise of the clashing swords and the deep,
angry oaths of the fell Sir Guy, as he fiercely lunged, parried, and
feinted. Robin was well aware of the peril in which he stood.
Sir Guy was fighting for a great prize. The victor would live, the
vanquished would surely die. It was a grim battle to the death.

Two hours passed. Weary, yet still fighting, the face of Sir
Guy changed from a sickly yellow to a livid blue; then, as the
fight went on, his blood grew hotter and flowed to his face, dark-
ening the color to a deep purple. His long black locks were
clotted and damp with sweat, and from time to time, at each
furious lunge, he swore dreadful oaths because he could not
budge his pale-faced, dogged foeman. Never before in all his
life did Robin fight so desperately; never before was he so near
death — and he knew it. Early in the fight a faintness fell upon
him; but he grimly set his teeth, and new strength came. His
strokes, though they dealt no wounds, began to tell upon Sir
Guy, robed as he was in a hot skin. For all his wickedness,
Sir Guy was a bold warrior, as many had found to their cost,
and he was too proud to ask for a moment's time to rest. Robin
watched him every second, fighting carefully for fear of some
false, dishonorable stroke, for he knew that he had to do with
a man who would not scruple to kill him by foul means.

All of a sudden Robin slipped on a root, falling on one knee.
Sir Guy sprang forward nimbly and struck him in the left side

[196]

ROBIN DROVE HIS BLADE THROUGH SIR GUY'S BODY

>

ROBIN HOOD

— a base and cowardly deed, for a true knight would have low-
ered his blade till his foe got upon his feet.

"By our dear Lady," cried Robin, " 'tis not a good man's
destiny to die before his day. Take that, thou villainous
cheat!" So saying, he leaped up and straightway, with a sudden
stroke, drove his blade right through Sir Guy's body. The knight
fell backward, his sword dropped from his uplifted arm, and he
slowly sank lifeless to the sward.

"There is now an end to one who hath been a traitor all his
life," quoth Robin, as he leaned panting upon his sword. "Lie
there, Sir Guy! If thou hadst fought as befitted a knight, may-
hap thou wouldst now be alive, and I lying there in thy stead.
But now thy knavishness hath undone thee, and truly the
world is well rid of thee."

Robin's wound was but a scratch, for he had partly turned the
blow. When he had bound it up and rested a little, he doffed
his coat of Lincoln green, and clad himself from top to toe in
the horse-hide, saying, "Now I will see how my men have fared
and what hath befallen Little John." Anon he put Sir Guy's
horn to his lips and blew so loud a blast that the Sheriff heard
it as he stood upon a little hill waiting for the welcome sound.

"Hearken," quoth the Sheriff, "for I hear good tidings.
Yonder I hear Sir Guy blowing his horn, as he said he would do
when he had slain Robin Hood. Ay, by the mass, yonder comes
the good knight, clad in his horse-hide coat. Come hither, come
hither to me, thou good Sir Guy. Ask whatever thou wilt of me ! "

"Oh, I will have none of thy gold," said Robin, "nor do I
crave any reward save only this: now that I have slain the
master, let me go and strike down the knavish servant at yonder
tree. None other fee will I have."

"Thou art a madman," said the Sheriff, "and art truly un-
worthy of a knight's fee." But he pressed him no further,
thinking so large a sum were as well in his own pocket. So he
granted Robin's request, though in his heart he longed to carry
Little John back to Nottingham alive, as his own prisoner.

When Little John heard his master's voice he knew his free-

ROBIN HOOD

dom was close at hand through some good hap, and now he saw
Robin coming as fast as he could hie to cut his bonds. The
Sheriff and his men followed close upon Robin's heels to witness
the end of Little John.

"Stand aback, stand aback," shouted Robin. "Why do ye
draw so near? It is not the custom in my country for more than
one to hear a man's last confession. Put some space between us,
while I do this deed."

So the men backed away; and Robin, pulling forth the Irish
knife, quickly loosed the bonds that held Little John's hands
and feet. Then, giving him Sir Guy's bow and arrows, he bade
him look to himself. Both turned about at the same instant
with bows ready bent; and when the Sheriff saw that his prisoner
was free, he knew that Robin Hood had again foiled his plans.
The shock was so great that he had no heart to stand and brave
it out, but turned aside and made him ready in all haste to ride
toward his home in Nottingham town. He fled full fast, and
all his company did likewise, for they knew the deadly aim of
those two archers who had so just a cause for anger against them.
But before the Sheriff could ride out of sight Little John shot
an arrow which wounded him in the shoulder. Thus he rode into
Nottingham town with the broad arrow sticking from his back.

Then it was that Little John turned to Robin, saying: "My
dear, good master, I do freely ask thy pardon, and shouldst
thou grant it me I make a vow nevermore to cross thy will or
leave thee again in the lurch."

"Nay, nay, my trusty John, my best of true hearts, 'tis I
should ask pardon of thee, for I was out of temper and hasty
of speech, so that I spake unkindly."

Thereupon they embraced and kissed each other full fondly
on either cheek and wept. Then through the forest these two
firm friends of over a quarter of a century strode together, in
quiet happiness, back home to their trysting-place, where they
found most of their comrades safe and happy. So the night was
spent in feasting and tales of deeds nobly done on that famous
day when Sir Guy of Gisbourne was slain.

XVIII

ROBIN RESCUES WILL STUTELY

NjfN the following morning the outlaws began
y to be anxious because one of their comrades
; had not yet joined them. This was Will
; Stutely — a stout yeoman, and a cousin of
Robin's, whom he loved well. Those who saw
him last, as they fought side by side against
the Sheriff's men, said that he was running
with all speed, followed by a dozen of his enemies. But they
thought that Will would easily escape, because of his well-known
fleetness of foot and his thorough knowledge of the forest paths.
Quoth Robin:

"My dear cousin I must not lose. Therefore without more
ado we will go to search for him."

At that very moment they saw a town spy come running up
with great speed.

"Tidings, brave Robin Hood," cried he, "ill tidings do I
bring of Will Stutely."

"What are thy tidings, trusty spy ? " said Robin Hood. "Speak,
I beseech thee."

"Thy cousin Will was surprised by three of the Sheriff's
men, and now he lies in the dungeon of Nottingham Castle,

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ROBIN HOOD

whence he will be taken belike to-morrow, to be hanged from a
cart gibbet in the public square, outside the walls. But before
they could place him in the dungeon he did slay two of those
that set upon him, which made the Sheriff so angry that he fain
would hurry him to the gallows."

When Robin heard this dismal news he was sorely grieved,
and he swore a great oath that Will Stutely should be rescued,
though many a gallant yeoman should die for his sake.

Straightway they made ready to go and storm the castle in
Nottingham. When the whole band stood all in a row, dressed
in Lincoln green, with stout yew bows at their backs and broad-
swords hanging at their sides, they made a gallant show. As
for Robin, he was clad from top to toe in scarlet. No braver
sight could be seen in all the world on this bright, early morning,
as they marched along the well-known paths, firmly resolved to
bring Will Stutely back home, or die in the attempt. At the
skirts of the forest the people saw them striding along fully
armed, with set faces, and they knew there would be lively
doings that day in Nottingham town. Many a cheer went up
from yeoman throats, for all knew of Will Stutely's capture.
Such news sped like wildfire o'er the town.

When the band drew near the castle, Robin Hood bade them
stand. "I hold it good," said he, "that we stay here in ambush,
and send forth one to find out at what time the hanging is to be.
Do thou, good Friar Tuck, go forth to yonder palmer that
stands beside the castle wall. Some news he may tell to thee."

With that, stepped forth bold Friar Tuck, and thus spake
to the old man:

"I pray thee, aged palmer, tell me, if thou dost know, when
Will Stutely must die — he that is of bold Robin Hood's men
and now lies in the dungeon."

"Alack the day!" said the palmer, "Will Stutely must be
hanged this day upon the gallows. O that his noble master
did know! He would surely send some of his bold outlaws to
succor the young man, and take him away from so vile a death."

"Ay, that is true," quoth Friar Tuck, "most truly would they

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ROBIN HOOD

soon set him free if they were near this place. But fare thee
well, thou good old man, farewell and many thanks for thy
news. If Will Stutely is hanged this day, be sure his death will
be bitterly revenged; for I must tell thee that Robin Hood is
aware of the Sheriff's order."

The Friar was no sooner gone away from the palmer than the
great castle gates were opened wide, and there Will Stutely
stood, bound in a cart drawn by a black horse, guarded on
every side. The rope dangled above his head, and the sturdy
hangman sat beside the captive. As the cart moved outside
the castle gate Will looked about to see if no help were nigh.
Then he spake boldly to the Sheriff:

"Now I see that I needs must die, yet grant me one boon, for
my noble master never had a man that was hanged upon a tree.
Give me a sword in my hand, I pray, and unbind my thongs,
that I may die bravely fighting either with thee or thy men.
I will fight till I lie dead on the ground, or, if ye are such cowards
that ye dare not meet me in fair fight, let me kill myself."

But the Sheriff was deaf to his pleadings, for he had sworn
the outlaw should be hanged, and not killed as a brave man.

"Do thou, Sheriff, but unbind my hands, I implore," again
cried Will. "I ask not now to fight, but only to slay myself,
that I may not disgrace my comrades."

"Oh, no, not so," the Sheriff said. "Thou shalt surely die on
the gallows like a dog hung up by the neck, and so shall thy
master, too, if ever he comes into my power."

Then cried Will scornfully: "Thou dastardly villain! Thou
faint-hearted peasant slave! If ever my master should cross
thy path after this foul deed he will serve thee as thou servest
me. Mark that, Sheriff, thou shalt yet hang from a tree."
With yet bolder words he went on: "My noble master scorneth
such a vile thing as thou and all thy cowardly crew, who are
too faint-hearted to subdue a man so brave. Do your worst;
I defy such wretches, and will show you how a brave man can
meet death, however it come."

To all this the Sheriff made no answer. To say sooth, he was
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ROBIN HOOD

thinking deeply if this bold young man's word might perchance
come true.

Then all was quiet as they drove along to the gallows, and
Will closed his eyes to murmur to himself a silent prayer. When
he again looked about him he saw the long form of Little John
leap forward out of some bushes and quickly run up to him,
crying:

"I pray thee, Will, before thou diest, bid us farewell and take
leave of all thy good friends." Then, turning to the soldiers on
guard, quoth John: "I must needs borrow this young man for a
little. How say you, good Sheriff?"

"Now, as I live," the Sheriff bawled out, in great anger, "that
long-legged varlet must be some sturdy rebel to act thus boldly
to my face in defiance of the law. Seize him, guards, and see that
ye hold him fast."

But Little John leaped nimbly into the cart and hastily cut
Will Stutely's bonds. Then in a trice he snatched a sword from
one of the Sheriff's men, saying, "Here, Will, take thou this
good blade. Use it as well as thou mayst. Aid will come to
thee straightway." Both turned back to back, bidding a bold
defiance to all, and shouted loudly, "Robin Hood and his merry
men have come to the rescue."

Straightway Robin and all his brave archers appeared, with
shafts ready nocked to let fly at the word of command. Robin
stood with his long arrow pointed straight at the breast of the
Sheriff, who saw with dismay that he was once more befooled
and that his life was not worth a straw. With trembling voice
he cried to his men:

"Make haste, let us begone, for our lives are in danger."
Then he put spurs to his horse, which ran with might and main
back to town. When they saw their master flee, his doughty
men soon followed in his path.

"Oh, stay, oh, stay awhile!" cried Will Stutely. "Run not
so fast away, but take leave of us ere you go. Here is Robin
Hood now, that you were so fain to hang." Then, turning to
Robin and his men, he said: "Ah, my dear comrades, I little

[206]

LITTLE JOHN HASTILY CUT WILL STUTELY'S BONDS

ROBIN HOOD

thought as I stood in that cart to have seen the face of my dear
master and Little John again, because I knew not how to send
tidings of my ill luck."

Thus it was that Will Stutely was set free without the shedding
of a single drop of blood or the shooting of a single arrow.

