The Project Gutenberg EBook of Robin Hood, by J. Walker McSpadden

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Title: Robin Hood

Author: J. Walker McSpadden

Release Date: January 21, 2006 [EBook #832]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROBIN HOOD ***

Produced by Joseph S. Miller and David Widger

ROBIN HOOD

by J. Walker McSpadden

CHAPTER I How Robin Hood Became an Outlaw

CHAPTER II How Robin Hood Met Little John

CHAPTER III How Robin Hood Turned Butcher, and Entered the

Sheriff's Service

CHAPTER IV How Little John Entered the Sheriff's Service

CHAPTER V How the Sheriff Lost Three Good Servants, and

Found Them Again

CHAPTER VI How Robin Hood Met Will Scarlett

CHAPTER VII How Robin Hood Met Friar Tuck

CHAPTER VIII How Allan-a-Dale's Wooing Was Prospered

CHAPTER IX How the Widow's Three Sons Were Rescued

CHAPTER X How a Beggar Filled the Public Eye

CHAPTER XI How Robin Hood Fought Guy of Gisbourne

CHAPTER XII How Maid Marion Came Back to Sherwood Forest;

Also, How Robin Hood Came Before Queen Eleanor

CHAPTER XIII How the Outlaws Shot in King Harry's Tourney

CHAPTER XIV How Robin Hood Was Sought of the Tinker

CHAPTER XV How Robin Hood Was Tanned of the Tanner

CHAPTER XVI How Robin Hood Met Sir Richard of the Lea

CHAPTER XVII How the Bishop Was Dined

CHAPTER XVIII How the Bishop Went Outlaw-Hunting

CHAPTER XIX How the Sheriff Held Another Shooting Match

CHAPTER XX How Will Stutely Was Rescued

CHAPTER XXI How Sir Richard of the Lea Repaid His Debt

CHAPTER XXII How King Richard Came to Sherwood Forest

CHAPTER XXIII How Robin Hood and Maid Marion Were Wed

CHAPTER XXIV How Robin Hood Met His Death

CHAPTER I

HOW ROBIN HOOD BECAME AN OUTLAW

List and hearken, gentlemen,

That be of free-born blood,

I shall you tell of a good yeoman,

His name was Robin Hood.

Robin was a proud outlaw,

While as he walked on the ground.

So courteous an outlaw as he was one

Was never none else found.

In the days of good King Harry the Second of England--he of the warring

sons--there were certain forests in the north country set aside for the

King's hunting, and no man might shoot deer therein under penalty of

death. These forests were guarded by the King's Foresters, the chief

of whom, in each wood, was no mean man but equal in authority to the

Sheriff in his walled town, or even to my lord Bishop in his abbey.

One of the greatest of royal preserves was Sherwood and Barnesdale

forests near the two towns of Nottingham and Barnesdale. Here for some

years dwelt one Hugh Fitzooth as Head Forester, with his good wife and

son Robert. The boy had been born in Lockesley town--in the year 1160,

stern records say--and was often called Lockesley, or Rob of Lockesley.

He was a comely, well-knit stripling, and as soon as he was strong

enough to walk his chief delight was to go with his father into the

forest. As soon as his right arm received thew and sinew he learned to

draw the long bow and speed a true arrow. While on winter evenings his

greatest joy was to hear his father tell of bold Will o' the Green, the

outlaw, who for many summers defied the King's Foresters and feasted

with his men upon King's deer. And on other stormy days the boy learned

to whittle out a straight shaft for the long bow, and tip it with gray

goose feathers.

The fond mother sighed when she saw the boy's face light up at these

woodland tales. She was of gentle birth, and had hoped to see her son

famous at court or abbey. She taught him to read and to write, to doff

his cap without awkwardness and to answer directly and truthfully both

lord and peasant. But the boy, although he took kindly to these lessons

of breeding, was yet happiest when he had his beloved bow in hand and

strolled at will, listening to the murmur of the trees.

Two playmates had Rob in these gladsome early days. One was Will

Gamewell, his father's brother's son, who lived at Gamewell Lodge, hard

by Nottingham town. The other was Marian Fitzwalter, only child of the

Earl of Huntingdon. The castle of Huntingdon could be seen from the top

of one of the tall trees in Sherwood; and on more than one bright day

Rob's white signal from this tree told Marian that he awaited her there:

for you must know that Rob did not visit her at the castle. His father

and her father were enemies. Some people whispered that Hugh Fitzooth

was the rightful Earl of Huntingdon, but that he had been defrauded out

of his lands by Fitzwalter, who had won the King's favor by a crusade to

the Holy Land. But little cared Rob or Marian for this enmity, however

it had arisen. They knew that the great green--wood was open to them,

and that the wide, wide world was full of the scent of flowers and the

song of birds.

Days of youth speed all too swiftly, and troubled skies come all too

soon. Rob's father had two other enemies besides Fitzwalter, in

the persons of the lean Sheriff of Nottingham and the fat Bishop of

Hereford. These three enemies one day got possession of the King's ear

and whispered therein to such good--or evil--purpose that Hugh Fitzooth

was removed from his post of King's Forester. He and his wife and Rob,

then a youth of nineteen, were descended upon, during a cold winter's

evening, and dispossessed without warning. The Sheriff arrested the

Forester for treason--of which, poor man, he was as guiltless as you or

I--and carried him to Nottingham jail. Rob and his mother were sheltered

over night in the jail, also, but next morning were roughly bade to go

about their business. Thereupon they turned for succor to their only

kinsman, Squire George of Gamewell, who sheltered them in all kindness.

But the shock, and the winter night's journey, proved too much for

Dame Fitzooth. She had not been strong for some time before leaving the

forest. In less than two months she was no more. Rob felt as though his

heart was broken at this loss. But scarcely had the first spring flowers

begun to blossom upon her grave, when he met another crushing blow in

the loss of his father. That stern man had died in prison before his

accusers could agree upon the charges by which he was to be brought to

trial.

Two years passed by. Rob's cousin Will was away at school; and Marian's

father, who had learned of her friendship with Rob, had sent his

daughter to the court of Queen Eleanor. So these years were lonely ones

to the orphaned lad. The bluff old Squire was kind to him, but secretly

could make nothing of one who went about brooding and as though seeking

for something he had lost. The truth is that Rob missed his old life

in the forest no less than his mother's gentleness, and his father's

companionship. Every time he twanged the string of the long bow against

his shoulder and heard the gray goose shaft sing, it told him of happy

days that he could not recall.

One morning as Rob came in to breakfast, his uncle greeted him with, "I

have news for you, Rob, my lad!" and the hearty old Squire finished his

draught of ale and set his pewter tankard down with a crash.

"What may that be, Uncle Gamewell?" asked the young man.

"Here is a chance to exercise your good long bow and win a pretty prize.

The Fair is on at Nottingham, and the Sheriff proclaims an archer's

tournament. The best fellows are to have places with the King's

Foresters, and the one who shoots straightest of all will win for prize

a olden arrow--a useless bauble enough, but just the thing for your lady

love, eh, Rob my boy?" Here the Squire laughed and whacked the table

again with his tankard.

Rob's eyes sparkled. "'Twere indeed worth shooting for, uncle mine," he

said. "I should dearly love to let arrow fly alongside another man. And

a place among the Foresters is what I have long desired. Will you let me

try?"

"To be sure," rejoined his uncle. "Well I know that your good mother

would have had me make a clerk of you; but well I see that the greenwood

is where you will pass your days. So, here's luck to you in the bout!"

And the huge tankard came a third time into play.

The young man thanked his uncle for his good wishes, and set about

making preparations for the journey. He traveled lightly; but his yew

bow must needs have a new string, and his cloth-yard arrows must be of

the straightest and soundest.

One fine morning, a few days after, Rob might have been seen passing

by way of Lockesley through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham town. Briskly

walked he and gaily, for his hopes were high and never an enemy had he

in the wide world. But 'twas the very last morning in all his life

when he was to lack an enemy! For, as he went his way through Sherwood,

whistling a blithe tune, he came suddenly upon a group of Foresters,

making merry beneath the spreading branches of an oak-tree. They had a

huge meat pie before them and were washing down prodigious slices of it

with nut brown ale.

One glance at the leader and Rob knew at once that he had found

an enemy. 'Twas the man who had usurped his father's place as Head

Forester, and who had roughly turned his mother out in the snow. But

never a word said he for good or bad, and would have passed on his way,

had not this man, clearing his throat with a huge gulp, bellowed out:

"By my troth, here is a pretty little archer! Where go you, my lad, with

that tupenny bow and toy arrows? Belike he would shoot at Nottingham

Fair! Ho! Ho!"

A roar of laughter greeted this sally. Rob flushed, for he was mightily

proud of his shooting.

"My bow is as good as yours," he retorted, "and my shafts will carry as

straight and as far. So I'll not take lessons of any of ye."

They laughed again loudly at this, and the leader said with frown:

"Show us some of your skill, and if you can hit the mark here's twenty

silver pennies for you. But if you hit it not you are in for a sound

drubbing for your pertness."

"Pick your own target," quoth Rob in a fine rage. "I'll lay my head

against that purse that I can hit it."

"It shall be as you say," retorted the Forester angrily, "your head for

your sauciness that you hit not my target."

Now at a little rise in the wood a herd of deer came grazing by, distant

full fivescore yards. They were King's deer, but at that distance seemed

safe from any harm. The Head Forester pointed to them.

"If your young arm could speed a shaft for half that distance, I'd shoot

with you."

"Done!" cried Rob. "My head against twenty pennies I'll cause yon fine

fellow in the lead of them to breathe his last."

And without more ado he tried the string of his long bow, placed a shaft

thereon, and drew it to his ear. A moment, and the quivering string sang

death as the shaft whistled across the glade. Another moment and the

leader of the herd leaped high in his tracks and fell prone, dyeing the

sward with his heart's blood.

A murmur of amazement swept through the Foresters, and then a growl of

rage. He that had wagered was angriest of all.

"Know you what you have done, rash youth?" he said. "You have killed a

King's deer, and by the laws of King Harry your head remains forfeit.

Talk not to me of pennies but get ye gone straight, and let me not look

upon your face again."

Rob's blood boiled within him, and he uttered a rash speech. "I have

looked upon your face once too often already, my fine Forester. 'Tis you

who wear my father's shoes."

And with this he turned upon his heel and strode away.

The Forester heard his parting thrust with an oath. Red with rage he

seized his bow, strung an arrow, and without warning launched it full

af' Rob. Well was it for the latter that the Forester's foot turned on a

twig at the critical instant, for as it was the arrow whizzed by his ear

so close as to take a stray strand of his hair with it. Rob turned upon

his assailant, now twoscore yards away.

"Ha!" said he. "You shoot not so straight as I, for all your bravado.

Take this from the tupenny bow!"

Straight flew his answering shaft. The Head Forester gave one cry, then

fell face downward and lay still. His life had avenged Rob's father, but

the son was outlawed. Forward he ran through the forest, before the

band could gather their scattered wits--still forward into the great

greenwood. The swaying trees seemed to open their arms to the wanderer,

and to welcome him home.

Toward the close of the same day, Rob paused hungry and weary at the

cottage of a poor widow who dwelt upon the outskirts of the forest. Now

this widow had often greeted him kindly in his boyhood days, giving him

to eat and drink. So he boldly entered her door. The old dame was right

glad to see him, and baked him cakes in the ashes, and had him rest and

tell her his story. Then she shook her head.

"'Tis an evil wind that blows through Sherwood," she said. "The poor are

despoiled and the rich ride over their bodies. My three sons have been

outlawed for shooting King's deer to keep us from starving, and now hide

in the wood. And they tell me that twoscore of as good men as ever drew

bow are in hiding with them."

"Where are they, good mother?" cried Rob. "By my faith, I will join

them."

"Nay, nay," replied the old woman at first. But when she saw that there

was no other way, she said: "My sons will visit me to-night. Stay you

here and see them if you must."

So Rob stayed willingly to see the widow's sons that night, for they

were men after his own heart. And when they found that his mood was with

them, they made him swear an oath of fealty, and told him the haunt of

the band--a place he knew right well. Finally one of them said:

"But the band lacks a leader--one who can use his head as well as

his hand. So we have agreed that he who has skill enough to go to

Nottingham, an outlaw, and win the prize at archery, shall be our

chief."

Rob sprang to his feet. "Said in good time!" cried he, "for I had

started to that self-same Fair, and all the Foresters, and all the

Sheriff's men in Christendom shall not stand between me and the center

of their target!"

And though he was but barely grown he stood so straight and his eye

flashed with such fire that the three brothers seized his hand and

shouted:

"A Lockesley! a Lockesley! if you win the golden arrow you shall be

chief of outlaws in Sherwood Forest!"

So Rob fell to planning how he could disguise himself to go to

Nottingham town; for he knew that the Foresters had even then set a

price on his head in the market-place.

It was even as Rob had surmised. The Sheriff of Nottingham posted a

reward of two hundred pounds for the capture, dead or alive, of one

Robert Fitzooth, outlaw. And the crowds thronging the streets upon that

busy Fair day often paused to read the notice and talk together about

the death of the Head Forester.

But what with wrestling bouts and bouts with quarter-staves, and

wandering minstrels, there came up so many other things to talk about,

that the reward was forgotten for the nonce, and only the Foresters

and Sheriff's men watched the gates with diligence, the Sheriff indeed

spurring them to effort by offers of largess. His hatred of the father

had descended to the son.

The great event of the day came in the afternoon. It was the archer's

contest for the golden arrow, and twenty men stepped forth to shoot.

Among them was a beggar-man, a sorry looking fellow with leggings of

different colors, and brown scratched face and hands. Over a tawny shock

of hair he had a hood drawn, much like that of a monk. Slowly he limped

to his place in the line, while the mob shouted in derision. But the

contest was open to all comers, so no man said him nay.

Side by side with Rob--for it was he--stood a muscular fellow of swarthy

visage and with one eye hid by a green bandage. Him also the crowd

jeered, but he passed them by with indifference while he tried his bow

with practiced hand.

A great crowd had assembled in the amphitheater enclosing the lists. All

the gentry and populace of the surrounding country were gathered there

in eager expectancy. The central box contained the lean but pompous

Sheriff, his bejeweled wife, and their daughter, a supercilious young

woman enough, who, it was openly hinted, was hoping to receive the

golden arrow from the victor and thus be crowned queen of the day.

Next to the Sheriff's box was one occupied by the fat Bishop of

Hereford; while in the other side was a box wherein sat a girl whose

dark hair, dark eyes, and fair features caused Rob's heart to leap.

'Twas Maid Marian! She had come up for a visit from the Queen's court at

London town, and now sat demurely by her father the Earl of Huntingdon.

If Rob had been grimly resolved to win the arrow before, the sight of

her sweet face multiplied his determination an hundredfold. He felt his

muscles tightening into bands of steel, tense and true. Yet withal his

heart would throb, making him quake in a most unaccountable way.

Then the trumpet sounded, and the crowd became silent while the herald

announced the terms of the contest. The lists were open to all comers.

The first target was to be placed at thirty ells distance, and all those

who hit its center were allowed to shoot at the second target, placed

ten ells farther off. The third target was to be removed yet farther,

until the winner was proved. The winner was to receive the golden arrow,

and a place with the King's Foresters. He it was also who crowned the

queen of the day.

The trumpet sounded again, and the archers prepared to shoot. Rob looked

to his string, while the crowd smiled and whispered at the odd figure

he cut, with his vari-colored legs and little cape. But as the first man

shot, they grew silent.

The target was not so far but that twelve out of the twenty contestants

reached its inner circle. Rob shot sixth in the line and landed fairly,

being rewarded by an approving grunt from the man with the green

blinder, who shot seventh, and with apparent carelessness, yet true to

the bull's-eye.

The mob cheered and yelled themselves hoarse at this even marksmanship.

The trumpet sounded again, and a new target was set up at forty ells.

The first three archers again struck true, amid the loud applause of the

onlookers; for they were general favorites and expected to win. Indeed

'twas whispered that each was backed by one of the three dignitaries

of the day. The fourth and fifth archers barely grazed the center. Rob

fitted his arrow quietly and with some confidence sped it unerringly

toward the shining circle.

"The beggar! the beggar!" yelled the crowd; "another bull for the

beggar!" In truth his shaft was nearer the center than any of the

others. But it was not so near that "Blinder," as the mob had promptly

christened his neighbor, did not place his shaft just within the mark.

Again the crowd cheered wildly. Such shooting as this was not seen every

day in Nottingham town.

The other archers in this round were disconcerted by the preceding

shots, or unable to keep the pace. They missed one after another and

dropped moodily back, while the trumpet sounded for the third round, and

the target was set up fifty ells distant.

"By my halidom you draw a good bow, young master," said Rob's queer

comrade to him in the interval allowed for rest. "Do you wish me to

shoot first on this trial?"

"Nay," said Rob, "but you are a good fellow by this token, and if I win

not, I hope you may keep the prize from yon strutters." And he nodded

scornfully to the three other archers who were surrounded by their

admirers, and were being made much of by retainers of the Sheriff, the

Bishop, and the Earl. From them his eye wandered toward Maid Marian's

booth. She had been watching him, it seemed, for their eyes met; then

hers were hastily averted.

"Blinder's" quick eye followed those of Rob. "A fair maid, that," he

said smilingly, "and one more worthy the golden arrow than the Sheriff's

haughty miss."

Rob looked at him swiftly, and saw naught but kindliness in his glance.

"You are a shrewd fellow and I like you well," was his only comment.

Now the archers prepared to shoot again, each with some little care. The

target seemed hardly larger than the inner ring had looked, at the first

trial. The first three sped their shafts, and while they were fair shots

they did not more than graze the inner circle.

Rob took his stand with some misgiving. Some flecking clouds overhead

made the light uncertain, and a handful of wind frolicked across the

range in a way quite disturbing to a bowman's nerves. His eyes wandered

for a brief moment to the box wherein sat the dark-eyed girl. His heart

leaped! she met his glance and smiled at him reassuringly. And in that

moment he felt that she knew him despite his disguise and looked to him

to keep the honor of old Sherwood. He drew his bow firmly and, taking

advantage of a momentary lull in the breeze, launched the arrow straight

and true-singing across the range to the center of the target.

"The beggar! the beggar! a bull! a bull!" yelled the fickle mob,

who from jeering him were now his warm friends. "Can you beat that,

Blinder?"

The last archer smiled scornfully and made ready. He drew his bow with

ease and grace and, without seeming to study the course, released the

winged arrow. Forward it leaped toward the target, and all eyes followed

its flight. A loud uproar broke forth when it alighted, just without the

center and grazing the shaft sent by Rob. The stranger made a gesture

of surprise when his own eyes announced the result to him, but saw his

error. He had not allowed for the fickle gust of wind which seized the

arrow and carried it to one side. But for all that he was the first to

congratulate the victor.

"I hope we may shoot again," quoth he. "In truth I care not for the

golden bauble and wished to win it in despite of the Sheriff for whom I

have no love. Now crown the lady of your choice." And turning suddenly

he was lost in the crowd, before Rob could utter what it was upon his

lips to say, that he would shoot again with him.

And now the herald summoned Rob to the Sheriff's box to receive the

prize.

"You are a curious fellow enough," said the Sheriff, biting his lip

coldly; "yet you shoot well. What name go you by?"

Marian sat near and was listening intently.

"I am called Rob the Stroller, my Lord Sheriff," said the archer.

Marian leaned back and smiled.

"Well, Rob the Stroller, with a little attention to your skin and

clothes you would not be so bad a man," said the Sheriff. "How like you

the idea of entering my service.

"Rob the Stroller has ever been a free man, my Lord, and desires no

service."

The Sheriff's brow darkened, yet for the sake of his daughter and the

golden arrow, he dissembled.

"Rob the Stroller," said he, "here is the golden arrow which has been

offered to the best of archers this day. You are awarded the prize. See

that you bestow it worthily."

At this point the herald nudged Rob and half inclined his head toward

the Sheriff's daughter, who sat with a thin smile upon her lips. But Rob

heeded him not. He took the arrow and strode to the next box where sat

Maid Marian.

"Lady," he said, "pray accept this little pledge from a poor stroller

who would devote the best shafts in his quiver to serve you."

"My thanks to you, Rob in the Hood," replied she with a roguish twinkle

in her eye; and she placed the gleaming arrow in her hair, while the

people shouted, "The Queen! the Queen!"

The Sheriff glowered furiously upon this ragged archer who had refused

his service, taken his prize without a word of thanks, and snubbed his

daughter. He would have spoken, but his proud daughter restrained him.

He called to his guard and bade them watch the beggar. But Rob had

already turned swiftly, lost himself in the throng, and headed straight

for the town gate.

That same evening within a forest glade a group of men--some twoscore

clad in Lincoln green--sat round a fire roasting venison and making

merry. Suddenly a twig crackled and they sprang to their feet and seized

their weapons.

"I look for the widow's sons," a clear voice said, "and I come alone."

Instantly the three men stepped forward.

"Tis Rob!" they cried; "welcome to Sherwood Forest, Rob!" And all the

men came and greeted him; for they had heard his story.

Then one of the widow's sons, Stout Will, stepped forth and said:

"Comrades all, ye know that our band has sadly lacked a leader--one of

birth, breeding, and skill. Belike we have found that leader in this

young man. And I and my brothers have told him that the band would

choose that one who should bring the Sheriff to shame this day and

capture his golden arrow. Is it not so?"

The band gave assent.

Will turned to Rob. "What news bring you from Nottingham town?" asked

he.

Rob laughed. "In truth I brought the Sheriff to shame for mine own

pleasure, and won his golden arrow to boot. But as to the prize ye must

e'en take my word, for I bestowed it upon a maid."

And seeing the men stood in doubt at this, he continued: "But I'll

gladly join your band, and you take me, as a common archer. For there

are others older and mayhap more skilled than I."

Then stepped one forward from the rest, a tall swarthy man. And Rob

recognized him as the man with the green blinder; only this was now

removed, and his freed eye gleamed as stoutly as the other one.

"Rob in the Hood--for such the lady called you," said he, "I can vouch

for your tale. You shamed the Sheriff e'en as I had hoped to do; and we

can forego the golden arrow since it is in such fair hands. As to your

shooting and mine, we must let future days decide. But here I, Will

Stutely, declare that I will serve none other chief save only you."

Then good Will Stutely told the outlaws of Rob's deeds, and gave him his

hand of fealty. And the widow's sons did likewise, and the other members

every one, right gladly; because Will Stutely had heretofore been the

truest bow in all the company. And they toasted him in nut brown ale,

and hailed him as their leader, by the name of Robin Hood. And he

accepted that name because Maid Marian had said it.

By the light of the camp-fire the band exchanged signs and passwords.

They gave Robin Hood a horn upon which he was to blow to summon them.

They swore, also, that while they might take money and goods from the

unjust rich, they would aid and befriend the poor and the helpless; and

that they would harm no woman, be she maid, wife, or widow. They swore

all this with solemn oaths, while they feasted about the ruddy blaze,

under the greenwood tree.

And that is how Robin Hood became an outlaw.

CHAPTER II

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET LITTLE JOHN

"O here is my hand," the stranger reply'd,

"I'll serve you with all my whole heart.

My name is John Little, a man of good mettle,

Ne'er doubt me for I'll play my part."

"His name shall be altered," quoth William Stutely,

"And I will his godfather be:

Prepare then a feast, and none of the least,

For we will be merry," quoth he.

All that summer Robin Hood and his merry men roamed in Sherwood Forest,

and the fame of their deeds ran abroad in the land. The Sheriff of

Nottingham waxed wroth at the report, but all his traps and excursions

failed to catch the outlaws. The poor people began by fearing them, but

when they found that the men in Lincoln green who answered Robin Hood's

horn meant them no harm, but despoiled the oppressor to relieve the

oppressed, they 'gan to have great liking for them. And the band

increased by other stout hearts till by the end of the summer fourscore

good men and true had sworn fealty.

But the days of quiet which came on grew irksome to Robin's adventurous

spirit. Up rose he, one gay morn, and slung his quiver over his

shoulders.

"This fresh breeze stirs the blood, my lads," quoth he, "and I would

be seeing what the gay world looks like in the direction of Nottingham

town. But tarry ye behind in the borders of the forest, within earshot

of my bugle call."

Thus saying he strode merrily forward to the edge of the wood, and

paused there a moment, his agile form erect, his brown locks flowing

and his brown eyes watching the road; and a goodly sight he made, as the

wind blew the ruddy color into his cheeks.

The highway led clear in the direction of the town, and thither he

boldly directed his steps. But at a bend in the road he knew of a

by-path leading across a brook which made the way nearer and less open,

into which he turned. As he approached the stream he saw that it had

become swollen by recent rains into quite a pretty torrent. The log

foot-bridge was still there, but at this end of it a puddle intervened

which could be crossed only with a leap, if you would not get your feet

wet.

But Robin cared little for such a handicap. Taking a running start, his

nimble legs carried him easily over and balanced neatly upon the end of

the broad log. But he was no sooner started across than he saw a tall

stranger coming from the other side. Thereupon Robin quickened his pace,

and the stranger did likewise, each thinking to cross first. Midway they

met, and neither would yield an inch.

"Give way, fellow!" roared Robin, whose leadership of a band, I am

afraid, had not tended to mend his manners.

The stranger smiled. He was almost a head taller than the other.

"Nay," he retorted, "fair and softly! I give way only to a better man

than myself."

"Give way, I say", repeated Robin, "or I shall have to show you a better

man."

His opponent budged not an inch, but laughed loudly. "Now by my

halidom!" he said good-naturedly, "I would not move after hearing that

speech, even if minded to it before; for this better man I have sought

my life long. Therefore show him to me, an it please you."

"That will I right soon," quoth Robin. "Stay you here a little while,

till I cut me a cudgel like unto that you have been twiddling in your

fingers." So saying he sought his own bank again with a leap, laid aside

his long bow and arrows, and cut him a stout staff of oak, straight,

knotless, and a good six feet in length. But still it was a full foot

shorter than his opponent's. Then back came he boldly.

"I mind not telling you, fellow," said he, "that a bout with archery

would have been an easier way with me. But there are other tunes in

England besides that the arrow sings." Here he whirred the staff about

his head by way of practice. "So make you ready for the tune I am about

to play upon your ribs. Have at you! One, two--"

"Three!" roared the giant smiting at him instantly.

Well was it for Robin that he was quick and nimble of foot; for the blow

that grazed a hair's breadth from his shoulder would have felled an ox.

Nevertheless while swerving to avoid this stroke, Robin was poising for

his own, and back came he forthwith--whack!

Whack! parried the other.

Whack! whack! whack! whack!

The fight waxed fast and furious. It was strength pitted against

subtlety, and the match was a merry one. The mighty blows of the

stranger went whistling around Robin's ducking head, while his own swift

undercuts were fain to give the other an attack of indigestion. Yet each

stood firmly in his place not moving backward or forward a foot for a

good half hour, nor thinking of crying "Enough!" though some chance blow

seemed likely to knock one or the other off the narrow foot-bridge. The

giant's face was getting red, and his breath came snorting forth like

a bull's. He stepped forward with a furious onslaught to finish this

audacious fellow. Robin dodged his blows lightly, then sprang in swiftly

and unexpectedly and dealt the stranger such a blow upon the short ribs

that you would have sworn the tanner was trimming down his hides for

market.

The stranger reeled and came within an ace of falling, but regained his

footing right quickly.

"By my life, you can hit hard!" he gasped forth, giving back a blow

almost while he was yet staggering.

This blow was a lucky one. It caught Robin off his guard. His stick had

rested a moment while he looked to see the giant topple into the water,

when down came the other upon his head, whack! Robin saw more stars

in that one moment than all the astronomers have since discovered, and

forthwith he dropped neatly into the stream.

The cool rushing current quickly brought him to his senses, howbeit he

was still so dazed that he groped blindly for the swaying reeds to

pull himself up on the bank. His assailant could not forbear laughing

heartily at his plight, but was also quick to lend his aid. He thrust

down his long staff to Robin crying, "Lay hold of that, an your fists

whirl not so much as your head!"

Robin laid hold and was hauled to dry land for all the world like

a fish, except that the fish would never have come forth so wet and

dripping. He lay upon the warm bank for a space to regain his senses.

Then he sat up and gravely rubbed his pate.

"By all the saints!" said he, "you hit full stoutly. My head hums like a

hive of bees on a summer morning."

Then he seized his horn, which lay near, and blew thereon three shrill

notes that echoed against the trees. A moment of silence ensued, and

then was heard the rustling of leaves and crackling of twigs like the

coming of many men; and forth from the glade burst a score or two of

stalwart yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green, like Robin, with good Will

Stutely and the widow's three sons at their head.

"Good master," cried Will Stutely, "how is this? In sooth there is not a

dry thread on your body."

"Why, marry," replied Robin, "this fellow would not let me pass the

footbridge, and when I tickled him in the ribs, he must needs answer by

a pat on the head which landed me overboard."

"Then shall he taste some of his own porridge," quoth Will. "Seize him,

lads!"

"Nay, let him go free," said Robin. "The fight was a fair one and I

abide by it. I surmise you also are quits?" he continued, turning to the

stranger with a twinkling eye.

"I am content," said the other, "for verily you now have the best end of

the cudgel. Wherefore, I like you well, and would fain know your name."

"Why," said Robin, "my men and even the Sheriff of Nottingham know me as

Robin Hood, the outlaw."

"Then am I right sorry that I beat you," exclaimed the man, "for I was

on my way to seek you and to try to join your merry company. But after

my unmannerly use of the cudgel, I fear we are still strangers."

"Nay, never say it!" cried Robin, "I am glad I fell in with you; though,

sooth to say, I did all the falling!"

And amid a general laugh the two men clasped hands, and in that clasp

the strong friendship of a lifetime was begun.

"But you have not yet told us your name," said Robin, bethinking

himself.

"Whence I came, men call me John Little."

"Enter our company then, John Little; enter and welcome. The rites are

few, the fee is large. We ask your whole mind and body and heart even

unto death."

"I give the bond, upon my life," said the tall man.

Thereupon Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up and said: "The

infant in our household must be christened, and I'll stand godfather.

This fair little stranger is so small of bone and sinew, that his old

name is not to the purpose." Here he paused long enough to fill a horn

in the stream. "Hark ye, my son,"--standing on tiptoe to splash the

water on the giant--"take your new name on entering the forest. I

christen you Little John."

At this jest the men roared long and loud.

"Give him a bow, and find a full sheath of arrows for Little John,"

said Robin joyfully. "Can you shoot as well as fence with the staff, my

friend?"

"I have hit an ash twig at forty yards," said Little John.

Thus chatting pleasantly the band turned back into the woodland and

sought their secluded dell, where the trees were the thickest, the moss

was the softest, and a secret path led to a cave, at once a retreat and

a stronghold. Here under a mighty oak they found the rest of the band,

some of whom had come in with a brace of fat does. And here they built

a ruddy fire and sat down to the meat and ale, Robin Hood in the center

with Will Stutely on the one hand and Little John on the other. And

Robin was right well pleased with the day's adventure, even though he

had got a drubbing; for sore ribs and heads will heal, and 'tis not

every day that one can find a recruit as stout of bone and true of soul

as Little John.

CHAPTER III

HOW ROBIN HOOD TURNED BUTCHER, AND ENTERED THE SHERIFF'S SERVICE

The butcher he answered jolly Robin,

"No matter where I do dwell,

For a butcher am I, and to Nottingham

Am I going, my flesh to sell."

The next morning the weather had turned ill, and Robin Hood's band

stayed close to their dry and friendly cave. The third day brought a

diversion in the shape of a trap by a roving party of the Sheriff's men.

A fine stag had been struck down by one Of Will Stutely's fellows, and

he and others had stepped forth from the covert to seize it, when twenty

bowmen from Nottingham appeared at the end of the glade. Down dropped

Will's men on all fours, barely in time to hear a shower of arrows

whistle above their heads. Then from behind the friendly trees they

sent back such a welcome that the Sheriff's men deemed it prudent not to

tarry in their steps. Two of them, in sooth, bore back unpleasant wounds

in their shoulders, from the encounter.

When they returned to town the Sheriff waxed red with rage.

"What," he gasped, "do my men fear to fight this Robin Hood, face to

face? Would that I could get him within my reach, once. We should see

then; we should see!"

What it was the Sheriff would see, he did not state. But he was to have

his wish granted in short space, and you and I will see how he profited

by it.

The fourth day and the one following this friendly bout, Little John was

missing. One of his men said that he saw him talking with a beggar, but

did not know whither they had gone. Two more days passed. Robin grew

uneasy. He did not doubt the faith of Little John, but he was fearful

lest a roving band of Foresters had captured him.

At last Robin could not remain quiet. Up sprang he, with bow and arrows,

and a short sword at his side.

"I must away to Nottingham town, my men," he cried. "The goodly Sheriff

has long desired to see me; and mayhap he can tell me tidings of the

best quarter-staff in the shire"--meaning Little John.

Others of the band besought him to let them go with him, but he would

not.

"Nay," he said smilingly, "the Sheriff and I are too good friends to put

doubt upon our meeting. But tarry ye in the edge of the wood opposite

the west gate of the town, and ye may be of service ere to-morrow

night."

So saying he strode forward to the road leading to Nottingham, and stood

as before looking up and down to see if the way was clear. Back at a

bend in the road he heard a rumbling and a lumbering, when up drove

a stout butcher, whistling gaily, and driving a mare that sped slowly

enough because of the weight of meat with which the cart was loaded.

"A good morrow to you, friend," hailed Robin. "Whence come you and where

go you with your load of meat?"

"A good morrow to you," returned the butcher, civilly enough. "No matter

where I dwell. I am but a simple butcher, and to Nottingham am I going,

my flesh to sell. 'Tis Fair week, and my beef and mutton should fetch a

fair penny," and he laughed loudly at his jest. "But whence come you?"

"A yeoman am I, from Lockesley town. Men call me Robin Hood."

"The saints forefend that you should treat me ill!" said the butcher in

terror. "Oft have I heard of you, and how you lighten the purses of the

fat priests and knights. But I am naught but a poor butcher, selling

this load of meat, perchance, for enough to pay my quarter's rent."

"Rest you, my friend, rest you," quoth Robin, "not so much as a silver

penny would I take from you, for I love an honest Saxon face and a fair

name with my neighbors. But I would strike a bargain with you."

Here he took from his girdle a well-filled purse, and continued, "I

would fain be a butcher, this day, and sell meat at Nottingham town.

Could you sell me your meat, your cart, your mare, and your good-will,

without loss, for five marks?"

"Heaven bless ye, good Robin," cried the butcher right joyfully, "that

can I!" And he leaped down forthwith from the cart, and handed Robin the

reins in exchange for the purse.