Their mission being fulfilled, they all turned to march quietly
back to the forest, having no will for revenge or pillage. As
for Will, he was little the worse for his adventure, and the band
were well satisfied to get him back so easily and without scathe.
Full joyously they feasted, that night, under the great oak,
while the Sheriff was filled with bitter shame when he found
himself seated at his table with the many guests he had bidden
to witness the hanging of the outlaw.

14

XIX

ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD O* THE LEA

JO hearty bodies and active minds feasting and
merriment are but passing pleasures. A few
days after Will Stutely was rescued Robin's
merry men found the time hanging heavily
upon their hands. The larder was well filled,
and they pined for something to do. As for
Robin, his last fierce combat with Sir Guy
lad given him his fill of fighting; and, moreover, he knew that to
follow up his victory over the Sheriff past a certain point would
only bring disaster. If the Sheriff let him be, he would do the
same by the Sheriff. He had no wish to be driven from a place
made comfortable after so many years of labor, and he was well
aware that a trained band of brave soldiers under a capable
leader could bring ruin to his forest kingdom. So he wisely
let well alone and made up his mind to enjoy the good thinf
he had.

One fine May day as he stood leaning against a tree, Little
John, Will Scarlet, and Friar Tuck came and stood beside him.
It was at the noon-hour, and Little John said to him:
"Master, let us now go to dine."
Then spake good Robin. "To eat I have no will, till I have

[2TOl

ROBIN HOOD

some stranger-guest to dine with me. Perchance if thou goest
to the highway, thou mayst bring in some fat bishop, abbot,
or knight dwelling hereabouts who would be willing to pay
for his feast."

Quoth Little John: "Master, before we go to search for a
guest, tell unto us thy desire. Whom shall we take? Whom shall
we leave, and where shall we abide? Whom shall we beat and
bind, and whom let go without hurt?"

"We have no foes," quoth Robin, "that do us hurt. Look to
it ye do no harm to any husbandman that tilleth with his plow,
for he works to our good and the weal of merry England. Like-
wise, harm not good yeomen or craftsmen, for they, too, must
work in peace for the general good. Marry, an you meet by the
way any knight or squire that would be good fellows, urge them
to be with me and share our cheer. But those proud and lofty
bishops and archbishops that by craft and guile extort their
ill-gotten gains from the thrifty poor, beat them and bind them
and bring them hither, for they are ever ready to eat and take
their fill of good things. And above all, bear in mind the High
Sheriff of Nottingham, who has tasted our good cheer so oft.
Let him know that he is still welcome."

"We shall bear in mind thy commands, good master," said
Little John, "and the lesson take to heart."

"It is a fair day," quoth Robin. "God send us a guest, that
we may together enjoy a merry feast! Take thy good bow in
hand. Let Will Scarlet and our holy friar wend with thee as
comrades. Then walk up Ermine Street, there to wait for
some willing guest that by chance may pass that way. Be he
earl or baron, abbot or knight, bring him to lodge with me."

So away strode the three companions through the forest glade,
and in due time they got upon the broad highway of Ermine
Street, one of the five great roads of England. They looked
eastward and westward, but nobody of the sort they awaited
chanced to pass by. Yet after a little while, on looking up a
small side lane, they beheld a knight riding slowly toward them.
Stepping forth to meet him, they saw that he seemed sad and

ROBIN HOOD

dreary, without any pride in himself. One foot was in a stirrup,
the other hung outside. His hood had fallen awry, and his
clothes were simple and poor. Indeed, a more doleful-seeming
knight they had never looked upon. Stepping forward, Little
John bent his knee, saying:

"Welcome to thee, gentle knight. Welcome be thou to our
greenwood. My master hath bidden thee to a merry feast,
courteous sir. We three are sent to bring thee to it."

"Who is your master?" said the knight.

Quoth John, "He is bold Robin Hood."

"He is a good yeoman," replied the knight. "And I hear
naught but good of him. Therefore I do grant your request,
and with you, my brethren, will wend, though my purpose was
to have dined this day at Ely the or Doncaster." The gentle
knight then rode along with the outlaws; and, as they wended
their way, ever and anon tears ran down his cheeks. Much
they marveled what it could be that made the knight so un-
happy. Soon they reached the great oak, where Robin stood
ready to receive them. Raising his cap, he bent his knee, saying:
"Welcome, Sir Knight, thou art to me. I have been fasting,
gentle sir, for three hours till thou shouldst come to us."

Then, with words fair and free, the gentle knight made answer:

"God save thee, Robin Hood, and all thy brave companions."

"Grammercy, Sir Knight. Let us together go to wash, for
the feast is even now spread."

The sad knight was placed betwixt Robin and John, and he
marveled at the good things laid before him. Bread and wine
there were in plenty — the choicest cuts of venison, swans, pheas-
ants, and capons — indeed, no game or bird good for eating was
lacking at the board. "Eat heartily, sir knight," quoth Robin,
"for our store is full."

"Grammercy, sir," said the knight. "Such a dinner I have
not seen these many weeks, and should I come again to these
parts, I hope to make a feast as fine for thee."

"In truth," said Robin, "I was never so greedy as to crave
a return for my entertainment. I know it is not the custom

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ROBIN HOOD

for a yeoman to provide for a knight, but whether thou payest
or not before thou dost go hence, I care not."

"I have not now the means to pay thee, good Robin, for I
have naught in my purse — to my very shame be it said. Could
I but do so, I would gladly pay for thy hearty fare, but of a
truth there is naught in my purse save a scurvy ten shillings —
an unworthy sum to offer thee."

"If that be the truth, an thou hast no more," said Robin,
"I will not take a penny of it. Go forth now, Little John, and
tell me the truth. If there be no more than ten shillings in
the knight's purse, not one penny will I touch."

Then Little John went and took the purse that hung from
the saddle of the knight's horse, and, laying his mantle on the
ground, shook out the coins upon it. Letting the money lie there,
he went back to his master, saying:

"The knight hath spoken the truth. There were but ten
shillings in the purse."

"Fill up a cup of the best wine," quoth Robin, "and the
knight shall drink to better times! No marvel his raiment is
so poor, since his purse is so thin." For in sooth he was filled
with pity to see a knight without means to support his high
station. "Tell me one word," he said to the knight. "I trow
thou wert made a knight perforce, without money at hand
to uphold it, or, peradventure, thou hast lost thy goods and
lands by sorry husbandry, living at strife with thy neigh-
bors."

"By our Good Lady," said the knight, "none of these things
is true, for my ancestors have been knights more than a hundred
years, with lands and castles of their own, bringing in good rev-
enue. But sometimes, Robin, it may befall a man to have
trouble, and even disgrace; yet God, in His good time, doth
amend his state. I am known as Sir Richard o' the Lea, and,
as my neighbors will tell thee, till two or three years agone I
had four hundred pounds of good money to spend as I would.
But now I have, I fear, neither lands nor goods. All is lost to
me save my wife and children. To this sad state have I been

[215]

ROBIN HOOD

brought/not by mine own doings, but in such a way that I could
not help it."

"In what manner hast thou lost thy riches and lands?" asked
Robin.

With tears in his eyes, the knight replied: "For my great
folly — so men say — and for the great love I bear to my dear
son, that should have been my heir. When he was twenty years
old he was ever eager to joust in the tournaments, for he was
brave and bold; and in a quarrel he chanced to slay a knight
of Lancashire. Thus, to save him in his rights, I was fain to
sell all my goods and chattels, and pledge my lands until a
certain day to the rich Prior of Saint Mary's Abbey."

"What is the amount to which thou art bound?" said Robin.
"Come, tell me the exact sum."

"The sum is a large one — four hundred pounds, to a shilling."

"And now, having leased thy lands," said Robin, "what shall
befall thee? What canst thou do now?"

"All I can do," replied Sir Richard, "is to place my children
and dear wife in the care of some good abbess and go to the wars
over the salt sea, perchance to mend my sad state. So now,
fare thee well, good friend, and have good day." Bitter tears
trickled down from his eyes, and he could speak no more for a
space. "One parting word, my merry and kind friends," he
said, at last: "perchance a time may come when I shall have
money to pay."

"Nay, tarry awhile," quoth Robin. "Where be thy friends?
Surely a worthy knight in distress can borrow or get help for a
brother's love."

"Brave outlaw, knights are not all noble. Now they scarce
seem to know me, though while I was rich at home they would
boast loudly enough of their great love to me. They shun me,
taking no more heed of my great dole than if I were a stranger."

For very pity, then, wept all the outlaws. Robin thought of
his own early life — how his uncle had cheated him — and he
asked himself, Why should I not help this very worthy knight?
"Be of good cheer, brave knight," he said, "and fill up another

[216]

ROBIN HOOD

cup of the good wine. Tell me, hast thou no friend who will
go surety should I lend thee the sum of which thou standest
in such sore need?"

"Nay, by Him that made me and shaped the sun and moon!
He is the only friend to whom I can look for help — He and our
Lady Dear, who hath never failed me before."

"By my faith," said Robin, "if I searched all England through,
there is no better sponsor, and She shall stand surety for thee.
Go forth now, Little John, to my treasury and count out four
hundred pounds, and look to it thou dost count a-right, no more
nor less. Then bring it to us here."

Straightway went Little John, blithe of heart, to the treasury;
and Will Scarlet followed on, for both were eager to see the
sad knight made happy again. So they counted out the money,
but Little John was over-generous, adding a little extra.

Then said Will, "Is it counted a-right?"

"What ails thee, Will?" said John. "Are we not giving aid
to help a good and true knight who hath fallen upon sad times ?
He will repay to our great credit. We have enough and to spare."
Even so, he was not yet contented, for when he delivered the
gold, he said: "Master, ye must give the knight a livery to lap
up his body, for his raiment is very thin and worn. Ye have
scarlet and green stuffs, and many rich garments. There is
no merchant in merry England, I dare say, that hath so much."

"Give him, then," quoth Robin, "three yards of every color,
and see that he getteth full measure."

John took good care of that, for he used no other measure
than his long-bow, and with every yard he put in an extra piece
for good luck.

"Thou wouldst ruin thy master if he were a draper," said
Will, who stood by and laughed. "By my troth, John, we might
as well give the knight good measure. It hath cost us little to
get."

When the cloth had been brought and set before Robin and
Sir Richard, Little John said:

"Thou must give the knight a horse to carry home all these
[217!

ROBIN HOOD

goods. Now that we have begun to help him, let us do it
well."

"Ay, marry, that we will. So bring the gray courser and put
on a new saddle. I can see, too, that the knight needeth a pair
of boots. But in faith, dear John, since thou hast been so gen-
erous with our things, what wilt thou thyself give the good
knight?"

t "I shall give him, sir," quoth John, "a pair of gilt spurs, with a
prayer that God may bring him soon out of his unhappy state."

Then Sir Richard wore a cheerful smile, seeing how these
noble outlaws did good deeds to him, and he said to Robin:

"My loving and kind sir, when shall I return to pay this
great debt I owe thee?"

"Let it be this day twelvemonth, an it please thee, Sir Knight,
under this great oak tree."

So the knight made ready to depart, a great load having
fallen from him since he entered the outlaws' glade. But Robin
bade him tarry, saying:

"It would be a great shame for a brave knight to ride alone,
without either squire, yeoman, or page by his side. In case
of need to guard the money, I shall lend thee Little John to serve
as yeoman for a while."

At last the knight started on his way, with Little John by his
side, and as he looked back to the great oak he waved his
hand and blessed Robin Hood for his great kindness. Never
before had he, in any company, met with such brotherly love,
and all had been done in such a way as not to hurt his pride.
After he had ridden some distance the now happy knight spake
to John, saying:

"To-morrow I must perforce go to the Prior of Saint Mary's
Abbey in York town, to pay this four hundred pounds. If I
be not there by to-morrow even, all my lands are lost to me for-
ever. The Prior, I trow, would fain seize this land from me,
for I know him to be a hard, grasping churchman."

"Have no fear, Sir Knight," quoth Little John. "I warrant
we shall be there in good time. Yet we will hasten our pace and

[218]

ROBIN HOOD

push along the Trent valley due north. We can pass by Don-
caster before nightfall, then with a good rest and early start
we shall be in York by afternoon."

On the afternoon of the next day, the Prior of Saint Mary's
Abbey was seated at his ease near a table upon which were
spread luscious fruits, cakes, and wines. With him was a man
of the law, whom he had summoned to draw up legal papers
in case the knight failed to appear, also the Sheriff to represent
the county where the land in question lay. Quoth the Prior to
his abbot, as he sipped his wine:

"This day, twelvemonth agone, there came a knight to
borrow four hundred pounds upon all his free lands. If he
come not soon, he shall forfeit all, and the lands shall fall to
Holy Church."

"It is full early," said the abbot. "The day is not yet far
gone. Be patient with him a little while. I had as lief pay a
hundred pounds to have you tarry till even. The knight per-
chance hath been far beyond the sea, and when in England once
more, things will go better with him. He may have suffered
both hunger and cold. Great pity 'twere to take his land, at
least before his time is ended. God-a-mercy, have you no
conscience, Prior Vincent, to do the knight such great harm?"

The Prior's face turned deep red with anger as he replied,
"Thou hast ever some reason to urge against the gaining of
more riches for the abbey, and in the guise of charity dost
delight to cross me.'*

The man of law bade them have patience, at least till the full
time was past; for, said he, "The knight may be dead or hanged,
or drowned; then his lands and rents will justly fall to you."

While they were talking and waiting they heard a sound of
horses' hoofs in the courtyard, and through the half-open
door they saw the knight. " Tis he," said the Prior, with a
sad face, "but mayhap he hath not the money." Then the
knight dismounted, and, still wearing his poor mantle, to make
the Prior think he had no money, drew nigh to the gate.

"Welcome, Sir Knight," said the porter at the door. "My

ROBIN HOOD

Lord Prior, with his men, are waiting to greet thee." Then the
porter swore a great oath that never had he seen so fine a horse.
"I will straightway lead him to the stable," quoth he, "and give
him some fodder."

"Nay, not so," quoth the knight. "Let the horse stand where
he is." So saying, he strode into the presence of the Prior and
his friends. Saluting them, he knelt down, saying, "Right
glad am I, Sir Prior, to come as I promised on this day."

"Well," said the Prior, in a surly tone, "hast thou brought
my pay?"

Then the knight bethought him to make a test, to see whether
the Prior had a hard or a merciful heart; so he said:

"Not a penny."

"Thou art a shrewd debtor," quoth the Prior. "Drink to
me, Sir Sheriff, for the land is now mine." Then, addressing
the knight, he said, "Wherefore dost thou come here, if indeed
thou hast no money?"

"I come thus, on my knees, to pray thee that thou wilt give
me a little time of grace — a few months — for I have found
good friends that will then help me in my sore need."

"The time is past," quoth the man of law, "and thy land is
now forfeit to the Prior."

"Nay, say not so. Be my friend and defend me, for the
Prior is rich and I am poor."

But the lawyer had been promised a good fat fee, so he an-
swered, "I hold by the Prior in his rights."

Then Sir Richard turned to the Sheriff, saying, "Take pity,
Sir Sheriff, and use thy good offices in my behalf."

"Nay, in sooth," was the curt reply, "that I will not."

Again the knight besought the Prior to be merciful. "For I will
be thy true servant till the four hundred pounds are fully paid."

"Nay, by the mass," sternly replied the Prior, "of this land
thou wilt get none."

Then, rising from his knees and standing proudly up before
them, the knight cried angrily: "By Saint Dunstan, if I do not
get what is mine, full dear ye shall buy it."

[222]

ROBIN HOOD

Straightway the Prior began to abuse him and spake evil
words to him, his anger swelling ever the more as he talked.
"Out upon thee, thou false, beggarly knight," he said at last;
"speed thy way out of my hall."

But Sir Richard made a threatening step forward, and in a
stern voice cried: "Thou liest, Prior Vincent, false knight I
never was. My fame and good name are known among true
hearts. In jousts and tournaments have I always been at the
front, and all that know me can bear witness to my bravery
and truth. No true churchman, prior or bishop, would be
so discourteous as to let a noble knight kneel so long."

Then the sharp man of law perceived that, as the time was
not yet past, it might be that the knight could pay. So he turned
to the Prior, saying:

"What wilt thou give if the knight will release his land, for
you may have some trouble to keep it in peace?"

"A hundred pounds will I give," said the Prior.

"Nay, give him two hundred," said the lawyer.

"Thou wicked Prior," quoth Sir Richard, "I vow thou shalt
not be my heir, though thou givest a thousand more." Then
upon the table he upturned his bag of gold. "There are thy
four hundred pounds, thou wretched usurer. Hadst thou shown
me any courtesy or spoken one word of kindness, some interest
would have been thy reward."

When the Prior saw the gold he stood speechless with amaze-
ment, and he pushed his wine-cup away from him. Then he asked
the man of law to give him back his fee, now that no deed was
to be made.

"Nay, not a penny do I give back," cried the lawyer.

The Prior's face turned red with shame and anger; he lay back
in his wide arm-chair, closed his eyes, and would not speak a word.

"Sir Prior," quoth the knight, "and thou man of law, now that
I have paid my debt the land is mine for aught ye can gainsay."

Then he strode to the door, all his troubles over, with a bright
and cheerful face. At a near-by inn he donned his best clothing,
and, mounting his horse, rode away, well satisfied that he had
15 [ 225 ]

ROBIN HOOD

with dignity and noble demeanor shamed the wily Prior as a
true knight should do. The joy he felt in being rid of his great
burden and his delight in looking forward to the meeting with
wife and family were unbounded. The woodland notes of song-
birds, the pretty flowers and green leaves, all seemed so much
more beautiful when he thought of his unhappy state before he
met Robin Hood, who seemed to him the kindest and best
of men. Now he was riding home as a noble knight should,
with lofty mien, rich raiment, a fine horse and trappings, and a
servant by his side. "Truly, my kind-hearted John," said he,
"how sweet is life after bitter trials! The thanks I owe thy mas-
ter and thee, I cannot now put into words."

Right on they rode until they came to Sir Richard's Castle
of Briarlea. As he drew nigh to the gate his noble lady met
him, saying:

"Welcome, my dear husband. Are our land and castle lost
to us, or hath aught been saved?"

"Be merry, good lady," quoth the knight, "and pray for
Robin Hood, that his soul may be ever in bliss. He it was that
helped me in my hour of need, and were it not for his great kim
ness, we should now surely be beggars without home or land.
The greedy Prior hath been paid, and all is now our very own."
Then he told how, while on his way to ask the Prior for moi
time, the good Robin Hood had invited him to dine and ha<
loaned him the money to be paid in a year.

"Now," he finished, "we will dwell peacefully at home, anc
with careful saving gather together the four hundred pound;
ready to pay at the appointed time."

Little John stayed with the knight and did his duty well,
though he pined to be back again at the oak glade. Yet he pa-
tiently waited till the twelve months passed by. Then, true
to his knightly pledge, Sir Richard rode back once again t(
Sherwood Forest and there paid back to Robin all he ow<
Amid feasts and merrymaking, Little John was welcomed home
and the knight's freedom from debt was cheered and celebrate
in joyous songs.

XX

ROBIN MEETS MAID MARIAN

[ILE Little John was away at Sir Richard's
castle, serving as his squire, Robin Hood and
all his merry men sorely missed him. The
tall outlaw was so jolly and kind of heart that
every one of his companions loved him full
dear. For a time the oak glade seemed dull,
^ n and Allan-a-Dale was more often asked to
sing or play. Friar Tuck and Will Scarlet did their best to
make Robin be of good cheer, and right glad were they when
some adventure fell in their way.

With the long years of woodland life, Robin Hood had changed
but little in face or form, though he had gained much in wisdom.
He was more resourceful than of yore, and through constant
practice with long-bow, sword, and quarter-staff, both in play
and in stern battles, he was perfect master of all his men. No
longer young, he was now just past the prime of life, and an
extremely handsome man. His curly locks and beard of a
red-brown color set off his dark, ruddy complexion. His clothes
were either of deep Lincoln green or deep scarlet. Always as
neat as a pin, his weapons ever in perfect order, he was looked
upon as a hero by women and children when seen on the great

[227]

ROBIN HOOD

highway or at church. His manner to all, both high and low,
was kind, without the slightest trace of pride or vainglory,
and his charity was unbounded. If he met young lads venturing
in the forest after birds' nests, or hunting small game, he would
take the greatest pains to bring down some rare animal or bird
for them with his unerring shaft. If he met little lassies a-black-
berrying, he had ever some coins in his pouch to give them;
and to the gaffers and old wives likewise he gave gifts, if need
were, with kindly words to boot. Small wonder it was that
the folks roundabout for miles knew him only to love and ven-
erate him.

Now I must tell you that when Robin was a young boy living
on his father's land, nigh unto Needwood Forest, in North Staf-
fordshire, he had for a playmate a bonny maid of high degree
called Maid Marian, that for rare beauty, face, and favor, no
maid could excel in all the country round. To her, Robin was
known as the Earl of Huntingdon, and in their childish play
they pledged themselves to one another as young lovers.

But fortune severed them when Robin left his home on that
fateful fifteenth birthday. Since then they had never set eyes
on each other, though oft in their thoughts they loved to re-
member the youthful, happy days spent together. For a long
time Marian was sad, and oft she sighed for her absent friend.
As time went on her parents died, and she was left alone with
friends, who, for a while, were kind to her because she had lands
of her own. But things changed for the worse, and her lands
were taken from her. Troubled in mind, she bethought her of
her childhood friend, who, she heard, had become the famous
outlaw, Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest. At last she made up
her mind to go and seek him out, throw herself at his feet, and
ask him to aid her for the sake of their old friendship. Well
aware of the danger of traveling alone dressed as a woman,
she decided to array herself like a youthful page and range
through Sherwood Forest till she found her dear Robin Hood.

So, clad in youth's attire, with quiver and bow, sword and
buckler, she started on her way, and soon reached the forest.

[228]

ROBIN HOOD

On that very same day Robin made up his mind to visit Not-
tingham town. To shield him from the eyes of the Sheriff and
his men, he put on a patched gray suit and a hat of which he
could draw the vizor down over his eyes to shade his face. He
had gone some distance, and was just skirting round the wood by
a well-worn but narrow pathway, when he spied a youthful form
coming toward him. Making his voice deep and gruff, for fear the
young stranger might be one of the Sheriff's spies, he cried out:

"What is thy business, young stranger, and where dost thou
go in this wood?"

Thinking Robin was some rough thief, the youthful stranger
boldly replied: "What is that to thee? I go where I list. Mind
thine own affairs and leave me to mine."

"That will I not," quoth Robin. "Not one step shalt thou
stir without my leave." Then, drawing his sword, he stepped
forward threateningly.

But the youth drew out a thin, bright, glistening blade, and
fell to with such quick blows that Robin had all he could do
to guard himself.

"Thou wilt find," quoth the youth, "little though I be, that I
can master thee and make some more holes in thy ragged coat
— perchance in thy skin, if it be not too thick."

Robin answered not a word, but fought carefully, parrying
and feinting, but striking no earnest blow, for he had no will to
hurt the lad. At last the stranger, whose sword was lighter
and more easily handled, gave a sudden thrust which cut a deep
flesh wound across Robin's cheek, so that the blood ran fast
down his face.

"Oh, hold thy hand, young sir," said Robin, in his natural
voice. "Hold thy hand, and thou shalt be one of my merry
men to range the forest with bold Robin Hood."

Then Marian remembered the voice of her lover, and said: "Ay,
Robin, 'tis thine own self. At last I have found thee."

"In good faith, who art thou that dost remember me?"

"Why, 'tis I — Marian — the maiden friend of thy youth,
come in search of thee to aid me in my sore need."

[231]

ROBIN HOOD

Then he knew that it was Marian's voice; and he drew her
quickly toward him, and kissed her on the lips, like a true
and loyal lover.

After a space they turned and bent their steps toward the
oak glade, but on the way Marian made great dole over the
wound she had given him.

"In truth," quoth jolly Robin, " 'tis naught. Right glad am I
to have it, for without this wound I should not have found thee."

Anon she told him of her sorrows, and asked him if he could
find a place for her safe keeping. "For, Robin," said she, "I
have no other friend but thee."