"One moment more," laughed Robin, "we must e'en change garments for the

nonce. Take mine and scurry home quickly lest the King's Foresters try

to put a hole through this Lincoln green."

So saying he donned the butcher's blouse and apron, and, climbing into

the cart, drove merrily down the road to the town.

When he came to Nottingham he greeted the scowling gate-keeper blithely

and proceeded to the market-place. Boldly he led his shuffling horse to

the place where the butchers had their stalls.

He had no notion of the price to ask for his meat, but put on a foolish

and simple air as he called aloud his wares:

"Hark ye, lasses and dames, hark ye,

Good meat come buy, come buy,

Three pen'orths go for one penny,

And a kiss is good, say I!"

Now when the folk found what a simple butcher he was, they crowded

around his cart; for he really did sell three times as much for one

penny as was sold by the other butchers. And one or two serving-lasses

with twinkling eyes liked his comely face so well that they willingly

gave boot of a kiss.

But the other butchers were wroth when they found how he was taking

their trade; and they accordingly put their heads together.

One said, "He is a prodigal and has sold his father's land, and this is

his first venture in trading."

Another said, "He is a thief who has murdered a butcher, and stolen his

horse and meat."

Robin heard these sayings, but only laughed merrily and sang his song

the louder. His good-humor made the people laugh also and crowd round

his cart closely, shouting uproariously when some buxom lass submitted

to be kissed.

Then the butchers saw that they must meet craft with craft; and they

said to him, "Come, brother butcher, if you would sell meat with us, you

must e'en join our guild and stand by the rules of our trade."

"We dine at the Sheriff's mansion to-day," said another, "and you must

take one of our party."

"Accurst of his heart," said jolly Robin,

"That a butcher will deny.

I'll go with you, my brethren true,

And as fast as I can hie."

Whereupon, having sold all his meat, he left his horse and cart in

charge of a friendly hostler and prepared to follow his mates to the

Mansion House.

It was the Sheriff's custom to dine various guilds of the trade, from

time to time, on Fair days, for he got a pretty profit out of the fees

they paid him for the right to trade in the market-place. The Sheriff

was already come with great pomp into the banqueting room, when Robin

Hood and three or four butchers entered, and he greeted them all with

great condescension; and presently the whole of a large company was

seated at a table groaning beneath the good cheer of the feast.

Now the Sheriff bade Robin sit by his right hand, at the head of the

board; for one or two butchers had whispered to the official, "That

fellow is a right mad blade, who yet made us much sport to-day. He sold

more meat for one penny than we could sell for three; and he gave extra

weight to whatsoever lass would buss him." And others said, "He is

some prodigal who knows not the value of goods, and may be plucked by a

shrewd man right closely."

The Sheriff was will to pluck a prodigal with the next man, and he was

moreover glad to have a guest who promised to enliven the feast. So, as

I have told you, he placed Robin by his side, and he made much of him

and laughed boisterously at his jests; though sooth to say, the laugh

were come by easily, for Robin had never been in merrier mood, and his

quips and jests soon put the whole table at a roar.

Then my lord Bishop of Hereford came in, last of all, to say a ponderous

grace and take his seat on the other side of the Sheriff--the prelate's

fat body showing up in goodly contrast to the other's lean bones.

After grace was said, and while the servants clattered in with the meat

platters, Robin stood up and said:

"An amen say I to my lord Bishop's thanks! How, now, my fine fellows, be

merry and drink deep; for the shot I'll pay ere I go my way, though it

cost me five pounds and more. So my lords and gentlemen all, spare not

the wine, but fall to lustily."

"Hear! hear!" shouted the butchers.

"Now are you a right jolly soul," quoth the Sheriff, "but this feast is

mine own. Howbeit you must have many a head of horned beasts, and many

an acre of broad land, to spend from your purse so freely."

"Aye, that have I," returned Robin, his eyes all a twinkle, "five

hundred horned beasts have I and my brothers, and none of them have we

been able to sell. That is why I have turned butcher. But I know not the

trade, and would gladly sell the whole herd, an I could find a buyer."

At this, the Sheriff's greed 'gan to rise. Since this fool _would_ be

plucked, thought he, why should not he do the plucking?

"Five hundred beasts, say you?" he queried sharply.

"Five hundred and ten fat beasts by actual count, that I would sell for

a just figure. Aye, to him who will pay me in right money, would I sell

them for twenty pieces of gold. Is that too much to ask, lording?"

Was there ever such an idiot butcher? thought the Sheriff; and he so far

forgot his dignity as to nudge the Bishop in his fat ribs.

"Nay, good fellow," quoth he chuckling, "I am always ready to help

any in my shire. An you cannot find a buyer for your herd at this just

figure, I will e'en buy them myself."

At this generosity Robin was quite overcome, and fell to praising the

Sheriff to the skies, and telling him that he should not have cause to

forget the kindness.

"Tut, tut," said the Sheriff, "'tis naught but a trade. Drive in your

herd tomorrow to the market-place and you shall have money down."

"Nay, excellence," said Robin, "that can I not easily do, for they are

grazing in scattered fashion. But they are over near Gamewell, not more

than a mile therefrom at most. Will you not come and choose your own

beasts tomorrow?"

"Aye, that I will," said the Sheriff, his cupidity casting his caution

to the winds. "Tarry with me over night, and I will go with you in the

morning."

This was a poser for Robin, since he liked not the idea of staying over

night at the Sheriff's house. He had hoped to appoint a meeting-place

for the other, but now saw that this might excite doubt. He looked

around at the company. By this time, you must know, the feast had

progressed far, and the butchers were deep in their cups. The Sheriff

and Robin had talked in a low voice, and my lord Bishop was almost

asleep.

"Agreed," said Robin presently, and the words were no sooner out of his

mouth than the door opened and a serving-man entered bearing tray of

mulled wine. At sight of the fellow's face, Robin gave an involuntary

start of surprise which was instantly checked. The other also saw him,

stood still a moment, and as if forgetting something turned about and

left the hall.

It was Little John.

A dozen questions flashed across Robin's mind, and he could find answer

for none of them. What was Little John doing in the Sheriff's house? Why

had he not told the band? Was he true to them? Would he betray him?

But these questions of distrust were dismissed from Robin's open mind

as soon as they had entered. He knew that Little John was faithful and

true.

He recovered his spirits and began again upon a vein of foolish banter,

for the amusement of the Sheriff and his guests, all being now merry

with wine.

"A song!" one of them shouted, and the cry was taken up round the table.

Robin mounted his chair and trolled forth:

"A lass and a butcher of Nottingham

Agreed 'twixt them for to wed.

Says he, 'I'll give ye the meat, fair dame,

And ye will give me the bread."

Then they joined in the chorus amid a pounding of cups upon the board:

"With a hey and a ho

And a hey nonny no,

A butcher of Nottingham!"

While the song was at its height, Little John reappeared, with other

servants, and refilled the cups. He came up to Robin and, as if asking

him if he would have more wine, said softly, "Meet me in the pantry

to-night."

Robin nodded, and sang loudly. The day was already far spent, and

presently the company broke up with many hiccupy bows of the Sheriff and

little notice of the drowsy Bishop.

When the company was dispersed, the Sheriff bade a servant show Robin to

his room, and promised to see him at breakfast the next day.

Robin kept his word and met Little John that night, and the sheriff next

day; but Little John has been doing so much in the meantime that he must

be allowed a chapter to himself.

So let us turn to another story that was sung of, in the ballads of

olden time, and find out how Little John entered the Sheriff's service.

CHAPTER IV

HOW LITTLE JOHN ENTERED THE SHERIFF'S SERVICE

List and hearken, gentlemen,

All ye that now be here,

Of Little John, that was Knight's-man,

Good mirth ye now shall hear.

It had come around another Fair day at Nottingham town, and folk crowded

there by all the gates. Goods of many kinds were displayed in gaily

colored booths, and at every cross-street a free show was in progress.

Here and there, stages had been erected for the play at quarter-staff, a

highly popular sport.

There was a fellow, one Eric of Lincoln, who was thought to be the

finest man with the staff for miles around. His feats were sung about in

ballads through all the shire. A great boaster was he withal, and to-day

he strutted about on one of these corner stages, and vaunted of his

prowess, and offered to crack any man's crown for a shilling. Several

had tried their skill with Eric, but he had soon sent them spinning in

no gentle manner, amid the jeers and laughter of the onlookers.

A beggar-man sat over against Eric's stage and grinned every time a pate

was cracked. He was an uncouth fellow, ragged and dirty and unshaven.

Eric caught sight of his leering face at one of his boasts--for there

was a lull in the game, because no man else wanted to come within reach

of Eric's blows. Eric, I say, noticed the beggar-man grinning at him

rather impudently, and turned toward him sharply.

"How now, you dirty villain!" quoth he, "mend your manners to your

betters, or, by our Lady, I'll dust your rags for you."

The beggar-man still grinned. "I am always ready to mend my manners to

my betters," said he, "but I am afraid you cannot teach me any better

than you can dust my jacket."

"Come up! Come up!" roared the other, flourishing his staff.

"That will I," said the beggar, getting up slowly and with difficulty.

"It will pleasure me hugely to take a braggart down a notch, an some

good man will lend me a stout quarter-staff."

At this a score of idlers reached him their staves--being ready enough

to see another man have his head cracked, even if they wished to save

their own--and he took the stoutest and heaviest of all. He made a sorry

enough figure as he climbed awkwardly upon the stage, but when he had

gained it, he towered full half a head above the other, for all his

awkwardness. Nathless, he held his stick so clumsily that the crowd

laughed in great glee.

Now each man took his place and looked the other up and down, watching

warily for an opening. Only a moment stood they thus, for Eric, intent

on teaching this rash beggar a lesson and sweeping him speedily off the

stage, launched forth boldly and gave the other a sounding crack on the

shoulder. The beggar danced about, and made as though he would drop his

staff from very pain, while the crowd roared and Eric raised himself for

another crushing blow. But just then the awkward beggar came to life.

Straightening himself like a flash, he dealt Eric a back-handed blow,

the like of which he had never before seen. Down went the boaster to the

floor with a sounding thump, and the fickle people yelled and laughed

themselves purple; for it was a new sight to see Eric of Lincoln eating

dust.

But he was up again almost as soon as he had fallen, and right quickly

retreated to his own ringside to gather his wits and watch for an

opening. He saw instantly that he had no easy antagonist, and he came in

cautiously this time.

And now those who stood around saw the merriest game of quarter-staff

that was ever played inside the walls of Nottingham town. Both men

were on their guard and fenced with fine skill, being well matched in

prowess. Again and again did Eric seek to force an opening under the

other's guard, and just as often were his blows parried. The beggar

stood sturdily in his tracks contenting himself with beating off the

attack. For a long time their blows met like the steady crackling of

some huge forest fire, and Eric strove to be wary, for he now knew that

the other had no mean wits or mettle. But he grew right mad at last, and

began to send down blows so fierce and fast that you would have sworn

a great hail-storm was pounding on the shingles over your head. Yet he

never so much as entered the tall beggar's guard.

Then at last the stranger saw his chance and changed his tune of

fighting. With one upward stroke he sent Eric's staff whirling through

the air. With another he tapped Eric on the head; and, with a third

broad swing, ere the other could recover himself, he swept him clear off

the stage, much as you would brush a fly off the window pane.

Now the people danced and shouted and made so much ado that the

shop-keepers left their stalls and others came running from every

direction. The victory of the queer beggar made him immensely popular.

Eric had been a great bully, and many had suffered defeat and insult

at his hands. So the ragged stranger found money and food and drink

everywhere at his disposal, and he feasted right comfortably till the

afternoon.

Then a long bow contest came on, and to it the beggar went with some of

his new friends. It was held in the same arena that Robin had formerly

entered; and again the Sheriff and lords and ladies graced the scene

with their presence, while the people crowded to their places.

When the archers had stepped forward, the herald rose and proclaimed the

rules of the game: how that each man should shoot three shots, and to

him who shot best the prize of a yoke of fat steers should belong.

A dozen keen-eyed bowmen were there, and among them some of the best

fellows in the Forester's and Sheriff's companies. Down at the end of

the line towered the tall beggar-man, who must needs twang a bow-string

with the best of them.

The Sheriff noted his queer figure and asked: "Who is that ragged

fellow?"

"'Tis he that hath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric of

Lincoln," was the reply.

The shooting presently began, and the targets soon showed a fine

reckoning. Last of all came the beggar's turn.

"By your leave," he said loudly, "I'd like it well to shoot with any

other man here present at a mark of my own placing." And he strode down

the lists with a slender peeled sapling which he stuck upright in the

ground. "There," said he, "is a right good mark. Will any man try it?"

But not an archer would risk his reputation on so small a target.

Whereupon the beggar drew his bow with seeming carelessness and split

the wand with his shaft.

"Long live the beggar!" yelled the bystanders.

The Sheriff swore a full great oath, and said: "This man is the best

archer that ever yet I saw." And he beckoned to him, and asked him: "How

now, good fellow, what is your name, and in what country were you born?"

"In Holderness I was born," the man replied; "men call me Reynold

Greenleaf."

"You are a sturdy fellow, Reynold Greenleaf, and deserve better apparel

than that you wear at present. Will you enter my service? I will give

you twenty marks a year, above your living, and three good suits of

clothes."

"Three good suits, say you? Then right gladly will I enter your service,

for my back has been bare this many a long day."

Then Reynold turned him about to the crowd and shouted: "Hark ye, good

people, I have entered the Sheriff's service, and need not the yoke of

steers for prize. So take them for yourselves, to feast withal."

At this the crowd shouted more merrily than ever, and threw their caps

high into the air. And none so popular a man had come to Nottingham town

in many a long day as this same Reynold Greenleaf.

Now you may have guessed, by this time, who Reynold Greenleaf really

was; so I shall tell you that he was none other than Little John. And

forth went he to the Sheriff's house, and entered his service. But it

was a sorry day for the Sheriff when he got his new man. For Little John

winked his shrewd eye and said softly to himself: "By my faith, I shall

be the worst servant to him that ever yet had he!"

Two days passed by. Little John, it must be confessed, did not make

a good servant. He insisted upon eating the Sheriff's best bread and

drinking his best wine, so that the steward waxed wroth. Nathless the

Sheriff held him in high esteem, and made great talk of taking him along

on the next hunting trip.

It was now the day of the banquet to the butchers, about which we have

already heard. The banquet hall, you must know, was not in the main

house, but connected with it by a corridor. All the servants were

bustling about making preparations for the feast, save only Little John,

who must needs lie abed the greater part of the day. But he presented

himself at last, when the dinner was half over; and being desirous

of seeing the guests for himself he went into the hall with the other

servants to pass the wine. First, however, I am afraid that some of

the wine passed his own lips while he went down the corridor. When he

entered the banqueting hall, whom should he see but Robin Hood himself.

We can imagine the start of surprise felt by each of these bold fellows

upon seeing the other in such strange company. But they kept their

secrets, as we have seen, and arranged to meet each other that same

night. Meanwhile, the proud Sheriff little knew that he harbored the two

chief outlaws of the whole countryside beneath his roof.

After the feast was over and night was beginning to advance, Little John

felt faint of stomach and remembered him that he had eaten nothing all

that day. Back went he to the pantry to see what eatables were laid by.

But there, locking up the stores for the night, stood the fat steward.

"Good Sir Steward," said Little John, "give me to dine, for it is long

for Greenleaf to be fasting."

The steward looked grimly at him and rattled the keys at his girdle.

"Sirrah lie-abed," quoth he, "'tis late in the day to be talking of

eating. Since you have waited thus long to be hungry, you can e'en take

your appetite back to bed again."

"Now by mine appetite, that will I not do," cried Little John. "Your

own paunch of fat would be enough for any bear to sleep on through the

winter. But my stomach craves food, and food it shall have!"

Saying this he brushed past the steward and tried the door, but it

was locked fast; whereat the fat steward chuckled and jangled his keys

again.

Then was Little John right mad, and he brought down his huge fist on the

door-panel with a sledge-hammer blow that shivered an opening you could

thrust your hand into. Little John stooped and peered through the hole

to see what food lay within reach, when crack! went the steward's keys

upon his crown, and the worthy danced around him playing a tattoo that

made Little John's ears ring. At this he turned upon the steward and

gave him such a rap that his back went nigh in two, and over went the

fat fellow rolling on the floor.

"Lie there," quoth Little John, "till ye find strength to go to bed.

Meanwhile, I must be about my dinner." And he kicked open the buttery

door without ceremony and brought to light a venison pasty and cold

roast pheasant--goodly sights to a hungry man. Placing these down on a

convenient shelf he fell to with right good will. So Little John ate and

drank as much as he would.

Now the Sheriff had in his kitchen a cook, a stout man and bold, who

heard the rumpus and came in to see how the land lay. There sat Little

John eating away for dear life, while the fat steward was rolled under

the table like a bundle of rags.

"I make my vow!" said the cook, "you are a shrewd hind to dwell thus in

a household, and ask thus to dine." So saying he laid aside his spit and

drew a good sword that hung at his side.

"I make my vow!" said Little John, "you are a bold man and hardy to come

thus between me and my meat. So defend yourself and see that you prove

the better man." And he drew his own sword and crossed weapons with the

cook.

Then back and forth they clashed with sullen sound. The old ballad which

tells of their fight says that they thought nothing for to flee, but

stiffly for to stand. There they fought sore together, two miles away

and more, but neither might the other harm for the space of a full hour.

"I make my vow!" cried Little John, "you are the best swordsman that

ever yet I saw. What say you to resting a space and eating and drinking

good health with me. Then we may fall to again with the swords."

"Agreed!" said the cook, who loved good fare as well as a good fight;

and they both laid by their swords and fell to the food with hearty

will. The venison pasty soon disappeared, and the roast pheasant flew

at as lively a rate as ever the bird itself had sped. Then the warriors

rested a space and patted their stomachs, and smiled across at

each other like bosom friends; for a man when he as dined looks out

pleasantly upon the world.

"And now good Reynold Greenleaf," said the cook, "we may as well settle

this brave fight we have in hand."

"A true saying," rejoined the other, "but first tell me, friend--for

I protest you are my friend henceforth--what is the score we have to

settle?"

"Naught save who can handle the sword best," said the cook. "By my troth

I had thought to carve you like a capon ere now."

"And I had long since thought to shave your ears," replied Little John.

"This bout we can settle in right good time. But just now I and my

master have need of you, and you can turn your stout blade to better

service than that of the Sheriff."

"Whose service would that be?" asked the cook.

"Mine," answered a would-be butcher entering the room, "and I am Robin

Hood."

CHAPTER V

HOW THE SHERIFF LOST THREE GOOD SERVANTS AND FOUND THEM AGAIN

"Make good cheer," said Robin Hood.

"Sheriff! for charity!

And for the love of Little John

Thy life is granted thee!"

The cook gasped in amazement. This Robin Hood! and under the Sheriff's

very roof!

"Now by my troth you are a brave fellow," he said. "I have heard great

tales of your prowess, and the half has not been told. But who might

this tall slasher be?"

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

"Then Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, I like you well, on my honor as

Much the miller's son; and you too, bold Robin Hood. An you take me, I

will enter your service right gladly."

"Spoken like a stout man!" said Robin, seizing him by the hand. "But I

must back to my own bed, lest some sleepy warden stumble upon me, and

I be forced to run him through. Lucky for you twain that wine flowed

so freely in the house to-day; else the noise of your combat would have

brought other onlookers besides Robin Hood. Now if ye would flee the

house to-night, I will join you in the good greenwood to-morrow."

"But, good master," said the cook, "you would not stay here over night!

Verily, it is running your head into a noose. Come with us. The Sheriff

has set strict watch on all the gates, since 'tis Fair week, but I know

the warden at the west gate and could bring us through safely. To-morrow

you will be stayed." "Nay, that will I not," laughed Robin, "for I shall

go through with no less escort than the Sheriff himself. Now do you,

Little John, and do you, Much the miller's son, go right speedily. In

the borders of the wood you will find my merry men. Tell them to kill

two fine harts against to-morrow eve, for we shall have great company

and lordly sport."

And Robin left them as suddenly as he had come.

"Comrade," then said Little John, "we may as well bid the Sheriff's roof

farewell. But ere we go, it would seem a true pity to fail to take such

of the Sheriff's silver plate as will cause us to remember him, and also

grace our special feasts."

"'Tis well said indeed," quoth the cook.

Thereupon they got a great sack and filled it with silver plate from the

shelves where it would not at once be missed, and they swung the sack

between them, and away they went, out of the house, out of the town, and

into the friendly shelter of Sherwood Forest.

The next morning the servants were late astir in the Sheriff's house.

The steward awoke from a heavy sleep, but his cracked head was still in

such a whirl that he could not have sworn whether the Sheriff had ever

owned so much as one silver dish. So the theft went undiscovered for the

nonce.

Robin Hood met the Sheriff at breakfast, when his host soon spoke of

what was uppermost in his heart--the purchase of the fine herd of cattle

near Gamewell. 'Twas clear that a vision of them, purchased for twenty

paltry gold pieces, had been with him all through the night, in his

dreams. And Robin again appeared such a silly fellow that the Sheriff

saw no need of dissembling, but said that he was ready to start at once

to look at the herd.

Accordingly they set forth, Robin in his little butcher's cart, behind

the lean mare, and the Sheriff mounted on a horse. Out of Nottingham

town, through gates open wide, they proceeded, and took the hill road

leading through Sherwood Forest. And as they went on and plunged deeper

among the trees, Robin whistled blithely and sang snatches of tunes.

"Why are you so gay, fellow?" said the Sheriff, for, sooth to say, the

silence of the woods was making him uneasy.

"I am whistling to keep my courage up," replied Robin.

"What is there to fear, when you have the Sheriff of Nottingham beside

you?" quoth the other pompously.

Robin scratched his head.

"They do say that Robin Hood and his men care little for the Sheriff,"

he said.

"Pooh!" said the Sheriff. "I would not give _that_ for their lives, if

I could once lay hands upon them." And he snapped his fingers angrily.

"But Robin Hood himself was on this very road the last time I came to

town," said the other.

The Sheriff started at the crackling of a twig under his horse's feet,

and looked around.

"Did you see him?" he asked.

"Aye, that did I! He wanted the use of this mare and cart to drive to

Nottingham. He said he would fain turn butcher. But see!"

As he spoke he came to a turn in the road, and there before them stood a

herd of the King's deer, feeding. Robin pointed to them and continued:

"There is my herd of cattle, good Master Sheriff! How do you like them?

Are they not fat and fair to see?"

The Sheriff drew rein quickly. "Now fellow," quoth he, "I would I were

well out of this forest, for I care not to see such herds as these, or

such faces as yours. Choose your own way, therefore, whoever you be, and

let me go mine."

"Nay," laughed Robin, seizing the Sheriff's bridle, "I have been at too

much pains to cultivate your company to forego it now so easily. Besides

I wish you to meet some of my friends and dine with me, since you have

so lately entertained me at your board."

So saying he clapped a horn on his lips and winded three merry notes.

The deer bounded away; and before the last of them was seen, there came

a running and a rustling, and out from behind covert and tree came full

twoscore of men, clad in Lincoln green, and bearing good yew bows in

their hands and short swords at their sides. Up they ran to Robin Hood

and doffed their caps to him respectfully, while the Sheriff sat still

from very amazement.

"Welcome to the greenwood!" said one of the leaders, bending the knee

with mock reverence before the Sheriff.

The Sheriff glared. It was Little John.

"Woe the worth, Reynold Greenleaf," he said, "you have betrayed me!"

"I make my vow," said Little John, "that you are to blame, master. I was

misserved of my dinner, when I was at your house. But we shall set you

down to a feast we hope you will enjoy."

"Well spoken, Little John," said Robin Hood. "Take you his bridle and

let us do honor to the guest who has come to feast with us."

Then turning abruptly the whole company plunged into the heart of the

forest.

After twisting and turning till the Sheriff's bewildered head sat

dizzily upon his shoulders, the greenwood men passed through a narrow

alley amid the trees which led to a goodly open space flanked by

wide-spreading oaks. Under the largest of these a pleasant fire was

crackling, and near it two fine harts lay ready for cooking. Around the

blaze were gathered another company of yeomen quite as large as that

which came with Robin Hood. Up sprang they as the latter advanced and

saluted their leader with deference, but with hearty gladness to see him

back again.

That merry wag Will Stutely was in command; and when he saw the

palefaced Sheriff being led in like any culprit, he took his cloak and

laid it humbly upon the ground and besought the Sheriff to alight upon

it, as the ground of Sherwood was unused to such dignitaries.

"Bestir yourselves, good fellows!" cried Robin Hood; "and while our new

cook, whom I see with us, is preparing a feast worthy of our high guest,

let us have a few games to do him honor!"

Then while the whole glade was filled with the savory smell of roasting

venison and fat capons, and brown pasties warmed beside the blaze,

and mulled wine sent forth a cordial fragrance, Robin Hood placed the

Sheriff upon a knoll beneath the largest oak and sat himself down by

him.

First stepped forward several pairs of men armed with the quarter-staff,

the widow's sons among them, and so skilfully did they thrust and parry

and beat down guards, that the Sheriff, who loved a good game as well as

any man, clapped his hands, forgetting where he was, and shouted, "Well

struck! well struck! Never have I seen such blows at all the Fairs of

Nottingham!"

Then the best archers of the band set up a small wand at eightscore

paces distant, and thereon they affixed a wreath of green. And the

archers began to shoot; and he who shot not through the garland without

disturbing its leaves and tendrils was fain to submit to a good sound

buffet from Little John. But right cunning was the shooting, for the

men had spent a certain time in daily practice, and many were the shafts

which sped daintily through the circle. Nathless now and again some

luckless fellow would shoot awry and would be sent winding from a long

arm blow from the tall lieutenant while the glade roared with laughter.

And none more hearty a guffaw was given than came from the Sheriff's own

throat, for the spirit of the greenwood was upon him.

But presently his high mood was dashed. The company sat down to meat,

and the guest was treated to two more disturbing surprise. The cook came

forward to serve the food, when the Sheriff beheld in him his own former

servant, and one whom he supposed was at the moment in the scullery at

Nottingham.

Much the miller's son grinned by way of answer to the Sheriff's

amazement, and served the plates, and placed them before the party. Then

did the Sheriff gasp and fairly choke with rage. The service was his own

silverware from the Mansion House!

"You rascals! you rogues!" he spluttered. "Was it not enough to defraud

me out of three of my servants, that you must also rob me of my best

silver service? Nay, by my life, but I will not touch your food!"

But Robin Hood bade him pause.

"Gramercy!" quoth he, "servants come and go, in merry England, and so

does service. The platters are but used to do your worship honor. And as

for your life, it is forfeit to your eagerness to buy my herd of cattle

so cheaply. Now sit you down again and make good cheer, Sheriff, for

charity! And for the love of Little John your life is granted you!"

So the Sheriff sat him down again, with the best face he could assume,

and soon the cook's viands were disappearing down his gullet as rapidly

as the next man's. And they feasted royally and clinked each other's

cups until the sun had ceased to print the pattern of the leaves upon

the forest carpet.

Then the Sheriff arose and said: "I thank you, Robin Hood, one-time

butcher, and you, Little John, one-time beggar, and you, Much, one-time

cook, and all you good men who have entertained me in Sherwood so well.

Promises I make not as to how I shall requite you when next you come to

Nottingham, for I am in the King's service. So for the present the score

rests with you. But the shadows grow long and I must away, if you will

be pleased to pilot me to the road."

Then Robin Hood and all his men arose and drank the Sheriff's health,

and Robin said: "If you must needs go at once we will not detain

you--except that you have forgotten two things."

"What may they be?" asked the Sheriff, while his heart sank within him.

"You forget that you came with me to-day to buy a herd of horned beasts;

likewise that he who dines at the Greenwood Inn must pay the landlord."

The Sheriff fidgeted like a small boy who has forgotten his lesson.

"Nay, I have but a small sum with me," he began apologetically.

"What is that sum, gossip?" questioned Little John, "for my own wage

should also come out of it!"

"And mine!" said Much.

"And mine!" smiled Robin.

The Sheriff caught his breath. "By my troth, are all these silver dishes

worth anything?"

The outlaws roared heartily at this.

"I'll tell you what it is, worship," said Robin, "we three rascally

servants will compound our back wages for those plates. And we will keep

the herd of cattle free for our own use--and the King's. But this little

tavern bill should be settled! Now, what sum have you about you?"

"I have only those twenty pieces of gold, and twenty others," said the

Sheriff: and well it was that he told the truth for once, for Robin

said:

"Count it, Little John."

Little John turned the Sheriff's wallet inside out. "'Tis true enough,"

he said.

"Then you shall pay no more than twenty pieces for your entertainment,

excellence," decreed Robin. "Speak I soothly, men of greenwood?"

"Good!" echoed the others.

"The Sheriff should swear by his patron saint that he will not molest

us," said Will Stutely; and his addition was carried unanimously.

"So be it, then," cried Little John, approaching the sheriff. "Now swear

by your life and your patron saint--"

"I will swear it by St. George, who is patron of us all," said the

Sheriff vigorously, "that I will never disturb or distress the outlaws

in Sherwood."

"But let me catch any of you _out_ of Sherwood!" thought he to himself.

Then the twenty pieces of gold were paid over, and the Sheriff once more

prepared to depart.

"Never had we so worshipful a guest before," said Robin; "and as the new

moon is beginning to silver the leaves, I shall bear you company myself

for part of the way. 'Twas I who brought you into the wood."

"Nay, I protest against your going needlessly far," said Sheriff.

"But I protest that I am loath to lose your company," replied Robin.

"The next time I may not be so pleased."

And he took the Sheriff's horse by the bridle rein, and led him through

the lane and by many a thicket till the main road was reached.

"Now fare you well, good Sheriff," he said, "and when next you think to

despoil a poor prodigal, remember the herd you would have bought over

against Gamewell. And when next you employ a servant, make certain that

he is not employing you."

So saying he smote the nag's haunch, and off went the Sheriff upon the

road to Nottingham.

And that is how--you will find from many ballads that came to be sung

at the Sheriff's expense, and which are known even to the present

day--that, I say, is how the Sheriff lost three good servants and found

them again.

CHAPTER VI

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET WILL SCARLET

The youngster was clothed in scarlet red

In scarlet fine and gay;

And he did frisk it o'er the plain,

And chanted a roundelay.

One fine morning, soon after the proud Sheriff had been brought to

grief, Robin Hood and Little John went strolling down a path through the

wood. It was not far from the foot--bridge where they had fought their

memorable battle; and by common impulse they directed their steps to

the brook to quench their thirst and rest them in the cool bushes. The

morning gave promise of a hot day. The road even by the brook was dusty.

So the cooling stream was very pleasing and grateful to their senses.

On each side of them, beyond the dusty highway, stretched out broad

fields of tender young corn. On the yon side of the fields uprose the

sturdy oaks and beeches and ashes of the forest; while at their feet

modest violets peeped out shyly and greeted the loiterers with an odor

which made the heart glad. Over on the far side of the brook in a tiny

bay floated three lily-pads; and from amid some clover blossoms on the

bank an industrious bee rose with the hum of busy contentment. It was a

day so brimful of quiet joy that the two friends lay flat on their

backs gazing up at the scurrying clouds, and neither caring to break the

silence.

Presently they heard some one coming up the road whistling gaily, as

though he owned the whole world and 'twas but made to whistle in. Anon

he chanted a roundelay with a merry note.

"By my troth, a gay bird!" quoth Robin, raising up on his elbow. "Let us

lie still, and trust that his purse is not as light as his heart."

So they lay still, and in a minute more up came a smart stranger dressed

in scarlet and silk and wearing a jaunty hat with a curling cock feather

in it. His whole costume was of scarlet, from the feather to the silk

hosen on his legs. A goodly sword hung at his side, its scabbard all

embossed with tilting knights and weeping ladies. His hair was long and

yellow and hung clustering about his shoulders, for all the world like a

schoolgirl's; and he bore himself with as mincing a gait as the pertest

of them.

Little John clucked his teeth drolly at this sight. "By my troth, a gay

bird!" he said echoing the other's words--then added, "But not so bad a

build for all his prettiness. Look you, those calves and thighs are well

rounded and straight. The arms, for all that gold-wrought cloak, hang

stoutly from full shoulders. I warrant you the fop can use his dainty

sword right well on occasion."

"Nay," retorted Robin, "he is naught but a ladies' man from court. My

long-bow 'gainst a plugged shilling that he would run and bellow lustily

at sight of a quarter-staff. Stay you behind this bush and I will soon

get some rare sport out of him. Belike his silk purse may contain more

pennies than the law allows to one man in Sherwood or Barnesdale."

So saying Robin Hood stepped forth briskly from the covert and planted

himself in the way of the scarlet stranger. The latter had walked

so slowly that he was scarce come to their resting-place; and now

on beholding Robin he neither slackened nor quickened his pace but

sauntered idly straight ahead, looking to the right and to the left,

with the finest air in the world, but never once at Robin.

"Hold!" quoth the outlaw. "What mean ye by running thus over a wayfarer,

rough shod?"

"Wherefore should I hold, good fellow?" said the stranger in a smooth

voice, and looking at Robin for the first time.

"Because I bid you to," replied Robin.

"And who may you be?" asked the other as coolly as you please.

"What my name is matters not," said Robin; "but know that I am a public

tax-gatherer and equalizer of shillings. If your purse have more than a

just number of shillings or pence, I must e'en lighten it somewhat; for

there are many worthy people round about these borders who have less

than the just amount. Wherefore, sweet gentleman, I pray you hand over

your purse without more ado, that I may judge of its weight in proper

fashion."

The other smiled as sweetly as though a lady were paying him a

compliment.

"You are a droll fellow," he said calmly. "Your speech amuses me

mightily. Pray continue, if you have not done, for I am in no hurry this

morning."

"I have said all with my tongue that is needful," retorted Robin,

beginning to grow red under the collar. "Nathless, I have other

arguments which may not be so pleasing to your dainty skin. Prithee,

stand and deliver. I promise to deal fairly with the purse."

"Alack-a-day!" said the stranger with a little shrug of his shoulders;

"I am deeply sorrowful that I cannot show my purse to every rough lout

that asks to see it. But I really could not, as I have further need of

it myself and every farthing it contains. Wherefore, pray stand aside."

"Nay that will I not! and 'twill go the harder with you if you do not

yield at once."

"Good fellow," said the other gently, "have I not heard all your speech

with patience? Now that is all I promised to do. My conscience is salved

and I must go on my way. To-rol-o-rol-e-loo!" he caroled, making as

though to depart.