"Right blithe am I that 'tis so," quoth Robin. "We will
find room for thee in Allan-a-Dale's bower, under care of his
wife, till the time when thou shalt set the day for Friar Tuck
to marry us."

Soon they came to the oak glade, where Robin with a blast
of his horn drew all his band together, and told them in few
words how the case stood, and what he meant to do. Amid
the loud cheers that made the woods ring and re-echo, Allan-a-
Dale's wife went up to Marian and kissed her. Then, putting
her arms around her waist, she led her to the bower. On that
same even was such a bustling and excitement as ne'er was
seen before, for all set to work in right good earnest to make a
stately banquet in honor of the betrothed chief and his fair
Maid Marian.

In a short space the board was set, groaning with good things.
A great flagon of the best wine was placed before each man, that
every one in turn might drink a merry toast to their beloved
captain and his beautiful bride soon to be. When they had
feasted long and well, Robin rose from the table and pledged
Marian in a deep cup, after which all his tall, comely yeomen
did likewise.

Thus bravely did these stout hearts wish Robin well, and
each cup, as it was emptied, they filled with speed again. But
all good times must have an end, and so at last their merry-
making came to a close. Just as the nightingale began its sweet

[232]

ROBIN HOOD AND MARIAN IN THEIR BOWER

ROBIN HOOD

song they all went to rest, happy over the latest yet sweetest
addition to their band.

Twas not many days hence when Friar Tuck, after much
thought and many whisperings with the others, announced
that the wedding would now be solemnized. And so they were
married, the lovely bride decked out with many beautiful jewels
that were gifts from each one of the band. On this day, the
great oak, as well as the whole glade, was festooned and gar-
landed with sweet flowers — jessamine, eglantine, honeysuckle,
and wild roses, forget-me-nots from the brookside, pied daisies
and cowslips. The sward was a thick carpet of sweet-smelling
posies, and the merry birds, when they saw the glade turned
into a garden, came to the twigs and branches and sang a glo-
rious melody together, while the happy bride and the brave
groom walked slowly, hand in hand, to their new and beautiful
bower, where they lived together in great content for many a
long day after.

XXI

KING RICHARD VISITS ROBIN

I ING RICHARD, the mighty warrior, had now
returned home to his kingdom, after an ab-
sence of more than four years in the Holy Land,
fighting the Turks. A year of that time he
was held a prisoner, chained in a castle in the
Austrian Tyrol. He was set free upon pay-

__ _ ment of a large ransom, and finally reached

England in the spring of 1194, where he met his mother, Eleanor,
who told him of his brother John's rebellion. Richard at once
pushed northward, and on the 28th of March the Castle of
Nottingham, which was held by men-at-arms for Prince John,
surrendered to the King.

The Sheriff was not slow in making complaint of the forest
outlaws; and Richard, ever fond of adventure, was moved to
find out for himself how the matter stood. So, much to the
Sheriff's surprise, he said that he would see Sherwood Forest
and meet the famous outlaw face to face.

"It is my will to go clad as monk," quoth he, "and thou shalt
choose me out five knights to attend me."

"My liege," said the Sheriff, "all shall be done as thou sayest,
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ROBIN HOOD

and, as ever, thou dost wisely; for a monk or prior doth never
fail to entice this sly rogue."

To this King Richard answered never a word, but watched
the Sheriff grimly as he made a low obeisance and departed;
for, to say sooth, he loved not this wily man over well. But
in what he had heard of Robin Hood and his deeds he found
something to his liking. He loved not hunting the deer as his
forefathers had loved it, for his great joy lay in fighting either
in mortal hand-to-hand combats or in tournaments. So stark
was he that no man might withstand him in single fight. None
the less, he was jealous of his rights over the forests, and of the
rights of his earls and barons, who might hunt as they listed
so long as they gave him money and men for his wars.

Of the nine years that Richard was King of England he dwelt
but nine months in his own kingdom. For the rest he was in
foreign lands, either at war or as a prisoner. Like Robin Hood,
he delighted to seek adventure in disguise, going oft alone, and
trusting to his own courage and strength of arm.

So the day after the King came to Nottingham it was ar-
ranged that he should visit Sherwood, under the guidance of
the captain of the foresters, who promised to lead him to Robin
Hood's glade. King Richard was arrayed in abbot's attire,
and his five knights went as monks, but all had on chain mail
beneath their cloaks. Following some distance behind was the
King's war-horse, fully caparisoned, together with some sumpter-
horses under the care of his squires. After they had gone some
distance into the deep forest it so befell that they met Robin
Hood standing right in their path. Robin stepped forward and
placed his hand upon the bridle of the King's horse, calling out:

"Sir Abbot, by your leave, I desire that ye abide with us awhile.
We be yeomen of this forest, who live by the King's deer, for we
have no other shift. But I trow thou hast many churches with
rents that yield thee gold a-plenty. Therefore, good Abbot,
prithee give us some of thy moneys for holy charity."

Then said the King: "Truly, I have brought with me no more
than forty pounds, for I have been at Nottingham these last

[239]

ROBIN HOOD

few days with our King, where I have spent much of my money
on the great earls and barons there. Wherefore, good sir, having
but forty pounds, no more can I give, though I would it were
a hundred pounds that I might give unto thee."

Robin took the forty pounds, and, dividing it into parts, gave
half to his men. Then he spake courteously to the abbot:

"Sir Abbot, far be it from me to take all thou hast; therefore
take this other part for thine own use, and I trust we shall meet
again another day."

"Grammercy," said the King. "In sooth, thou art a reasonable
outlaw, and our King Richard greeteth thee, and doth send
his seal to bid thee come to Nottingham, both to dine and to drink
with him." Thereupon he took from his pouch the great seal,
to show Robin it was in truth a royal command.

Robin uncovered his head, and knelt down on his knee, saying:
"I love no man in all the world so well as I do our mighty King.
Welcome, then, is this seal to me. And, Sir Abbot, for thy
good tidings to-day thou shalt dine with me under my trysting-
tree for the love I bear to our King."

Forthwith he led the abbot and his monks to the great oak,
and, taking his horn, blew three loud blasts, whereat seven-
score hardy yeomen came running, and stood ready all in a
row, each man bending his knee before Robin.

The King said to himself, "Now, by Saint Austin, this to my
thinking is a wonderful sight to behold; for this outlaw's men
are more to his bidding than my men are to mine."

Robin then gave some orders, and straightway the yeomen
hasted to make ready a feast for the King and his men. With
might and main they worked, and anon before the King were set
great haunches of venison and good white bread, with red wine
and rich brown ale to wash it down.

"Make good cheer, Abbot," cried Robin, "and be assured
that for thy tidings of the King thou art blessed in my sight.
Now shalt thou see the life we lead before thou wendest thy
way back to Nottingham, that thou mayst tell our brave King
thereof when next thou shalt meet with him."

[240]

THE KING BEGAN TO ROLL UP HIS SLEEVE

ROBIN HOOD

When they had feasted enough, all started up in haste to show
the abbot their skill with the long-bow. The King looked about
him warily when he saw the outlaws bending their bows, thinking
they might perchance prove traitors. But he was soon unde-
ceived when he saw them placing two wands, with garlands of
roses atop, for targets at a hundred paces away.

"The distance," quoth he, "is far too long for good aim."

Quoth Robin: "I trow that any single man who faileth to
shoot through yon fair garland shall forfeit his arrows — be they
made ever so fine — and, what is more, he shall get a good buffet
on the head from his master."

Then each shot in turn, and those who missed Robin smote
wondrous sore; for he wished the King to hear how his brave
men were the best archers in merry England. In the first two
rounds Robin split the wand both times, and so did Gilbert, the
cook, whom they called Gilbert of the White Hands, because he
was always mixing the flour to make bread. Then Little John
and Will Scarlet again split the wand. At the last shot that
Robin took he missed the mark full three fingers.

Then up spake good Gilbert. "Master, thine arrows are
forfeit. Stand forth and take thy pay in one sound buffet."

"If it be so," quoth Robin, "I will deliver my arrows. I
pray thee, Sir Abbot, to serve me well with a buffet of thy strong
arm."

"It is not the custom of my order," said the King, "to smite
a good yeoman, and in sooth I fear I shall do thee harm. By
thy leave, good Robin, I had rather another should do it."

"I give thee leave," quoth Robin. "Smite boldly; I fear no
harm from thee."

So the King, with a half-smile upon his face, began to roll up
his sleeve, while Robin planted his feet wide apart and waited
with a light heart, for he thought that no fat abbot would budge
him. The next moment he found himself sprawling on the grass
while the greenwood seemed to swim round him. Slowly he
arose, rubbing his sore head.

"I make my vow," quoth he, "thou art a stalwart churchman;
[243]

ROBIN HOOD

there is pith in that tough arm of thine. No other hath e'er before
smitten me so hard, and I did think that none but King Richard
himself had such might of arm." Then he looked closer at the
smiter, and he saw that the disguised abbot was in very truth
the King. Falling again to his knee, he cried: " 'Tis my liege
lord, the King of England, now I know it well. Mercy I ask,
under our trysting-tree, of thy kingly goodness and grace. I
ask it for all my men and for me."

"Yea, good outlaw," said the King, "thy prayer I do grant
thee, on condition that thou and all thy company do forthwith
leave the greenwood and come back to the court, there to dwell
close to my person."

"I make my vow to God," quoth Robin, "that I will go to
thy court and join thy service, and take with me my sevenscore
men, to be thy loyal, true servants forevermore."

But fate decreed it otherwise, for the King went back to
Nottingham to hold a great council for a judgment againt his
brother, Prince John. A few weeks later he crossed from the
Isle of Wight to Harfleur in France, and never returned to his
court and country.

XXII

ROBIN WINS THE QUEEN'S PRIZE

fOME years after his visit to Robin Hood,
King Richard went to his fathers, being
wounded in the arm by an arrow shot from
the bow of a young Norman, Bertrand de
Gurdrum. In those days of rude surgery the
barbed iron head of the shaft could not be
drawn out without cruelly mangling the flesh.
And so the Warrior King died. His brother, the wicked Prince
John, ascended the throne and by his unwisdom lost the crown
of England, the fair lands of Normandy, and other provinces.
At last the barons forced him to sign the Magna Charta, after
he had brought the people to a state of abject slavery. Sud-
denly the tyrant was called to his last account. With his army
he tried to cross the estuary of the Wash against a strong
inflowing tide. There the King's baggage-wagons and sumpter-
horses, with his treasures, his armor, and clothing, were all swal-
lowed up by the waters. Among them stood King John, helpless
and despairing — even his crown was swept away by the strong
current. Three days later he died from the exposure.

Then a little boy of nine years old became King under the
name of Henry III., and at his coronation a fillet of gold was

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ROBIN HOOD

placed upon his head in lieu of the crown that was lost by King
John.

The young King grew to manhood, and in the course of time
married Eleanor. The nuptial festivities were of extraordinary
splendor. The citizens of London especially came forth with
all their pomp, and among their merrymakings was a great
shooting-match at which costly prizes were offered to the best
archers from all over England.

Robin Hood was now past threescore and ten, though no
one would take him to be more than forty-five. Breathing
outdoor air night and day, living upon plain, hearty food, and
practising himself in the use of all weapons as of yore, it seemed
that he would always be young. There was scarce a tinge of
gray in his hair or beard, and his teeth were white, glistening like
those of a boy.

Little John, some years younger than Robin, was quite as
hearty. Will Scarlet and the rest changed little save that the
years softened and mellowed them. One or two had gone to
their long rest in peace, followed by the prayers and good wishes
of loving hearts. Among them had gone the good Friar Tuck,
whose remains were lovingly carried through the greenwood
in a huge oaken coffin, slung from the shoulders of a dozen stal-
wart men, to a grave beside Fountains Abbey, according to his
last wish. The little chapel he had caused to be built for the
especial use of the outlaws had received his careful attention to
the last. Nevertheless, feeling that his time would soon come,
not knowing when he might be called away, he had trained an
assistant — a tall, comely lad named Cecil, whose gentleness and
sweet nature filled in a measure the void left by the loss of the
worthy friar. And so young Friar Cecil now called with a little
bell the outlaws to vespers and matin-song.

We must now go into Nottingham town, to the Blue Boar Inn,
the same place where Robin, many years ago, had befooled the
Tinker and stolen his warrant. The old inn was much as before.
On the same seat, at the same bench, was seated a great, tall
fellow dressed in green, his long-bow and quiver at his back,

[246]

ROBIN HOOD

talking quietly to another bold archer dressed in red. Each had
a tankard of ale beside him, and their looks were bent upon a
handsome boy of sixteen, richly dressed as a page. The youth
had just dismounted from a beautiful white steed, which he turned
over to the hostler to be fed. Striding up to a bench near t'.e
archers, he called for the landlord, bidding him bring a bottle
of Rhenish wine. "I pray you, brave archers," he cried, "drink
me a toast to our noble and beautiful Queen Eleanor, and to
my search for the bold Robin Hood."

The tall archer said to his companion, "We can drink to the
first part of that, but what would he with our captain?" So
they drank with the youth, and the tall fellow said: "Tell me
truly what is thine errand with Robin Hood, my fair young
stranger? Perchance we may guide thee to him if thou meanest
no harm."

"Nay, in sooth it is not so," quoth the youth. "I tell thee
truly, I am Richard Patrington, the Queen's page; and she did
call me to her chamber, saying, 'Post thou to Nottingham as
fast as thou canst ride; search throughout the forest of Sherwood
to inquire of one good yeoman or another where Robin Hood
doth abide.' "

"Tell me, sweet page," said the archer, "what is the cause
that the good Queen seeketh Robin Hood?"

"Sir archer," said the page, " 'tis a message from our Queen
for Robin Hood. She will have him go up to London, and will
guard him from all harm, but more I will not tell thee as at
this time."

"We will guide thee, young page, so mount thy white steed
and follow us on through the forest."

Straightway they set out, an archer on either side of the white
horse. Striding swiftly along, they reached the glade, where
the band were seated or lying at ease upon the greensward.

"What gay young spark is this," cried one, "that Little John
and Will Scarlet have brought unto us?" For the page was
dressed in bright-colored velvets and adorned with silk ribbons
and jewels.

[2471

ROBIN HOOD

"There standeth Robin Hood," quoth Little John to the page.

Thereat young Patrington stepped forward and fell on one
knee, saying: "Famous outlaw, our noble Queen Eleanor doth
send thee greetings by me. Having heard of thy fame as an
archer, she would fain see thee and witness thy wondrous skill
with the bow. Be it known to thee that our gracious King Henry
of great renown will shortly hold a shooting - match in Fins-
bury Field, in presence of all the Court. All the best archers
in merry England will strive for a grand prize, and our Queen
would fain see the gallant Robin Hood the victor in the match.
She bids me command thee to be present, and doth promise to
guard thee and thy men that ye may return to Sherwood without
harm. This gold ring is a sign of her good-will, and she biddeth
thee post to fair London without any fear."

Then Robin answered: "Fair young page, I will do the com-
mands of our noble Queen right merrily. This ring she sends
by thee shall never part from me." So saying, he kissed the ring
right loyally and placed it upon his finger. "Before we go,
my gallant page, thou must rest and take food, the while we
go to array ourselves in seemly guise." So he called Little
John, Will Scarlet, and Allan-a-Dale, to go with him to the
Court.

Anon they came forth, ready to start. Robin was clad from
head to foot in scarlet, and his men in Lincoln green, with black
caps and long, white, feathery plumes. Each had a fine horse,
and with young Patrington they rode away to London town.

Early on the morn of the third day they came in sight of
the walls and battlements of the city. Their young guide was
of great aid in picking the way through the maze of people
gathered together for this great occasion, and they soon arrived
at the Court, where Queen Eleanor received Robin and his com-
panions with much kindness.

Quoth the Queen: "Thou art welcome, bold Robin Hood, and
so are thy true companions. I know of thy skill, and fear not to
wager that thou wilt bear off the great prize. Go forth and do
thy best."

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ROBIN HOOD

Then Robin kneeled, saying: "Ay, that will I, your gracious
Majesty."

So on the next day there were gathered together the most
famous archers of merry England at the archery range— Tepus,
the bow-bearer to the King, a great favorite with the common
people; also young Clifton, the winner of many prizes; and
Gilbert the Smith, with his strong arm, who pulled a mighty
long-bow, though in truth he was more famed for shooting far
than for skill in marksmanship.

Finsbury Field was a gay sight with its throngs of people,
for twenty renowned archers were about to strive for great prizes
— three hundred tuns of Rhenish wine, three hundred tuns of
beer, and leave to shoot three hundred of the fatted hart in
Dalton Forest.

On each side of the archery range were rows and rows of seats,
all filling with a noisy, chattering crowd of high officials, barons,
and knights, with their ladies fair.

The targets were all set forth and the distance measured. All
was in readiness, waiting the advent of the King and the Queen
to take their seats on the royal dais. Soon loud cheers proclaimed
their coming, and at last the trumpet sounded as the royal
pair rode along with waving plumes and jewels flashing in the
sunlight. Then, dismounting, they took their seats, amidst the
clamorous cheers of the people.

When all were silent again, a herald entered the ground and
gave three loud blasts from a silver trumpet, calling the archers
before the King, to make their reverences to him before the
shooting began.

Now the King was exceeding proud of the archers of his guard.
He looked them over with an approving eye, well assured that
he knew who would win. Oft before had these famous bowmen
given him good cause for his trust; and now in right kingly,
courteous fashion he bade them do their uttermost.

Amid a breathless silence the shooting began in good earnest,
and soon the targets were pricked full of arrows. Upon the
second trial many archers dropped out. New targets were set up,

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ROBIN HOOD

while the crowd waited impatiently to cheer and shout for their
favorites.

'Twas then the noble Queen Eleanor turned to the King and
asked: "Are these in truth the very best archers in merry Eng-
land?"

"In good sooth," quoth the King, "not only the best in Eng-
land, but in all the world besides. Who can show such skill as
Gilbert, who hath twice pricked the very center with his shaft —
or the bold young Clifton ? Fain would I see any that could match
them."

"Yet I know," replied the Queen, "of two archers who could
easily better their best."

"Bring them forth, my Queen, if they be nigh," quoth the
King, laughing. "With so fair a champion, they should at least
do something to cover thy fair face from shame at their sure
defeat."

"Of that," said Eleanor, "I have no fear, and will match two
archers against all that are here to-day — providing thou, my
King, wilt grant them freedom to come and go as they list."

"In sooth," laughed the King, "my fair Queen shall not ask
in vain. Bring forth whatsoever archer thou wilt, and I will
promise him freedom to go and come for forty days, without
harm or hindrance, under thy fair favor. What is more, should
any shoot better than my good bow-bearer, Tepus — or even do
as well — I will give him prizes to boot. And with thee I lay a
wager of a silver bugle and a gold-tipped arrow."

"I take thy wager, Harry, my King." Then, with merry
laughter from all the knights and ladies near by, the Queen
cried, "Is there no noble knight of our Court that will share in
this wager of his Queen? Come hither to me, Sir Cyril Leigh,
that art a full good knight, or thou, good Bishop of Hereford,
and lay a wager upon mine archers."

"Nay, pardon, most gracious and fair Queen," quoth the Bishop,
"I fear to wager what little I have against such brave archers
as the King's, and I know not any strange archer that can win."

"Bring forth thy archers," said the King.
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ROBIN HOOD

"Marry, I will," quoth the Queen, merrily, trusting full well
that Robin would win the prize.

Then she beckoned to young Richard Patrington, and bade
him call Robin Hood, who waited close by. Anon Robin and
Little John were seen marching across to the Royal pavilion,
where they stopped, bent their knees, and doffed their caps.

King Henry gazed for a while and was silent. When the Bishop
of Hereford saw who the new-comers were, his face changed.

"By the mass," quoth he, " 'tis the saucy villain, Robin Hood,
and his twin rogue, Little John," and he began to puff out with
rage. But the Queen stopped his further speech with a wave
of her fair hand, saying:

"My brave archers, I have laid a wager that ye will outshoot
the best man now on Finsbury Field. Will ye both do your
utmost to win the prize, for the sake of your Queen?"

"Ay, that we will, gracious Majesty," quoth Robin. Then
catching sight of the Bishop, he said: "My gracious Queen, I
would fain crave a boon of thee, which is only that I might
speak a few words to my lord the Bishop of Hereford here in this
presence." As he said this he quaked inwardly, despite his
boldness, for the King looked black. But Queen Eleanor was
in a merry mood, and thought to have some sport with the
Bishop, so she said:

"Thy boon is granted."

Then Robin said unto the Bishop: "My Lord Bishop, seeing
that we have known each other of old time, I make bold to ask
thee what thou wilt wager with me that I have the worse in this
match."

"By my silver miter," quoth the Bishop, wrathfully, "all
the money within my purse, and that is fifteenscore nobles, nigh
a hundred pounds." With that, he cast his purse down before
Robin. Then Robin took the money pouch from his side and
cast it beside the Bishop's purse.

"I know who this money must win," quoth Little John,
smiling, as they went to take their places for the shooting.

As the archers were making ready for the second bout the
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ROBIN HOOD

King turned to the Bishop and asked, "What is this that thou
sayest? Who are these men our Queen doth champion against
the flower of English archery?"

"My gracious King," quoth the Bishop, in slow, severe tones,
"yon villain in red is a notorious outlaw thief from Sherwood
Forest, named Robin Hood. The big, long-legged rogue in
green is t'other villain's right-hand helper, whom they call Little
John. Both of them took me, late one Saturday night, bound
me fast to a tree, and made me sing a mass. A murrain upon
him and his vile outlaw band! Many a time hath he robbed
me and the Church, God wot!"

At this the King was very wroth, and his brow grew dark.
Turning to the Queen, he said, in angered tones, "Can this be
true?"

"What the Bishop saith," replied the Queen, "may be true;
report hath it that he once made merry with Robin Hood. But
remember thy royal promise of safety to those men for forty
days."

"True," said the King. "The promise shall be kept, but
let them beware what they do both now and when their time
is past."

Then he called forth his archers and bade them sternly to
redouble their efforts, because the Queen had laid a wager on
the outlaw Robin Hood. "So take heed," quoth he, "that
your shafts fly true and to the mark."

Now, the King's archers, like everybody else, had heard of
Robin Hood; and Tepus, like a sensible man, replied simply:

"We will do our best to uphold the honor of our illustrious
King."

"Well s^id, good Tepus. I am content, and by Saint Hubert,
I believe we have the victors upon our side."

Finsbury Field was all agog with excitement, and a loud
buzzing could be heard as the news spread from one to another
that the great outlaw would now shoot on the Queen's wager
against the King. Many in the crowd liked it not, and there were
some who murmured; yet on second thought they considered

[254]

ROBIN HOOD

that it would be wiser not openly to affront the Queen, who was
very popular.

The trials had now brought down the competitors to six archers
for the King and only two for the Queen. The King's men
were Gilbert of Warwick, stout Tepus, the bow-bearer, young
Clifton of Kent, Kenneth of Tittenson, and two brothers,
Hugh and Steve of the moorlands. Then came Little John
and Robin Hood for the Queen.

Clad in bright colors, the men made a bra,/e show; and so
thought the people as they stretched their necks, tier above
tier, to see them. Attendants had already set new targets in
place, while six upright willow wands, straight and true, exactly
covered the center of each target. Such a mark none was ex-
pected to touch at so long a range. A score of new long-bows
lay on the ground, ready for any who should by accident damage
his own weapon.

The King's archers tossed up a penny for choice of targets,
but Robin and John put aside their chance, saying that all
marks were the same to them. In like manner did they choose
to give others the first trial. Each archer shot six arrows in
turn. Tepus, leading, did well, for every arrow hung on his
target. Likewise, so did Gilbert, one of his shafts striking the
center ring, whereat loud and long cheers went up. Clifton and
Kenneth were not so true. Both missed the target, each with
a single shaft. Then came Little John's turn. He stepped
forward to the line with his great seven-foot bow, and loosed
his shafts so fast that it seemed to the beholders as if they had
been sped with a single pull of the string.