"Hold, I say!" quoth Robin hotly; for he knew how Little John must be

chuckling at this from behind the bushes. "Hold I say, else I shall have

to bloody those fair locks of yours!" And he swung his quarter-staff

threateningly.

"Alas!" moaned the stranger shaking his head. "The pity of it all! Now I

shall have to run this fellow through with my sword! And I hoped to be a

peaceable man henceforth!" And sighing deeply he drew his shining blade

and stood on guard.

"Put by your weapon," said Robin. "It is too pretty a piece of steel to

get cracked with common oak cudgel; and that is what would happen on

the first pass I made at you. Get you a stick like mine out of yon

undergrowth, and we will fight fairly, man to man."

The stranger thought a moment with his usual slowness, and eyed Robin

from head to foot. Then he unbuckled his scabbard, laid it and the sword

aside, and walked deliberately over to the oak thicket. Choosing from

among the shoots and saplings he found a stout little tree to his

liking, when he laid hold of it, without stopping to cut it, and gave a

tug. Up it came root and all, as though it were a stalk of corn, and the

stranger walked back trimming it as quietly as though pulling up trees

were the easiest thing in the world.

Little John from his hiding-place saw the feat, and could hardly

restrain a long whistle. "By our Lady!" he muttered to himself, "I would

not be in Master Robin's boots!"

Whatever Robin thought upon seeing the stranger's strength, he uttered

not a word and budged not an inch. He only put his oak staff at parry as

the other took his stand.

There was a threefold surprise that day, by the brookside. The stranger

and Robin and Little John in the bushes all found a combat that upset

all reckoning. The stranger for all his easy strength and cool nerve

found an antagonist who met his blows with the skill of a woodman. Robin

found the stranger as hard to hit as though fenced in by an oak hedge.

While Little John rolled over and over in silent joy.

Back and forth swayed the fighters, their cudgels pounding this way and

that, knocking off splinters and bark, and threatening direst damage to

bone and muscle and skin. Back and forth they pranced kicking up a cloud

of dust and gasping for fresh air. From a little way off you would have

vowed that these two men were trying to put out a fire, so thickly

hung the cloud of battle over them. Thrice did Robin smite the scarlet

man--with such blows that a less stout fellow must have bowled over.

Only twice did the scarlet man smite Robin, but the second blow was

like to finish him. The first had been delivered over the knuckles, and

though 'twas a glancing stroke it well nigh broke Robin's fingers, so

that he could not easily raise his staff again. And while he was dancing

about in pain and muttering a dust-covered oath, the other's staff came

swinging through the cloud at one side--zip!--and struck him under the

arm. Down went Robin as though he were a nine-pin--flat down into the

dust of the road. But despite the pain he was bounding up again like an

India rubber man to renew the attack, when Little John interfered.

"Hold!" said he, bursting out of the bushes and seizing the stranger's

weapon. "Hold, I say!"

"Nay," retorted the stranger quietly, "I was not offering to smite him

while he was down. But if there be a whole nest of you hatching here by

the waterside, cluck out the other chicks and I'll make shift to fight

them all."

"Not for all the deer in Sherwood!" cried Robin. "You are a good fellow

and a gentleman. I'll fight no more with you, for verily I feel sore in

wrist and body. Nor shall any of mine molest you henceforth."

Sooth to say, Robin did not look in good fighting trim. His clothes were

coated with dirt, one of his hosen had slipped halfway down from his

knee, the sleeve of his jerkin was split, and his face was streaked with

sweat and dirt. Little John eyed him drolly.

"How now, good master," quoth he, "the sport you were to kick up has

left you in sorry plight. Let me dust your coat for you."

"Marry, it has been dusted enough already," replied Robin; "and I now

believe the Scripture saying that all men are but dust, for it has

sifted me through and through and lined my gullet an inch deep. By your

leave"--and he went to the brookside and drank deep and laved his face

and hands.

All this while the stranger had been eyeing Robin attentively and

listening to his voice as though striving to recall it.

"If I mistake not," he said slowly at last, "you are that famous outlaw,

Robin Hood of Barnesdale."

"You say right," replied Robin; "but my fame has been tumbling sadly

about in the dust to-day."

"Now why did I not know you at once?" continued the stranger. "This

battle need not have happened, for I came abroad to find you to-day, and

thought to have remembered your face and speech. Know you not me, Rob,

my lad? Hast ever been to Gamewell Lodge?"

"Ha! Will Gamewell! my dear old chum, Will Gamewell!" shouted Robin,

throwing his arms about the other in sheer affection. "What an ass I was

not to recognize you! But it has been years since we parted, and your

gentle schooling has polished you off mightily."

Will embraced his cousin no less heartily.

"We are quits on not knowing kinsmen," he said, "for you have changed

and strengthened much from the stripling with whom I used to run foot

races in old Sherwood."

"But why seek you me?" asked Robin. "You know I am an outlaw and

dangerous company. And how left you mine uncle? and have you heard aught

of late of--of Maid Marian?"

"Your last question first," answered Will, laughing, "for I perceive

that it lies nearest your heart. I saw Maid Marian not many weeks after

the great shooting at Nottingham, when you won her the golden arrow. She

prizes the bauble among her dearest possessions, though it has made her

an enemy in the Sheriff's proud daughter. Maid Marian bade me tell you,

if I ever saw you, that she must return to Queen Eleanor's court, but

she could never forget the happy days in the greenwood. As for the old

Squire, he is still hale and hearty, though rheumatic withal. He speaks

of you as a sad young dog, but for all that is secretly proud of your

skill at the bow and of the way you are pestering the Sheriff, whom

he likes not. 'Twas for my father's sake that I am now in the open, an

outlaw like yourself. He has had a steward, a surly fellow enough, who,

while I was away at school, boot-licked his way to favor until he lorded

it over the whole house. Then he grew right saucy and impudent, but my

father minded it not, deeming the fellow indispensable in managing the

estate. But when I came back it irked me sorely to see the fellow strut

about as though he owned the place. He was sly enough with me at first,

and would brow-beat the Squire only while I was out of earshot. It

chanced one day, however, that I heard loud voices through an open

window and paused to hearken. That vile servant called my father 'a

meddling old fool,' 'Fool and meddler art thou thyself, varlet,' I

shouted, springing through the window, '_that_ for thy impudence!' and

in my heat I smote him a blow mightier than I intended, for I have

some strength in mine arm. The fellow rolled over and never breathed

afterwards, I think I broke his neck or something the like. Then I knew

that the Sheriff would use this as a pretext to hound my father, if I

tarried. So I bade the Squire farewell and told him I would seek you in

Sherwood."

"Now by my halidom!" said Robin Hood; "for a man escaping the law, you

took it about as coolly as one could wish. To see you come tripping

along decked out in all your gay plumage and trolling forth a roundelay,

one would think you had not a care in all the world. Indeed I remarked

to Little John here that I hoped your purse was not as light as your

heart."

"Belike you meant _head_," laughed Will; "and is this Little John the

Great? Shake hands with me, an you will, and promise me to cross a staff

with me in friendly bout some day in the forest!"

"That will I!" quoth Little John heartily. "Here's my hand on it. What

is your last name again, say you?"

"'Tis to be changed," interposed Robin; "then shall the men armed with

warrants go hang for all of us. Let me bethink myself. Ah!--I have it!

In scarlet he came to us, and that shall be his name henceforth. Welcome

to the greenwood, Will Scarlet!"

"Aye, welcome, Will Scarlet!" said Little John; and they all clasped

hands again and swore to be true each to the other and to Robin Hood's

men in Sherwood Forest.

CHAPTER VII

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET FRIAR TUCK

The friar took Robin Hood on his back,

Deep water he did bestride,

And spake neither good word nor bad,

Till he came at the other side.

In summer time when leaves grow green, and flowers are fresh and gay,

Robin Hood and his merry men were all disposed to play. Thus runs a

quaint old ballad which begins the next adventure. Then some would leap

and some would run and some try archery and some ply the quarter-staff

and some fall to with the good broad sword. Some again would try a round

at buffet and fisticuff; and thus by every variety of sport and exercise

they perfected themselves in skill and made the band and its prowess

well known throughout all England.

It had been a custom of Robin Hood's to pick out the best men in all the

countryside. Whenever he heard of one more than usually skilled in

any feat of arms he would seek the man and test him in personal

encounter--which did not always end happily for Robin. And when he had

found a man to his liking he offered him service with the bold fellows

of Sherwood Forest.

Thus it came about that one day after a practice at shooting, in which

Little John struck down a hart at five hundred feet distance, Robin Hood

was fain to boast.

"God's blessing on your heart!" he cried, clapping the burly fellow on

the shoulder; "I would travel an hundred miles to find one who could

match you!"

At this Will Scarlet laughed full roundly.

"There lives a curtall friar in Fountain's Abbey--Tuck, by name--who can

beat both him and you," he said.

Robin pricked up his ears at this free speech.

"By our Lady," he said, "I'll neither eat nor drink till I see this same

friar."

And with his usual impetuosity he at once set about arming himself for

the adventure. On his head he placed a cap of steel. Underneath his

Lincoln green he wore a coat of chain metal. Then with sword and buckler

girded at his side he made a goodly show. But he also took with him his

stout yew bow and a sheaf of chosen arrows.

So he set forth upon his way with blithe heart; for it was a day when

the whole face of the earth seemed glad and rejoicing in pulsing life.

Steadily he pressed forward by winding ways till he came to a green

broad pasture land at whose edge flowed a stream dipping in and out

among the willows and rushes on the banks. A pleasant stream it was, but

it flowed calmly as though of some depth in the middle. Robin did not

fancy getting his feet wet, or his fine suit of mail rusted, so he

paused on the hither bank to rest and take his bearings.

As he sat down quietly under the shade of a drooping willow he heard

snatches of a jovial song floating to him from the farther side; then

came a sound of two men's voices arguing. One was upholding the

merits of hasty pudding and the other stood out stoutly for meat pie,

"especially"--quoth this one--"when flavored with young onions!"

"Gramercy!" muttered Robin to himself, "that is a tantalizing speech to

a hungry man! But, odds bodikins! did ever two men talk more alike than

those two fellows yonder!"

In truth Robin could well marvel at the speech, for the voices were

curiously alike.

Presently the willows parted on the other bank, and Robin could hardly

forebear laughing out right. His mystery was explained. It was not two

men who had done all this singing and talking, but one--and that one a

stout curtall friar who wore a long cloak over his portly frame, tied

with a cord in the middle. On his head was a knight's helmet, and in his

hand was a no more warlike weapon than a huge pasty pie, with which he

sat down by the water's edge. His twofold argument was finished. The

meat pie had triumphed; and no wonder! for it was the present witness,

soon to give its own testimony.

But first the friar took off his helmet to cool his head, and a droll

picture he made. His head was as round as an apple, and eke as smooth in

spots. A fringe of close curling black hair grew round the base of his

skull, but his crown was bare and shiny as an egg. His cheeks also were

smooth and red and shiny; and his little gray eyes danced about with

the funniest air imaginable. You would not have blamed Robin Hood for

wanting to laugh, had you heard this serious two-faced talk and then

seen this jovial one-faced man. Good humor and fat living stood out all

over him; yet for all that he looked stout enough and able to take

care of himself with any man. His short neck was thick like that of a

Berkshire bull; his shoulders were set far back, and his arms sprouted

therefrom like two oak limbs. As he sat him down, the cloak fell apart

disclosing a sword and buckler as stout as Robin's own.

Nathless, Robin was not dismayed at sight of the weapons. Instead, his

heart fell within him when he saw the meat pie which was now in fair

way to be devoured before his very eyes; for the friar lost no time in

thrusting one hand deep into the pie, while he crossed himself with the

other.

Thereupon Robin seized his bow and fitted a shaft.

"Hey, friar!" he sang out, "carry me over the water, or else I cannot

answer for your safety."

The other started at the unexpected greeting, and laid his hand upon

his sword. Then he looked up and beheld Robin's arrow pointing full upon

him.

"Put down your bow, fellow," he shouted back, "and I will bring you over

the brook. 'Tis our duty in life to help each other, and your keen shaft

shows me that you are a man worthy of some attention." So the friar

knight got him up gravely, though his eyes twinkled with a cunning

light, and laid aside his beloved pie and his cloak and his sword and

his buckler, and waded across the stream with waddling dignity. Then he

took Robin Hood upon his back and spoke neither good word nor bad till

he came to the other side.

Lightly leaped Robin off his back, and said, "I am much beholden to you,

good father."

"Beholden, say you!" rejoined the other drawing his sword; "then by my

faith you shall e'en repay your score. Now mine own affairs, which are

of a spiritual kind and much more important than yours which are carnal,

lie on the other side of this stream. I see that you are a likely man

and one, moreover, who would not refuse to serve the church. I must

therefore pray of you that whatsoever I have done unto you, you will do

also unto me. In short, my son, you must e'en carry me back again."

Courteously enough was this said; but so suddenly had the friar drawn

his sword that Robin had no time to unsling his bow from his back,

whither he had placed it to avoid getting it wet, or to unfasten his

scabbard. So he was fain to temporize.

"Nay, good father, but I shall get my feet wet," he commenced.

"Are your feet any better than mine?" retorted the other. "I fear me

now that I have already wetted myself so sadly as to lay in a store of

rheumatic pains by way of penance."

"I am not so strong as you," continued Robin; "that helmet and sword and

buckler would be my undoing on the uncertain footing amidstream, to say

nothing of your holy flesh and bones."

"Then I will lighten up, somewhat," replied the other calmly. "Promise

to carry me across and I will lay aside my war gear."

"Agreed," said Robin; and the friar thereupon stripped himself; and

Robin bent his stout back and took him up even as he had promised.

Now the stones at the bottom of the stream were round and slippery, and

the current swept along strongly, waist-deep, in the middle. More-over

Robin had a heavier load than the other had borne, nor did he know the

ford. So he went stumbling along now stepping into a deep hole, now

stumbling over a boulder in a manner that threatened to unseat his rider

or plunge them both clear under current. But the fat friar hung on and

dug his heels into his steed's ribs in as gallant manner as if he were

riding in a tournament; while as for poor Robin the sweat ran down him

in torrents and he gasped like the winded horse he was. But at last he

managed to stagger out on the bank and deposit his unwieldy load.

No sooner had he set the friar down than he seized his own sword.

"Now, holy friar," quoth he, panting and wiping the sweat from his brow,

"what say the Scriptures that you quote so glibly?--Be not weary of

well doing. You must carry me back again or I swear that I will make a

cheese-cloth out of your jacket!"

The friar's gray eyes once more twinkled with a cunning gleam that boded

no good to Robin; but his voice was as calm and courteous as ever.

"Your wits are keen, my son," he said; "and I see that the waters of the

stream have not quenched your spirit. Once more will I bend my back to

the oppressor and carry the weight of the haughty."

So Robin mounted again in high glee, and carried his sword in his

hand, and went prepared to tarry upon the other side. But while he

was bethinking himself what great words to use, when he should arrive

thither, he felt himself slipping from the friar's broad back. He

clutched frantically to save himself but had too round a surface to

grasp, besides being hampered by his weapon. So down went he with a

loud splash into the middle of the stream, where the crafty friar had

conveyed him.

"There!" quoth the holy man; "choose you, choose you, my fine fellow,

whether you will sink or swim!" And he gained his own bank without more

ado, while Robin thrashed and spluttered about until he made shift to

grasp a willow wand and thus haul himself ashore on the other side.

Then Robin's rage waxed furious, despite his wetting, and he took his

bow and his arrows and let fly one shaft after another at the worthy

friar. But they rattled harmlessly off his steel buckler, while he

laughed and minded them no more than if they had been hail-stones.

"Shoot on, shoot on, good fellow," he sang out; "shoot as you have

begun; if you shoot here a summer's day, your mark I will not shun!"

So Robin shot, and passing well, till all his arrows were gone, when

from very rage he began to revile him.

"You bloody villain!" shouted he, "You psalm-singing hypocrite! You

reviler of good hasty pudding! Come but within reach of my sword

arm, and, friar or no friar, I'll shave your tonsure closer than ever

bald-pated monk was shaven before!"

"Soft you and fair!" said the friar unconcernedly; "hard words are

cheap, and you may need your wind presently. An you would like a bout

with swords, meet me halfway i' the stream."

And with this speech the friar waded into the brook, sword in hand,

where he was met halfway by the impetuous outlaw.

Thereupon began a fierce and mighty battle. Up and down, in and out,

back and forth they fought. The swords flashed in the rays of the

declining sun and then met with a clash that would have shivered less

sturdy weapons or disarmed less sturdy wielders. Many a smart blow was

landed, but each perceived that the other wore an undercoat of linked

mail which might not be pierced. Nathless, their ribs ached at the force

of the blows. Once and again they paused by mutual consent and caught

breath and looked hard each at the other; for never had either met so

stout a fellow.

Finally in a furious onset of lunge and parry Robin's foot stepped on a

rolling stone, and he went down upon his knees. But his antagonist would

not take this advantage: he paused until Robin should get upon his feet.

"Now by our Lady!" cried the outlaw, using his favorite oath, "you are

the fairest swordsman that I have met in many a long day. I would beg a

boon of you."

"What is it?" said the other.

"Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth and blow three blasts

thereon."

"That will I do," said the curtall friar, "blow till your breath fails,

an it please you."

Then, says the old ballad, Robin Hood set his horn to mouth and blew

mighty blasts; and half a hundred yeomen, bows bent, came raking over

the lee.

"Whose men are these," said the friar, "that come so hastily?"

"These men are mine," said Robin Hood, feeling that his time to laugh

was come at last.

Then said the friar in his turn, "A boon, a boon, the like I gave to

you. Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth and whistle three blasts

thereon."

"That will I do," said Robin, "or else I were lacking in courtesy."

The friar set his fist to his mouth and put the horn to shame by the

piercing whistles he blew; whereupon half a hundred great dogs came

running and jumping so swiftly that they had reached their bank as soon

as Robin Hood's men had reached his side.

Then followed a rare foolish conflict. Stutely, Much, Little John

and the other outlaws began sending their arrows whizzing toward the

opposite bank; but the dogs, which were taught of the friar, dodged the

missiles cleverly and ran and fetched them back again, just as the dogs

of to-day catch sticks.

"I have never seen the like of this in my days!" cried Little John,

amazed.

"'Tis rank sorcery and witchcraft."

"Take off your dogs, Friar Tuck!" shouted Will Scarlet, who had but then

run up, and who now stood laughing heartily at the scene.

"Friar Tuck!" exclaimed Robin, astounded. "Are you Friar Tuck? Then am I

your friend, for you are he I came to seek."

"I am but a poor anchorite, a curtall friar," said the other, whistling

to his pack, "by name Friar Tuck of Fountain's Dale. For seven years

have I tended the Abbey here, preached o' Sundays, and married and

christened and buried folk--and fought too, if need were; and if it

smacks not too much of boasting, I have not yet met the knight or

trooper or yeoman that I would yield before. But yours is a stout blade.

I would fain know you."

"'Tis Robin Hood, the outlaw, who has been assisting you at this

christening," said Will Scarlet glancing roguishly at the two opponents'

dripping garments. And at this sally the whole bad burst into a shout of

laughter, in which Robin and Friar Tuck joined.

"Robin Hood!" cried the good friar presently, holding his sides; "are

you indeed that famous yeoman? Then I like you well; and had I known you

earlier, would have both carried you across and shared my pasty pie with

you."

"To speak soothly," replied Robin gaily, "'twas that same pie that led

me to be rude. Now, therefore, bring it and your dogs and repair with us

to the greenwood. We have need of you--with this message came I to-day

to seek you. We will build you a hermitage in Sherwood Forest, and you

shall keep us from evil ways. Will you not join our band?"

"Marry, that will I!" cried Friar Tuck jovially. "Once more will I cross

this much beforded stream, and go with you to the good greenwood!"

CHAPTER VIII

HOW ALLAN-A-DALE'S WOOING WAS PROSPERED

"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood,

"Come tell me, without any fail!"

"By the faith o' my body," then said the young man,

"My name it is Allan-a-Dale."

Friar Tuck and Much the miller's son soon became right good friends over

the steaming stew they jointly prepared for the merry men that evening.

Tuck was mightily pleased when he found a man in the forest who could

make pasties and who had cooked for no less person than the High Sheriff

himself. While Much marveled at the friar's knowledge of herbs and

simples and woodland things which savored a stew greatly. So they

gabbled together like two old gossips and, between them, made such a

tasty mess that Robin Hood and his stout followers were like never to

leave off eating. And the friar said grace too, with great unction, over

the food; and Robin said Amen! and that henceforth they were always to

have mass of Sundays.

So Robin walked forth into the wood that evening with his stomach full

and his heart, therefore, in great contentment and love for other men.

He did not stop the first passer-by, as his manner often was, and desire

a fight. Instead, he stepped behind a tree, when he heard a man's voice

in song, and waited to behold the singer. Perhaps he remembered, also,

the merry chanting of Will Scarlet, and how he had tried to give it

pause a few days before.

Like Will, this fellow was clad in scarlet, though he did not look quite

as fine a gentleman. Nathless, he was a sturdy yeoman of honest face and

a voice far sweeter than Will's. He seemed to be a strolling minstrel,

for he bore a harp in his hand, which he thrummed, while his lusty tenor

voice rang out with--

"Hey down, and a down, and a down!

I've a lassie back i' the town;

Come day, come night, Come dark or light,

She will wed me, back i' the town!"

Robin let the singer pass, caroling on his way.

"'Tis not in me to disturb a light-hearted lover, this night," he

muttered, a memory of Marian coming back to him. "Pray heaven she may be

true to him and the wedding be a gay one 'back i' the town!"'

So Robin went back to his camp, where he told of the minstrel.

"If any of ye set on him after this," quoth he in ending, "bring him to

me, for I would have speech with him."

The very next day his wish was gratified. Little John and Much the

miller's son were out together on a foraging expedition when they espied

the same young man; at least, they thought it must be he, for he was

clad in scarlet and carried a harp in his hand. But now he came drooping

along the way; his scarlet was all in tatters; and at every step he

fetched a sigh, "Alack and a well-a-day!"

Then stepped forth Little John and Much the miller's son.

"Ho! do not wet the earth with your weeping," said Little John, "else we

shall all have lumbago."

No sooner did the young man catch sight of them than he bent his bow,

and held an arrow back to his ear.

"Stand off! stand off!" he said; "what is your will with me?"

"Put by your weapon," said Much, "we will not harm you. But you must

come before our master straight, under yon greenwood tree."

So the minstrel put by his bow and suffered himself to be led before

Robin Hood.

"How now!" quoth Robin, when he beheld his sorry countenance, "are you

not he whom I heard no longer ago than yesternight caroling so blithely

about 'a lassie back i' the town'?"

"The same in body, good sir," replied the other sadly; "but my spirit is

grievously changed."

"Tell me your tale," said Robin courteously. "Belike I can help you."

"That can no man on earth, I fear," said the stranger; "nathless, I'll

tell you the tale. Yesterday I stood pledged to a maid, and thought

soon to wed her. But she has been taken from me and is to become an

old knight's bride this very day; and as for me, I care not what ending

comes to my days, or how soon, without her."

"Marry, come up!" said Robin; "how got the old knight so sudden

vantage?"

"Look you, worship, 'tis this way. The Normans overrun us, and are in

such great favor that none may say them nay. This old returned Crusader

coveted the land whereon my lady dwells. The estate is not large, but

all in her own right; whereupon her brother says she shall wed a title,

and he and the old knight have fixed it up for to-day."

"Nay, but surely--" began Robin.

"Hear me out, worship," said the other. "Belike you think me a sorry

dog not to make fight of this. But the old knight, look you, is not

come-at-able. I threw one of his varlets into a thorn hedge, and another

into a water-butt, and a third landed head-first into a ditch. But I

couldn't do any fighting at all."

"'Tis a pity!" quoth Little John gravely. He had been sitting

cross-legged listening to this tale of woe. "What think you, Friar Tuck,

doth not a bit of fighting ease a man's mind?"

"Blood-letting is ofttimes recommended of the leeches," replied Tuck.

"Does the maid love you?" asked Robin Hood.

"By our troth, she loved me right well," said the minstrel. "I have a

little ring of hers by me which I have kept for seven long years."

"What is your name?" then said Robin Hood.

"By the faith of my body," replied the young man, "my name is

Allan-a-Dale."

"What will you give me, Allan-a-Dale," said Robin Hood, "in ready gold

or fee, to help you to your true love again, and deliver her back unto

you?"

"I have no money, save only five shillings," quoth Allan; "but--are you

not Robin Hood?"

Robin nodded.

"Then you, if any one, can aid me!" said Allan-a-Dale eagerly. "And if

you give me back my love, I swear upon the Book that I will be your true

servant forever after."

"Where is this wedding to take place, and when?" asked Robin.

"At Plympton Church, scarce five miles from here; and at three o' the

afternoon."

"Then to Plympton we will go!" cried Robin suddenly springing into

action; and he gave out orders like a general: "Will Stutely, do you

have four-and-twenty good men over against Plympton Church 'gainst three

o' the afternoon. Much, good fellow, do you cook up some porridge for

this youth, for he must have a good round stomach--aye, and a better

gear! Will Scarlet, you will see to decking him out bravely for the

nonce. And Friar Tuck, hold yourself in readiness, good book in hand, at

the church. Mayhap you had best go ahead of us all."

The fat Bishop of Hereford was full of pomp and importance that day at

Plympton Church. He was to celebrate the marriage of an old knight--a

returned Crusader--and a landed young woman; and all the gentry

thereabout were to grace the occasion with their presence. The church

itself was gaily festooned with flowers for the ceremony, while out

in the church-yard at one side brown ale flowed freely for all the

servitors.

Already were the guests beginning to assemble, when the Bishop, back in

the vestry, saw a minstrel clad in green walk up boldly to the door and

peer within. It was Robin Hood, who had borrowed Allan's be-ribboned

harp for the time.

"Now who are you, fellow?" quoth the Bishop, "and what do you here at

the church-door with you harp and saucy air?"

"May it please your Reverence," returned Robin bowing very humbly, "I

am but a strolling harper, yet likened the best in the whole North

Countree. And I had hope that my thrumming might add zest to the wedding

to-day."

"What tune can you harp?" demanded the Bishop.

"I can harp a tune so merry that a forlorn lover will forget he is

jilted," said Robin. "I can harp another tune that will make a bride

forsake her lord at the altar. I can harp another tune that will bring

loving souls together though they were up hill and down dale five good

miles away from each other."

"Then welcome, good minstrel," said the Bishop, "music pleases me right

well, and if you can play up to your prattle, 'twill indeed grace your

ceremony. Let us have a sample of your wares."

"Nay, I must not put finger to string until the bride and groom have

come. Such a thing would ill fortune both us and them."

"Have it as you will," said the Bishop, "but here comes the party now."

Then up the lane to the church came the old knight, preceded by ten

archers liveried in scarlet and gold. A brave sight the archers made,

but their master walked slowly leaning upon a cane and shaking as though

in a palsy.

And after them came a sweet lass leaning upon her brother's arm. Her

hair did shine like glistering gold, and her eyes were like blue violets

that peep out shyly at the sun. The color came and went in her cheeks

like that tinting of a sea-shell, and her face was flushed as though

she had been weeping. But now she walked with a proud air, as though she

defied the world to crush her spirit. She had but two maids with her,

finikin lasses, with black eyes and broad bosoms, who set off their

lady's more delicate beauty well. One held up the bride's gown from the

ground; the other carried flowers in plenty.

"Now by all the wedding bells that ever were rung!" quoth Robin boldly,

"this is the worst matched pair that ever mine eyes beheld!"

"Silence, miscreant!" said a man who stood near.

The Bishop had hurriedly donned his gown and now stood ready to meet the

couple at the chancel.

But Robin paid no heed to him. He let the knight and his ten archers

pass by, then he strode up to the bride, and placed himself on the other

side from her brother.

"Courage, lady!" he whispered, "there is another minstrel near, who

mayhap may play more to your liking."

The lady glanced at him with a frightened air, but read such honesty and

kindness in his glance that she brightened and gave him a grateful look.

"Stand aside, fool!" cried the brother wrathfully.

"Nay, but I am to bring good fortune to the bride by accompanying her

through the church-doors," said Robin laughing.

Thereupon he was allowed to walk by her side unmolested, up to the

chancel with the party.

"Now strike up your music, fellow!" ordered the Bishop.

"Right gladly will I," quoth Robin, "an you will let me choose my

instrument. For sometimes I like the harp, and other times I think the

horn makes the merriest music in all the world."

And he drew forth his bugle from underneath his green cloak and blew

three winding notes that made the church--rafters ring again.

"Seize him!" yelled the Bishop; "there's mischief afoot! These are the

tricks of Robin Hood!"

The ten liveried archers rushed forward from the rear of the church,

where they had been stationed. But their rush was blocked by the

onlookers who now rose from their pews in alarm and crowded the aisles.

Meanwhile Robin had leaped lightly over the chancel rail and stationed

himself in a nook by the altar.

"Stand where you are!" he shouted, drawing his bow, "the first man to

pass the rail dies the death. And all ye who have come to witness a

wedding stay in your seats. We shall e'en have one, since we are come

into the church. But the bride shall choose her own swain!"

Then up rose another great commotion at the door, and four-and-twenty

good bowmen came marching in with Will Stutely at their head. And they

seized the ten liveried archers and the bride's scowling brother and the

other men on guard and bound them prisoners.

Then in came Allan-a-Dale, decked out gaily, with Will Scarlet for best

man. And they walked gravely down the aisle and stood over against the

chancel.

"Before a maiden weds she chooses--an the laws of good King Harry be

just ones," said Robin. "Now, maiden, before this wedding continues,

whom will you have to husband?"

The maiden answered not in words, but smiled with a glad light in her

eyes, and walked over to Allan and clasped her arms about his neck.

"That is her true love," said Robin. "Young Allan instead of the gouty

knight. And the true lovers shall be married at this time before we

depart away. Now my lord Bishop, proceed with the ceremony!"

"Nay, that shall not be," protested the Bishop; "the banns must be cried

three times in the church. Such is the law of our land."

"Come here, Little John," called Robin impatiently; and plucked off the

Bishop's frock from his back and put it on the yeoman.

Now the Bishop was short and fat, and Little John was long and lean.

The gown hung loosely over Little John's shoulders and came only to

his waist. He was a fine comical sight, and the people began to laugh

consumedly at him.

"By the faith o' my body," said Robin, "this cloth makes you a man.

You're the finest Bishop that ever I saw in my life. Now cry the banns."

So Little John clambered awkwardly into the quire, his short gown

fluttering gaily; and he called the banns for the marriage of the maid

and Allan-a-Dale once, twice, and thrice.

"That's not enough," said Robin; "your gown is so short that you must

talk longer."

Then Little John asked them in the church four, five, six, and seven

times.

"Good enough!" said Robin. "Now belike I see a worthy friar in the back

of this church who can say a better service than ever my lord Bishop of

Hereford. My lord Bishop shall be witness and seal the papers, but do

you, good friar, bless this pair with book and candle."

So Friar Tuck, who all along had been back in one corner of the church,

came forward; and Allan and his maid kneeled before him, while the old

knight, held an unwilling witness, gnashed his teeth in impotent rage;

and the friar began with the ceremony.

When he asked, "Who giveth this woman?" Robin stepped up and answered in

a clear voice:

"I do! I, Robin Hood of Barnesdale and Sherwood! And he who takes her

from Allan-a-Dale shall buy her full dearly."

So the twain were declared man and wife and duly blessed; and the bride

was kissed by each sturdy yeoman beginning with Robin Hood.

Now I cannot end this jolly tale better than in the words of the ballad

which came out of the happening and which has been sung in the villages

and countryside ever since:

"And thus having end of this merry wedding,

The bride lookt like a queen;

And so they returned to the merry greenwood

Amongst the leaves so green."

CHAPTER IX

HOW THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS WERE RESCUED

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,

With a link a down and a down,

And there he met with the proud Sheriff,

Was walking along the town.

The wedding-party was a merry one that left Plympton Church, I ween; but

not so merry were the ones left behind. My lord Bishop of Hereford

was stuck up in the organ-loft and left, gownless and fuming. The ten

liveried archers were variously disposed about the church to keep him

company; two of them being locked in a tiny crypt, three in the belfry,

"to ring us a wedding peal," as Robin said; and the others under

quire seats or in the vestry. The bride's brother at her entreaty was

released, but bidden not to return to the church that day or interfere

with his sister again on pain of death. While the rusty old knight was

forced to climb a high tree, where he sat insecurely perched among the

branches, feebly cursing the party as it departed.

It was then approaching sundown, but none of the retainers or villagers

dared rescue the imprisoned ones that night, for fear of Robin Hood's

men. So it was not until sunup the next day, that they were released.

The Bishop and the old knight, stiff as they were, did not delay longer

than for breakfast, but so great was their rage and shame--made straight

to Nottingham and levied the Sheriff's forces. The Sheriff himself was

not anxious to try conclusions again with Robin in the open. Perhaps he

had some slight scruples regarding his oath. But the others swore that

they would go straight to the King, if he did not help them, so he was

fain to consent.

A force of an hundred picked men from the Royal Foresters and swordsmen

of the shire was gathered together and marched straightway into the

greenwood. There, as fortune would have it, they surprised some score of

outlaws hunting, and instantly gave chase. But they could not surround

the outlaws, who kept well in the lead, ever and anon dropping behind

a log or boulder to speed back a shaft which meant mischief to the

pursuers. One shaft indeed carried off the Sheriff's hat and caused

that worthy man to fall forward upon his horse's neck from sheer terror;

while five other arrows landed in the fleshy parts of Foresters' arms.

But the attacking party was not wholly unsuccessful. One outlaw in his

flight stumbled and fell; when two others instantly stopped and helped

to put him on his feet again. They were the widow's three sons, Stout

Will, and Lester, and John. The pause was an unlucky one for them, as

a party of Sheriff's men got above them and cut them off from their

fellows. Swordsmen came up in the rear, and they were soon hemmed in on

every side. But they gave good account of themselves, and before they

had been overborne by force of numbers they had killed two and disabled

three more.

The infuriated attackers were almost on the point of hewing the stout

outlaws to pieces, when the Sheriff cried:

"Hold! Bind the villains! We will follow the law in this and take them

to the town jail. But I promise ye the biggest public hanging that has

been seen in this shire for many changes of the moon!"

So they bound the widow's three sons and carried them back speedily to

Nottingham.

Now Robin Hood had not chanced to be near the scene of the fight, or

with his men; so for a time he heard nothing of the happening.

But that evening while returning to the camp he was met by the widow

herself, who came weeping along the way.

"What news, what news, good woman?" said Robin hastily but courteously;

for he liked her well.

"God save ye, Master Robin!" said the dame wildly. "God keep ye from the

fate that has met my three sons! The Sheriff has laid hands on them and

they are condemned to die."

"Now, by our Lady! That cuts me to the heart! Stout Will, and Lester,

and merry John! The earliest friends I had in the band, and still among

the bravest! It must not be! When is this hanging set?"

"Middle the tinker tells me that it is for tomorrow noon," replied the

dame.

"By the truth o' my body," quoth Robin, "you could not tell me in better

time. The memory of the old days when you freely bade me sup and dine

would spur me on, even if three of the bravest lads in all the shire

were not imperiled. Trust to me, good woman!"

The old widow threw herself on the ground and embraced his knees.

"'Tis dire danger I am asking ye to face," she said weeping; "and yet I

knew your brave true heart would answer me. Heaven help ye, good Master

Robin, to answer a poor widow's prayers!"

Then Robin Hood sped straightway to the forest-camp, where he heard the

details of the skirmish--how that his men had been out-numbered five to

one, but got off safely, as they thought, until a count of their members

had shown the loss of the widow's three sons.

"We must rescue them, my men!" quoth Robin, "even from out the shadow of

the rope itself!"

Whereupon the band set to work to devise ways and means.

Robin walked apart a little way with his head leaned thoughtfully upon

his breast--for he was sore troubled--when whom should he meet but an

old begging palmer, one of a devout order which made pilgrimages and

wandered from place to place, supported by charity.

This old fellow walked boldly up to Robin and asked alms of him; since

Robin had been wont to aid members of his order.

"What news, what news, thou foolish old man?" said Robin, "what news, I

do thee pray?"

"Three squires in Nottingham town," quoth the palmer, "are condemned

to die. Belike that is greater news than the shire has had in some

Sundays."

Then Robin's long-sought idea came to him like a flash.

"Come, change thine apparel with me, old man," he said, "and I'll give

thee forty shillings in good silver to spend in beer or wine."

"O, thine apparel is good," the palmer protested, "and mine is ragged

and torn. The holy church teaches that thou should'st ne'er laugh an old

man to scorn."

"I am in simple earnest, I say. Come, change thine apparel with mine.

Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold to feast they brethren right

royally."

So the palmer was persuaded; and Robin put on the old man's hat, which

stood full high in the crown; and his cloak, patched with black and

blue and red, like Joseph's coat of many colors in its old age; and

his breeches, which had been sewed over with so many patterns that the

original was scarce discernible; and his tattered hose; and his shoes,

cobbled above and below. And while as he made the change in dress he

made so many whimsical comments also about a man's pride and the dress

that makes a man, that the palmer was like to choke with cackling

laughter.

I warrant you, the two were comical sights when they parted company that

day. Nathless, Robin's own mother would not have known him, had she been

living.

The next morning the whole town of Nottingham was early astir, and as

soon as the gates were open country-folk began to pour in; for a triple

hanging was not held there every day in the week, and the bustle almost

equated a Fair day.

Robin Hood in his palmer's disguise was one of the first ones to enter

the gates, and he strolled up and down and around the town as though he

had never been there before in all his life. Presently he came to the

market-place, and beheld thereon three gallows erected.

"Who are these builded for, my son?" asked he of a rough soldier

standing by.

"For three of Robin Hood's men," answered the other. "And it were Robin

himself, 'twould be thrice as high I warrant ye. But Robin is too smart

to get within the Sheriff's clutches again."

The palmer crossed himself.

"They say that he is a bold fellow," he whined.

"Ha!" said the soldier, "he may be bold enough out behind stumps i' the

forest, but the open market-place is another matter."

"Who is to hang these three poor wretches?" asked the palmer.

"That hath the Sheriff not decided. But here he comes now to answer his

own questions." And the soldier came to stiff attention as the Sheriff

and his body-guard stalked pompously up to inspect the gallows.

"O, Heaven save you, worshipful Sheriff!" said the palmer. "Heaven

protect you! What will you give a silly old man to-day to be your

hangman?"

"Who are you, fellow?" asked the Sheriff sharply.

"Naught save a poor old palmer. But I can shrive their souls and hang

their bodies most devoutly."

"Very good," replied the other. "The fee to-day is thirteen pence; and

I will add thereunto some suits of clothing for that ragged back of

yours."

"God bless ye!" said the palmer. And he went with the soldier to the

jail to prepare his three men for execution.

Just before the stroke of noon the doors of the prison opened and the

procession of the condemned came forth. Down through the long lines of

packed people they walked to the market-place, the palmer in the lead,

and the widow's three sons marching firmly erect between soldiers.

At the gallows foot they halted. The palmer whispered to them, as though

offering last words of consolation; and the three men, with arms bound

tightly behind their backs, ascended the scaffold, followed by their

confessor.

Then Robin stepped to the edge of the scaffold, while the people grew

still as death; for they desired to hear the last words uttered to the

victims. But Robin's voice did not quaver forth weakly, as formerly,

and his figure had stiffened bolt upright beneath the black robe that

covered his rags.

"Hark ye, proud Sheriff!" he cried. "I was ne'er a hangman in all my

life, nor do I now intend to begin that trade. Accurst be he who first

set the fashion of hanging! I have but three more words to say. Listen

to them!"

And forth from the robe he drew his horn and blew three loud blasts

thereon. Then his keen hunting-knife flew forth and in a trice, Stout

Will, Lester, and merry John were free men and had sprung forward and

seized the halberds from the nearest soldiers guarding the gallows.

"Seize them! 'Tis Robin Hood!" screamed the Sheriff, "an hundred pounds

if ye hold them, dead or alive!"

"I make it two hundred!" roared the fat Bishop.

But their voices were drowned in the uproar that ensued immediately

after Robin blew his horn. He himself had drawn his sword and leaped

down the stairs from the scaffold, followed by his three men. The guard

had closed around them in vain effort to disarm them, when "A rescuer"

shouted Will Stutely's clear voice on one side of them, and "A

rescue!" bellowed Little John's on the other; and down through the

terror-stricken crowd rushed fourscore men in Lincoln green, their force

seeming twice that number in the confusion. With swords drawn they fell

upon the guard from every side at once. There was a brief clash of hot

weapons, then the guard scattered wildly, and Robin Hood's men formed in

a compact mass around their leader and forced their way slowly down the

market-place.

"Seize them! In the King's name!" shrieked the Sheriff. "Close the

gates!"

In truth, the peril would have been even greater, had this last order

been carried out. But Will Scarlet and Allan-a-Dale had foreseen that

event, and had already overpowered the two warders.

So the gates stood wide open, and toward them the band of outlaws

headed.

The soldiers rallied a force of twice their number and tried resolutely

to pierce their center. But the retreating force turned thrice and sent

such volleys of keen arrows from their good yew bows, that they kept a

distance between the two forces.

And thus the gate was reached, and the long road leading up the hill,

and at last the protecting greenwood itself. The soldiers dared come no

farther. And the widow's three sons, I warrant you, supped more heartily

that night than ever before in their whole lives.

CHAPTER X

HOW A BEGGAR FILLED THE PUBLIC EYE

Good Robin accost him in his way,

To see what he might be;

If any beggar had money,

He thought some part had he.

One bright morning, soon after the stirring events told in the last

chapter, Robin wandered forth alone down the road to Barnesdale, to see

if aught had come of the Sheriff's pursuit. But all was still and

serene and peaceful. No one was in sight save a solitary beggar who came

sturdily along his way in Robin's direction. The beggar caught sight

of Robin, at the same moment, as he emerged from the trees, but gave no

sign of having seen him. He neither slackened nor quickened his pace,

but jogged forward merrily, whistling as he came, and beating time by

punching holes in the dusty road with the stout pike-staff in his hand.

The curious look of the fellow arrested Robin's attention, and he

decided to stop and talk with him. The fellow was bare-legged and

bare-armed, and wore a long shift of a shirt, fastened with a belt.

About his neck hung a stout, bulging bag, which was buckled by a good

piece of leather thong.

He had three hats upon his head,

Together sticked fast,

He cared neither for the wind nor wet,

In lands where'er he past.

The fellow looked so fat and hearty, and the wallet on his shoulder

seemed so well filled, that Robin thought within himself,

"Ha! this is a lucky beggar for me! If any of them have money, this is

the chap, and, marry, he should share it with us poorer bodies."

So he flourished his own stick and planted himself in the traveler's

path.

"Sirrah, fellow!" quoth he; "whither away so fast? Tarry, for I would

have speech with ye!"

The beggar made as though he heard him not, and kept straight on with

his faring.

"Tarry, I say, fellow!" said Robin again; "for there's a way to make

folks obey!"

"Nay, 'tis not so," answered the beggar, speaking for the first time; "I

obey no man in all England, not even the King himself. So let me pass on

my way, for 'tis growing late, and I have still far to go before I can

care for my stomach's good."

"Now, by my troth," said Robin, once more getting in front of the other,

"I see well by your fat countenance, that you lack not for good food,

while I go hungry. Therefore you must lend me of your means till we meet

again, so that I may hie to the nearest tavern."

"I have no money to lend," said the beggar crossly. "Methinks you are as

young a man as I, and as well able to earn a supper. So go your way, and

I'll go mine. If you fast till you get aught out of me, you'll go hungry

for the next twelvemonth."

"Not while I have a stout stick to thwack your saucy bones!" cried

Robin. "Stand and deliver, I say, or I'll dust your shirt for you; and

if that will not teach you manners, then we'll see what a broad arrow

can do with a beggar's skin!"

The beggar smiled, and answered boast with boast. "Come on with your

staff, fellow! I care no more for it than for a pudding stick. And as

for your pretty bow--_that_ for it!"

And with amazing quickness, he swung his pike-staff around and knocked

Robin's bow clean out of his hand, so that his fingers smarted with

pain. Robin danced and tried to bring his own staff into action; but

the beggar never gave him a chance. Biff! whack! came the pike-staff,

smiting him soundly and beating down his guard.

There were but two things to do; either stand there and take a sound

drubbing, or beat a hasty retreat. Robin chose the latter--as you or I

would probably have done--and scurried back into the wood, blowing his

horn as he went.

"Fie, for shame, man!" jeered the bold beggar after him. "What is your

haste? We had but just begun. Stay and take your money, else you will

never be able to pay your reckoning at the tavern!"

But Robin answered him never a word. He fled up hill and down dale till

he met three of his men who were running up in answer to his summons.

"What is wrong?" they asked.

"'Tis a saucy beggar," said Robin, catching his breath. "He is back

there on the highroad with the hardest stick I've met in a good many

days. He gave me no chance to reason with him, the dirty scamp!"

The men--Much and two of the widow's sons--could scarce conceal their

mirth at the thought of Robin Hood running from a beggar. Nathless, they

kept grave faces, and asked their leader if he was hurt.

"Nay," he replied, "but I shall speedily feel better if you will fetch

me that same beggar and let me have a fair chance at him."

So the three yeomen made haste and came out upon the highroad and

followed after the beggar, who was going smoothly along his way again,

as though he were at peace with all the world.

"The easiest way to settle this beggar," said Much, "is to surprise

him. Let us cut through yon neck of woods and come upon him before he is

aware."

The others agreed to this, and the three were soon close upon their

prey.

"Now!" quoth Much; and the other two sprang quickly upon the beggar's

back and wrested his pike-staff from his hand. At the same moment Much

drew his dagger and flashed it before the fellow's breast.

"Yield you, my man!" cried he; "for a friend of ours awaits you in the

wood, to teach you how to fight properly."

"Give me a fair chance," said the beggar valiantly, "and I'll fight you

all at once."

But they would not listen to him. Instead, they turned him about and

began to march him toward the forest. Seeing that it was useless to

struggle, the beggar began to parley.

"Good my masters," quoth he, "why use this violence? I will go with ye

safe and quietly, if ye insist, but if ye will set me free I'll make

it worth your while. I've a hundred pounds in my bag here. Let me go my

way, and ye shall have all that's in the bag."

The three outlaws took council together at this.

"What say you?" asked Much of the others. "Our master will be more glad

to see this beggar's wallet than his sorry face."

The other two agreed, and the little party came to a halt and loosed

hold of the beggar.

"Count out your gold speedily, friend," said Much. There was a brisk

wind blowing, and the beggar turned about to face it, directly they had

unhanded him.

"It shall be done, gossips," said he. "One of you lend me your cloak and

we will spread it upon the ground and put the wealth upon it."

The cloak was handed him, and he placed his wallet upon it as though

it were very heavy indeed. Then he crouched down and fumbled with

the leather fastenings. The outlaws also bent over and watched the

proceeding closely, lest he should hide some of the money on his person.

Presently he got the bag unfastened and plunged his hands into it. Forth

from it he drew--not shining gold--but handfuls of fine meal which he

dashed into the eager faces of the men around him. The wind aided him

in this, and soon there arose a blinding cloud which filled the eyes,

noses, and mouths of the three outlaws till they could scarcely see or

breathe.

While they gasped and choked and sputtered and felt around wildly for

that rogue of a beggar, he finished the job by picking up the cloak

by its corners and shaking it vigorously in the faces of his suffering

victims. Then he seized a stick which lay conveniently near, and began

to rain blows down upon their heads, shoulders, and sides, all the time

dancing first on one leg, then on the other, and crying,

"Villains! rascals! here are the hundred pounds I promised. How do you

like them? I' faith, you'll get all that's in the bag."

Whack! whack! whack! whack! went the stick, emphasizing each word. Howls

of pain might have gone up from the sufferers, but they had too much

meal in their throats for that. Their one thought was to flee, and they

stumbled off blindly down the road, the beggar following them a little

way to give them a few parting love-taps.

"Fare ye well, my masters," he said finally turning the other way; "and

when next I come along the Barnesdale road, I hope you will be able to

tell gold from meal dust!"

With this he departed, an easy victor, and again went whistling on his

way, while the three outlaws rubbed the meal out of their eyes and began

to catch their breath again.

As soon as they could look around them clearly, they beheld Robin

Hood leaning against a tree trunk and surveying them smilingly. He had

recovered his own spirits in full measure, on seeing their plight.

"God save ye, gossips!" he said, "ye must, in sooth, have gone the wrong

way and been to the mill, from the looks of your clothes."

Then when they looked shamefaced and answered never a word, he went on,

in a soft voice,

"Did ye see aught of that bold beggar I sent you for, lately?"

"In sooth, master," responded Much the miller's son, "we heard more of

him than we saw him. He filled us so full of meal that I shall sweat

meal for a week. I was born in a mill, and had the smell of meal in my

nostrils from my very birth, you might say, and yet never before did I

see such a quantity of the stuff in so small space."

And he sneezed violently.

"How was that?" asked Robin demurely.

"Why we laid hold of the beggar, as you did order, when he offered to

pay for his release out of the bag he carried upon his back."

"The same I coveted," quoth Robin as if to himself.

"So we agreed to this," went on Much, "and spread a cloak down, and he

opened his bag and shook it thereon. Instantly a great cloud of meal

filled the air, whereby we could neither see nor breathe; and in the

midst of this cloud he vanished like a wizard."

"But not before he left certain black and blue spots, to be remembered

by, I see," commented Robin.

"He was in league with the evil one," said one of the widow's sons,

rubbing himself ruefully.

Then Robin laughed outright, and sat him down upon the gnarled root of a

tree, to finish his merriment.

"Four bold outlaws, put to rout by a sorry beggar!" cried he. "I can

laugh at ye, my men, for I am in the same boat with ye. But 'twould

never do to have this tale get abroad--even in the greenwood--how that

we could not hold our own with the odds in our favor. So let us have

this little laugh all to ourselves, and no one else need be the wiser!"

The others saw the point of this, and felt better directly, despite

their itching desire to get hold of the beggar again. And none of the

four ever told of the adventure.

But the beggar must have boasted of it at the next tavern; or a little

bird perched among the branches of a neighboring oak must have sung

of it. For it got abroad, as such tales will, and was put into a right

droll ballad which, I warrant you, the four outlaws did not like to

hear.

CHAPTER XI

HOW ROBIN HOOD FOUGHT GUY OF GISBORNE

"I dwell by dale and down," quoth he,

"And Robin to take I'm sworn;

And when I am called by my right name,

I am Guy of good Gisborne."

Some weeks passed after the rescue of the widow's three sons; weeks

spent by the Sheriff in the vain effort to entrap Robin Hood and his

men. For Robin's name and deeds had come to the King's ears, in London

town, and he sent word to the Sheriff to capture the outlaw, under

penalty of losing his office. So the Sheriff tried every manner of means

to surprise Robin Hood in the forest, but always without success. And he

increased the price put upon Robin's head, in the hope that the best men

of the kingdom could be induced to try their skill at a capture.

Now there was a certain Guy of Gisborne, a hireling knight of the King's

army, who heard of Robin and of the price upon his head. Sir Guy was one

of the best men at the bow and the sword in all the King's service.

But his heart was black and treacherous. He obtained the King's leave

forthwith to seek out the forester; and armed with the King's scroll he

came before the Sheriff at Nottingham.

"I have come to capture Robin Hood," quoth he, "and mean to have him,

dead or alive."

"Right gladly would I aid you," answered the Sheriff, "even if the

King's seal were not sufficient warrant. How many men need you?"

"None," replied Sir Guy, "for I am convinced that forces of men can

never come at the bold robber. I must needs go alone. But do you hold

your men in readiness at Barnesdale, and when you hear a blast from this

silver bugle, come quickly, for I shall have the sly Robin within my

clutches."

"Very good," said the Sheriff. "Marry, it shall be done." And he set

about giving orders, while Guy of Gisborne sallied forth disguised.

Now as luck would have it, Will Scarlet and Little John had gone to

Barnesdale that very day to buy suits of Lincoln green for certain of

the yeomen who had come out at the knees and elbows. But not deeming it

best for both of them to run their necks into a noose, together, they

parted just outside the town, and Will went within the gates, while John

tarried and watched at the brow of the hill on the outside.

Presently whom should he see but this same Will flying madly forth from

the gates again, closely pursued by the Sheriff and threescore men. Over

the moat Will sprang, through the bushes and briars, across the swamp,

over stocks and stones, up the woodland roads in long leaps like a

scared jack rabbit. And after him puffed the Sheriff and his men, their

force scattering out in the flight as one man would tumble head-first

into a ditch, another mire up in the swamp, another trip over a rolling

stone, and still others sit down on the roadside and gasp for wind like

fish out of water.

Little John could not forbear laughing heartily at the scene, though

he knew that 'twould be anything but a laughing matter if Will should

stumble. And in truth one man was like to come upon him. It was

William-a-Trent, the best runner among the Sheriff's men. He had come

within twenty feet of Scarlet and was leaping upon him with long bounds

like a greyhound, when John rose up quickly, drew his bow and let fly

one of his fatal shafts. It would have been better for William-a-Trent

to have been abed with sorrow--says the ballad--than to be that day in

the greenwood slade to meet with Little John's arrow. He had run his

last race.

The others halted a moment in consternation, when the shaft came

hurtling down from the hill; but looking up they beheld none save Little

John, and with a cry of fierce joy they turned upon him. Meanwhile Will

Scarlet had reached the brow of the hill and sped down the other side.

"I'll just send one more little message of regret to the Sheriff," said

Little John, "before I join Will."

But this foolhardy deed was his undoing, for just as the arrow left the

string, the good yew bow that had never before failed him snapped in

twain.

"Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, that ere thou grew on a

tree!" cursed Little John, and planted his feet resolutely in the earth

resolved to sell the path dearly; for the soldiers were now so close

upon him that he dared not turn.

And a right good account of himself he gave that day, dealing with

each man as he came up according to his merit. And so winded were the

pursuers when they reached the top of the hill that he laid out the

first ten of them right and left with huge blows of his brawny fist.

But if five men can do more than three, a score can overcome one.

A body of archers stood off at a prudent distance and covered Little

John with their arrows.

"Now yield you!" panted the Sheriff. "Yield you, Little John, or Reynold

Greenleaf, or whatever else name you carry this day! Yield you, or some

few of these shafts will reach your heart!"

"Marry, my heart has been touched by your words ere now," said Little

John; "and I yield me."

So the Sheriff's men laid hold of Little John and bound him fast with

many cords, so fearful were they lest he should escape. And the Sheriff

laughed aloud in glee, and thought of how he should avenge his stolen

plate, and determined to make a good day's work of it.

"By the Saints!" he said, "you shall be drawn by dale and down, and

hanged high on a hill in Barnesdale this very day."

"Hang and be hanged!" retorted the prisoner. "You may fail of your

purpose if it be Heaven's will."

Back down the hill and across the moor went the company speedily, for

they feared a rescue. And as they went the stragglers joined them. Here

a man got up feebly out of the ditch and rubbed his pate and fell in

like a chicken with the pip going for its dinner. Yonder came hobbling

a man with a lame ankle, or another with his shins torn by the briars or

another with his jacket all muddy from the marsh. So in truth it was

a tatterdemalion crew that limped and straggled and wandered back into

Barnesdale that day. Yet all were merry, for the Sheriff had promised

them flagons of wine, and moreover they were to hang speedily the

boldest outlaw in England, next to Robin Hood himself.

The gallows was quickly put up and a new rope provided.

"Now up with you!" commanded the Sheriff, "and let us see if your

greenwood tricks will avail you to-morrow."

"I would that I had bold Robin's horn," muttered poor John; "methinks

'tis all up with me even as the Sheriff hath spoken."

In good sooth the time was dire and pressing. The rope was placed around

the prisoner's neck and the men prepared to haul away.

"Are you ready?" called the Sheriff. "One--two--"

But before the "three" left his lips the faint sound of a silver bugle

came floating over the hill.

"By my troth, that is Sir Guy of Gisborne's horn," quoth the Sheriff;

"and he bade me not to delay answering its summons. He has caught Robin

Hood."

"Pardon, Excellency," said one of his men; "but if he has caught Robin

Hood, this is a merry day indeed. And let us save this fellow and build

another gallows and hang them both together."

"That's a brave thought!" said the Sheriff slapping his knee. "Take the

rascal down and bind him fast to the gallows-tree against our return."

So Little John was made fast to the gallows-tree, while the Sheriff and

all his men who could march or hobble went out to get Robin Hood and

bring him in for the double hanging.

Let us leave talking of Little John and the Sheriff, and see what has

become of Robin Hood.

In the first place, he and Little John had come near having a quarrel

that self-same morning because both had seen a curious looking yeoman,

and each wanted to challenge him singly. But Robin would not give way to

his lieutenant, and that is why John, in a huff, had gone with Will to

Barnesdale.

Meanwhile Robin approached the curious looking stranger. He seemed to be

a three-legged creature at first sight, but on coming nearer you would

have seen that 'twas really naught but a poorly clad man, who for a

freak had covered up his rags with a capul-hide, nothing more nor less

than the sun-dried skin of a horse, complete with head, tail, and mane.

The skin of the head made a helmet; while the tail gave the curious

three-legged appearance.

"Good-morrow, good fellow," said Robin cheerily, "methinks by the bow

you bear in your hand that you should be a good archer."

"Indifferent good," said the other returning his greeting; "but 'tis not

of archery that I am thinking this morning, for I have lost my way and

would fain find it again."

"By my faith, I could have believed 'twas your wits you'd lost!" thought

Robin smiling. Then aloud: "I'll lead you through the wood," quoth

he, "an you will tell me your business. For belike your speech is much

gentler than your attire."

"Who are you to ask me my business?" asked the other roughly.

"I am one of the King's Rangers," replied Robin, "set here to guard his

deer against curious looking strollers."

"Curious looking I may be," returned the other, "but no stroller. Hark

ye, since you are a Ranger, I must e'en demand your service. I am on the

King's business and seek an outlaw. Men call him Robin Hood. Are you one

of his men?"--eyeing him keenly.

"Nay, God forbid!" said Robin; "but what want you with him?"

"That is another tale. But I'd rather meet with that proud outlaw than

forty good pounds of the King's money."

Robin now saw how the land lay.

"Come with me, good yeoman," said he, "and belike, a little later in the

day, I can show you Robin's haunts when he is at home. Meanwhile let us

have some pastime under the greenwood tree. Let us first try the mastery

at shooting arrows."

The other agreed, and they cut down two willow wands of a summer's

growth that grew beneath a brier, and set them up at a distance of

threescore yards.

"Lead on, good fellow," quoth Robin. "The first shot to you."

"Nay, by my faith," said the other, "I will follow your lead."

So Robin stepped forth and bent his bow carelessly and sent his

shaft whizzing toward the wand, missing it by a scant inch. He of the

horse-hide followed with more care yet was a good three-fingers' breadth

away. On the second round, the stranger led off and landed cleverly

within the small garland at the top of the wand; but Robin shot far

better and clave the wand itself, clean at the middle.

"A blessing on your heart!" shouted Capul-Hide; "never saw I such

shooting as that! Belike you are better than Robin Hood himself. But you

have not yet told me your name."

"Nay, by my faith," quoth Robin, "I must keep it secret till you have

told me your own."

"I do not disdain to tell it," said the other. "I dwell by dale and

down, and to take bold Robin am I sworn. This would I tell him to his

face, were he not so great a craven. When I am called by my right name,

I am Guy of Gisborne."

This he said with a great show of pride, and he strutted back and forth,

forgetful that he had just been beaten at archery.

Robin eyed him quietly. "Methinks I have heard of you elsewhere. Do you

not bring men to the gallows for a living?"

"Aye, but only outlaws such as Robin Hood."

"But pray what harm has Robin Hood done you?"

"He is a highway robber," said Sir Guy, evading the question.

"Has he ever taken from the rich that he did not give again to the

poor? Does he not protect the women and children and side with weak and

helpless? Is not his greatest crime the shooting of a few King's deer?"

"Have done with your sophistry," said Sir Guy impatiently. "I am more

than ever of opinion that you are one of Robin's men yourself."

"I have told you I am not," quoth Robin briefly. "But if I am to help

you catch him, what is your plan?"

"Do you see this silver bugle?" said the other. "A long blast upon it

will summon the Sheriff and all his men, when once I have Robin within

my grasp. And if you show him to me, I'll give you the half of my forty

pounds reward."

"I would not help hang a man for ten times forty pounds," said the

outlaw. "Yet will I point out Robin to you for the reward I find at my

sword's point. I myself am Robin Hood of Sherwood and Barnesdale."

"Then have at you!" cried the other springing swiftly into action. His

sword leaped forth from beneath the horse's hide with the speed born of

long practice, and before Robin had come to guard, the other had smitten

at him full and foul. Robin eluded the lunge and drew his own weapon.

"A scurvy trick!" quoth he grimly, "to strike at a man unprepared."

Then neither spoke more, but fell sternly to work--lunge and thrust and

ward and parry--for two full hours the weapons smote together sullenly,

and neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy would yield an inch. I promise you

that if you could have looked forth on the fight from behind the trunk

of some friendly tree, you would have seen deadly sport such as few

men beheld in Sherwood Forest. For the fighters glared sullenly at each

other, the fires of hatred burning in their eyes. One was fighting for

his life; the other for a reward and the King's favor.

Still circled the bright blades swiftly in the air--now gleaming in the

peaceful sunlight--again hissing like maddened serpents. Neither had yet

touched the other, until Robin, in an unlucky moment, stumbled over

the projecting root of a tree; when Sir Guy, instead of giving him the

chance to recover himself, as any courteous knight would have done,

struck quickly at the falling man and wounded him in the left side.

"Ah, dear Lady in Heaven," gasped Robin uttering his favorite prayer,

"shield me now! 'Twas never a man's destiny to die before his day."

And adroitly he sprang up again, and came straight at the other with an

awkward but unexpected stroke. The knight had raised his weapon high to

give a final blow, when Robin reached beneath and across his guard.

One swift lunge, and Sir Guy of Gisborne staggered backward with a deep

groan, Robin's sword through his throat.

Robin looked at the slain man regretfully.

"You did bring it upon yourself," said he; "and traitor and hireling

though you were, I would not willingly have killed you."

He looked to his own wound. It was not serious, and he soon staunched

the blood and bound up the cut. Then he dragged the dead body into the

bushes, and took off the horse's hide and put it upon himself. He placed

his own cloak upon Sir Guy, and marked his face so none might tell who

had been slain. Robin's own figure and face were not unlike the other's.

Pulling the capul-hide well over himself, so that the helmet hid most

of his face, Robin seized the silver bugle and blew a long blast. It was

the blast that saved the life of Little John, over in Barnesdale, for

you and I have already seen how it caused the fond Sheriff to prick up

his ears and stay the hanging, and go scurrying up over the hill and

into the wood with his men in search of another victim.

In five-and-twenty minutes up came running a score of the Sheriff's best

archers.

"Did you signal us, lording?" they asked, approaching Robin.

"Aye," said he, going to meet the puffing Sheriff.

"What news, what news, Sir Guy?" said that officer.

"Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne had a fight; and he that wears Robin's

cloak lies under the covert yonder."

"The best news I have heard in all my life!" exclaimed the Sheriff

rubbing his hands. "I would that we could have saved him for the

hanging--though I cannot now complain."

"The hanging?" repeated Robin.

"Yes. This is our lucky day on the calendar. After you left me we

narrowly missed running one of the fellows--I believe 'twas Will

Scarlet--to earth; and another who came to his relief we were just about

to hang, when your horn blew."

"Who was the other?" asked the disguised outlaw.

"Whom do you suppose?" laughed the Sheriff. "The best man in the

greenwood, next to Robin Hood himself--Little John, Reynold Greenleaf!"

For the Sheriff could not forget the name Little John had borne under

his own roof at Nottingham.

"Little John!" thought Robin with a start. Verily that was a lucky

blast of the bugle! "But I see you have not escaped without a scratch,"

continued the Sheriff, becoming talkative through pure glee. "Here, one

of you men! Give Sir Guy of Gisborne your horse; while others of you

bury that dog of an outlaw where he lies. And let us hasten back to

Barnesdale and finish hanging the other."

So they put spurs to their horses, and as they rode Robin forced himself

to talk merrily, while all the time he was planning the best way to

succor Little John.

"A boon, Sheriff," he said as they reached the gates of the town.

"What is it, worthy sir? You have but to speak."

"I do not want any of your gold, for I have had a brave fight. But now

that I have slain the master, let me put an end to the man; so it shall

be said that Guy of Gisborne despatched the two greatest outlaws of

England in one day."

"Have it as you will," said the Sheriff, "but you should have asked a

knight's fee and double your reward, and it would have been yours. It

isn't every man that can take Robin Hood." "No, Excellency," answered

Robin. "I say it without boasting, that no man took Robin Hood yesterday

and none shall take him to-morrow."

Then he approached Little John, who was still tied to the gallows-tree;

and he said to the Sheriff's men, "Now stand you back here till I see if

the prisoner has been shrived." And he stooped swiftly, and cut Little

John's bonds, and thrust into his hands Sir Guy's bow and arrows, which

he had been careful to take.

"'Tis I, Robin!" he whispered. But in truth, Little John knew it

already, and had decided there was to be no hanging that day.

Then Robin blew three loud blasts upon his own horn, and drew forth his

own bow; and before the astonished Sheriff and his men could come to

arms the arrows were whistling in their midst in no uncertain fashion.

And look! Through the gates and over the walls came pouring another

flight of arrows! Will Scarlet and Will Stutely had watched and planned

a rescue ever since the Sheriff and Robin rode back down the hill. Now

in good time they came; and the Sheriff's demoralized force turned tail

and ran, while Robin and Little John stood under the harmless gallows,

and sped swift arrows after them, and laughed to see them go.

Then they joined their comrades and hasted back to the good greenwood,

and there rested. They had got enough sport for one day.

CHAPTER XII

HOW MAID MARIAN CAME BACK TO SHERWOOD FOREST; ALSO, HOW ROBIN HOOD CAME

BEFORE QUEEN ELEANOR.

But Robin Hood, he himself had disguis'd,

And Marian was strangely attir'd,

That they proved foes, and so fell to blows,

Whose valor bold Robin admir'd.

And when he came at London's court,

He fell down on his knee.

"Thou art welcome, Lockesley," said the Queen,

"And all thy good yeomandree."

Now it fell out that one day not long thereafter, Robin was minded to

try his skill at hunting. And not knowing whom he might meet in his

rambles, he stained his face and put on a sorry-looking jacket and a

long cloak before he sallied forth. As he walked, the peacefulness of

the morning came upon him, and brought back to his memory the early days

so long ago when he had roamed these same glades with Marian. How sweet

they seemed to him now, and how far away! Marian, too, the dainty friend

of his youth--would he ever see her again? He had thought of her very

often of late, and each time with increasing desire to hear her clear

voice and musical laugh, and see her eyes light up at his coming.

Perhaps the happiness of Allen-a-Dale and his lady had caused Robin's

heart-strings to vibrate more strongly; perhaps, too, the coming of

Will Scarlet. But, certes, Robin was anything but a hunter this bright

morning as he walked along with head drooping in a most love-lorn way.

Presently a hart entered the glade in full view of him, grazing

peacefully, and instantly the man of action awoke. His bow was drawn

and a shaft all but loosed, when the beast fell suddenly, pierced by a

clever arrow from the far side of the glade.

Then a handsome little page sprang gleefully from the covert and ran

toward the dying animal. This was plainly the archer, for he flourished

his bow aloft, and likewise bore a sword at his side, though for all

that he looked a mere lad.

Robin approached the hart from the other side.

"How dare you shoot the King's beasts, stripling?" he asked severely.

"I have as much right to shoot them as the King himself," answered the

page haughtily. "How dare you question me?"

The voice stirred Robin strongly. It seemed to chime into his memories

of the old days. He looked at the page sharply, and the other returned

the glance, straight and unafraid.

"Who are you, my lad?" Robin said more civilly.

"No lad of yours, and my name's my own," retorted the other with spirit.

"Softly! Fair and softly, sweet page, or we of the forest will have to

teach you manners!" said Robin.

"Not if _you_ stand for the forest!" cried the page, whipping out his

sword. "Come, draw, and defend yourself!"

He swung his blade valiantly; and Robin saw nothing for it but to draw

likewise. The page thereupon engaged him quite fiercely, and Robin found

that he had many pretty little tricks at fencing.

Nathless, Robin contented himself with parrying, and was loth to exert

all his superior strength upon the lad. So the fight lasted for above a

quarter of an hour, at the end of which time the page was almost spent

and the hot blood flushed his cheeks in a most charming manner.

The outlaw saw his distress, and to end the fight allowed himself to be

pricked slightly on the wrist.

"Are you satisfied, fellow?" asked the page, wincing a little at sight

of the blood.

"Aye, honestly," replied Robin; "and now perhaps you will grant me the

honor of knowing to whom I owe this scratch?"