All the arrows hung safe on his target. He knew another
round must needs be shot, and he only wished to equal the
rest. No cheering was heard, and all the people watched closely
as Robin stepped forward with modest mien and held up his
long-bow of greater length than his own body. He slowly pulled
from his quiver his best shaft, one of those he had himself tied
with feathers from the wild swan's wing.

He looked first at the King, and next at the Queen. Then,

ROBIN HOOD

with a faint smile, he sped his shaft to the very center of the
target. Resting his bow upright, he said: "Good Tepus, for
this round I rest upon that shot alone."

Still there was no cheering. The field was as if peopled with
marble statues. At last came whispering sounds, gradually
growing louder, till it was wafted on the faint wind to Robin's
ear that his shot was merely a stroke of luck and could not
be repeated.

"Master," whispered John, "shoot again to show that it was
no chance shot."

"Nay, nay, John, be patient. Let the archers go on in their
rightful turns."

With a slight paleness in his face, Tepus once more made a
trial, taking the most careful aim. Gilbert followed, and both
lodged their shafts in the center, making them even with Robin.
The people were now wild with delight, because their favorites,
though they had made no better shots than Robin, yet, having
two arrows in the center ring, would win the day unless Robin
should by a miracle do better.

The score now stood two center shots against one. Then Little
John once more took his bow, and this time shot with greater
care. But though he placed all his shafts very near the center,
he failed to beat the King's men. The King smiled, and bade
the Bishop of Hereford, who looked somewhat surly and down-
cast, be of good cheer.

Now Robin took off his bow-string and put on a new one with-
out fray or flaw. Slowly and calmly he again took his place
at the line. In his seventy years of venturesome life he had
won many a match, and never had he been worsted with the
long-bow. He felt that his Queen placed great trust in his skill.
To say sooth, she had gone far toward quarreling with her hus-
band, King Henry, whose temper was something of the shortest,
while his power made it unsafe for any to cross his will.

But of this Robin took no thought. To his simple mind,
he was there at the Queen's bidding, to do her honor, to win
the prize, and to maintain the fame of himself and his com-

[256]

w

1

w

ROBIN HOOD

rades who loved him. He knew exactly what he could do. All
was in his favor; the bright sun was behind him to give a white
light on the target, and not a breath of air stirred to mar his
aim. He alone of the vast throng was calm. He could easily
have played with the people, and teased them as a cat does a
mouse, by prolonging the contest.

At last he raised the bow, and, drawing the string to the utmost
length of the shaft, held it there so long and so steadily that
the people wondered if he were struck stiff, though in truth 'twas
but a moment he stood so.

Twang! and the shaft sped, quick as light. The arrow split
the wand in twain, and still in its flight pierced clean through
the target in the very middle.

A burst of genuine delight rent the air, and even the King
could not choose but cheer. The people stopped their shouts
of a sudden, for they saw Robin nock another shaft and shoot
once more. The second time, he split his own arrow that stood
straight in the target's center. Again, for the third time, an
arrow went whizzing, and the second shaft was split in twain.

Then Robin unstrung his great bow, and, hanging it over his
back, he strode calmly down to make his obeisance to the Queen.
Little John followed at his master's heels, and the King's archers
came some distance behind.

Finsbury Field was a very bedlam. The crowd rushed up
to the targets to view them close at hand and finger the broken
shafts, for this was a thing that would be told to their children
in song and story for many a year to come.

As Robin bent his knee, the King scowled darkly, and without
a word he rose from his seat and left the pavilion.

Then Queen Eleanor said, smiling: "Rise, most gallant and
brave archer! Thou hast won the prize — nay, much more, thou
hast made for thyself in this our capital city an enduring name.
Worthily hast thou done, and thy victory shall remain a bright
and splendid deed of our reign. We will give command to send
the prizes whithersoever thou wilt have them."

"Nay, fair and gracious Queen," quoth Robin, "Tepus and
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ROBIN HOOD

Gilbert are good archers; upon them, I pray, bestow the prizes.
I need no hart of Dalton Forest, nor wine, nor beer, for we have
enough and to spare. But the silver bugle and gold-tipped
arrow, an it please thee, give to myself and my good John,
that we may ever keep them, in remembrance of this our visit."

"As thou dost desire, brave outlaw, so it shall be done. But
this I must tell thee, bold Robin: I would fain be sure that thou
wouldst instantly depart from this our city, that thou mayst
come to thy home in the North without scathe. The King is
deeply angered, and, though we may trust to his promise, some
treacherous one, thinking to please him, may strive to do thee
harm. So tarry not, but leave the city at once, under the guid-
ance of my page, Richard Patrington."

"We will obey," quoth Robin. "But first I fain would speak
a word with yon Bishop concerning our wager." Then, turning
to where the Bishop of Hereford was seated, he said:

"Sir Bishop, thy wager is lost, but take it back as a recom-
pense for that we took from thee in merry Sherwood."

"Nay, now, master," said Little John, under his breath, "that
shall not be. We must divide it as a gift to the King's servants
in return for their good service on Finsbury Field."

Quoth Robin: "Gracious Queen, honest Little John here hath
put me in mind that we owe something in courtesy to the King's
servants. Therefore, with thy good leave, we will fee them out
of the Bishop's purse, sin he hath fairly lost this wager."

Then the Bishop's heart was as black as the glance he shot
toward John, for he had hoped to gather in Robin's money along
with his own.

When they had given largess of the money the Bishop had lost,
they followed young Patrington, and were soon lost among the
dense crowd, on their way back to their home in Sherwood
Forest.

XXIII

ROBIN PURSUED BY THE KING

[OUNG PATRINGTON guided the two arch-
ers toward the inn where their horses had been
left in charge of Will Scarlet and Allan-a-Dale.
They all mounted and rode together through
Highgate, where they got upon Ermine Street,
that led due north toward Hertford, North-
ampton, and Nottingham. When they were
safe on the great highway, young Patrington left them and re-
turned to the Court. The four outlaws were a merry party,
riding abreast and chatting together of their doings in London
town. Will Scarlet was disappointed at seeing so little of the
city and its citizens, of which he had heard so much, but Robin
saw the wisdom of their hasty retreat. So they trotted leisurely
on, meaning to put up at St. Albans for the night.

Now when the King arose from his seat in such great anger
he went to his chamber; and in due time the Queen followed,
with divers officials and dignitaries of the Court. Hiding his
vexed spirit from the Queen, the King asked for the Bishop,
and when he had found him he took him aside.

"How now, Bishop?" quoth he. "Canst thou not devise some
plan to ensnare these two outlaw villains and bring them

[261]

ROBIN HOOD

back hither? For I know that thou hast good cause to hate
them."

"Yea, by the mass, that I have. These many years have I
hoped to see the sly fox trapped, and it would be a goodly sight
for me to behold the naughty thief dangling by the neck from
some tall tree."

"Then," said the King, "let us together follow after, with a
score of men-at-arms, to cut him off ere he reach his den."

"Ay," quoth the Bishop, "that would be merry — but the
promise to the Queen."

"The Queen," replied Henry, "must not know. Therefore
be ready early to-morrow, and I will give out that we go on a
peaceful mission."

Now young Patrington, who had returned and was talking
to his brother, one of the men-at-arms, chanced to learn of the
plot, and straightway went to tell the Queen. Thereat her
Majesty was sore vexed, and she bade young Richard ride hard
and fast that night to overtake the little band of outlaws and
warn them of their peril. So he mounted his horse and, galloping
as fast as the wind, came at break of day to St. Albans, where
he soon found Robin and his comrades making ready for an
early start.

"What is the matter, my fair young page?" said Robin.
"Doth the Queen again command our services?"

"Nay," replied the page, "but that dastard Bishop hath per-
suaded the King to follow you with men-at-arms and to hang
you all upon a tree. The Queen bade me ride on before, to warn
you; for they have by this time started, and will soon be upon
you."

"Go back and carry our grateful thanks to our fair Queen,
and say that we will guard us well." So young Richard departed,
and rode on his way back to London town.

"Now, my comrades," quoth Robin, "we must here scatter,
leave the highway, and take to the woods and by-paths. We will
sell our horses and go afoot." But Little John would have none
of this plan. Much better it seemed to him to ride apace and get

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ROBIN HOOD

to Sherwood before the score of men-at-arms, that they might
defend their trysting-place against them.

"Do as it pleaseth thee," quoth Robin, "for in this matter
I will lay no command upon any. But for mine own part, I will
go afoot."

So Little John, Will, and Allan galloped fast, and reached
Sherwood safe and sound without let or hindrance. But Robin
led his horse through the town seeking a buyer. Anon he met
a milkman with a mule, upon whose back were slung two milk-
cans. The milkman wore a long shepherd's smock, covering
his body down to his shoes, and upon his head he had a squirrel-
skin hood with a tail hanging down upon either side of his face.
"Good faith," quoth merry Robin to himself, "this garb will suit
me well."

"Good milkman," said he, "wilt thou change thy old rickety
mule for my horse and trappings, and thy ragged smock -coat
for my scarlet raiment, with ten bright shillings to boot?"

"Right blithely," quoth the milkman. Then, taking off his
smock in a trice, for fear Robin should repent him of so unequal
a bargain, he threw the smock in his face and laid hold upon the
horse's bridle.

"Not so fast," quoth Robin. "Take my plumed cap for thy
skin hood." The change was made, and both parted well
content.

Robin jogged alongside his mule and milk-pails till about the
hour of noon, when he stopped at a little village for food and
rest. While he sat on a bench, quietly munching a piece of hard
rye bread and now and then taking a draught of milk from a
small cup that he found with the cans, what was his surprise
to see a company of men-at-arms riding up with the King and
the Bishop in the lead! They came at a sharp trot, yet one of
the men turned aside, saying, "Milkman, hast thou seen four
mounted archers pass along this road?"

Then Robin made answer: "Was one arrayed in scarlet, the
others in green?"

"Yea, so they were."

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ROBIN HOOD

"Then," said Robin, "go straight ahead, and ye will catch
them soon."

Without more words the man galloped away to join the others,
and all then mended their pace.

Now Robin knew full well that they would soon come back
from this vain quest, so he gave his milk-cans to an old woman
and cut him a stout cudgel from the wayside. Then, throwing
his leg over the mule's back, he walloped the poor beast with
might and main, and went bibity-bump along the main high-
way, hoping to reach Fountains Abbey in Needwood Forest
before the dawn. So after journeying all night he came to the
Abbey at break of day, thoroughly tired out, his back and arm
full sore with belaboring the slothful mule.
• Just as Robin had foreseen, the King and the Bishop soon re-
traced their steps. When they questioned other wayfarers they
learned that no such men as those they sought had passed along
that road, and they were full wroth that the milkman had befooled
them. They found the milk-cans, and as soon as the old woman
had told them the way that Robin had taken, they galloped
off in full cry after their prey.

Meanwhile Robin, by good fortune, found Friar Cecil at Foun-
tains Abbey. After partaking of a good meal, which the Friar
soon set before him, he said:

"Now, good Cecil, I must tarry here no longer, for those hounds
are in full cry, and the Bishop, who leads the King in quest of
me, knoweth this place. Therefore, if they come before I go,
the men-at-arms will surround the Abbey, and I am undone.
Get me, then, pious Cecil, a palmer's habit, to don in place of
this milkman's attire, which thou must bury in the garden.
As for the mule, I will leave it in this place, for it is a dull beast
that hindereth me and availeth not for speed."

Then Robin strode off, with his palmer's staff and bottle, at
a swinging pace, that he might be well on his way before the
King and his company should reach the Abbey. Three hours
later the King and the Bishop stood knocking at the door, while
the men-at-arms closed in around the little hermitage,

[264]

ROBIN HOOD

"By my mitered staff," roared the Bishop, "we're trapped
the wily fox at last! For there stands the mule upon whose
back he rode to this, his den."

"Open," shouted the King, "or we will dash the door to
splinters."

Then Cecil unchained the door, holding a small book in his
hand, and asked, with a pious, wondering look: "What can the
matter be that ye do so rudely disturb my vesper devotions?"

"Reason enow!" quoth the Bishop. "Thy devotions must e'en
wait till we have skimmed the cream from the milkman that
lies hidden in some hole of thy den. Know, young Friar, that
the Bishop of Hereford speaks ! Therefore bring forth straight-
way the owner of the mule."