"I am Richard Partington, page to Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor," answered

the lad with dignity; and again the sound of his voice troubled Robin

sorely.

"Why come you to the greenwood alone, Master Partington?"

The lad considered his answer while wiping his sword with a small lace

kerchief. The action brought a dim confused memory to Robin. The lad

finally looked him again in the eye.

"Forester, whether or no you be a King's man, know that I seek one Robin

Hood, an outlaw, to whom I bring amnesty from the Queen. Can you tell me

aught of him?" And while awaiting his answer, he replaced the kerchief

in his shirt. As he did so, the gleam of a golden trophy caught the

outlaw's eye.

Robin started forward with a joyful cry.

"Ah! I know you now! By the sight of yon golden arrow won at the

Sheriff's tourney, you are she on whom I bestowed it, and none other

than Maid Marian!"

"You--are--?" gasped Marian, for it was she; "not Robin!"

"Robin's self!" said he gaily; and forthwith, clad as he was in rags,

and stained of face, he clasped the dainty page close to his breast, and

she forsooth yielded right willingly.

"But Robin!" she exclaimed presently, "I knew you not, and was rude, and

wounded you!"

"'Twas nothing," he replied laughingly, "so long as it brought me you."

But she made more ado over the sore wrist than Robin had received for

all his former hurts put together. And she bound it with the little

kerchief, and said, "Now 'twill get well!" and Robin was convinced she

spoke the truth, for he never felt better in all his life. The whole

woods seemed tinged with a roseate hue, since Marian had come again.

But she, while happy also, was ill at ease; and Robin with a man's slow

discernment at last saw that it was because of her boy's attire. He

thought bluntly that there was naught to be ashamed of, yet smilingly

handed her his tattered long cloak, which she blushingly put on, and

forthwith recovered her spirits directly.

Then they began to talk of each other's varied fortunes, and of the many

things which had parted them; and so much did they find to tell that the

sun had begun to decline well into the afternoon before they realized

how the hours sped.

"I am but a sorry host!" exclaimed Robin, springing to his feet. "I have

not once invited you to my wild roof."

"And I am but a sorry page," replied Marian; "for I had clean forgot

that I was Richard Partington, and really did bring you a message from

Queen Eleanor!"

"Tell me on our way home, and there you shall be entrusted to Mistress

Dale. While the first of my men we meet will I send back for your deer."

So she told him, as they walked back through the glade, how that the

fame of his prowess had reached Queen Eleanor's ears, in London town.

And the Queen had said, "Fain would I see this bold yeoman, and behold

his skill at the long-bow." And the Queen had promised him amnesty if

he and four of his archers would repair to London against the next

tournament the week following, there to shoot against King Henry's

picked men, of whom the King was right vain. All this Marian told in

detail, and added:

"When I heard Her Majesty say she desired to see you, I asked leave

to go in search of you, saying I had known you once. And the Queen was

right glad, and bade me go, and sent this gold ring to you from off her

finger, in token of her faith."

Then Robin took the ring and bowed his head and kissed it loyally. "By

this token will I go to London town," quoth he, "and ere I part with

the Queen's pledge, may the hand that bears it be stricken off at the

wrist!" By this time they were come to the grove before the cave,

and Robin presented Maid Marian to the band, who treated her with the

greatest respect. Will Scarlet was especially delighted to greet again

his old time friend, while Allan-a-Dale and his good wife bustled about

to make her welcome in their tiny thatched cottage.

That evening after they had supped royally upon the very hart that

Marian had slain, Allan sang sweet songs of Northern minstrelsy to the

fair guest as she sat by Robin's side, the golden arrow gleaming in

her dark hair. The others all joined in the chorus, from Will Scarlet's

baritone to Friar Tuck's heavy bass. Even Little John essayed to sing,

although looked at threateningly by Much the miller's son.

Then Robin bade Marian repeat her message from the Queen, which Marian

did in a way befitting the dignity of her royal mistress. After which

the yeomen gave three cheers for the Queen and three more for her page,

and drank toasts to them both, rising to their feet.

"Ye have heard," quoth Robin standing forth, "how that Her Majesty--whom

God preserve!--wishes but four men to go with me. Wherefore, I choose

Little John and Will Stutely, my two lieutenants, Will Scarlet, my

cousin, and Allan-a-Dale, my minstrel. Mistress Dale, also, can go with

her husband and be company for the Queen's page. We will depart with

early morning, decked in our finest. So stir ye, my lads! and see that

not only your tunics are fresh, but your swords bright and your bows

and arrows fit. For we must be a credit to the Queen as well as the good

greenwood. You, Much, with Stout Will, Lester, and John, the widow's

three sons, shall have command of the band while we are away; and Friar

Tuck shall preside over the needs of your souls and stomachs."

The orders were received with shouts of approval, and toasts all around

were drunk again in nut-brown ale, ere the company dispersed to rest

after making ready for the journey.

The next morning was as fine a summer's day as ever you want to see, and

the green leaves of the forest made a pleasing background for the gay

picture of the yeomen setting forth. Says the old ballad--it was a

seemly sight to see how Robin Hood himself had dressed, and all his

yeomanry. He clothed his men in Lincoln green, and himself in scarlet

red, with hats of black and feathers white to bravely deck each head.

Nor were the two ladies behind-hand, I ween, at the bedecking.

Thus the chosen party of seven sallied forth being accompanied to the

edge of the wood by the whole band, who gave them a merry parting and

Godspeed!

The journey to London town was made without incident. The party

proceeded boldly along the King's highroad, and no man met them who was

disposed to say them nay. Besides, the good Queen's warrant and ring

would have answered for them, as indeed it did at the gates of London.

So on they sped and in due course came to the palace itself and awaited

audience with the Queen.

Now the King had gone that day to Finsbury Field, where the tourney was

soon to be held, in order to look over the lists and see some of his

picked men whom he expected to win against all comers. So much had he

boasted of these men, that the Queen had secretly resolved to win a

wager of him. She had heard of the fame of Robin Hood and his yeomen, as

Marian had said; and Marian on her part had been overjoyed to be able to

add a word in their favor and to set out in search of them.

To-day the Queen sat in her private audience-room chatting pleasantly

with her ladies, when in came Mistress Marian Fitzwalter attired again

as befitted her rank of lady-in-waiting. She courtesied low to the Queen

and awaited permission to speak.

"How now!" said the Queen smiling; "is this my lady Marian, or the page,

Richard Partington?"

"Both, an it please Your Majesty. Richard found the man you sought,

while Marian brought him to you."

"Where is he?" asked Queen Eleanor eagerly.

"Awaiting your audience--he and four of his men, likewise a lady of

whose wooing and wedding I can tell you a pretty story at another time."

"Have them admitted."

So Marian gave orders to a herald, and presently Robin Hood and his

little party entered the room.

Now the Queen had half-expected the men to be rude and uncouth in

appearance, because of their wild life in the forest; but she was

delightfully disappointed. Indeed she started back in surprise and

almost clapped her hands. For, sooth to say, the yeomen made a brave

sight, and in all the court no more gallant men could be found. Marian

felt her cheeks glow with pride, at sight of the half-hidden looks of

admiration sent forth by the other ladies-in-waiting.

Robin had not forgot the gentle arts taught by his mother, and he wore

his fine red velvet tunic and breeches with the grace of a courtier.

We have seen, before, what a dandified gentleman Will Scarlet was; and

Allan-a-Dale, the minstrel, was scarcely less goodly to look upon.

While the giant Little John and broad-shouldered Will Stutely made up in

stature what little they lacked in outward polish. Mistress Dale, on her

part, looked even more charming, if possible, than on the momentous day

when she went to Plympton Church to marry one man and found another.

Thus came the people of the greenwood before Queen Eleanor, in her own

private audience room. And Robin advanced and knelt down before her, and

said:

"Here I am, Robin Hood--I and my chosen men! At Your Majesty's bidding

am I come, bearing the ring of amnesty which I will protect--as I would

protect Your Majesty's honor--with my life!"

"Thou art welcome, Lockesley," said the Queen smiling graciously.

"Thou art come in good time, thou and all thy brave yeomanry."

Then Robin presented each of his men in turn, and each fell on his

knee and was greeted with most kindly words. And the Queen kissed fair

Mistress Dale upon the cheek, and bade her remain in the palace with her

ladies while she was in the city. And she made all the party be seated

to rest themselves after their long journey. Fine wines were brought,

and cake, and rich food, for their refreshment. And as they ate and

drank, the Queen told them further of the tourney to be held at Finsbury

Field, and of how she desired them to wear her colors and shoot for her.

Meantime, she concluded, they were to lie by quietly and be known of no

man.

To do all this, Robin and his men pledged themselves full heartily. Then

at the Queen's request, they related to her and her ladies some of their

merry adventures; whereat the listeners were vastly entertained, and

laughed heartily. Then Marian, who had heard of the wedding at Plympton

Church, told it so drolly that tears stood in the Queen's eyes from

merriment.

"My lord Bishop of Hereford!" she said, "'Twas indeed a comical business

for him! I shall keep that to twit his bones, I promise you! So this is

our minstrel?" she added presently, turning to Allan-a-Dale. "Methinks I

have already heard of him. Will he not harp awhile for us to-day?"

Allan bowed low, and took a harp which was brought to him, and he

thrummed the strings and sang full sweetly the border songs of the North

Countree. And the Queen and all her ladies listened in rapt silence till

all the songs were ended.

CHAPTER XIII

HOW THE OUTLAWS SHOT IN KING HARRY'S TOURNEY

The King is into Finsbury Field

Marching in battle 'ray,

And after follows bold Robin Hood,

And all his yeomen gay.

The morning of the great archery contest dawned fair and bright,

bringing with it a fever of impatience to every citizen of London town,

from the proudest courtier to the lowest kitchen wench. Aye, and all the

surrounding country was early awake, too, and began to wend their way to

Finsbury Field, a fine broad stretch of practice ground near Moorfields.

Around three sides of the Field were erected tier upon tier of seats,

for the spectators, with the royal boxes and booths for the nobility

and gentry in the center. Down along one end were pitched gaily colored

tents for the different bands of King's archers. There were ten of

these bands, each containing a score of men headed by a captain of great

renown; so to-day there were ten of the pavilions, each bearing aloft

the Royal Arms and vari-colored pennants which fluttered lightly in the

fresh morning breeze.

Each captain's flag was of peculiar color and device. First came the

royal purple streamer of Tepus, own bow-bearer to the King, and esteemed

the finest archer in all the land. Then came the yellow of Clifton of

Buckinghamshire; and the blue of Gilbert of the White Hand--he who was

renowned in Nottinghamshire; and the green of Elwyn the Welshman; and

the White of Robert of Cloudesdale; and, after them, five other captains

of bands, each a man of proved prowess. As the Queen had said aforetime,

the King was mightily proud of his archers, and now held this tourney to

show their skill and, mayhap, to recruit their forces.

The uprising tiers of seats filled early, upon this summer morning, and

the merry chatter of the people went abroad like the hum of bees in a

hive. The royal party had not yet put in an appearance, nor were any

of the King's archers visible. So the crowd was content to hide its

impatience by laughing jibes passed from one section to another, and

crying the colors of their favorite archers. In and out among the seats

went hawkers, their arms laden with small pennants to correspond with

the rival tents. Other vendors of pie and small cakes and cider also did

a thrifty business, for so eager had some of the people been to get good

seats, that they had rushed away from home without their breakfast.

Suddenly the gates at the far end, next the tents, opened wide, and a

courier in scarlet and gold, mounted upon a white horse, rode in

blowing lustily upon the trumpet at his lips; and behind him came six

standard-bearers riding abreast. The populace arose with a mighty cheer.

King Harry had entered the arena. He bestrode a fine white charger

and was clad in a rich dark suit of slashed velvet with satin and gold

facings. His hat bore a long curling ostrich plume of pure white and he

doffed it graciously in answer to the shouts of the people. By his

side rode Queen Eleanor, looking regal and charming in her long brocade

riding-habit; while immediately behind them came Prince Richard and

Prince John, each attired in knightly coats of mail and helmets. Lords

and ladies of the realm followed; and finally, the ten companies of

archers, whose progress round the field was greeted with hardly less

applause than that given the King himself.

The King and Queen dismounted from their steeds, ascended the steps

of the royal box, and seated themselves upon two thrones, decked with

purple and gold trapping, upon a dais sheltered by striped canvas. In

the booths at each side the members of the Court took their places;

while comely pages ran hither and thither bearing the royal commands.

'Twas a lordly sight, I ween, this shifting of proud courtiers, flashing

of jeweled fans, and commingling of bright colors with costly gems!

Now the herald arose to command peace, and soon the clear note of his

bugle rose above the roar of the crowd and hushed it to silence. The

tenscore archers ranged themselves in two long rows on each side of

the lists--a gallant array--while their captains, as a special mark of

favor, stood near the royal box.

"Come hither, Tepus," said the King to his bow-bearer. "Come, measure me

out this line, how long our mark must be."

"What is the reward?" then asked the Queen.

"That will the herald presently proclaim," answered the King. "For first

prize we have offered a purse containing twoscore golden pounds; for

second, a purse containing twoscore silver pennies; and for third a

silver bugle, inlaid with gold. Moreover, if the King's companies keep

these prizes, the winning companies shall have, first, two tuns of

Rhenish wine; second, two tuns of English beer; and, third, five of

the fattest harts that run on Dallom Lea. Methinks that is a princely

wager," added King Harry laughingly.

Up spake bold Clifton, secure in the King's favor. "Measure no marks for

us, most sovereign liege," quoth he; "for such largess as that, we'll

shoot at the sun and the moon."

"'Twill not be so far as that," said the King. "But get a line of good

length, Tepus, and set up the targets at tenscore paces."

Forthwith, Tepus bowed low, and set up ten targets, each bearing the

pennant of a different company, while the herald stood forth again and

proclaimed the rules and prizes. The entries were open to all comers.

Each man, also, of the King's archers should shoot three arrows at the

target bearing the colors of his band, until the best bowman in each

band should be chosen. These ten chosen archers should then enter a

contest for an open target--three shots apiece--and here any other

bowman whatsoever was asked to try his skill. The result at the open

targets should decide the tourney.

Then all the people shouted again, in token that the terms of the

contest pleased them; and the archers waved their bows aloft, and

wheeled into position facing their respective targets.

The shooting now began, upon all the targets at once, and the multitude

had so much ado to watch them, that they forgot to shout. Besides,

silence was commanded during the shooting. Of all the fine shooting that

morning, I have not now space to tell you. The full score of men shot

three times at each target, and then three times again to decide a tie.

For, more than once, the arrow shot by one man would be split wide

open by his successor. Every man's shaft bore his number to ease the

counting; and so close would they stick at the end of a round, that the

target looked like a big bristle hairbrush. Then must the spectators

relieve their tense spirits by great cheering; while the King looked

mighty proud of his skilled bowmen.

At last the company targets were decided, and Tepus, as was expected,

led the score, having made six exact centers in succession. Gilbert

of the White Hand followed with five, and Clifton with four. Two other

captains had touched their center four times, but not roundly. While in

the other companies it so chanced that the captains had been out-shot by

some of the men under them.

The winners then saluted the King and Queen, and withdrew for a space to

rest and renew their bow-strings for the keenest contest of all; while

the lists were cleared and a new target--the open one--was set up at

twelvescore paces. At the bidding of the King, the herald announced

that the open target was to be shot at, to decide the title of the best

archer in all England; and any man there present was privileged to try

for it. But so keen had been the previous shooting, that many yeomen who

had come to enter the lists now would not do so; and only a dozen men

stepped forth to give in their names.

"By my halidom!" said the King, "these must be hardy men to pit

themselves against my archers!"

"Think you that your ten chosen fellows are the best bowmen in all

England?" asked the Queen.

"Aye, and in all the world beside," answered the King; "and thereunto I

would stake five hundred pounds."

"I am minded to take your wager," said the Queen musingly, "and will

e'en do so if you grant me a boon."

"What is it?" asked the King.

"If I produce five archers who can out-shoot your ten, will you grant my

men full grace and amnesty?"

"Assuredly!" quoth the King in right good humor. "Nathless, I tell you

now, your wager is in jeopardy, for there never were such bowmen as

Tepus and Clifton and Gilbert!"

"Hum!" said the Queen puckering her brow, still as though lost in

thought. "I must see if there be none present to aid me in my wager.

Boy, call hither Sir Richard of the Lea and my lord Bishop of Hereford!"

The two summoned ones, who had been witnessing the sport, came forward.

"Sir Richard," said she, "thou art a full knight and good. Would'st

advise me to meet a wager of the King's, that I can produce other

archers as good as Tepus and Gilbert and Clifton?"

"Nay, Your Majesty," he said, bending his knee. "There be none present

that can match them. Howbeit,"--he added dropping his voice--"I have

heard of some who lie hid in Sherwood Forest who could show them strange

targets."

The Queen smiled and dismissed him.

"Come hither, my lord Bishop of Hereford," quoth she, "would'st thou

advance a sum to support my wager 'gainst the King?"

"Nay, Your Majesty," said the fat Bishop, "an you pardon me, I'd not lay

down a penny on such a bet. For by my silver mitre, the King's archers

are men who have no peers."

"But suppose I found men whom _thou knewest_ to be masters at the bow,"

she insisted roguishly, "would'st thou not back them? Belike, I have

heard that there be men round about Nottingham and Plympton who carry

such matters with a high hand!"

The Bishop glanced nervously around, as if half expecting to see Robin

Hood's men standing near; then turned to find the Queen looking at him

with much amusement lurking in her eyes.

"Odds bodikins! The story of my misadventure must have preceded me!" he

thought, ruefully. Aloud he said, resolved to face it out,

"Your Majesty, such tales are idle and exaggerated. An you pardon me, I

would add to the King's wager that his men are invincible."

"As it pleases thee," replied the Queen imperturbably. "How much?"

"Here is my purse," said the Bishop uneasily. "It contains fifteen score

nobles, or near a hundred pounds."

"I'll take it at even money," she said, dismissing him; "and Your

Majesty"--turning to the King who had been conversing with the two

princes and certain of the nobles--"I accept your wager of five hundred

pounds."

"Very good," said the King, laughing as though it were a great jest.

"But what had minded you to take such interest in the sport, of a

sudden?"

"It is as I have said. I have found five men whom I will pit against any

you may produce."

"Then we will try their skill speedily," quoth the King. "How say you,

if first we decide this open target and then match the five best thereat

against your unknown champions?"

"Agreed," said the Queen. Thereupon she signed to Maid Marian to

step forward, from a near-by booth where she sat with other

ladies-in-waiting, and whispered something in her ear. Marian courtesied

and withdrew.

Now the ten chosen archers from the King's bands came forth again and

took their stand; and with them stood forth the twelve untried men from

the open lists. Again the crowd was stilled, and every eye hung upon the

speeding of the shafts. Slowly but skilfully each man shot, and as

his shaft struck within the inner ring a deep breath broke from the

multitude like the sound of the wind upon the seashore. And now Gilbert

of the White Hand led the shooting, and 'twas only by the space of a

hairsbreadth upon the line that Tepus tied his score. Stout Elwyn, the

Welshman, took third place; one of the private archers, named Geoffrey,

come fourth; while Clifton must needs content himself with fifth.

The men from the open lists shot fairly true, but nervousness and fear

of ridicule wrought their undoing.

The herald then came forward again, and, instead of announcing the

prize-winners, proclaimed that there was to be a final contest. Two

men had tied for first place, declared His Majesty the King, and three

others were entitled to honors. Now all these five were to shoot

again, and they were to be pitted against five other of the Queen's

choosing--men who had not yet shot upon that day.

A thrill of astonishment and excitement swept around the arena. "Who

were these men of the Queen's choosing?" was upon every lip. The hubbub

of eager voices grew intense; and in the midst of it all, the gate at

the far end of the field opened and five men entered and escorted a lady

upon horseback across the arena to the royal box. The lady was instantly

recognized as Mistress Marian of the Queen's household, but no one

seemed to know the faces of her escort. Four were clad in Lincoln green,

while the fifth, who seemed to be the leader, was dressed in a brave

suit of scarlet red. Each man wore a close fitting cap of black, decked

with a curling white feather. For arms, they carried simply a stout bow,

a sheaf of new arrows, and a short hunting-knife.

When the little party came before the dais on which the King and Queen

sat, the yeomen doffed their caps humbly, while Maid Marian was assisted

to dismount.

"Your Gracious Majesty," she said, addressing the Queen, "these be the

men for whom you sent me, and who are now come to wear your colors and

service you in the tourney."

The Queen leaned forward and handed them each a scarf of green and gold.

"Lockesley," she said in a clear voice, "I thank thee and thy men for

this service. Know that I have laid a wager with the King that ye can

outshoot the best five whom he has found in all his bowmen." The five

men pressed the scarfs to their lips in token of fealty.

The King turned to the Queen inquiringly.

"Who are these men you have brought before us?" asked he.

Up came the worthy Bishop of Hereford, growing red and pale by turns.

"Your pardon, my liege lord!" cried he; "But I must denounce these

fellows as outlaws. Yon man in scarlet is none other than Robin Hood

himself. The others are Little John and Will Stutely and Will Scarlet

and Allan-a-Dale--all famous in the North Countree for their deeds of

violence."

"As my lord Bishop personally knows!" added the Queen significantly.

The King's brows grew dark. The name of Robin Hood was well known to

him, as to every man there present.

"Is this true?" he demanded sternly.

"Aye, my lord," responded the Queen demurely. "But, bethink you--I have

your royal promise of grace and amnesty."

"That will I keep," said the King, holding in check his ire by a mighty

effort. "But, look you! Only forty days do I grant of respite. When this

time has elapsed, let these bold outlaws look to their safety!"

Then turning to his five victorious archers, who had drawn near, he

added, "Ye have heard, my men, how that I have a wager with the Queen

upon your prowess. Now here be men of her choosing--certain free shafts

of Sherwood and Barnesdale. Wherefore look well to it, Gilbert and Tepus

and Geoffrey and Elwyn and Clifton! If ye outshoot these knaves, I will

fill your caps with silver pennies--aye, and knight the man who stands

first. But if ye lose, I give the prizes, for which ye have just

striven, to Robin Hood and his men, according to my royal word."

"Robin Hood and his men!" the saying flew round the arena with the speed

of wild-fire, and every neck craned forward to see the famous fellows

who had dared to brave the King's anger, because of the Queen.

Another target was now set up, at the same distance as the last, and

it was decided that the ten archers should shoot three arrows in turn.

Gilbert and Robin tossed up a penny for the lead, and it fell to the

King's men. So Clifton was bidden to shoot first.

Forth he stood, planting his feet firmly, and wetting his fingers before

plucking the string. For he was resolved to better his losing score of

that day. And in truth he did so, for the shaft he loosed sped true, and

landed on the black bull's-eye, though not in the exact center. Again he

shot, and again he hit the black, on the opposite rim. The third shaft

swerved downward and came within the second ring, some two fingers'

breadths away. Nathless, a general cry went up, as this was the best

shooting Clifton had done that day.

Will Scarlet was chosen to follow him, and now took his place and

carefully chose three round and full-feathered arrows.

"Careful, my sweet coz!" quoth Robin in a low tone. "The knave has left

wide space at the center for all of your darts."

But Robin gave Will the wrong caution, for over-much care spoiled

his aim. His first shaft flew wide and lodged in the second ring even

further away than the worst shot of Clifton.

"Your pardon, coz!" quoth Robin hastily. "Bid care go to the bottom of

the sea, and do you loose your string before it sticks to your fingers!"

And Will profited by this hint, and loosed his next two shafts as

freely as though they flew along a Sherwood glade. Each struck upon the

bull's-eye, and one even nearer the center than his rival's mark. Yet

the total score was adjudged in favor of Clifton. At this Will Scarlet

bit his lip, but said no word, while the crowd shouted and waved yellow

flags for very joy that the King's man had overcome the outlaw. They

knew, also, that this demonstration would please the King.

The target was now cleared for the next two contestants--Geoffrey and

Allan-a-Dale. Whereat, it was noticed that many ladies in the Queen's

booths boldly flaunted Allan's colors, much to the honest pride which

glowed in the cheeks of one who sat in their midst.

"In good truth," said more than one lady to Mistress Dale, "if thy

husband can handle the longbow as skilfully as the harp, his rival has

little show of winning!"

The saying augured well. Geoffrey had shot many good shafts that day;

and indeed had risen from the ranks by virtue of them. But now each of

his three shots, though well placed in triangular fashion around the rim

of the bull's-eye, yet allowed an easy space for Allan to graze within.

His shooting, moreover, was so prettily done, that he was right heartily

applauded--the ladies and their gallants leading in the hand-clapping.

Now you must know that there had long been a friendly rivalry in Robin

Hood's band as to who was the best shot, next after Robin himself. He

and Will Stutely had lately decided their marksmanship, and Will had

found that Robin's skill was now so great as to place the leader at the

head of all good bowmen in the forest. But the second place lay between

Little John and Stutely, and neither wished to yield to the other. So

to-day they looked narrowly at their leader to see who should shoot

third. Robin read their faces at a glance, and laughing merrily, broke

off two straws and held them out.

"The long straw goes next!" he decided; and it fell to Stutely.

Elwyn the Welshman was to precede him; and his score was no whit better

than Geoffrey's. But Stutely failed to profit by it. His besetting sin

at archery had ever been an undue haste and carelessness. To-day these

were increased by a certain moodiness, that Little John had outranked

him. So his first two shafts flew swiftly, one after the other, to

lodging places outside the Welshman's mark.

"Man! man!" cried Robin entreatingly, "you do forget the honor of the

Queen, and the credit of Sherwood!"

"I ask your pardon, master!" quoth Will humbly enough, and loosing as he

spoke his last shaft. It whistled down the course unerringly and struck

in the exact center--the best shot yet made.

Now some shouted for Stutely and some shouted for Elwyn; but Elwyn's

total mark was declared the better. Whereupon the King turned to the

Queen. "What say you now?" quoth he in some triumph. "Two out of the

three first rounds have gone to my men. Your outlaws will have to shoot

better than that in order to save your wager!"

The Queen smiled gently.

"Yea, my lord," she said. "But the twain who are left are able to do the

shooting. You forget that I still have Little John and Robin Hood."

"And you forget, my lady, that I still have Tepus and Gilbert."

So each turned again to the lists and awaited the next rounds in silent

eagerness. I ween that King Harry had never watched the invasion of an

enemy with more anxiety than he now felt.

Tepus was chosen to go next and he fell into the same error with Will

Scarlet. He held the string a moment too long, and both his first and

second arrows came to grief. One of them, however, came within the black

rim, and he followed it up by placing his third in the full center,

just as Stutely had done in his last. These two centers were the fairest

shots that had been made that day; and loud was the applause which

greeted this second one. But the shouting was as nothing to the uproar

which followed Little John's shooting. That good-natured giant seemed

determined to outdo Tepus by a tiny margin in each separate shot; for

the first and the second shafts grazed his rival's on the inner side,

while for the third Little John did the old trick of the forest: he

shot his own arrow in a graceful curve which descended from above upon

Tepus's final center shaft with a glancing blow that drove the other out

and left the outlaw's in its place.

The King could scarce believe his eyes. "By my halidom!" quoth he, "that

fellow deserves either a dukedom or a hanging! He must be in league with

Satan himself! Never saw I such shooting."

"The score is tied, my lord," said the Queen; "we have still to see

Gilbert and Robin Hood."

Gilbert now took his stand and slowly shot his arrows, one after

another, into the bull's-eye. 'Twas the best shooting he had yet

done, but there was still the smallest of spaces left--if you looked

closely--at the very center.

"Well done, Gilbert!" spoke up Robin Hood. "You are a foeman worthy of

being shot against." He took his own place as he spoke. "Now if you had

placed one of your shafts _there_"--loosing one of his own--"and another

_there_"--out sped the second--"and another _there_"--the third was

launched--"mayhap the King would have declared you the best bowman in

all England!"

But the last part of his merry speech was drowned in the wild tumult

of applause which followed his exploit. His first two shafts had packed

themselves into the small space left at the bull's-eye; while his third

had split down between them, taking half of each, and making all three

appear from a distance, as one immense arrow.

Up rose the King in amazement and anger.

"Gilbert is not yet beaten!" he cried. "Did he not shoot within the mark

thrice? And that is allowed a best in all the rules of archery."

Robin bowed low.

"As it please Your Majesty!" quoth he. "But may I be allowed to place

the mark for the second shooting?"

The King waved his hand sullenly.. Thereupon Robin prepared another old

trick of the greenwood, and got him a light, peeled willow wand which he

set in the ground in place of the target.

"There, friend Gilbert," called he gaily; "belike you can hit that!"

"I can scarce see it from here," said Gilbert, "much less hit it.

Nathless, for the King's honor, I will try."

But this final shot proved his undoing, and his shaft flew harmlessly

by the thin white streak. Then came Robin to his stand again, and picked

his arrow with exceeding care, and tried his string. Amid a breathless

pause he drew the good yew bow back to his ear, glanced along the shaft,

and let the feathered missile fly. Straight it sped, singing a keen note

of triumph as it went. The willow wand was split in twain, as though it

had met a hunter's knife.

"Verily, I think your bow is armed with witchcraft!" cried Gilbert. "For

I did not believe such shooting possible."

"You should come to see our merry lads in the greenwood," retorted Robin

lightly. "For willow wands do not grow upon the cobblestones of London

town."

Meanwhile the King in great wrath had risen to depart, first signing the

judges to distribute the prizes. Never a word said he, of good or

ill, to the Queen, but mounted his horse and, followed by his sons and

knights, rode off the field. The archers dropped upon one knee as he

passed, but he gave them a single baleful look and was gone.

Then the Queen beckoned the outlaws to approach, and they did so and

knelt at her feet.

"Right well have ye served me," she said, "and sorry am I that the

King's anger is aroused thereby. But fear ye not. His word and grace

hold true. As to these prizes ye have gained, I add others of mine

own--the wagers I have won from His Majesty the King and from the lord

Bishop of Hereford. Buy with some of these moneys the best swords ye

can find in London, for all your band, and call them the swords of the

Queen. And swear with them to protect all the poor and the helpless and

the women--kind who come your way."

"We swear," said the five yeomen solemnly.

Then the Queen gave each of them her hand to kiss, and arose and

departed with all her ladies. And after they were gone, the King's

archers came crowding around Robin and his men, eager to get a glimpse

of the fellows about whom they had heard so much. And back of them came

a great crowd of the spectators pushing and jostling in their efforts to

come nearer.

"Verily!" laughed Little John, "they must take us for a Merry Andrew

show!"

Now the judges came up, and announced each man his prize, according

to the King's command. To Robin was give the purse containing twoscore

golden pounds; to Little John the twoscore silver pennies; and to

Allan-a-Dale the fine inlaid bugle, much to his delight, for he was

skilled at blowing sweet tunes upon the horn hardly less than handling

the harp strings. But when the Rhenish wine and English beer and harts

of Dallom Lea were spoken of, Robin said:

"Nay, what need we of wine or beer, so far from the greenwood? And

'twould be like carrying coals to Newcastle, to drive those harts to

Sherwood! Now Gilbert and Tepus and their men have shot passing well.

Wherefore, the meat and drink must go to them, an they will accept it of

us."

"Right gladly," replied Gilbert grasping his hand. "Ye are good men

all, and we will toast you every one, in memory of the greatest day at

archery that England has ever seen, or ever will see!"

Thus said all the King's archers, and the hand of good-fellowship was

given amid much shouting and clapping on the shoulder-blades.

And so ended King Harry's tourney, whose story has been handed down from

sire to son, even unto the present day.

CHAPTER XIV

HOW ROBIN HOOD WAS SOUGHT OF THE TINKER

And while the tinker fell asleep,

Robin made haste away,

And left the tinker in the lurch,

For the great shot to pay.

King Henry was as good as his word. Robin Hood and his party were

suffered to depart from London--the parting bringing keen sorrow to

Marian--and for forty days no hand was raised against them. But at

the end of that time, the royal word was sent to the worthy Sheriff at

Nottingham that he must lay hold upon the outlaws without further delay,

as he valued his office.

Indeed, the exploits of Robin and his band, ending with the great

tourney in Finsbury Field, had made a mighty stir through all England,

and many there were to laugh boldly at the Nottingham official for his

failures to capture the outlaws.

The Sheriff thereupon planned three new expeditions into the greenwood,

and was even brave enough to lead them, since he had fifteen-score men

at his beck and call each time. But never the shadow of an outlaw did

he see, for Robin's men lay close, and the Sheriff's men knew not how to

come at their chief hiding-place in the cove before the cavern.

Now the Sheriff's daughter had hated Robin Hood bitterly in her heart

ever since the day he refused to bestow upon her the golden arrow, and

shamed her before all the company. His tricks, also, upon her father

were not calculated to lessen her hatred, and so she sought about for

means to aid the Sheriff in catching the enemy.

"There is no need to go against this man with force of arms," she said.

"We must meet his tricks with other tricks of our own."

"Would that we could!" groaned the Sheriff. "The fellow is becoming a

nightmare unto me."

"Let me plan a while," she replied. "Belike I can cook up some scheme

for his undoing."

"Agreed," said the Sheriff, "and if anything comes of your planning,

I will e'en give you an hundred silver pennies for a new gown, and a

double reward to the man who catches the outlaws."

Now upon that same day, while the Sheriff's daughter was racking her

brains for a scheme, there came to the Mansion House a strolling tinker

named Middle, a great gossip and braggart. And as he pounded away upon

some pots and pans in the scullery, he talked loudly about what _he_

would do, if he once came within reach of that rascal Robin Hood.

"It might be that this simple fellow could do something through his

very simplicity," mused the Sheriff's daughter, overhearing his prattle.

"Odds bodikins! 'twill do no harm to try his service, while I bethink

myself of some better plan."

And she called him to her, and looked him over--a big brawny fellow

enough, with an honest look about the eye, and a countenance so open

that when he smiled his mouth seemed the only country on the map.

"I am minded to try your skill at outlaw catching," she said, "and will

add goodly measure to the stated reward if you succeed. Do you wish to

make good your boasted prowess?"

The tinker grinned broadly.

"Yes, your ladyship," he said.

"Then here is a warrant made out this morning by the Sheriff himself.

See that you keep it safely and use it to good advantage."

And she dismissed him.

Middle departed from the house mightily pleased with himself, and

proud of his commission. He swung his crab-tree-staff recklessly in his

glee--so recklessly that he imperiled the shins of more than one angry

passer-by--and vowed he'd crack the ribs of Robin Hood with it, though

he was surrounded by every outlaw in the whole greenwood.

Spurred on by the thoughts of his own coming bravery, he left the town

and proceeded toward Barnesdale. The day was hot and dusty, and at

noontime he paused at a wayside inn to refresh himself. He began by

eating and drinking and dozing, in turn, then sought to do all at once.

Mine host of the "Seven Does" stood by, discussing the eternal Robin

with a drover.

"Folk do say that my lord Sheriff has sent into Lincoln for more

men-at-arms and horses, and that when he has these behind him, he'll

soon rid the forest of these fellows."

"Of whom speak you?" asked the tinker sitting up.

"Of Robin Hood and his men," said the host; "but go to sleep again. You

will never get the reward!"

"And why not?" asked the tinker, rising with great show of dignity.

"Where our Sheriff has failed, and the stout Guy of Gisborne, and many

more beside, it behoves not a mere tinker to succeed."

The tinker laid a heavy hand upon the innkeeper's fat shoulder, and

tried to look impressive.

"There is your reckoning, host, upon the table. I must e'en go upon my

way, because I have more important business than to stand here gossiping

with you. But be not surprised, if, the next time you see me, I shall

have with me no less person than Robin Hood himself!"

And he strode loftily out the door and walked up the hot white road

toward Barnesdale.

He had not gone above a quarter of a mile when he met a young man with

curling brown hair and merry eyes. The young man carried his light cloak

over his arm, because of the heat, and was unarmed save for a light

sword at his side. The newcomer eyed the perspiring tinker in a friendly

way, and seeing he was a stout fellow accosted him.

"Good-day to you!" said he.

"Good-day to you!" said the tinker; "and a morrow less heating."

"Aye," laughed the other. "Whence come you? And know you the news?"

"What is the news?" said the gossipy tinker, pricking up his ear; "I am

a tinker by trade, Middle by name, and come from over against Banbury."

"Why as for the news," laughed the stranger, "I hear that two tinkers

were set i' the stocks for drinking too much ale and beer."

"If that be all your news," retorted Middle, "I can beat you clear to

the end of the lane."

"What news have you? Seeing that you go from town to town, I ween you

can outdo a poor country yokel at tidings."

"All I have to tell," said the other, "is that I am especially

commissioned"--he felt mightily proud of these big words--"especially

commissioned to seek a bold outlaw which they call Robin Hood."

"So?" said the other arching his brows. "How 'especially commissioned'?"

"I have a warrant from the Sheriff, sealed with the King's own seal, to

take him where I can; and if you can tell me where he is, I will e'en

make a man of you."

"Let me see the warrant," said the other, "to satisfy myself if it be

right; and I will do the best I can to bring him to you."

"That will I not," replied the tinker; "I will trust none with it.

And if you'll not help me to come at him I must forsooth catch him by

myself."

And he made his crab-tree-staff whistle shrill circles in the air.

The other smiled at the tinker's simplicity, and said:

"The middle of the road on a hot July day is not a good place to talk

things over. Now if you're the man for me and I'm the man for you, let's

go back to the inn, just beyond the bend of road, and quench our thirst

and cool our heads for thinking."

"Marry come up!" quoth the tinker. "That will I! For though I've just

come from there, my thirst rises mightily at the sound of your voice."

So back he turned with the stranger and proceeded to the "Seven Does."

The landlord arched his eyebrows silently when he saw the two come in,

but served them willingly.

The tinker asked for wine, and Robin for ale. The wine was not the most

cooling drink in the cellar, nor the clearest headed. Nathless, the

tinker asked for it, since it was expensive and the other man had

invited him to drink. They lingered long over their cups, Master Middle

emptying one after another while the stranger expounded at great length

on the best plans for coming at and capturing Robin Hood.

In the end the tinker fell sound asleep while in the act of trying to

get a tankard to his lips. Then the stranger deftly opened the snoring

man's pouch, took out the warrant, read it, and put it in his own

wallet. Calling mine host to him, he winked at him with a half smile and

told him that the tinker would pay the whole score when he awoke. Thus

was Master Middle left in the lurch "for the great shot to pay."

Nathless, the stranger seemed in no great hurry. He had the whim to stay

awhile and see what the droll tinker might do when he awoke. So he hid

behind a window shutter, on the outside, and awaited events.

Presently the tinker came to himself with a prodigious yawn, and reached

at once for another drink.

"What were you saying, friend, about the best plan (ya-a-a-ah!) for

catching this fellow?--Hello!--where's the man gone?"

He had looked around and saw no one with him at the table.

"Host! host!" he shouted, "where is that fellow who was to pay my

reckoning?"

"I know not," answered the landlord sharply. "Mayhap he left the money

in your purse."

"No he didn't!" roared Middle, looking therein. "Help! Help! I've been

robbed! Look you, host, you are liable to arrest for high treason! I am

here upon the King's business, as I told you earlier in the day. And yet

while I did rest under your roof, thinking you were an honest man (hic!)

and one loving of the King, my pouch has been opened and many matters of

state taken from it."

"Cease your bellowing!" said the landlord. "What did you lose?"

"Oh, many weighty matters, I do assure you. I had with me, item, a

warrant, granted under the hand of my lord High Sheriff of Nottingham,

and sealed with the Kings's own seal, for the capture (hic!)--and

arrest--and overcoming of a notorious rascal, one Robin Hood of

Barnesdale. Item, one crust of bread. Item, one lump (hic!) of solder.

Item, three pieces of twine. Item, six single keys (hic!), useful

withal. Item, twelve silver pennies, the which I earned this week (hic!)

in fair labor. Item--"

"Have done with your items!" said the host. "And I marvel greatly to

hear you speak in such fashion of your friend, Robin Hood of Barnesdale.

For was he not with you in all good-fellowship?"

"Wh-a-at? _That_ Robin Hood?" gasped Middle with staring eyes. "Why did

you not tell me?"

"Faith, _I_ saw no need o' telling you! Did you not tell me the first

time you were here to-day, that I need not be surprised if you came back

with no less person than Robin Hood himself?"

"Jesu give me pardon!" moaned the tinker. "I see it all now. He got me

to drinking, and then took my warrant, and my pennies, and my crust--"

"Yes, yes," interrupted the host. "I know all about that. But pay me the

score for both of you."

"But I have no money, gossip. Let me go after that vile bag-o'-bones,

and I'll soon get it out of him."

"Not so," replied the other. "If I waited for you to collect from Robin

Hood, I would soon close up shop."

"What is the account?" asked Middle.

"Ten shillings, just."

"Then take here my working-bag and my good hammer too; and if I light

upon that knave I will soon come back after them."

"Give me your leathern coat as well," said mine host; "the hammer and

bag of tools are as naught to me."

"Gramercy!" cried Master Middle, losing what was left of his temper.

"It seems that I have escaped one thief only to fall into the hands of

another. If you will but walk with me out into the middle of the road,

I'll give you such a crack as shall drive some honesty into your thick

skull."

"You are wasting your breath and my time," retorted the landlord.

"Give me your things, and get you gone after your man, speedily."

Middle thought this to be good advice; so he strode forth from the

"Seven Does" in a black mood.

Ere he had gone half a mile, he saw Robin Hood walking demurely among

the trees a little in front of him.

"Ho there, you villain!" roared the tinker. "Stay your steps! I am

desperately in need of you this day!"

Robin turned about with a surprised face.

"What knave is this?" he asked gently, "who comes shouting after me?"

"No knave! no knave at all!" panted the other, rushing up. "But an

honest--man--who would have--that warrant--and the money for drink!"

"Why, as I live, it is our honest tinker who was seeking Robin Hood! Did

you find him, gossip?"

"Marry, that did I! and I'm now going to pay him my respects!"

And he plunged at him, making a sweeping stroke with his

crab-tree-cudgel.

Robin tried to draw his sword, but could not do it for a moment through

dodging the other's furious blows. When he did get it in hand, the

tinker had reached him thrice with resounding thwacks. Then the tables

were turned, for he dashed in right manfully with his shining blade and

made the tinker give back again.

The greenwood rang with the noise of the fray. 'Twas steel against

wood, and they made a terrible clattering when they came together. Robin

thought at first that he could hack the cudgel to pieces, for his blade

was one of Toledo--finely tempered steel which the Queen had given him.

But the crab-tree-staff had been fired and hardened and seasoned by the

tinker's arts until it was like a bar of iron--no pleasant neighbor for

one's ribs.

Robin presently found this out to his sorrow. The long reach and long

stick got to him when 'twas impossible for him to touch his antagonist.

So his sides began to ache sorely.

"Hold your hand, tinker," he said at length. "I cry a boon of you."

"Before I do it," said the tinker, "I'd hang you on this tree."

But even as he spoke, Robin found the moment's grace for which he

longed; and immediately grasped his horn and blew the three well-known

blasts of the greenwood.

"A murrain seize you!" roared the tinker commencing afresh. "Up to your

old tricks again, are you? Well, I'll have time to finish my job, if I

hurry."

But Robin was quite able to hold his own at a pinch, and they had not

exchanged many lunges and passes when up came Little John and Will

Scarlet and a score of yeomen at their heels. Middle was seized without

ceremony, while Robin sat himself down to breathe. "What is the matter?"

quoth Little John, "that you should sit so weariedly upon the highway

side?"

"Faith, that rascally tinker yonder has paid his score well upon my

hide," answered Robin ruefully.

"That tinker, then," said Little John, "must be itching for more work.

Fain would I try if he can do as much for me."

"Or me," said Will Scarlet, who like Little John was always willing to

swing a cudgel.

"Nay," laughed Robin. "Belike I could have done better, an he had given

me time to pull a young tree up by the roots. But I hated to spoil

the Queen's blade upon his tough stick or no less tough hide. He had a

warrant for my arrest which I stole from him."

"Also, item, twelve silver pennies," interposed the tinker, unsubdued;

"item, one crust of bread, 'gainst my supper. Item, one lump of solder.

Item, three pieces of twine. Item, six single keys. Item--"

"Yes, I know," quoth the merry Robin; "I stood outside the landlord's

window and heard you count over your losses. Here they are again; and

the silver pennies are turned by magic into gold. Here also, if you

will, is my hand."

"I take it heartily, with the pence!" cried Middle. "By my leathern coat

and tools, which I shall presently have out of that sly host, I swear

that I never yet met a man I liked as well as you! An you and your

men here will take me, I swear I'll serve you honestly. Do you want

a tinker? Nay, but verily you must! Who else can mend and grind your

swords and patch your pannikins--and fight, too, when occasion serve?

Mend your pots! mend your pa-a-ans!"

And he ended his speech with the sonorous cry of his craft.

By this time the whole band was laughing uproariously at the tinker's

talk.

"What say you, fellows?" asked Robin. "Would not this tinker be a good

recruit?"

"That he would!" answered Will Scarlet, clapping the new man on the

back. "He will keep Friar Tuck and Much the miller's son from having the

blues."

So amid great merriment and right good fellowship the outlaws shook

Middle by the hand, and he took oath of fealty, and thought no more of

the Sheriff's daughter.

CHAPTER XV

HOW ROBIN HOOD WAS TANNED OF THE TANNER

In Nottingham there lived a jolly tanner,

With a hey down, down, a down down!

His name was Arthur-a-Bland,

There was ne'er a squire in Nottinghamshire

Dare bid bold Arthur stand.

And as he went forth, in a summer's morning,

With a hey down, down, a down down!

To the forest of merrie Sherwood,

To view the red deer, that range here and there,

There met he with bold Robin Hood.

The Sheriff's daughter bided for several days in the faint hope that she

might hear tidings of the prattling tinker. But never a word heard she,

and she was forced to the conclusion that her messenger had not so much

as laid eyes upon the outlaw. Little recked she that he was, even then,

grinding sword-points and sharpening arrows out in the good greenwood,

while whistling blithely or chatting merrily with the good Friar Tuck.

Then she bethought herself of another good man, one Arthur-a-Bland, a

tanner who dwelt in Nottingham town and was far-famed in the tourneys

round about. He had done some pretty tricks at archery, but was

strongest at wrestling and the quarter-staff. For three years he had

cast all comers to the earth in wrestling until the famous Eric

o' Lincoln broke a rib for him in a mighty tussle. Howsoever, at

quarter-staff he had never yet met his match; so that there was never a

squire in Nottinghamshire dare bid bold Arthur stand.

With a long pike-staff on his shoulder,

So well he could clear his way

That by two and three he made men flee

And none of them could stay.

Thus at least runs the old song which tells of his might.

"This is just the man for me!" thought the Sheriff's daughter to

herself; and she forthwith summoned him to the Mansion House and

commissioned him to seek out Robin Hood.

The warrant was quite to Arthur's liking, for he was happiest when out

in the forest taking a sly peep at the King's deer; and now he reckoned

that he could look at them boldly, instead of by the rays of the moon.

He could say to any King's Forester who made bold to stop him: "I am

here on the King's business!"

"Gramercy! No more oak-bark and ditch-water and the smell of half-tanned

hides to-day!" quoth he, gaily. "I shall e'en see what the free air of

heaven tastes like, when it sweeps through the open wood."

So the tanner departed joyfully upon his errand, but much more

interested in the dun deer of the forest than in any two-legged rovers

therein. This interest had, in fact, caused the Foresters to keep a

shrewd eye upon him in the past, for his tannery was apt to have plenty

of meat in it that was more like venison than the law allowed. As for

the outlaws, Arthur bore them no ill-will; indeed he had felt a secret

envy in his heart at their free life; but he was not afraid to meet any

two men who might come against him. Nathless, the Sheriff's daughter did

not choose a very good messenger, as you shall presently see.

Away sped the tanner, a piece of bread and some wine in his wallet,

a good longbow and arrows slung across his shoulder, his stout

quarter-staff in his hand, and on his head a cap of trebled raw-hide so

tough that it would turn the edge of a broadsword. He lost no time in

getting out of the hot sun and into the welcome shade of the forest,

where he stalked cautiously about seeking some sign of the dun deer.

Now it so chanced that upon that very morning Robin Hood had sent Little

John to a neighboring village to buy some cloth of Lincoln green for new

suits for all the band. Some of the money recently won of the King

was being spent in this fashion, 'gainst the approach of winter. Will

Scarlet had been sent on a similar errand to Barnesdale some time

before, if you remember, only to be chased up the hill without his

purchase. So to-day Little John was chosen, and for sweet company's

sake Robin went with him a part of the way until they came to the "Seven

Does," the inn where Robin had recently played his prank upon Middle the

tinker. Here they drank a glass of ale to refresh themselves withal,

and for good luck; and Robin tarried a bit while Little John went on his

errand.

Presently Robin entered the edge of the wood, when whom should he see

but Arthur-a-Bland, busily creeping after a graceful deer that browsed

alone down the glade. "Now by Saint George and the Dragon!" quoth Robin

to himself. "I much fear that yon same fellow is a rascally poacher come

after our own and the King's meat!"

For you must know, by a curious process of reasoning, Robin and his men

had hunted in the royal preserves so long that they had come to consider

themselves joint owners to every animal which roamed therein.

"Nay!" he added, "this must be looked into! That cow-skin cap in sooth

must hide a scurvy varlet!"

And forthwith he crept behind a tree, and thence to another, stalking

our friend Arthur as busily as Arthur was stalking the deer.

This went on for quite a space, until the tanner began to come upon the

deer and to draw his bow in order to tickle the victim's ribs with a

cloth-yard shaft. But just at this moment Robin unluckily trod upon a

twig which snapped and caused the tanner to turn suddenly.

Robin saw that he was discovered, so he determined to put a bold face on

the matter, and went forward with some smart show of authority.

"Hold!" he cried: "stay your hand! Why, who are you, bold fellow, to

range so boldly here? In sooth, to be brief, ye look like a thief that

has come to steal the King's deer."

"Marry, it is scant concern of yours, what I look like!" retorted

Arthur-a-Bland. "Who are you, who speak so bravely?"

"You shall soon find out who I am!" quoth Robin, determining to find

some sport in the matter. "I am a keeper of this forest. The King knows

that I am looking after his deer for him; and therefore we must stay

you."

"Have you any assistants, friend?" asked the tanner calmly. "For it is

not one man alone who can stop me."

"Nay truly, gossip," replied Robin. "I have a good yew bow, also a right

sharp blade at my side. Nathless I need no better assistant than a good

oak-graff like unto yours. Give me a baker's dozen of minutes with

it and it shall pleasure me to crack that pate of yours for your

sauciness!"

"Softly, my man! Fair and softly! Big words never killed so much as a

mouse--least of all yon deer which has got away while you were filling

all the woods with your noisy breath. So choose your own playthings. For

your sword and your bow I care not a straw; nor for all your arrows to

boot. If I get but a knock at you, 'twill be as much as you'll need."

"Now by our Lady! Will you listen to the braggart?" cried Robin in a

fine rage. "Marry, but I'll teach ye to be more mannerly!"

So saying he unbuckled his belt; and, flinging his bow upon the ground

he seized hold of a young sapling that was growing near by. His hunting

knife soon had it severed and lopped into shape.

"Now come, fellow!" said Arthur-a-Bland, seeing that he was ready. "And

if I do not tan your hide for you in better shape than ever calf-skin

was turned into top-boots, may a murrain seize me!"

"Stay," said Robin, "methinks my cudgel is half a foot longer than

yours. I would have them of even length before you begin your tanning."

"I pass not for length," bold Arthur replied; "my staff is long enough,

as you will shortly find out. Eight foot and a half, and 'twill knock

down a calf"--here he made it whistle in the air--"and I hope it will

knock down you."

Forthwith the two men spat on their hands, laid firm hold upon their

cudgels and began slowly circling round each other, looking for an

opening.

Now it so chanced that Little John had fared expeditiously with his

errand. He had met the merchant, from whom he was wont to buy Lincoln

green, coming along the road; and had made known his wants in few words.

The merchant readily undertook to deliver the suits by a certain day

in the following month. So Little John, glad to get back to the cool

shelter of the greenwood, hasted along the road lately taken by Robin.

Presently he heard the sound of angry voices, one of which he recognized

as his captain's.

"Now, Heaven forfend," quoth he, "that Robin Hood has fallen into the

clutches of a King's man! I must take a peep at this fray."

So he cautiously made his way from tree to tree, as Robin had done, till

he came to the little open space where Robin and Arthur were circling

about each other with angry looks, like two dogs at bay.

"Ha! this looks interesting!" muttered Little John to himself, for he

loved a good quarter-staff bout above anything else in the world, and

was the best man at it in all the greenwood. And he crawled quietly

underneath a friendly bush--much as he had done when Robin undertook to

teach Will Scarlet a lesson--and chuckled softly to himself and slapped

his thigh and prepared to watch the fight at his ease.

Indeed it was both exciting and laughable. You would have chuckled one

moment and caught your breath the next, to see those two stout fellows

swinging their sticks--each half as long again as the men were, and

thick as their arm--and edging along sidewise, neither wishing to strike

the first blow.

At last Robin could no longer forbear, and his good right arm swung

round like a flash. Ping! went the stick on the back of the other's

head, raising such a welt that the blood came. But the tanner did not

seem to mind it at all, for bing! went his own staff in return, giving

Robin as good as he had sent. Then the battle was on, and furiously it

waged. Fast fell the blows, but few save the first ones landed, being

met in mid-air by a counter-blow till the thwacking sticks sounded like

the steady roll of a kettle-drum and the oak--bark flew as fine as it

had ever done in Arthur-a-Bland's tannery.

Round and round they fought, digging their heels into the ground to keep

from slipping, so that you would have vowed there had been a yoke of

oxen ploughing a potato-patch. Round and round, up and down, in and

out, their arms working like threshing-machines, went the yeoman and the

tanner, for a full hour, each becoming more astonished every minute that

the other was such a good fellow. While Little John from underneath his

bushy covert had much ado to keep from roaring aloud in pure joy.

Finally Robin saw his chance and brought a full arm blow straight down

upon the other's head with a force that would have felled a bullock.

But Arthur's trebled cow-skin cap here stood him in good stead: the blow

glanced off without doing more than stunning him. Nathless, he reeled

and had much ado to keep from falling; seeing which Robin stayed

his hand--to his own sorrow, for the tanner recovered his wits in a

marvelous quick space and sent back a sidelong blow which fairly lifted

Robin off his feet and sent him tumbling on to the grass.

"Hold your hand! hold your hand!" roared Robin with what little breath

he had left. "Hold, I say, and I will give you the freedom of the

greenwood."

"Why, God-a-mercy," said Arthur; "I may thank my staff for that--not

_you_."

"Well, well, gossip' let be as it may. But prithee tell me your name and

trade. I like to know fellows who can hit a blow like that same last."

"I am a tanner," replied Arthur-a-Bland. "In Nottingham long have

I wrought. And if you'll come to me I swear I'll tan your hides for

naught."

"Odds bodikins!" quoth Robin ruefully. "Mine own hide is tanned enough

for the present. Howsoever, there be others in this wood I would fain

see you tackle. Harkee, if you will leave your tan-pots and come with

me, as sure as my name is Robin Hood, you shan't want gold or fee."

"By the breath o' my body!" said Arthur, "that will I do!" and he

gripped him gladly by the hand. "But I am minded that I clean forgot the

errand that brought me to Sherwood. I was commissioned by some, under

the Sheriff's roof, to capture you."

"So was a certain tinker, now in our service," said Robin smilingly.

"Verily 'tis a new way to recruit forces!" said the tanner laughing

loudly. "But tell me, good Robin Hood, where is Little John? I fain

would see him, for he is a kinsman on my mother's side."

"Here am I, good Arthur-a-Bland!" said a voice; and Little John

literally rolled out from under the bush to the sward. His eyes were

full of tears from much laughter which had well-nigh left him powerless

to get on his feet.

As soon as the astonished tanner saw who it was, he gave Little John a

mighty hug around the neck, and lifted him up on his feet, and the two

pounded each other on the back soundly, so glad were they to meet again.

"O, man, man!" said Little John as soon as he had got his breath. "Never

saw I so fine a sight in all my born days. You did knock him over like

as he were a ninepin!"

"And you do joy to see me thwacked about on the ribs?" asked Robin with

some choler.

"Nay, not that, master!" said Little John. "But 'tis the second time I

have had special tickets to a show from beneath the bushes, and I cannot

forbear my delight. Howsoever, take no shame unto yourself, for

this same Arthur-a-Bland is the best man at the quarter-staff in all

Nottinghamshire. It commonly takes two or three men to hold him."

"Unless it be Eric o' Lincoln," said Arthur modestly; "and I well know

how you paid him out at the Fair."

"Say no more!" said Robin springing to his feet; "for well I know that I

have done good business this day, and a few bruises are easy payment

for the stout cudgel I am getting into the band. Your hand again, good

Arthur-a-Bland! Come! let us after the deer of which I spoiled your

stalking."

"Righty gladly!" quoth Arthur. "Come, Cousin Little John! Away with

vats and tan-bark and vile-smelling cowhides! I'll follow you two in the

sweet open air to the very ends of earth!"

CHAPTER XVI

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA

Then answered him the gentle knight

With words both fair and thee:

"God save thee, my good Robin,

And all thy company!"

Now you must know that some months passed by. The winter dragged its

weary length through Sherwood Forest, and Robin Hood and his merry men

found what cheer they could in the big crackling fires before their

woodland cave. Friar Tuck had built him a little hermitage not far away,

where he lived comfortably with his numerous dogs.

The winter, I say, reached an end at last, and the blessed spring came

and went. Another summer passed on apace, and still neither King nor

Sheriff nor Bishop could catch the outlaws, who, meanwhile, thrived and

prospered mightily in their outlawry. The band had been increased

from time to time by picked men such as Arthur-a-Bland and David of

Doncaster--he who was the jolliest cobbler for miles around--until it

now numbered a full sevenscore of men; seven companies each with its

stout lieutenant serving under Robin Hood. And still they relieved the

purses of the rich, and aided the poor, and feasted upon King's deer

until the lank Sheriff of Nottingham was well-nigh distracted.

Indeed, that official would probable have lost his office entirely, had

it not been for the fact of the King's death. Henry passed away, as all

Kings will, in common with ordinary men, and Richard of the Lion Heart

was proclaimed as his successor.

Then Robin and his men, after earnest debate, resolved to throw

themselves upon the mercy of the new King, swear allegiance, and ask to

be organized into Royal Foresters. So Will Scarlet and Will Stutely and

Little John were sent to London with this message, which they were first

to entrust privately to Maid Marian. But they soon returned with bad

tidings. The new King had formerly set forth upon a crusade to the Holy

Land, and Prince John, his brother, was impossible to deal with--being

crafty, cruel and treacherous. He was laying his hands upon all the

property which could easily be seized; among other estates, that of

the Earl of Huntingdon, Robin's old enemy and Marian's father, who had

lately died.

Marian herself was in sore straits. Not only had her estates been taken

away, and the maid been deprived of the former protection of the Queen,

but the evil Prince John had persecuted her with his attentions. He

thought that since the maid was defenseless he could carry her away to

one of his castles and none could gainsay him.

No word of this peril reached Robin's ears, although his men brought

him word of the seizure of the Huntingdon lands. Nathless he was greatly

alarmed for the safety of Maid Marian, and his heart cried out for

her strongly. She had been continually in his thoughts ever since the

memorable shooting at London town.

One morning in early autumn when the leaves were beginning to turn gold

at the edges, the chestnut-pods to swell with promise of fatness, and

the whole wide woodland was redolent with the ripe fragrance of fruit

and flower, Robin was walking along the edge of a small open glade busy

with his thoughts. The peace of the woods was upon him, despite his

broodings of Marian and he paid little heed to a group of does quietly

feeding among the trees at the far edge of the glade.

But presently this sylvan picture was rudely disturbed for him. A stag,

wild and furious, dashed suddenly forth from among the trees, scattering

the does in swift alarm. The vicious beast eyed the green-and-gold tunic

of Robin, and, lowering it head, charged at him impetuously. So sudden

was its attack that Robin had no time to bend his bow. He sprang behind

a tree while he seized his weapon.

A moment later the wild stag crashed blindly into the tree-trunk with a

shock which sent the beast reeling backward, while the dislodged leaves

from the shivering tree fell in a small shower over Robin's head.

"By my halidom, I am glad it was not me you struck, my gentle friend!"

quoth Robin, fixing an arrow upon the string. "Sorry indeed would be any

one's plight who should encounter you in this black humor."

Scarcely had he spoken when he saw the stag veer about and fix its

glances rigidly on the bushes to the left side of the glade. These were

parted by a delicate hand, and through the opening appeared the slight

figure of a page. It was Maid Marian, come back again to the greenwood!

She advanced, unconscious alike of Robin's horrified gaze and the evil

fury of the stag.

She was directly in line with the animal, so Robin dared not launch an

arrow. Her own bow was slung across her shoulder, and her small sword

would be useless against the beast's charge. But now as she caught sight

of the stag she pursed her lips as though she would whistle to it.

"For the love of God, dear lady!" cried Robin; and then the words died

in his throat.

With a savage snort of rage, the beast rushed at this new and inviting

target--rushed so swiftly and from so short a distance that she could

not defend herself. She sprang to one side as it charged down upon her,

but a side blow from its antlers stretched her upon the ground. The stag

stopped, turned, and lowered its head preparing to gore her to death.

Already its cruel horns were coming straight for her, while she, white

of face and bewildered by the sudden attack, was struggling to rise

and draw her sword. A moment more and the end would come. But the sharp

voice of Robin and already spoken.

"Down, Marian!" he cried, and the girl instinctively obeyed, just as

the shaft from Robin's bow went whizzing close above her head and struck

with terrific force full in the center of the stag's forehead.

The beast stumbled in its charge and fell dead, across the body of the

fainting maid.

Robin was quickly by her side, and dragged the beast from off the girl.

Picking her up in his strong arms, he bore her swiftly to the side of

one of the many brooks which watered the vale.

He dashed cool water upon her face, roughly almost, in his agony of fear

that the she was already dead, and he could have shed tears of joy to

see those poor, closed eyelids tremble. He redoubled his efforts; and

presently she gave a little gasp.

"Where am I? What is't?"

"You are in Sherwood, dear maid, tho', i' faith, we gave you a rude

reception!"

She opened her eyes and sat up. "Methinks you have rescued me from

sudden danger, sir," she said.

Then she recognized Robin for the first time, and a radiant smile came

over her face, together with the rare blush of returned vitality,

and her head sank upon his shoulder with a little tremble and sigh of

relief.

"Oh, Robin, it is you!" she murmured.

"Aye, 'tis I. Thank heaven, I was at hand to do you service!" Robin's

tones were deep and full of feeling. "I swear, dear Marian, that I will

not let you from my care henceforth."

Not another word was spoken for some moments, while her head still

rested confidingly upon his breast. Then recollecting, he suddenly

cried:

"Gramercy, I make but a poor nurse! I have not even asked if any of your

bones were broken."

"No, not any," she answered springing lightly to her feet to show him.

"That foolish dizziness o'ercame me for the nonce, but we can now

proceed on our way."

"Nay, I meant not that," he protested; "why should we haste? First tell

me of the news in London town, and of yourself."

So she told him how that the Prince had seized upon her father's lands,

and had promised to restore them to her if she would listen to his suit;

and how that she knew he meant her no good, for he was even then suing

for a Princess's hand.

"That is all, Robin," she ended simply; "and that is why I donned again

my page's costume and came to you in the greenwood."

Robin's brow had grown fiercely black at the recital of her wrong; and

he had laid stern hand upon the hilt of his sword. "By this sword which

Queen Eleanor gave me!" he said impetuously; "and which was devoted to

the service of all womankind, I take oath that Prince John and all his

armies shall not harm you!"

So that is how Maid Marian came to take up her abode in the greenwood,

where the whole band of yeomen welcomed her gladly and swore fealty; and

where the sweet lady of Allan-a-Dale made her fully at home.

But this was a day of deeds in Sherwood Forest, and we 'gan to tell you

another happening which led to later events.

While Robin and Marian were having their encounter with the stag, Little

John, Much the miller's son, and Will Scarlet had sallied forth to watch

the highroad leading to Barnesdale, if perchance they might find some

haughty knight or fat priest whose wallet needed lightening.

They had scarcely watched the great road known as Watling Street which

runs from Dover in Kent to Chester town--for many minutes, when they

espied a knight riding by in a very forlorn and careless manner.

All dreary was his semblance,

And little was his pride,

His one

foot in the stirrup stood,

His other waved beside.

His visor hung down o'er his eyes,

He rode in single array,

A sorrier man than he was one

Rode never in summer's day.

Little John came up to the knight and bade him stay; for who can

judge of a man's wealth by his looks? The outlaw bent his knee in all

courtesy, and prayed him to accept the hospitality of the forest.

"My master expects you to dine with him, to-day," quoth he, "and indeed

has been fasting while awaiting your coming, these three hours."

"Who is your master?" asked the knight.

"None other than Robin Hood," replied Little John, laying his hand upon

the knight's bridle.

Seeing the other two outlaws approaching, the knight shrugged his

shoulders, and replied indifferently.

"'Tis clear that your invitation is too urgent to admit of refusal,"

quoth he, "and I go with you right willingly, my friends. My purpose

was to have dined to-day at Blyth or Doncaster; but nothing matters

greatly."

So in the same lackadaisical fashion which had marked all his actions

that day, the knight suffered his horse to be led to the rendezvous of

the band in the greenwood.

Marian had not yet had time to change her page's attire, when the three

escorts of the knight hove in sight. She recognized their captive as Sir

Richard of the Lea, whom she had often seen at court; and fearing lest

he might recognize her, she would have fled. But Robin asked her, with a

twinkle, if she would not like to play page that day, and she in roguish

mood consented to do so.

"Welcome, Sir Knight," said Robin, courteously. "You are come in good

time, for we were just preparing to sit down to meat."

"God save and thank you, good master Robin," returned the knight; "and

all your company. It likes me well to break the fast with you."

So while his horse was cared for, the knight laid aside his own heavy

gear, and laved his face and hands, and sat down with Robin and all his

men to a most plentiful repast of venison, swans, pheasants, various

small birds, cake and ale. And Marian stood behind Robin and filled his

cup and that of the guest.

After eating right heartily of the good cheer, the knight brightened

up greatly and vowed that he had not enjoyed so good a dinner for nigh

three weeks. He also said that if ever Robin and his fellows should come

to his domains, he would strive to set them down to as good a dinner on

his own behalf.

But this was not exactly the sort of payment which Robin had expected to

receive. He thanked the knight, therefore, in set phrase, but reminded

him that a yeoman like himself might hardly offer such a dinner to a

knight as a gift of charity.

"I have no money, Master Robin," answered the knight frankly. "I have so

little of the world's goods, in sooth, that I should be ashamed to offer

you the whole of it."

"Money, however little, always jingles merrily in our pockets," said

Robin, smiling. "Pray you tell me what you deem a little sum."

"I have of my own ten silver pennies," said the knight. "Here they are,

and I wish they were ten times as many."

He handed Little John his pouch, and Robin nodded carelessly.

"What say you to the total, Little John?" he asked as though in jest.

"'Tis true enough, as the worthy knight hath said," responded the big

fellow gravely emptying the contents on his cloak.

Robin signed to Marian, who filled a bumper of wine for himself and his

guest.

"Pledge me, Sir Knight!" cried the merry outlaw; "and pledge me

heartily, for these sorry times. I see that your armor is bent and that

your clothes are torn. Yet methinks I saw you at court, once upon a day,

and in more prosperous guise. Tell me now, were you a yeoman and made a

knight by force? Or, have you been a bad steward to yourself, and wasted

your property in lawsuits and the like? Be not bashful with us. We shall

not betray your secrets."

"I am a Saxon knight in my own right; and I have always lived a sober

and quiet life," the sorrowful guest replied. "'Tis true you have seen

me at court, mayhap, for I was an excited witness of your shooting

before King Harry--God rest his bones! My name is Sir Richard of the

Lea, and I dwell in a castle, not a league from one of the gates of

Nottingham, which has belonged to my father, and his father, and his

father's father before him. Within two or three years ago my neighbors

might have told you that a matter of four hundred pounds one way or

the other was as naught to me. But now I have only these ten pennies of

silver, and my wife and son."

"In what manner have you lost your riches?" asked Robin.

"Through folly and kindness," said the knight, sighing. "I went with

King Richard upon a crusade, from which I am but lately returned, in

time to find my son--a goodly youth--grown up. He was but twenty, yet he

had achieved a squire's training and could play prettily in jousts and

tournaments and other knightly games. But about this time he had the ill

luck to push his sport too far, and did accidentally kill a knight in

the open lists. To save the boy, I had to sell my lands and mortgage my

ancestral castle; and this not being enough, in the end I have had to

borrow money, at a ruinous interest, from my lord of Hereford."

"A most worthy Bishop," said Robin ironically. "What is the sum of your

debt?"

"Four hundred pounds," said Sir Richard, "and the Bishop swears he will

foreclose the mortgage if they are not paid promptly."