"I gladly give myself up, as owner of the mule, to thee, my
Lord Bishop. Enter, then, good sirs. Search, rest, accept
food and drink, and take whatever ye will."

The King and the Bishop went in and hurriedly searched the
room, but found naught to show that any stranger had been
there. "Hath no man come hither in the night?" asked the
Bishop.

"None but a poor old palmer," replied Cecil, "who hath gone
home on his way to Trentham Abbey."

Said the Bishop to the King, "In faith, the sly rogue hath
changed his coat again."

When they had eaten and drunk and rested for an hour, they
started on to Trentham, little the wiser for the many questions
they asked of Friar Cecil. Robin was now a long way on his
journey, and had reached the little town of Stafford. He was
full sure that his pursuers would be thrown off the scent at
Fountains Abbey, but in this he gave the Bishop too little credit
for craft. You must know that Robin had an old acquaintance
at the little Priory of Trentham in Friar Tunnicliffe, whom he
had befriended in times gone by. He trusted that the friar
would now give him a hearty welcome, and mayhap shelter him
till the King's wrath abated.

It was the last thing in his mind to lead the King and the Bishop
[265!

ROBIN HOOD

to Sherwood; for, though he doubted not that in fair fight his
yeomen could beat the King's sevenscore men-at-arms, yet
he feared that, by ill luck, the King himself might be wounded
or killed by an arrow. That would mean that an army would
be sent against the outlaws. For this cause Robin sought to
entice the King away from the forest.

Friar Tunnicliffe was a very pious and godly man, whose
prayers were almost as long as his appetite. It was his boast
that he could eat like a lion and sleep like a babe, yet he was
wondrous thin and meager of face, so that he seemed ever as if
he fasted. When Robin knocked at the Priory door he was
admitted, like all pilgrims. Straightway he asked for Friar
Tunnicliffe; and when he made himself known, the good friar
fell upon his neck, bellowing and blubbering and bedewing
him with tears of gladness. Robin then told of the sad plight
he was in, and who it was that pursued him.

"Do the King and the Bishop know," asked the good friar,
"that thou meanest to abide with us?"

"Nay, that I know not," said Robin. "All depends upon
young Cecil, whether he will tell the truth, or by craft persuade
them to take another road."

"Be that as it may, we must at once get thee another disguise.
Then, should they come here, I will go with thee some distance.
Both dressed alike in our friars' gowns, with book and beads,
cowl and hood, none shall take note of us. By my faith," he
cried, when Robin had changed his attire, "thou art a better
friar than I, and of a more pious and holy mien."

Just then they heard the clatter of horses' hoofs growing
louder and louder on the great Watling highway, which passed
directly by the Priory. Then Robin knew that the Bishop and
the King were again upon him. Good Friar Tunnicliffe hastily
took up his staff, and both strode on their way up the road to-
ward Chester away from the approaching horsemen. When they
had gone a short space the friar bade his friend a tender farewell
and retraced his steps back to the Priory, while Robin trudged
along toward Chester.

[266]

PRIOR WILLIAM PROVIDES A FEAST FOR THE KING
AND THE BISHOP

ROBIN HOOD

Now the Prior of Trentham was a jolly, fat, hospitable church-
man, and there was always good eating and drinking to be had
in his house. He was unaware of the meeting of Robin and
the friar. When the Bishop and the King made known to him
who they were and what was their purpose, he swelled with pride,
for he liked nothing better than to feast a great man at his
plenteous board; and now that he had the King with him, he
vowed to give him a feast he would never forget. The King
confessed he was growing weary of chasing this wily outlaw,
and the Bishop's mouth always watered at mention of a feast.

As for Robin, he pushed along at a swinging pace, and was
soon past the nunnery at Stoke. Up Hartshill and down along
Thistlebery he went, on the way to Nantwich, where he stopped
for a little to rest, but soon pressed on and reached Chester
on the following noon. The King was sore weary after his hard
ride of a hundred and fifty miles, and was well content to lie
stretched at full length upon a downy couch in Prior William's
chamber. Soon he became aware that the Priory had a larder well
stored with good things, for a pleasing odor was wafted to his
nostrils on the gentle morning breeze.

Prior William of Trentham both knew how to provide all sorts
of dainties and rich dishes and was himself a gallant trencher-
man. It was his wont to stuff himself till unbidden tears trickled
down his ruddy cheeks at the sad thought that no more could
be tucked away. Then he would sleep away his heaviness,
snoring loudly. Throughout the feast he scarce spake, save
ever and anon to bid his guests be merry and make good cheer.

"Truly," quoth the King, at last, "I am full sore, so well
have I fared. And thy rich, brown ale hath a nutty flavor that
maketh me ever crave it the more."

"I am honored," quoth the jolly Prior, "that my King doth
commend my simple fare. The ale is of a special brew, of the
finest Kentish hops and Staffordshire barley, with the pure
waters of our silvery Trent — of which, by the mass, my cellar
shall never run dry, though my own need requires four gallons
each day, and two extra of Sundays and saints' days."

[269!

ROBIN HOOD

"Methinks," said the King, slyly, "saints' days come nigh
every day in the year."

"Marry, that they do," quoth the Prior, "and I make my
vow never to miss one."

The King and the Bishop were now fully satisfied and ready for
rest, so they laid them down, and were soon slumbering, forgetful
of the chase. Meanwhile brave Robin was carrying a message
from Friar Tunnicliffe to a brother at St. Dunstan's Abbey,
which set forth that he was a poor monk on his way to London
and that any aid given him would benefit the Church. For he
had made up his mind that his safest course would be to go back
to London, where through the Queen's good help he might
win the King's pardon.

The good friar of St. Dunstan's received him with much
kindness, telling him that some holy fathers were going to Lon-
don on the morrow, and that he would furnish him with a mount.

"Much thanks," quoth Robin, "and take these five pounds
for the poor of the parish as a gift in return for thy help." So
he set forth in company with the priests, and when he arrived
in London he left them and hied to Court.

When he came before Queen Eleanor, he fell down upon his
knee before her and said, "An it please thee, gracious Queen, I
am come to speak with King Henry."

Queen Eleanor answered bold Robin, '"The King is gone to
merry Sherwood, and when he went he said, 'I go to seek Robin
Hood.' '

"Then fare thee well, my Queen. To Sherwood I will hie
apace, for I fain would see what it is that the King would have,
if I can but meet with his Majesty."

But when King Henry came home, he had not yet set eyes
upon Robin Hood.

"Thou art welcome home, Henry, my sovereign liege," said
the Queen. "That bold archer, Robin Hood, hath been here
to seek thy person."

When the King heard that Robin had been to Court seeking
him, he laughed and answered: "He is a cunning knave, for we

[270]

ROBIN HOOD

have sought him this whole three weeks, uphill and down dale,
through town and village, through woodland and field, yet the
crafty fox escaped us."

"A boon, a boon!" cried Queen Eleanor. "I beg it here of
your grace, to pardon his life and seek no more to take him."

"By my crown and scepter, he shall have pardon. So brave
and bold a heart I like well. So crafty and wise an outlaw doth
deserve the freedom of his merry woodland life. If the Bishop
will have Robin Hood, let him go a-hunting alone, for I have
had enough."

XXIV

ROBIN RESCUES THE WIDOW'S SONS

)BIN kept his word to the Queen that he
would hie apace back to Sherwood, and never
before in all his life did he enter the oak glade
more glad at heart. Though Little John and
his comrades had feared no whit for his safety,
yet they gave him a mighty cheer when at
last they saw him come forth from the forest
trees. So, when they had feasted well, they sat them down to
talk, for it was early evening.

"How sweet to my ear," quoth Robin, "is the song of that
throstle, pouring out thanks to God! And so, too, do I thank
my Maker, that I am here once more safe and sound among my
own dear comrades, after such a chase as the King gave me.
As for that fat Bishop, I make a vow, when next we have him
here, to make him fast forty days and nights. I'll warrant I
will square his roundness."

The Bishop never again came nigh Sherwood Forest, and for
some weeks all went quietly in the glade. But it fell upon a
merry May day that Robin Hood set forth for Nottingham,
and by the wayside he spied an old woman sitting, who rocked
to and fro and wept full sore.

[272]

"COME, CHANGE THINE APPAREL FOR MINE, OLD MAN1

ROBIN H O O D

"What is the matter, good woman," he asked, "that thou
dost so weep and mourn?"

"The matter is bad enough, good sir," quoth she. "In Not-
tingham town this day three of my sons must die, and thou
seest me a poor widow left alone to pine."

"What have they done?" said Robin Hood. " Have they slain
priest or friar, or have they burned the farmers' hayricks?"

"Nay, good sir, none of these things have they done."

"Then what have they done, I pray thee tell unto me?"
' Tis for slaying of the King's fallow deer," said she. "Though
they did bear their long-bows in thy company, they were am-
bushed and taken by the Sheriff's men, and are now lost to me
for ever."

"Say not so, good woman, by the truth of my body," quoth
bold Robin Hood. "Thou hast told me in good time, and be
assured thy sons shall come safe to thee again."

"Art thou not Robin Hood?" quoth the old woman.

"In very truth, that I am. Dost thou not remember how
thou didst make me dine and sup with thee in thy cottage when
I was in danger? Now, therefore, I will gather my men, and we
will save thy sons to thee." Then he gave three loud blasts
upon his horn, and all his men came running over the lea.

"My comrades," said Robin, "three of our men are this day
condemned to die. Therefore, I pray you, go back and cover your
green coats with mantles, then meet me at the hangman's tree."

He himself strode away to Nottingham town, and when he
drew nigh the gate he met an old palmer walking slowly along
the highway.

"What news, good palmer?" he cried. "What news of the
town this fair day?"

The old man answered, "Three squires in Nottingham town
are to die this day for slaying of the King's deer."

"Come, change thine apparel for mine, old man," quoth Robin.
"Here are forty shillings in good silver, go spend it in food and
drink."

"Alack-a-day, ne'er laugh an old man to scorn, wherever
[2751

ROBIN HOOD

thou goest; for my apparel is torn and ragged, and thine is rich
and good."

"What is that to thee, thou silly old man? I have need of
thy ragged old clothes, and here are twenty pieces of good gold
that I will give for them."

The palmer, with wondering eyes, took the money; and Robin
put on the old man's hat, which stood full high in the crown.
Then he cast over his shoulder the cloak, patched with black
and blue and red. Next he put on the old man's breeches, which
were also patched all over. "By the truth of my body, when I
am fully dressed," quoth Robin, "I can truly say, 'This man
loved little price.' " Then he put on the palmer's shoes, that were
patched beneath and full of holes above. Robin looked himself
over with a wry smile, then, bidding the palmer God-speed, he
walked on to the town. There, wandering up and down the
streets, he chanced to meet the proud Sheriff.

"The saints save thee, dread Sheriff," quoth he. "What wilt
thou give to a silly old man to-day to be hangman?"

Now the Sheriff had been hunting all over the town, yet had
found no one who would do the deed, so this offer was just to
his liking. "The hangman's fee to-day," he replied, "is thirteen
pence and the three suits of the men that are to die upon the
gallows." Then Robin twirled around and gave a lively hop,
skip, and jump. "Nay, by the mass," quoth the Sheriff, "that
is a lively caper for an old man."

"I was ne'er a hangman in all my life," cried Robin, "nor do
I like the trade, for a curse is upon the man that was first a
hangman. Proud Sheriff, I have a horn in my pocket, that I
got from Robin Hood, and a blast from it would blow thee little
good."

"Oh, wind that horn, thou ragged fellow," said the Sheriff.
"I care not though thou blow such a blast that both thine eyes
fall out."

Then Robin took the horn from under his ragged coat and
blew both loud and shrill. Instantly a hundred and fifty of his
men were seen running up the street.

[276J

ROBIN HOOD

"Who are those men," the Sheriff said, "that run so hard
and fast?"

Brave Robin replied, "In truth, they are friends of mine,
come to pay a visit to thee." Straightway he took a sword
from one of his men and led the band on to the prison door,
while a dozen stout yeomen took the Sheriff and bound him hand
and foot. When the prison guards saw Robin and Little John,
they fell on their knees begging for mercy and gave up the key
of the prison. Soon the three young men were given their free-
dom.