"Have you any friends who would become surety for you?"

"Not one. If good King Richard were here, the tale might be otherwise."

"Fill your goblet again, Sir Knight," said Robin; and he turned to

whisper a word in Marian's ear. She nodded and drew Little John and Will

Scarlet aside and talked earnestly with them, in a low tone.

"Here is health and prosperity to you, gallant Robin," said Sir Richard,

tilting his goblet. "I hope I may pay your cheer more worthily, the next

time I ride by."

Will Scarlet and Little John had meanwhile fallen in with Marian's idea,

for they consulted the other outlaws, who nodded their heads. Thereupon

Little John and Will Scarlet went into the cave near by and presently

returned bearing a bag of gold. This they counted out before the

astonished knight; and there were four times one hundred gold pieces in

it.

"Take this loan from us, Sir Knight, and pay your debt to the Bishop,"

then said Robin. "Nay, no thanks; you are but exchanging creditors.

Mayhap we shall not be so hard upon you as the Christian Bishop; yet,

again we may be harder. Who can tell?"

There were actual tears in Sir Richard's eyes, as he essayed to thank

the foresters. But at this juncture, Much, the miller's son, came from

the cave dragging a bale of cloth. "The knight should have a suit worthy

of his rank, master--think you not so?"

"Measure him twenty ells of it," ordered Robin.

"Give him a good horse, also," whispered Marian. "'Tis a gift which will

come back four-fold, for this is a worthy man. I know him well."

So the horse was given, also, and Robin bade Arthur-a-Bland ride with

the knight as far as his castle, as esquire.

The knight was sorrowful no longer; yet he could hardly voice his thanks

through his broken utterance. And having spent the night in rest,

after listening to Allan-a-Dale's singing, he mounted his new steed the

following morning an altogether different man.

"God save you, comrades, and keep you all!" said he, with deep feeling

in his tones; "and give me a grateful heart!"

"We shall wait for you twelve months from to-day, here in this place,"

said Robin, shaking him by the hand; "and then you will repay us the

loan, if you have been prospered."

"I shall return it to you within the year, upon my honor as Sir Richard

of the Lea. And for all time, pray count on me as a steadfast friend."

So saying the knight and his esquire rode down the forest glade till

they were lost to view.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW THE BISHOP WAS DINED

"O what is the matter?" then said the Bishop,

"Or for whom do you make this a-do?

Or why do you kill the King's venison,

When your company is so few?"

"We are shepherds," quoth bold Robin Hood,

"And we keep sheep all the year,

And we are disposed to be merrie this day,

And to kill of the King's fat deer."

Not many days after Sir Richard of the Lea came to Sherwood Forest,

word reached Robin Hood's ears that my lord Bishop of Hereford would

be riding that way betimes on that morning. 'Twas Arthur-a-Bland, the

knight's quondam esquire, who brought the tidings, and Robin's face

brightened as he heard it.

"Now, by our Lady!" quoth he, "I have long desired to entertain my lord

in the greenwood, and this is too fair a chance to let slip. Come, my

men, kill me a venison; kill me a good fat deer. The Bishop of Hereford

is to dine with me today, and he shall pay well for his cheer."

"Shall we dress it here, as usual?" asked Much, the miller's son.

"Nay, we play a droll game on the churchman. We will dress it by the

highway side, and watch for the Bishop narrowly, lest he should ride

some other way."

So Robin gave his orders, and the main body of his men dispersed to

different parts of the forest, under Will Stutely and Little John,

to watch other roads; while Robin Hood himself took six of his men,

including Will Scarlet, and Much, and posted himself in full view of the

main road. This little company appeared funny enough, I assure you, for

they had disguised themselves as shepherds. Robin had an old wool cap,

with a tail to it, hanging over his ear, and a shock of hair stood

straight up through a hole in the top. Besides there was so much dirt on

his face that you would never have known him. An old tattered cloak over

his hunter's garb completed his make-up. The others were no less ragged

and unkempt, even the foppish Will Scarlet being so badly run down at

the heel that the court ladies would hardly have had speech with him.

They quickly provided themselves with a deer and made great preparations

to cook it over a small fire, when a little dust was seen blowing along

the highway, and out of it came the portly Bishop cantering along with

ten men-at-arms at his heels. As soon as he saw the fancied shepherds he

spurred up his horse, and came straight toward them.

"Who are ye, fellows, who make so free with the King's deer?" he asked

sharply.

"We are shepherds," answered Robin Hood, pulling at his forelock

awkwardly.

"Heaven have mercy! Ye seem a sorry lot of shepherds. But who gave you

leave to cease eating mutton?"

"'Tis one of our feast days, lording, and we were disposed to be merry

this day, and make free with a deer, out here where they are so many."

"By me faith, the King shall hear of this. Who killed yon beast?"

"Give me first your name, excellence, so that I may speak where 'tis

fitting," replied Robin stubbornly.

"'Tis my lord Bishop of Hereford, fellow!" interposed one of the guards

fiercely. "See that you keep a civil tongue in your head."

"If 'tis a churchman," retorted Will Scarlet, "he would do better to

mind his own flocks rather than concern himself with ours."

"Ye are saucy fellows, in sooth," cried the Bishop, "and we will see if

your heads will pay for your manners. Come! quit your stolen roast and

march along with me, for you shall be brought before the Sheriff of

Nottingham forthwith."

"Pardon, excellence!" said Robin, dropping on his knees. "Pardon, I pray

you. It becomes not your lordship's coat to take so many lives away."

"Faith, I'll pardon you!" said the Bishop. "I'll pardon you, when I see

you hanged! Seize upon them, my men!"

But Robin had already sprung away with his back against a tree. And

from underneath his ragged cloak he drew his trusty horn and winded the

piercing notes which were wont to summon the band.

The Bishop no sooner saw this action than he knew his man, and that

there was a trap set; and being an arrant coward, he wheeled his horse

sharply and would have made off down the road; but his own men, spurred

on the charge, blocked his way. At almost the same instant the bushes

round about seemed literally to become alive with outlaws. Little John's

men came from one side and Will Stutely's from the other. In less time

than it takes to tell it, the worthy Bishop found himself a prisoner,

and began to crave mercy from the men he had so lately been ready to

sentence.

"O pardon, O pardon," said the Bishop,

"O pardon, I you pray.

For if I had known it had been you,

I'd have gone some other way."

"I owe you no pardon," retorted Robin, "but I will e'en treat you better

than you would have treated me. Come, make haste, and go along with me.

I have already planned that you shall dine with me this day."

So the unwilling prelate was dragged away, cheek by jowl, with the

half-cooked venison upon the back of his own horse; and Robin and his

band took charge of the whole company and led them through the forest

glades till they came to an open space near Barnesdale.

Here they rested, and Robin gave the Bishop a seat full courteously.

Much the miller's son fell to roasting the deer afresh, while another

and fatter beast was set to frizzle on the other side of the fire.

Presently the appetizing odor of the cooking reached the Bishop's

nostrils, and he sniffed it eagerly. The morning's ride had made him

hungry; and he was nothing loath when they bade him come to the dinner.

Robin gave him the best place beside himself, and the Bishop prepared to

fall to.

"Nay, my lord, craving your pardon, but we are accustomed to have grace

before meat," said Robin decorously. "And as our own chaplain is not

with us to-day, will you be good enough to say it for us?"

The Bishop reddened, but pronounced grace in the Latin tongue hastily,

and then settled himself to make the best of his lot. Red wines and ale

were brought forth and poured out, each man having a horn tankard from

which to drink.

Laughter bubbled among the diners, and the Bishop caught himself smiling

at more than one jest. But who, in sooth, could resist a freshly broiled

venison streak eaten out in the open air to the tune of jest and good

fellowship? Stutely filled the Bishop's beaker with wine each time he

emptied it, and the Bishop got mellower and mellower as the afternoon

shades lengthened on toward sunset. Then the approaching dusk warned him

of his position.

"I wish, mine host," quoth he gravely to Robin, who had soberly drunk

but one cup of ale, "that you would now call a reckoning. 'Tis late, and

I fear the cost of this entertainment may be more than my poor purse can

stand."

For he bethought himself of his friend, the Sheriff's former experience.

"Verily, your lordship," said Robin, scratching his head, "I have

enjoyed your company so much, that I scarce know how to charge for it."

"Lend me your purse, my lord," said Little John, interposing, "and

I'll give you the reckoning by and by." The Bishop shuddered. He had

collected Sir Richard's debt only that morning, and was even then

carrying it home.

"I have but a few silver pennies of my own," he whined; "and as for the

gold in my saddle-bags, 'tis for the church. Ye surely would not levy

upon the church, good friends."

But Little John was already gone to the saddle-bags, and returning

he laid the Bishop's cloak upon the ground, and poured out of the

portmantua a matter of four hundred glittering gold pieces. 'Twas the

identical money which Robin had lent Sir Richard a short while before!

"Ah!" said Robin, as though an idea had but just then come to him. "The

church is always willing to aid in charity. And seeing this goodly sum

reminds me that I have a friend who is indebted to a churchman for this

exact amount. Now we shall charge you nothing on our own account; but

suffer us to make use of this in aiding my good friend."

"Nay, nay," began the Bishop with a wry face, "this is requiting me ill

indeed. Was this not the King's meat, after all, that we feasted upon?

Furthermore, I am a poor man."

"Poor forsooth!" answered Robin in scorn. "You are the Bishop of

Hereford, and does not the whole countryside speak of your oppression?

Who does not know of your cruelty to the poor and ignorant--you who

should use your great office to aid them, instead of oppress? Have you

not been guilty of far greater robbery than this, even though less

open? Of myself, and how you have pursued me, I say nothing; nor of

your unjust enmity against my father. But on account of those you have

despoiled and oppressed, I take this money, and will use it far more

worthily than you would. God be my witness in this! There is an end of

the matter, unless you will lead us in a song or dance to show that

your body had a better spirit than your mind. Come, strike up the harp,

Allan!"

"Neither the one nor the other will I do," snarled the Bishop.

"Faith, then we must help you," said Little John; and he and

Arthur-a-Bland seized the fat struggling churchman and commenced to hop

up and down. The Bishop being shorter must perforce accompany them in

their gyrations; while the whole company sat and rolled about over the

ground, and roared to see my lord of Hereford's queer capers. At last he

sank in a heap, fuddled with wine and quite exhausted.

Little John picked him up as though he were a log of wood and carrying

him to his horse, set him astride facing the animal's tail; and thus

fastened him, leading the animal toward the highroad and, starting the

Bishop, more dead than alive, toward Nottingham.

CHAPTER XVIII

HOW THE BISHOP WENT OUTLAW-HUNTING

The Bishop he came to the old woman's house,

And called with furious mood,

"Come let me soon see, and bring unto me

That traitor, Robin Hood."

The easy success with which they had got the better of the good Bishop

led Robin to be a little careless. He thought that his guest was too

great a coward to venture back into the greenwood for many a long day;

and so after lying quiet for one day, the outlaw ventured boldly upon

the highway, the morning of the second. But he had gone only half a mile

when, turning a sharp bend in the road, he plunged full upon the prelate

himself.

My lord of Hereford had been so deeply smitten in his pride, that he

had lost no time in summoning a considerable body of the Sheriff's men,

offering to double the reward if Robin Hood could be come upon. This

company was now at his heels, and after the first shock of mutual

surprise, the Bishop gave an exultant shout and spurred upon the outlaw.

It was too late for Robin to retreat by the way he had come, but quick

as a flash he sprang to one side of the road, dodged under some bushes,

and disappeared so suddenly that his pursuers thought he had truly been

swallowed up by magic.

"After him!" yelled the Bishop; "some of you beat up the woods around

him, while the rest of us will keep on the main road and head him off on

the other side!"

For, truth to tell, the Bishop did not care to trust his bones away from

the highroad.

About a mile away, on the other side of this neck of woods, wherein

Robin had been trapped, was a little tumbledown cottage. 'Twas where

the widow lived, whose three sons had been rescued. Robin remembered the

cottage and saw his one chance to escape.

Doubling in and out among the underbrush and heather with the agility

of a hare, he soon came out of the wood in the rear of the cottage, and

thrust his head through a tiny window.

The widow, who had been at her spinning wheel, rose up with a cry of

alarm.

"Quiet, good mother! 'Tis I, Robin Hood. Where are your three sons?"

"They should be with you, Robin. Well do you know that. Do they not owe

their lives to you?"

"If that be so, I come to seek payment of the debt," said Robin in a

breath. "The Bishop is on my heels with many of his men."

"I'll cheat the Bishop and all!" cried the woman quickly. "Here, Robin,

change your raiment with me, and we will see if my lord knows an old

woman when he sees her."

"Good!" said Robin. "Pass your gray cloak out the window, and also your

spindle and twine; and I will give you my green mantle and everything

else down to my bow and arrows."

While they were talking, Robin had been nimbly changing clothes with the

old woman, through the window, and in a jiffy he stood forth complete,

even to the spindle and twine.

Presently up dashed the Bishop and his men, and, at sight of the

cottage and the old woman, gave pause. The crone was hobbling along with

difficulty, leaning heavily upon a gnarled stick and bearing the spindle

on her other arm. She would have gone by the Bishop's company, while

muttering to herself, but the Bishop ordered one of his men to question

her. The soldier laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"Mind your business!" croaked the woman, "or I'll curse ye!"

"Come, come, my good woman," said the soldier, who really was afraid of

her curses. "I'll not molest you. But my lord Bishop of Hereford wants

to know if you have seen aught of the outlaw, Robin Hood?"

"And why shouldn't I see him?" she whined. "Where's the King or law to

prevent good Robin from coming to see me and bring me food and raiment?

That's more than my lord Bishop will do, I warrant ye!"

"Peace, woman!" said the Bishop harshly. "We want none of your opinions.

But we'll take you to Barnesdale and burn you for a witch if you do not

instantly tell us when you last saw Robin Hood."

"Mercy, good my lord!" chattered the crone, falling on her knees.

"Robin is there in my cottage now, but you'll never take him alive."

"We'll see about that," cried the Bishop triumphantly. "Enter the

cottage, my men. Fire it, if need be. But I'll give a purse of gold

pieces, above the reward, to the man who captures the outlaw alive."

The old woman, being released, went on her way slowly. But it might

have been noticed that the farther she got away from the company and

the nearer to the edge of the woods, the swifter and straighter grew

her pace. Once inside the shelter of the forest she broke into a run of

surprising swiftness.

"Gadzooks!" exclaimed Little John who presently spied her. "Who comes

here? Never saw I witch or woman run so fast. Methinks I'll send an

arrow close over her head to see which it is."

"O hold your hand! hold your hand!" panted the supposed woman. "'Tis I,

Robin Hood. Summon the yeomen and return with me speedily. We have still

another score to settle with my lord of Hereford."

When Little John could catch his breath from laughing, he winded his

horn.

"Now, mistress Robin," quoth he, grinning. "Lead on! We'll be close to

your heels."

Meanwhile, back at the widow's cottage the Bishop was growing more

furious every moment. For all his bold words, he dared not fire the

house, and the sturdy door had thus far resisted all his men's efforts.

"Break it down! Break it down!" he shouted, "and let me soon see who

will fetch out that traitor, Robin Hood!"

At last the door crashed in and the men stood guard on the threshold.

But not one dared enter for fear a sharp arrow should meet him halfway.

"Here he is!" cried one keen-eyed fellow, peering in. "I see him in the

corner by the cupboard. Shall we slay him with our pikes?"

"Nay," said the Bishop, "take him alive if you can. We'll make the

biggest public hanging of this that the shire ever beheld."

But the joy of the Bishop over his capture was short lived. Down the

road came striding the shabby figure of the old woman who had helped him

set the trap; and very wrathy was she when she saw that the cottage door

had been battered in.

"Stand by, you lazy rascals!" she called to the soldiers. "May all the

devils catch ye for hurting an old woman's hut. Stand by, I say!"

"Hold your tongue!" ordered the Bishop. "These are my men and carrying

out my orders."

"God-mercy!" swore the beldame harshly. "Things have come to a pretty

pass when our homes may be treated like common gaols. Couldn't all your

men catch one poor forester without this ado? Come! clear out, you and

your robber, on the instant, or I'll curse every mother's son of ye,

eating and drinking and sleeping!"

"Seize on the hag!" shouted the Bishop, as soon as he could get in a

word. "We'll see about a witch's cursing. Back to town she shall go,

alongside of Robin Hood."

"Not so fast, your worship!" she retorted, clapping her hands.

And at the signal a goodly array of greenwood men sprang forth from all

sides of the cottage, with bows drawn back threateningly. The Bishop saw

that his men were trapped again, for they dared not stir. Nathless, he

determined to make a fight for it.

"If one of you but budge an inch toward me, you rascals," he cried, "it

shall sound the death of your master, Robin Hood! My men have him here

under their pikes, and I shall command them to kill him without mercy."

"Faith, I should like to see the Robin you have caught," said a clear

voice from under the widow's cape; and the outlaw chief stood forth with

bared head, smilingly. "Here am I, my lord, in no wise imperiled by your

men's fierce pikes. So let us see whom you have been guarding so well."

The old woman who, in the garb of Robin Hood, had been lying quiet in

the cottage through all the uproar, jumped up nimbly at this. In the

bald absurdity of her disguise she came to the doorway and bowed to the

Bishop.

"Give you good-den, my lord Bishop," she piped in a shrill voice; "and

what does your Grace at my humble door? Do you come to bless me and give

me alms?"

"Aye, that does he," answered Robin. "We shall see if his saddle-bags

contain enough to pay you for that battered door."

"Now by all the saints--" began the Bishop.

"Take care; they are all watching you," interrupted Robin; "so name them

not upon your unchurchly lips. But I will trouble you to hand over that

purse of gold you had saved to pay for my head."

"I'll see you hanged first!" raged the Bishop, stating no more than

what would have been so, if he could do the ordering of things. "Have at

them, my men, and hew them down in their tracks!"

"Hold!" retorted Robin. "See how we have you at our mercy." And aiming a

sudden shaft he shot so close to the Bishop's head that it carried away

both his hat and the skull-cap which he always wore, leaving him quite

bald.

The prelate turned as white as his shiny head and clutched wildly at his

ears. He thought himself dead almost.

"Help! Murder!" he gasped. "Do not shoot again! Here's your purse of

gold!"

And without waiting for further parley he fairly bolted down the road.

His men being left leaderless had nothing for it but to retreat after

him, which they did in sullen order, covered by the bows of the yeomen.

And thus ended the Bishop of Hereford's great outlaw-hunt in the forest.

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THE SHERIFF HELD ANOTHER SHOOTING MATCH

"To tell the truth, I'm well informed

Yon match it is a wile;

The Sheriff, I know, devises this

Us archers to beguile."

Now the Sheriff was so greatly troubled in heart over the growing power

of Robin Hood, that he did a very foolish thing. He went to London town

to lay his troubles before the King and get another force of troops to

cope with the outlaws. King Richard was not yet returned from the Holy

Land, but Prince John heard him with scorn.

"Pooh!" said he, shrugging his shoulders. "What have I to do with all

this? Art thou not sheriff for me? The law is in force to take thy

course of them that injure thee. Go, get thee gone, and by thyself

devise some tricking game to trap these rebels; and never let me see thy

face at court again until thou hast a better tale to tell."

So away went the Sheriff in sorrier pass than ever, and cudgeled his

brain, on the way home, for some plan of action.

His daughter met him on his return and saw at once that he had been on a

poor mission. She was minded to upbraid him when she learned what he

had told the Prince. But the words of the latter started her to thinking

afresh.

"I have it!" she exclaimed at length. "Why should we not hold another

shooting-match? 'Tis Fair year, as you know, and another tourney will

be expected. Now we will proclaim a general amnesty, as did King Harry

himself, and say that the field is open and unmolested to all comers.

Belike Robin Hood's men will be tempted to twang the bow, and then--"

"And then," said the Sheriff jumping up with alacrity, "we shall see on

which side of the gate they stop over-night!"

So the Sheriff lost no time in proclaiming a tourney, to be held that

same Fall at the Fair. It was open to all comers, said the proclamation,

and none should be molested in their going and coming. Furthermore, an

arrow with a golden head and shaft of silver-white should be given to

the winner, who would be heralded abroad as the finest archer in all the

North Countree. Also, many rich prizes were to be given to other clever

archers.

These tidings came in due course to Robin Hood, under the greenwood

tree, and fired his impetuous spirit.

"Come, prepare ye, my merry men all," quoth he, "and we'll go to the

Fair and take some part in this sport."

With that stepped forth the merry cobbler, David of Doncaster.

"Master," quoth he, "be ruled by me and stir not from the greenwood. To

tell the truth, I'm well informed yon match is naught but a trap. I know

the Sheriff has devised it to beguile us archers into some treachery."

"That word savors of the coward," replied Robin, "and pleases me not.

Let come what will, I'll try my skill at that same archery."

Then up spoke Little John and said: "Come, listen to me how it shall be

that we will not be discovered."

"Our mantles all of Lincoln-green

Behind us we will leave;

We'll dress us all so several,

They shall not us perceive."

"One shall wear white, another red,

One yellow, another blue;

Thus in disguise to the exercise

We'll go, whate'er ensue."

This advice met with general favor from the adventurous fellows, and

they lost no time in putting it into practice. Maid Marian and Mistress

Dale, assisted by Friar Tuck, prepared some vari-colored costumes, and

'gainst the Fair day had fitted out the sevenscore men till you would

never have taken them for other than villagers decked for the holiday.

And forth went they from the greenwood, with hearts all firm and stout,

resolved to meet the Sheriff's men and have a merry bout. Along the

highway they fell in with many other bold fellows from the countryside,

going with their ruddy-cheeked lasses toward the wide-open gates of

Nottingham.

So in through the gates trooped the whole gay company, Robin's men

behaving as awkwardly and laughing and talking as noisily as the rest;

while the Sheriff's scowling men-at-arms stood round about and sought to

find one who looked like a forester, but without avail.

The herald now set forth the terms of the contest, as on former

occasions, and the shooting presently began. Robin had chosen five of

his men to shoot with him, and the rest were to mingle with the crowd

and also watch the gates. These five were Little John, Will Scarlet,

Will Stutely, Much, and Allan-a-Dale'.

The other competitors made a brave showing on the first round,

especially Gilbert of the White Hand, who was present and never shot

better. The contest later narrowed down between Gilbert and Robin. But

at the first lead, when the butts were struck so truly by various well

known archers, the Sheriff was in doubt whether to feel glad or sorry.

He was glad to see such skill, but sorry that the outlaws were not in

it.

Some said, "If Robin Hood were here,

And all his men to boot,

Sure none of them could pass these men,

So bravely do they shoot."

"Aye," quoth the Sheriff, and scratched his head,

"I thought he would be here;

I thought he would, but tho' he's bold,

He durst not now appear."

This word was privately brought to Robin by David of Doncaster, and the

saying vexed him sorely. But he bit his lip in silence.

"Ere long," he thought to himself, "we shall see whether Robin Hood be

here or not!"

Meantime the shooting had been going forward, and Robin's men had done

so well that the air was filled with shouts.

One cried, "Blue jacket!" another cried, "Brown!"

And a third cried, "Brave Yellow!"

But the fourth man said, "Yon man in red

In this place has no fellow."

For that was Robin Hood himself,

For he was clothed in red,

At every shot the prize he got,

For he was both sure and dead.

Thus went the second round of the shooting, and thus the third and last,

till even Gilbert of the White Hand was fairly beaten. During all this

shooting, Robin exchanged no word with his men, each treating the other

as a perfect stranger. Nathless, such great shooting could not pass

without revealing the archers.

The Sheriff thought he discovered, in the winner of the golden arrow,

the person of Robin Hood without peradventure. So he sent word privately

for his men-at-arms to close round the group. But Robin's men also got

wind of the plan.

To keep up appearances, the Sheriff summoned the crowd to form in a

circle; and after as much delay as possible the arrow was presented. The

delay gave time enough for the soldiers to close in. As Robin received

his prize, bowed awkwardly, and turned away, the Sheriff, letting his

zeal get the better of his discretion, grasped him about the neck and

called upon his men to arrest the traitor.

But the moment the Sheriff touched Robin, he received such a buffet

on the side of his head that he let go instantly and fell back several

paces. Turning to see who had struck him, he recognized Little John.

"Ah, rascal Greenleaf, I have you now!" he exclaimed springing at him.

Just then, however, he met a new check.

"This is from another of your devoted servants!" said a voice which he

knew to be that of Much the miller's son; and "Thwack!" went his open

palm upon the Sheriff's cheek sending that worthy rolling over and over

upon the ground.

By this time the conflict had become general, but the Sheriff's men

suffered the disadvantage of being hampered by the crowd of innocent

on-lookers, whom they could not tell from the outlaws and so dared not

attack; while the other outlaws in the rear fell upon them and put them

in confusion.

For a moment a fierce rain of blows ensued; then the clear bugle-note

from Robin ordered a retreat. The two warders at the nearest gate tried

to close it, but were shot dead in their tracks. David of Doncaster

threw a third soldier into the moat; and out through the gate went

the foresters in good order, keeping a respectful distance between

themselves and the advancing soldiery, by means of their well-directed

shafts.

But the fight was not to go easily this day, for the soldiery, smarting

from their recent discomfiture at the widow's cottage, and knowing that

the eyes of the whole shire were upon them, fought well, and pressed

closely after the retreating outlaws. More than one ugly wound was

given and received. No less than five of the Sheriff's men were killed

outright, and a dozen others injured; while four of Robin's men were

bleeding from severe flesh cuts.

Then Little John, who had fought by the side of his chief, suddenly fell

forward with a slight moan. An arrow had pierced his knee. Robin seized

the big fellow with almost superhuman strength.

Up he took him on his back,

And bare him well a mile;

Many a time he laid him down,

And shot another while.

Meanwhile Little John grew weaker and closed his eyes; at last he sank

to the ground, and feebly motioned Robin to let him lie. "Master

Robin," said he, "have I not served you well, ever since we met upon the

bridge?"

"Truer servant never man had," answered Robin.

"Then if ever you loved me, and for the sake of that service, draw your

bright brown sword and strike off my head; never let me fall alive into

the hand of the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"Not for all the gold in England would I do either of the things you

suggest."

"God forbid!" cried Arthur-a-Bland, hurrying to the rescue. And packing

his wounded kinsman upon his own broad shoulders, he soon brought him

within the shelter of the forest.

Once there, the Sheriff's men did not follow; and Robin caused litters

of boughs to be made for Little John and the other four wounded men.

Quickly were they carried through the wood until the hermitage of Friar

Tuck was reached, where their wounds were dressed. Little John's hurt

was pronounced to be the most serious of any, but he was assured that

in two or three weeks' time he could get about again; whereat the active

giant groaned mightily.

That evening consternation came upon the hearts of the band. A careful

roll-call was taken to see it all the yeomen had escaped, when it was

found that Will Stutely was missing, and Maid Marian also was nowhere to

be found. Robin was seized with dread. He knew that Marian had gone to

the Fair, but felt that she would hardly come to grief. Her absence,

however, portended some danger, and he feared that it was connected with

Will Stutely. The Sheriff would hang him speedily and without mercy, if

he were captured.

The rest of the band shared their leader's uneasiness, though they said

no word. They knew that if Will were captured, the battle must be fought

over again the next day, and Will must be saved at any cost. But no man

flinched from the prospect.

That evening, while the Sheriff and his wife and daughter sat at meat in

the Mansion House, the Sheriff boasted of how he would make an example

of the captured outlaw; for Stutely had indeed fallen into his hands.

"He shall be strung high," he said, in a loud voice; "and none shall

dare lift a finger. I now have Robin Hood's men on the run, and we shall

soon see who is master in this shire. I am only sorry that we let them

have the golden arrow."

As he spoke a missive sped through a window and fell clattering upon his

plate, causing him to spring back in alarm.

It was the golden arrow, and on its feathered shaft was sewed a little

note which read:

"This from one who will take no gifts from liars; and who henceforth

will show no mercy. Look well to yourself. R.H."

CHAPTER XX

HOW WILL STUTELY WAS RESCUED

Forth of the greenwood are they gone,

Yea, all courageously,

Resolving to bring Stutely home,

Or every man to die.

The next day dawned bright and sunny. The whole face of nature seemed

gay as if in despite of the tragedy which was soon to take place in the

walls of Nottingham town. The gates were not opened upon this day, for

the Sheriff was determined to carry through the hanging of Will Stutely

undisturbed. No man, therefore, was to be allowed entrance from without,

all that morning and until after the fatal hour of noon, when Will's

soul was to be launched into eternity.

Early in the day Robin had drawn his men to a point, as near as he

dared, in the wood where he could watch the road leading to the East

gate. He himself was clad in a bright scarlet dress, while his men, a

goodly array, wore their suits of sober Lincoln green. They were armed

with broadswords, and 'each man carried his bow and a full quiver of new

arrows, straightened and sharpened cunningly by Middle, the tinker. Over

their greenwood dress, each man had thrown a rough mantle, making him

look not unlike a friar.

"I hold it good, comrades," then said Robin Hood, "to tarry here in

hiding for a season while we sent some one forth to obtain tidings.

For, in sooth, 'twill work no good to march upon the gates if they be

closed."

"Look, master," quoth one of the widow's sons. "There comes a palmer

along the road from the town. Belike he can tell us how the land ties,

and if Stutely be really in jeopardy. Shall I go out and engage him in

speech?"

"Go," answered Robin.

So Stout Will went out from the band while the others hid themselves

and waited. When he had come close to the palmer, who seemed a slight,

youngish man, he doffed his hat full courteously and said,

"I crave your pardon, holy man, but can you tell me tidings of

Nottingham town? Do they intend to put an outlaw to death this day?"

"Yea," answered the palmer sadly. "'Tis true enough, sorry be the day.

I have passed the very spot where the gallows-tree is going up. 'Tis out

upon the roadway near the Sheriff's castle. One, Will Stutely, is to be

hung thereon at noon, and I could not bear the sight, so came away."

The palmer spoke in a muffled voice; and as his hood was pulled well

over his head, Stout Will could not discern what manner of man he was.

Over his shoulder he carried a long staff, with the fashion of a little

cross at one end; and he had sandaled feet like any monk. Stout Will

notice idly that the feet were very small and white, but gave no second

thought to the matter.

"Who will shrive the poor wretch, if you have come away from him?" he

asked reproachfully.

The question seemed to put a new idea into the palmer's head. He turned

so quickly that he almost dropped his hood.

"Do you think that I should undertake this holy office?"

"By Saint Peter and the Blessed Virgin, I do indeed! Else, who will

do it? The Bishop and all his whining clerks may be there, but not one

would say a prayer for his soul."

"But I am only a poor palmer," the other began hesitatingly.

"Nathless, your prayers are as good as any and better than some,"

replied Will.

"Right gladly would I go," then said the palmer; "but I fear me I cannot

get into the city. You may know that the gates are fast locked, for this

morning, to all who would come in, although they let any pass out who

will."

"Come with me," said Stout Will, "and my master will see that you pass

through the gates."

So the palmer pulled his cloak still closer about him and was brought

before Robin Hood, to whom he told all he knew of the situation. He

ended with,

"If I may make so bold, I would not try to enter the city from this

gate, as 'tis closely guarded since yesterday. But on the far side, no

attack is looked for."

"My thanks, gentle palmer," quoth Robin, "your suggestion is good, and

we will deploy to the gate upon the far side."

So the men marched silently but quickly until they were near to the

western gate. Then Arthur-a-Bland asked leave to go ahead as a scout,

and quietly made his way to a point under the tower by the gate. The

moat was dry on this side, as these were times of peace, and Arthur was

further favored by a stout ivy vine which grew out from an upper window.

Swinging himself up boldly by means of this friendly vine, he crept

through the window and in a moment more had sprung upon the warder from

behind and gripped him hard about the throat. The warder had no chance

to utter the slightest sound, and soon lay bound and gagged upon the

floor; while Arthur-a-Bland slipped himself into his uniform and got

hold of his keys.

'Twas the work of but a few moments more to open the gates, let down the

bridge, and admit the rest of the band; and they lot inside the town so

quietly that none knew of their coming. Fortune also favored them in the

fact that just at this moment the prison doors had been opened for

the march of the condemned man, and every soldier and idle lout in the

market-lace had trooped thither to see him pass along.

Presently out came Will Stutely with firm step but dejected air. He

looked eagerly to the right hand and to the left, but saw none of the

band. And though more than one curious face betrayed friendship in it,

he knew there could be no aid from such source.

Will's hands were tied behind his back. He marched between rows of

soldiery, and the Sheriff and the Bishop brought up the rear on horses,

looking mightily puffed up and important over the whole proceeding. He

would show these sturdy rebels--would the Sheriff--whose word was law!

He knew that the gates were tightly fastened; and further he believed

that the outlaws would hardly venture again within the walls, even if

the gates were open. And as he looked around at the fivescore archers

and pikemen who lined the way to the gallows, he smiled with grim

satisfaction.

Seeing that no help was nigh, the prisoner paused at the foot of the

scaffold and spoke in a firm tone to the Sheriff.

"My lord Sheriff," quoth he, "since I must needs die, grant me one boon;

for my noble master ne'er yet had a man that was hanged on a tree:

Give me a sword all in my hand,

And let me be unbound,

And with thee and thy men will I fight

Till I lie dead on the ground."

But the Sheriff would by no means listen to his request; but swore

that he should be hanged a shameful death, and not die by the sword

valiantly.

"O no, no, no," the Sheriff said,

"Thou shalt on the gallows die,

Aye, and so shall they master too,

If ever it in me lie."

"O dastard coward!" Stutely cried,

"Faint-hearted peasant slave!

If ever my master do thee meet,

Thou shalt thy payment have!"

"My noble master thee doth scorn,

And all thy cowardly crew,

Such silly imps unable are

Bold Robin to subdue."

This brave speech was not calculated to soothe the Sheriff. "To the

gallows with him!" he roared, giving a sign to the hangman; and Stutely

was pushed into the rude cart which was to bear him under the gallows

until his neck was leashed. Then the cart would be drawn roughly away

and the unhappy man would swing out over the tail of it into another

world.

But at this moment came a slight interruption. A boyish-looking palmer

stepped forth, and said:

"Your Excellency, let me at least shrive this poor wretch's soul ere it

be hurled into eternity."

"No!" shouted the Sheriff, "let him die a dog's death!"

"Then his damnation will rest upon you," said the monk firmly. "You, my

lord Bishop, cannot stand by and see this wrong done."

The Bishop hesitated. Like the Sheriff, he wanted no delay; but

the people were beginning to mutter among themselves and move about

uneasily. He said a few words to the Sheriff, and the latter nodded to

the monk ungraciously.