"Now come with me, my three brave fellows," quoth Robin.
"I wish to bring you back myself to your weeping mother."
So Robin led the three brothers to the widow's cottage, and
when they all stood before her, he said, "Good widow, as I
promised, I have freed thy three sons and now bring them back
to thee safe and sound."

"The saints shower blessings upon thy head, bold Robin
Hood, and a widow's prayer follow thee where'er thou dost go."

Now while Robin was doing this good deed, a sad thing befell
without his knowledge. Some of his men took up the gallows
and placed it, as well as the Sheriff, upon a cart; then, with a
mighty shout, they dragged it to an open glade in the forest.
The Sheriff now saw that his last hour was nigh. He knew that
these men were grimly resolved to revenge themselves for his
cruelty through many long years. His own men had forsaken
him, and he thought it hard they should leave him to die the
most ignoble death known to man, yet he bethought him that
this death was but the same he had planned for three of their
own band at this very hour. His mind went back to Will Stutely
and to Little John— how near they had been to a like fate. He
quaked to see how fast they worked to set up the gallows. In
but a few more moments he, old in the service of the King, was
to breathe his last. Then four brawny fellows laid their heavy
hands on him and bound his arms tightly to his body with hide
thongs. . .

"Where, oh, where is Robin, your captain, and where is Little
[2771

ROBIN HOOD

John?"jnoaned the Sheriff, in piteous tones. "They would never
see done so foul a deed, for with all their faults I have never
known them to stain their fame with cold-blooded murder."

"No, thou wretch," said one outlaw, "but we know what
thou wouldst have done, this very hour, and many a time before.
Didst thou e'er have mercy upon us? Think on Will Stutely —
saved from the very gallows, and these to-day, our comrades,
three brothers, worthy sons of a poor lone widow! Three good
men for shooting a deer! Away with him — hanging's too good
for such a knave!"

Thus died the Sheriff of Nottingham, not with the will or
knowledge of Robin Hood, but through the hasty anger of some
of his men who had grown lawless in his old age.

'Twas but an hour later when Robin, Little John, and Will
Stutely were returning to the oak glade, happy indeed that
they had given back to the poor old widow her three young
sons. As they turned from a little fern-clad path into an open
glade they saw hanging high above them the body of a man
hung up by the neck.

"God-a-mercy!" quotlr Robin, "what have we here? And who
are they that would defile our woods with such a horrid sight?"

But Will Stutely at once understood what had been done.
"Our men," quoth he, "have done here the worst day's work
of their lives, dear uncle. That is the Sheriff of Nottingham
that hangs so high in air."

"What!" shouted Robin and Little John in the same breath.
"Nay, nay, our men would not of their own free will be guilty
of so foul a deed." Then Robin put his horn to his mouth and
blew three loud blasts, and then another three. Ere the echoes
died away the whole band came running at full speed through
the forest and ranged themselves before him.

"My loved and brave companions of many years," said Robin
Hood, gazing up at the grim-looking thing aloft, "is this the
work of mine own band?"

None gave answer, and none dared look their leader in the
face, but all hung their heads in shame.

[278]

ROBIN HOOD

' Tis a black day's work that ye have done for us all, and
by it we shall all pay dearly but justly. What can we do, think
ye, my men? We cannot leave the grim thing hanging there.
Who is there among you that dares take the body back to Not-
tingham? The townsfolk know full well ye took the Sheriff
away along with the gallows. In a little while the King will
be told, and then what think ye he will do?" With bowed heads
Robin and Little John left the place, and the men silently fol-
lowed on at a distance behind.

Five days had passed since the Sheriff met his fate. The
outlaws went about their usual affairs in glum silence. The
merry song and laughter had died away; the glade was silent
and gloomy. Robin and John felt a storm was brewing, so
they got together a fair share of their treasure and money and
brought it to Fountains Abbey. On the sixth day one of the
widow's sons came and stood before Robin Hood.

"What news," quoth Robin, "hast thou to give a broken old
man?"

"Dire and black is the news, bold Robin. The Sheriff's men
have cut down the body, and all the town and country is ablaze
with rage. Yet they know that neither Little John nor thou
had part in the crime. The King hath sent five companies of
archers, with knights and men-at-arms, all to storm the oak
glade and kill every outlaw. My two brothers have been seized,
and on pain of death must guide the army to this place on the
morrow soon after break of day. I alone have ventured to tell
the tale and warn thee."

Then Robin called his men around him, and told them what
was in store for them. "Go, my comrades all," he said, "to
the treasury, and share among yourselves whatever may be
therein. Take all ye want from the armory, the clothiery, and
the buttery. But see that ye share alike. Take the goods to
whatever hiding-places ye like, but let them be far from here.
Henceforth each man must be his own master. Go where ye
will, but stay not here to see another sunrise. For myself, I

[2791

ROBIN HOOD

will hie to Fountains Abbey, there to await my end and pa-
tiently endure what judgment the King may lay upon me.
If I should be pardoned, then with the help of young Friar Cecil
I will give myself to God and our good Lady dear, till the final
day."

At these last words he turned aside; and many of the outlaws
wept scalding tears as they slowly moved away for the final
sharing of their goods, of which there was enough to place them
all above want for many years to come. In such wise did Robin
leave them, well-nigh heartbroken with sorrow and shame.
Followed by Little John and Cecil, he strode from the glade
into the leafy forest; and with one glance backward he saw,
through his blinding tears, the last of his woodland home of the
merry, happy past.

As the sun set, like a blood-red ball flickering through the
leafy trees behind the great oak, the glen was lonely and silent.
Not a single footfall touched the greensward that for threescore
years and more had been trampled by many feet. At morning,
at noon, and at evening, the air had resounded with music, song,
and merry jest, with laughter and jocund jollity. But now all
was changed and still. The sevenscore archers, in large and
small groups, had gone their ways. The birds now sang to
themselves a doleful ditty; their merry human companions had
left them never to return.

Early on the following morn, archers and men-at-arms could
be seen tearing down the two great towers. The great oak,
with its secret passage, was cut to pieces; the beautiful bower
that Robin had kept fresh and green since the day, years agone,
when Marian had died, was leveled to the ground. Indeed, all
that the outlaws had made for their use and comfort was clean
destroyed. Such was the doleful and bitter end of Robin Hood's
woodland home in Sherwood Forest.

XXV

ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL

D now, with sad, aching hearts, we go to
Fountains Abbey, lovingly and piously built,
[ stone upon stone, by the jolly Friar Tuck,
whose body rests peacefully beside the trick-
ling fountain. In the little, well-known cell
we find the bold and brave Robin Hood. What
_ __ a change has come over the dear, kindly face

in a few hours! His hair and beard seem to have grown quite
white in a single day. His strong, sturdy body, of late so youth-
ful, now looks loose and limp. His cheerful, manly voice has be-
come low and sad-toned. Young Cecil begs him to take some
barley-broth and then lie down in sleep to forget his woe.

"Nay, nay, my gentle Cecil," quoth Robin, "I have no wish
to eat or drink; and as for sleep, I am not worthy of such a boon."
"Alack, good master," said Little John, with a rising lump in
his throat, "take it not so to heart. Thou art not to blame, or
the King would have been here ere now, for he knoweth thy
retreat."

Quoth Robin: "I am not able to shoot one shot more, and my
arrows will not again flee. Take me, then, sweet Little John,
to Kirkley nunnery, that my cousin — who is the abbess and well

[281]

ROBIN HOOD

skilled in leechcraft — may bleed me and so heal me of my illness.
Help me, pious Cecil, to fair Kirkley, that the abbess may mend
my state." So they placed him upon a litter drawn by a mule,
and with Little John and tall, young Cecil walking on either
side, he came by easy stages to the nunnery. Little John rang
the bell to call the abbess.

"Come in," quoth she, when she saw Robin, "and drink
some wine to strengthen thy body."

"Nay, my cousin, I will neither eat nor drink till thou hast
bled me."

"Well, Cousin Robin, I have a room in the tall tower which
thou hast never seen; and if it please thee to enter, I will do that
which thou dost desire."

When Little John and Cecil would have followed after, the
abbess said: "Go back, go back, our skill is sufficient and we
need no help." So they stayed outside the nunnery and sat
under the shade of a leafy tree, waiting, very down-hearted, till
they should hear news of their master.

Now I must tell you that this wicked woman knew full well
what had befallen the Sheriff of Nottingham, and in her evil
heart she conceived it would please the King to hear of Robin's
death. Thus she resolved so to bleed Robin that he would never
recover. Taking him by the hand, she led him to a private
room in the nunnery tower and tied his arm tight round with
linen bands. Then she took a long sharp knife, and with evil
intent cut into one of the larger veins, so that he would bleed fast
and soon die. After she had done this she heartlessly left him
alone in the room, locked the door, and went away out of sight
and sound.

Robin soon grew weaker, and he cried aloud, begging for help;
but no help was nigh. Then he got up and tried to raise the
casement window, that he might leap down or cry out to his
faithful John, but his weakness was so great that he could move
it only a little. At last, weary and faint, he bethought him of
his horn, which so oft had saved him from danger. Setting it
to his lips, he blew three weak blasts.

[282]

ROBIN SHOOTS HIS LAST SHAFT

ROBIN HOOD

When Little John heard the sound he leaped to his feet, crying:
"I fear my master is near dead; he blows so wearily.'* Then he
ran as fast as he could go to the nunnery door, but they would
not open to him.

Nearly beside himself with rage, he looked about him and saw
a massive piece of oak. Straightway he picked it up in his brawny
arms and hurled it with such force that it split die strong door
apart. Then, followed by Cecil, he ran up, screaming loudly,
"Master, my dear master, I have come to save thee."

As he paused to listen he thought he heard a faint cry of
distress; and, bounding up the steps of the tower, he threw his
great body with a terrific bang against the door so that the lock
burst. He found his poor master still bleeding and faint upon
the floor.

"A boon, a boon, master," he cried, as he knelt and supported
him in his arms.

"What is the boon," faintly asked Robin Hood, "that thou
dost beg of me?"

"It is to burn this fair Kirkley Hall," quoth John, "and all
their nunnery."

"Now, nay," quoth Robin Hood, "that boon I will not grant.
I never hurt woman in all my life, nor man in woman's company,
and now at the end of my life it shall not be. It is for God and
our good Lady to wipe away all stains. Let these poor women
be, for I am dying, dear John, and fain would be at peace with
all now, as I wished when in health. Thou hast been ever a
faithful comrade and dear brother, so let my end be without
strife or guile. Now give me my long-bow in my hand, that
through this window I may shoot one more shaft, and wheresoever
it is taken up, there let my grave be dug."

Then the great, large-hearted John, with hot tears on his
cheeks, lifted up his beloved master and carried him, tenderly
as a mother carries her babe, to the open casement. Young
Friar Cecil lifted up the great bow, nocked a shaft, and placed
it in the weak, pale hands. Robin pulled the string as far as he
could, and with a loud twang the shaft sped on its way.

[285]

ROBIN HOOD

"Oh, sweet music of my bow that lulls me to everlasting sleep 1"
quoth he. "A last boon, my faithful brothers, do I ask before
I die. Lay a green sod before my head, and another at my feet,
and place my bent bow by my side, that I may still hear its sweet
music. Make the top of my grave of gravel and green shrubs.
Let me have length and breadth enough to lie at ease. Then
place a stone upon the sod, that they may say when I am dead,
'Here lies the bold Robin Hood/ "

Both readily promised him it should be done. Then gently
and slowly his head fell upon John's breast, and his spirit winged
its way. John carried his master tenderly down the winding
stairs out of the nunnery, and they buried him where the arrow
had struck beneath a wide-branching oak-tree.

So here we take leave of the noble and brave Robin Hood.

Little John and Friar Cecil went back to Fountains Abbey,
but not to stay. Old memories were so closely woven about
this little hermitage that they could not bear a life of loneliness
there. So each one wended his own way. John went to join
some relatives who lived at a little village called Hathersage
in Derbyshire, where he lived a retired life for a few years, and
where he was buried. Young Friar Cecil, with a long life-work
before him, entered a priory, and gave himself wholly to the
Church.

THE END

II II

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