"Perform your duty, Sir Priest," quoth he, "and be quick about it!" Then

turning to his soldiers. "Watch this palmer narrowly," he commanded.

"Belike he is in league with those rascally outlaws."

But the palmer paid no heed to his last words. He began to tell his

beads quickly, and to speak in a low voice to the condemned man. But he

did not touch his bonds.

Then came another stir in the crowd, and one came pushing through the

press of people and soldiery to come near to the scaffold.

"I pray you, Will, before you die, take leave of all your friends!"

cried out the well-known voice of Much, the miller's son.

At the word the palmer stepped back suddenly and looked to one side. The

Sheriff also knew the speaker.

"Seize him!" he shouted. "'Tis another of the crew. He is the villain

cook who once did rob me of my silver plate. We'll make a double hanging

of this!"

"Not so fast, good master Sheriff," retorted Much. "First catch your man

and then hang him. But meanwhile I would like to borrow my friend of you

awhile."

And with one stroke of his keen hunting-knife he cut the bonds which

fastened the prisoner's arms, and Stutely leaped lightly from the cart.

"Treason!" screamed the Sheriff, getting black with rage. "Catch the

varlets!"

So saying he spurred his horse fiercely forward, and rising in his

stirrups brought down his sword with might and main at Much's head. But

his former cook dodged nimbly underneath the horse and came up on the

other side, while the weapon whistled harmlessly in the air.

"Nay, Sir Sheriff!" he cried, "I must e'en borrow your sword for the

friend I have borrowed."

Thereupon he snatched the weapon deftly from the Sheriff's hand.

"Here, Stutely!" said he, "the Sheriff has lent you his own sword. Back

to back with me, man, and we'll teach these knaves a trick or two!"

Meanwhile the soldiers had recovered from their momentary surprise and

had flung themselves into the fray. A clear bugle-note had also sounded

the same which the soldiers had learned to dread. 'Twas the rallying

note of the green wood men.

Cloth yard shafts began to hurtle through the air, and Robin and his men

cast aside their cloaks and sprang forward crying:

"Lockesley! Lockesley! a rescue! a rescue!"

On the instant, a terrible scene of hand to hand fighting followed. The

Sheriff's men, though once more taken by surprise, were determined to

sell this rescue dearly. They packed in closely and stubbornly about

the condemned man and Much and the palmer, and it was only by desperate

rushes that the foresters made an opening in the square. Ugly cuts and

bruises were exchanged freely; and lucky was the man who escaped with

only these. Many of the onlookers, who had long hated the Sheriff and

felt sympathy for Robin's men, also plunged into the conflict--although

they could not well keep out of it, in sooth!--and aided the rescuers no

little.

At last with a mighty onrush, Robin cleaved a way through the press to

the scaffold itself, and not a second too soon; for two men with pikes

had leaped upon the cart, and were in the act of thrusting down upon the

palmer and Will Stutely. A mighty upward blow from Robin's good blade

sent the pike flying from the hand of one, while a well-directed arrow

from the outskirt pierced the other fellow's throat.

"God save you, master!" cried Will Stutely joyfully. "I had begun to

fear that I would never see your face again."

"A rescue!" shouted the outlaws afresh, and the soldiery became

fainthearted and 'gan to give back. But the field was not yet won, for

they retreated in close order toward the East gate, resolved to hem

the attackers within the city walls. Here again, however, they were in

error, since the outlaws did not go out by their nearest gate. They

made a sally in that direction, in order to mislead the soldiery, then

abruptly turned and headed for the West gate, which was still guarded by

Arthur-a-Bland.

The Sheriff's men raised an exultant shout at this, thinking they had

the enemy trapped. Down they charged after them, but the outlaws made

good their lead, and soon got through the gate and over the bridge which

had been let down by Arthur-a-Bland.

Close upon their heels came the soldiers--so close, that Arthur had no

time to close the gate again or raise the bridge. So he threw away his

key and fell in with the yeomen, who now began their retreat up the long

hill to the woods.

On this side the town, the road leading to the forest was long and

almost unprotected. The greenwood men were therefore in some distress,

for the archers shot at them from loop-holes in the walls, and the

pikemen were reinforced by a company of mounted men from the castle. But

the outlaws retreated stubbornly and now and again turned to hold their

pursuers at bay by a volley of arrows. Stutely was in their midst,

fighting with the energy of two; and the little palmer was there also,

but took no part save to keep close to Robin's side and mutter silent

words as though in prayer.

Robin put his horn to his lips to sound a rally, when a flying arrow

from the enemy pierced his hand. The palmer gave a little cry and sprang

forward. The Sheriff, who followed close with the men on horseback, also

saw the wound and gave a great huzza.

"Ha! you will shoot no more bows for a season, master outlaw!" he

shouted.

"You lie!" retorted Robin fiercely, wrenching the shaft from his hand

despite the streaming blood; "I have saved one shot for you all this

day. Here take it!"

And he fitted the same arrow, which had wounded him, upon the string

of his bow and let it fly toward the Sheriff's head. The Sheriff fell

forward upon his horse in mortal terror, but not so quickly as to escape

unhurt. The sharp point laid bare a deep gash upon his scalp and must

certainly have killed him if it had come closer.

The fall of the Sheriff discomfited his followers for the moment, and

Robin's men took this chance to speed on up the hill. The palmer had

whipped out a small white handkerchief and tried to staunch Robin's

wound as they went. At sight of the palmer's hand, Robin turned with a

start, and pushed back the other's hood.

"Marian!" he exclaimed, "you here!"

It was indeed Maid Marian, who had helped save Will, and been in the

stress of battle from the first. Now she hung her head as though caught

in wrong.

"I had to come, Robin," she said simply, "and I knew you would not let

me come, else."

Their further talk was interrupted by an exclamation from Will Scarlet.

"By the saints, we are trapped!" he said, and pointed to the top of the

hill, toward which they were pressing.

There from out a gray castle poured a troop of men, armed with pikes and

axes, who shouted and came running down upon them. At the same instant,

the Sheriff's men also renewed the pursuit.

"Alas!" cried poor Marian, "we are undone! There is no way of escape!"

"Courage, dear heart!" said Robin, drawing her close to him. But his own

spirit sank as he looked about for some outlet.

Then--oh, joyful sight!--he recognized among the foremost of those

coming from the castle the once doleful knight, Sir Richard of the Lea.

He was smiling now, and greatly excited.

"A Hood! a Hood!" he cried; "a rescue! a rescue!" Never were there more

welcome sights and sounds than these. With a great cheer the outlaws

raced up the hill to meet their new friends; and soon the whole force

had gained the shelter of the castle. Bang! went the bridge as it swung

back, with great clanking of chains. Clash! went one great door upon the

other, as they shut in the outlaw band, and shut out the Sheriff, who

dashed up at the head of his men, his bandaged face streaked with blood

and inflamed with rage.

CHAPTER XXI

HOW SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA REPAID HIS DEBT

The proud Sheriff loud 'gan cry

And said, "Thou traitor knight,

Thou keepest here the king's enemy

Against the laws and right."

"Open the gate!" shouted the Sheriff hoarsely, to the sentinel upon the

walls. "Open, I say, in the king's name!"

"Why who are you to come thus brawling upon my premises?" asked a

haughty voice; and Sir Richard himself stepped forth upon the turret.

"You know me well, traitor knight!" said the Sheriff, "now give up into

my hands the enemy of the King whom you have sheltered against the laws

and right."

"Fair and softly, sir," quoth the knight smoothly. "I well avow that

I have done certain deeds this day. But I have done them upon mine

own land, which you now trespass upon; and I shall answer only to the

King--whom God preserve!--for my actions."

"Thou soft-spoken villain!" said the Sheriff, still in a towering

passion. "I, also, serve the King; and if these outlaws are not given up

to me at once, I shall lay siege to the castle and burn it with fire."

"First show me your warrants," said Sir Richard curtly.

"My word is enough! Am I not Sheriff of Nottingham?"

"If you are, in sooth," retorted the knight, "you should know that you

have no authority within my lands unless you bear the King's order. In

the meantime, go mend your manners, lording."

And Sir Richard snapped his fingers and disappeared from the walls. The

Sheriff, after lingering a few moments longer in hope of further parley,

was forced to withdraw, swearing fiercely.

"The King's order!" muttered he. "That shall I have without delay,

as well as this upstart knight's estates; for King Richard is lately

returned, I hear, from the Holy Land."

Meanwhile the knight had gone back to Robin Hood, and the two men

greeted each other right gladly. "Well met, bold Robin!" cried he,

taking him in his arms. "Well met, indeed! The Lord has lately prospered

me, and I was minded this day to ride forth and repay my debt to you."

"And so you have," answered Robin gaily.

"Nay, 'twas nothing--this small service!" said the knight. "I meant the

moneys coming to you."

"They have all been repaid," said Robin; "my lord of Hereford himself

gave them to me."

"The exact sum?" asked the knight.

"The exact sum," answered Robin, winking solemnly.

Sir Richard smiled, but said no more at the time. Robin was made to rest

until dinner should be served. Meanwhile a leech bound up his hand with

ointment, promising him that he should soon have its use again. Some

halfscore others of the yeomen had been hurt in the fight, but luckily

none of grave moment. They were all bandaged and made happy by bumpers

of ale.

At dinner Sir Richard presented Robin to his wife and son. The lady was

stately and gracious, and made much of Marian, whom she had known as

a little girl and who was now clothed more seemly for a dinner than in

monkish garments. The young esquire was a goodly youth and bade fair to

make as stout a knight as his father.

The feast was a joyous event. There were two long tables, and two

hundred men sat down at them, and ate and drank and afterward sang

songs. An hundred and forty of these men wore Lincoln green and called

Robin Hood their chief. Never, I ween, had there been a more gallant

company at table in Lea Castle!

That night the foresters tarried within the friendly walls, and the next

day took leave; though Sir Richard protested that they should have made

a longer stay. And he took Robin aside to his strong room and pressed

him again to take the four hundred golden pounds. But his guest was

firm.

"Keep the money, for it is your own," said Robin; "I have but made the

Bishop return that which he extorted unjustly."

Sir Richard thanked him in a few earnest words, and asked him and all

his men to visit the armory, before they departed. And therein they saw,

placed apart, an hundred and forty stout yew bows of cunning make, with

fine waxen silk strings; and an hundred and forty sheaves of arrows.

Every shaft was a just ell long, set with peacock's feathers, and

notched with silver. And Sir Richard's fair lady came forward and with

her own hands gave each yeoman a bow and a sheaf.

"In sooth, these are poor presents we have made you, good Robin Hood,"

said Sir Richard; "but they carry with them a thousand times their

weight in gratitude."

The Sheriff made good his threat to inform the King. Forth rode he

to London town upon the week following, his scalp wound having healed

sufficiently to permit him to travel. This time he did not seek out

Prince John, but asked audience with King Richard of the Lion Heart

himself. His Majesty had but lately returned from the crusades, and was

just then looking into the state of his kingdom. So the Sheriff found

ready audience.

Then to him the Sheriff spoke at length concerning Robin Hood; how that

for many months the outlaws had defied the King, and slain the King's

deer; how Robin had gathered about him the best archers in all the

countryside; and, finally, how the traitorous knight Sir Richard of the

Lea had rescued the band when capture seemed certain, and refused to

deliver them up to justice.

The King heard him through with attention and quoth he:

"Meseems I have heard of this same Robin Hood, and his men, and also

seen somewhat of their prowess. Did not these same outlaws shoot in a

royal Tourney at Finsbury field?"

"They did, Your Majesty, under a royal amnesty."

In this speech the Sheriff erred, for the King asked quickly,

"How came they last to the Fair at Nottingham--by stealth?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Did you forbid them to come?"

"No, Your Majesty. That is--"

"Speak out!"

"For the good of the shire," began the Sheriff again, falteringly,

"we did proclaim an amnesty; but 'twas because these men had proved a

menace--"

"Now by my halidom!" quoth the King, while his brow grew black. "Such

treachery would be unknown in the camp of the Saracen; and yet we call

ourselves a Christian people!"

The Sheriff kept silence through very fear and shame; then the King

began speech again:

"Nathless, my lord Sheriff, we promise to look into this matter. Those

outlaws must be taught that there is but one King in England, and that

he stands for the law."

So the Sheriff was dismissed, with very mixed feelings, and went his way

home to Nottingham town. A fortnight later the King began to make good

his word, by riding with a small party of knights to Lea Castle. Sir

Richard was advised of the cavalcade's approach, and quickly recognized

his royal master in the tall knight who rode in advance. Hasting to open

wide his castle gates he went forth to meet the King and fell on one

knee and kissed his stirrup. For Sir Richard, also, had been with the

King to the Holy Land, and they had gone on many adventurous quests

together.

The King bade him rise, and dismounted from his own horse to greet him

as a brother in arms; and arm-in-arm they went into the castle, while

bugles and trumpets sounded forth joyous welcome in honor of the great

occasion.

After the King had rested and supped, he turned upon the knight and with

grave face inquired:

"What is this I hear about your castle's becoming a nest and harbor for

outlaws?"

The Sir Richard of the Lea, divining that the Sheriff had been at the

King's ear with his story, made a clean breast of all he knew; how that

the outlaws had befriended him in sore need--as they had befriended

others--and how that he had given them only knightly protection in

return.

The King liked the story well, for his own soul was one of chivalry.

And he asked other questions about Robin Hood, and heard of the ancient

wrong done his father before him, and of Robin's own enemies, and of his

manner of living.

"In sooth," cried King Richard, springing up, "I must see this bold

fellow for myself! An you will entertain my little company, and be ready

to sally forth, upon the second day, in quest of me if need were, I

shall e'en fare alone into the greenwood to seek an adventure with him."

But of this adventure you shall be told in the next tale; for I have

already shown you how Sir Richard of the Lea repaid his debt, with

interest.

CHAPTER XXII

HOW KING RICHARD CAME TO SHERWOOD FOREST

King Richard hearing of the pranks

Of Robin Hood and his men,

He much admired and more desired

To see both him and them.

Then Robin takes a can of ale:

"Come let us now begin;

And every man shall have his can;

Here's a health unto the King!"

Friar Tuck had nursed Little John's wounded knee so skilfully that it

was now healed. In sooth, the last part of the nursing depended more

upon strength than skill; for it consisted chiefly of holding down the

patient, by main force, to his cot. Little John had felt so well that he

had insisted upon getting up before the wound was healed; and he would

have done so, if the friar had not piled some holy books upon his legs

and sat upon his stomach.

Under this vigorous treatment Little John was constrained to lie quiet

until the friar gave him leave to get up. At last he had this leave, and

he and the friar went forth to join the rest of the band, who were right

glad to see them, you may be sure. They sat around a big fire, for 'twas

a chilly evening, and they feasted and made merry, in great content.

A cold rain set in, later, but the friar wended his way back, nathless,

to his little hermitage. There he made himself a cheerful blaze, and

changed his dripping robe, and had sat himself down, with a sigh of

satisfaction, before a tankard of hot mulled wine and a pasty, when

suddenly a voice was heard on the outside, demanding admission. His

kennel of dogs set up furious uproar, on the instant, by way of proving

the fact of a stranger's presence.

"Now by Saint Peter!" growled the friar, "who comes here at this

unseemly hour? Does he take this for a hostelry? Move on, friend, else

my mulled wine will get cold!"

So saying he put the tankard to his lips, when a thundering rap sounded

upon the door-panel, making it to quiver, and causing Tuck almost to

drop his tankard; while an angry voice shouted, "Ho! Within there! Open,

I say!"

"Go your way in peace!" roared back the friar; "I can do nothing for

you. 'Tis but a few miles to Gamewell, if you know the road."

"But I do not know the road, and if I did I would not budge another

foot. 'Tis wet without and dry within. So open, without further parley!"

"A murrain seize you for disturbing a holy man in his prayers!" muttered

Tuck savagely. Nathless, he was fain to unbar the door in order to

keep it from being battered down. Then lighting a torch at his fire and

whistling for one of his dogs, he strode forth to see who his visitor

might be.

The figure of a tall knight clad in a black coat of mail, with plumed

helmet, stood before him. By his side stood his horse, also caparisoned

in rich armor.

"Have you no supper, brother?" asked the Black Knight curtly. "I must

beg of you a bed and a bit of roof, for this night, and fain would

refresh my body ere I sleep."

"I have no room that even your steed would deign to accept, Sir Knight;

and naught save a crust of bread and pitcher of water."

"I' faith, I can smell better fare than that, brother, and must e'en

force my company upon you, though I shall recompense it for gold in the

name of the church. As for my horse, let him but be blanketed and put on

the sheltered side of the house."

And without further parley the knight boldly strode past Tuck and his

dog and entered the hermitage. Something about his masterful air pleased

Tuck, in spite of his churlishness.

"Sit you down, Sir Knight," quoth he, "and I will fasten up up your

steed, and find him somewhat in the shape of grain. Half, also, of my

bed and board is yours, this night; but we shall see later who is the

better man, and is to give the orders!"

"With all my soul!" said the knight, laughing. "I can pay my keeping in

blows or gold as you prefer."

The friar presently returned and drew up a small table near the fire.

"Now, Sir Knight," quoth he, "put off your sword and helm and such other

war-gear as it pleases you, and help me lay this table, for I am passing

hungry."

The knight did as he was told, and put aside the visor which had hid

his face. He was a bronzed and bearded man with blue eyes, and hair shot

with gold, haughty but handsome withal.

Then once again the priest sat him down to his pasty and mulled wine,

right hopefully. He spoke his grace with some haste, and was surprised

to hear his guest respond fittingly in the Latin tongue. Then they

attacked the wine and pasty valiantly, and the Black Knight made good

his word of being in need of refreshment. Tuck looked ruefully at the

rapidly disappearing food, but came to grudge it not, by reason of the

stories with which his guest enlivened the meal. The wine and warmth of

the room had cheered them both, and they were soon laughing uproariously

as the best of comrades in the world. The Black Knight, it seemed, had

traveled everywhere. He had been on crusades, had fought the courteous

Saladin, had been in prison, and often in peril. But now he spoke of

it lightly, and laughed it off, and made himself so friendly that Friar

Tuck was like to choke with merriment. So passed the time till late; and

the two fell asleep together, one on each side of the table which had

been cleared to the platters.

In the morning Friar Tuck awoke disposed to be surly, but was speedily

mollified by the sight of the Black Knight, who had already risen gay as

a lark, washed his face and hands, and was now stirring a hot gruel over

the fire.

"By my faith, I make a sorry host!" cried Tuck springing to his feet.

And later as they sat at breakfast, he added, "I want not your gold, of

which you spoke last night; but instead I will do what I can to speed

you on your way whenever you wish to depart."

"Then tell me," said the knight, "how I may find Robin Hood the outlaw;

for I have a message to him from the King. All day yesterday I sought

him, but found him not."

Friar Tuck lifted up his hands in holy horror. "I am a lover of peace,

Sir Knight, and do not consort with Robin's bold fellows."

"Nay, I think no harm of Master Hood," said the knight; "but much I

yearn to have speed with him in mine own person."

"If that be all, mayhap I can guide you to his haunts," said Tuck, who

foresaw in this knight a possible gold-bag for Robin. "In sooth, I could

not well live in these woods without hearing somewhat of the outlaws;

but matters of religion are my chief joy and occupation."

"I will go with you, brother," said the Black Knight.

So without more ado they went their way into the forest, the knight

riding upon his charger, and Tuck pacing along demurely by his side.

The day had dawned clear and bright, and now with the sun a good three

hours high a sweet autumn fragrance was in the air. The wind had just

that touch of coolness in it which sets the hunter's blood to tingling;

and every creature of nature seemed bounding with joyous life.

The knight sniffed the fresh air in delight.

"By my halidom!" quoth he; "but the good greenwood is the best place

to live in, after all! What court or capital can equal this, for

full-blooded men?"

"None of this earth," replied Tuck smilingly. And once more his heart

warmed toward the courteous stranger.

They had not proceeded more than three or four miles along the way from

Fountain Abbey to Barnesdale, when of a sudden the bushes just ahead of

them parted and a well-knit man with curling brown hair stepped into the

road and laid his hand upon the knight's bridle.

It was Robin Hood. He had seen Friar Tuck, a little way back, and

shrewdly suspected his plan. Tuck, however, feigned not to know him at

all.

"Hold!" cried Robin; "I am in charge of the highway this day, and must

exact an accounting from all passersby."

"Who is it bids me hold?" asked the knight quietly. "I am not i' the

habit of yielding to one man."

"Then here are others to keep me company," said Robin clapping his

hands. And instantly a half-score other stalwart fellows came out of the

bushes and stood beside him.

"We be yeomen of the forest, Sir Knight," continued Robin, "and live

under the greenwood tree. We have no means of support--thanks to the

tyranny of our over-lords--other than the aid which fat churchmen and

goodly knights like yourselves can give. And as ye have churches and

rents, both, and gold in great plenty, we beseech ye for Saint Charity

to give us some of your spending."

"I am but a poor monk, good sir!" said Friar Tuck in a whining voice,

"and am on my way to the shrine of Saint Dunstan, if your worshipfulness

will permit."

"Tarry a space with us," answered Robin, biting back a smile, "and we

will speed you on your way."

The Black Knight now spoke again. "But we are messengers of the King,"

quoth he; "His Majesty himself tarries near here and would have speech

with Robin Hood."

"God save the King!" said Robin, doffing his cap loyally; "and all that

wish him well! I am Robin Hood, but I say cursed be the man who denies

our liege King's sovereignty!"

"Have a care!" said the knight, "or you shall curse yourself!"

"Nay, not so," replied Robin curtly; "the King has no more devoted

subject than I. Nor have I despoiled aught of his save, mayhap, a few

deer for my hunger. My chief war is against the clergy and barons of the

land who bear down upon the poor. But I am glad," he continued, "that I

have met you here; and before we end you shall be my friend and taste of

our greenwood cheer."

"But what is the reckoning?" asked the knight. "For I am told that some

of your feasts are costly."

"Nay," responded Robin waving his hands, "you are from the King.

Nathless--how much money is in your purse?"

"I have no more than forty gold pieces, seeing that I have lain a

fortnight at Nottingham with the King, and have spent some goodly

amounts upon other lordings," replied the knight.

Robin took the forty pounds and gravely counted it. One half he gave to

his men and bade them drink the King's health with it. The other half he

handed back to the knight.

"Sir," said he courteously, "have this for your spending. If you lie

with kings and lordings overmuch, you are like to need it."

"Gramercy!" replied the other smiling. "And now lead on to your

greenwood hostelry."

So Robin went on the one side of the knight's steed, and Friar Tuck on

the other, and the men went before and behind till they came to the open

glade before the caves of Barnesdale. Then Robin drew forth his bugle

and winded the three signal blasts of the band. Soon there came a

company of yeomen with its leader, and another, and a third, and a

fourth, till there were sevenscore yeomen in sight. All were dressed

in new livery of Lincoln green, and carried new bows in their hands and

bright short swords at their belts. And every man bent his knee to Robin

Hood ere taking his place before the board, which was already set.

A handsome dark-haired page stood at Robin's right hand to pour his wine

and that of the knightly guest; while the knight marveled much at all he

saw, and said within himself:

"These men of Robin Hood's give him more obedience than my fellows give

to me."

At the signal from Robin the dinner began. There was venison and fowl

and fish and wheaten cake and ale and red wine in great plenty, and

'twas a goodly sight to see the smiles upon the hungry yeomen's faces.

First they listened to an unctuous grace from Friar Tuck, and then Robin

lifted high a tankard of ale.

"Come, let us now begin," quoth he, "and every man shall have his can.

In honor of our guest who comes with royal word, here's a health unto

the King!"

The guest responded heartily to this toast, and round about the board it

went, the men cheering noisily for King Richard!

After the feast was over, Robin turned to his guest and said, "Now you

shall see what life we lead, so that you may report faithfully, for good

or bad, unto the King."

So at a signal from him, the men rose up and smartly bent their bows for

practice, while the knight was greatly astonished at the smallness of

the their targets. A wand was set up, far down the glade, and thereon

was balanced a garland of roses. Whosoever failed to speed his shaft

through the garland, without knocking it off the wand, was to submit to

a buffet from the hand of Friar Tuck.

"Ho, ho!" cried the knight, as his late traveling companion rose up and

bared his brawny arm ready for service; "so you, my friend, are Friar

Tuck!"

"I have not gainsaid it," replied Tuck growling at having betrayed

himself. "But chastisement is a rule of the church, and I am seeking the

good of these stray sheep."

The knight said no more, though his eyes twinkled; and the shooting

began.

David of Doncaster shot first and landed safely through the rose

garland. Then came Allan-a-Dale and Little John and Stutely and Scarlet

and many of the rest, while the knight held his breath from very

amazement. Each fellow shot truly through the garland, until Middle the

tinker--not to be outdone--stepped up for a trial. But alas! while

he made a fair shot for a townsman, the arrow never came within a

hand-breath of the outer rim of the garland.

"Come hither, fellow," said Little John coaxingly. "The priest would

bless thee with his open hand."

Then because Middle made a wry face, as though he had already received

the buffet, and loitered in his steps, Arthur-a-Bland and Will Stutely

seized him by the arms and stood him before the friar. Tuck's big arm

flashed through the air--"whoof!" and stopped suddenly against the

tinker's ear; while Middle himself went rolling over and over on the

grass. He was stopped by a small bush, and up he sat, thrusting his head

through it, rubbing his ear and blinking up at the sky as though the

stars had fallen and struck him. The yeomen roared with merriment, and

as for the knight, he laughed till the tears came out of his blue eyes

and rolled down his face.

After Middle's mishap, others of the band seemed to lose their balance,

and fared in the same fashion. The garland would topple over in a most

impish way at every breath, although the arrows went through it. So

Middle 'gan to feel better when he saw this one and that one tumbling on

the sward.

At last came Robin's turn. He shot carefully, but as ill luck would have

it the shaft was ill-feathered and swerved sidewise so that it missed

the garland by full three fingers. Then a great roar went up from the

whole company; for 'twas rare that they saw their leader miss his mark.

Robin flung his bow upon the ground from very vexation.

"A murrain take it!" quoth he. "The arrow was sadly winged. I felt the

poor feather upon it as it left my fingers!"

Then suddenly seizing his bow again, he sped three shafts as fast as he

could sent them, and every one went clean through the garland.

"By Saint George!" muttered the knight. "Never before saw I such

shooting in all Christendom!"

The band cheered heartily at these last shots; but Will Scarlet came up

gravely to Robin.

"Pretty shooting, master!" quoth he, "but 'twill not save you from

paying for the bad arrow. So walk up and take your medicine!"

"Nay, that may not be!" protested Robin. "The good friar belongs to

my company and has no authority to lift hands against me. But you, Sir

Knight, stand as it were for the King. I pray you, serve out my blow."

"Not so!" said Friar Tuck. "My son, you forget I stand for the church,

which is greater even than the King."

"Not in merry England," said the knight in a deep voice. Then rising to

his feet, he added, "I stand ready to serve you, Master Hood."

"Now out upon ye for an upstart knight!" cried Friar Tuck. "I told you

last night, sirrah, that we should yet see who was the better man! So we

will e'en prove it now, and thus settle who is to pay Robin Hood."

"Good!" said Robin, "for I want not to start a dispute between church

and state."

"Good!" also said the knight. "'Tis an easy way to end prattling. Come,

friar, strike and ye dare. I will give you first blow."

"You have the advantage of an iron pot on your head and gloves on your

hands," said the friar; "but have at ye! Down you shall go, if you were

Goliath of Gath."

Once more the priest's brawny arm flashed through the air, and struck

with a "whoof!" But to the amazement of all, the knight did not budge

from his tracks, though the upper half of his body swerved slightly to

ease the force of the blow. A loud shout burst from the yeomen at this,

for the friar's fist was proverbial, and few of those present had not

felt the force of it in times past.

"Now 'tis my turn," said his antagonist coolly, casting aside his

gauntlet. And with one blow of his fist the knight sent the friar

spinning to the ground.

If there had been uproar and shouting before, it was as naught to the

noise which now broke forth. Every fellow held his sides or rolled upon

the ground from laughter; every fellow, save one, and that was Robin

Hood.

"Out of the frying-pan into the fire!" thought he. "I wish I had let the

friar box my ears, after all!"

Robin's plight did, indeed, seem a sorry one, before the steel muscles

of his stranger. But he was saved from a tumble heels over head by

an unlooked-for diversion. A horn winded in the glade, and a party of

knights were seen approaching.

"To your arms!" cried Robin, hurriedly seizing his sword and bow.

"'Tis Sir Richard of the Lea!" cried another, as the troop came nearer.

And so it was. Sir Richard spurred forward his horse and dashed up to

the camp while the outlaws stood at stiff attention. When he had come

near the spot where the Black Knight stood, he dismounted and knelt

before him.

"I trust Your Majesty has not needed our arms before," he said humbly.

"It is the King!" cried Will Scarlet, falling upon his knees.

"The King!" echoed Robin Hood after a moment of dumb wonderment; and he

and all his men bent reverently upon their knees, as one man.

CHAPTER XXIII

HOW ROBIN HOOD AND MAID MARIAN WERE WED

"Stand up again," then said the King,

"I'll thee thy pardon give;

Stand up, my friend, who can contend,

When I give leave to live?"

Then Robin Hood began a health

To Marian, his only dear,

And his yeomen all, both comely and tall,

Did quickly bring up the rear.

"Your pardon, sire!" exclaimed Robin Hood. "Pardon, from your royal

bounty, for these my men who stand ready to serve you all your days!"

Richard of the Lion Heart looked grimly about over the kneeling band.

"Is it as your leader says?" he asked.

"Aye, my lord King!" burst from sevenscore throats at once.

"We be not outlaws from choice alone," continued Robin; "but have

been driven to outlawry through oppression. Grant us grace and royal

protection, and we will forsake the greenwood and follow the King."

Richard's eyes sparkled as he looked from one to another of this

stalwart band, and he thought within himself that here, indeed, was a

royal bodyguard worth the while.

"Swear!" he said in his full rich voice; "swear that you, Robin Hood,

and all your men from this day henceforth will serve the King!"

"We swear!" came once more the answering shout from the yeomen.

"Arise, then," said King Richard. "I give you all free pardon, and will

speedily put your service to the test. For I love such archers as you

have shown yourselves to be, and it were a sad pity to decree such men

to death. England could not produce the like again, for many a day. But,

in sooth, I cannot allow you to roam in the forest and shoot my deer;

nor to take the law of the land into your own hands. Therefore, I now

appoint you to be Royal Archers and mine own especial body-guard. There

be one or two civil matters to settle with certain Norman noblemen,

in which I crave your aid. Thereafter, the half of your number, as

may later be determined, shall come back to these woodlands as Royal

Foresters. Mayhap you will show as much zeal in protecting my preserves

as you have formerly shown in hunting them. Where, now, is that outlaw

known as Little John? Stand forth!"

"Here, sire," quoth the giant, doffing his cap.

"Good master Little John," said the King, looking him over approvingly.

"Could your weak sinews stand the strain of an office in the shire? If

so, you are this day Sheriff of Nottingham; and I trust you will make a

better official than the man you relieve."

"I shall do my best, sire," said Little John, great astonishment and

gladness in his heart.

"Master Scarlet, stand forth," said the King; and then addressing him:

"I have heard somewhat of your tale," quoth he, "and that your father

was the friend of my father. Now, therefore, accept the royal pardon and

resume the care of your family estates; for your father must be growing

old. And come you to London next Court day and we shall see if there be

a knighthood vacant."

Likewise the King called for Will Stutely and made him Chief of the

Royal Archers. Then he summoned Friar Tuck to draw near.

"I crave my King's pardon," said the priest, humbly enough; "for who am

I to lift my hand against the Lord's anointed?"

"Nay, the Lord sent the smiter to thee without delay," returned Richard

smiling; "and 'tis not for me to continue a quarrel between church and

state. So what can I do for you in payment of last night's hospitality?

Can I find some fat living where there are no wicked to chastise, and

where the work is easy and comfortable?"

"Not so, my lord," replied Tuck. "I wish only for peace in this life.

Mine is a simple nature and I care not for the fripperies and follies

of court life. Give me a good meal and a cup of right brew, health, and

enough for the day, and I ask no more."

Richard sighed. "You ask the greatest thing in the world,

brother--contentment. It is not mine to give or to deny. But ask your

God for it, an if belike he grant it, then ask it also in behalf of your

King." He glanced around once more at the foresters. "Which one of you

is Allan-a-Dale?" he asked; and Allan came forward. "So," said the King

with sober face, "you are that errant minstrel who stole a bride at

Plympton, despite her would-be groom and attending Bishop. I heard

something of this in former days. Now what excuse have you to make?"

"Only that I loved her, sire, and she loved me," said Allan, simply;

"and the Norman lord would have married her perforce, because of her

lands."

"Which have since been forfeited by the Bishop of Hereford," added

Richard. "But my lord Bishop must disgorge them; and from tomorrow you

and Mistress Dale are to return to them and live in peace and loyalty.

And if ever I need your harp at Court, stand ready to attend me, and

bring also the lady. Speaking of ladies," he continued, turning to Robin

Hood, who had stood silent, wondering if a special punishment was

being reserved for him, "did you not have a sweetheart who was once at

Court--one, Mistress Marian? What has become of her, that you should

have forgotten her?"

"Nay, Your Majesty," said the black-eyed page coming forward blushingly;

"Robin has not forgotten me!"

"So!" said the King, bending to kiss her small hand in all gallantry.

"Verily, as I have already thought within myself, this Master Hood is

better served than the King in his palace! But are you not the only

child of the late Earl of Huntingdon?"

"I am, sire, though there be some who say that Robin Hood's father

was formerly the rightful Earl of Huntingdon. Nathless, neither he is

advantaged nor I, for the estates are confiscate."

"Then they shall be restored forthwith!" cried the King; "and lest you

two should revive the ancient quarrel over them, I bestow them upon you

jointly. Come forward, Robin Hood."

Robin came and knelt before his king. Richard drew his sword and touched

him upon the shoulder.

"Rise, Robin Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon!" he exclaimed, while a mighty

cheer arose from the band and rent the air of the forest. "The first

command I give you, my lord Earl," continued the King when quiet was

restored, "is to marry Mistress Marian without delay."

"May I obey all Your Majesty's commands as willingly!" cried the new

Earl of Huntingdon, drawing the old Earl's daughter close to him. "The

ceremony shall take place to-morrow, an this maid is willing."

"She makes little protest," said the King; "so I shall e'en give away

the bride myself!"

Then the King chatted with others of the foresters, and made himself as

one of them for the evening, rejoicing that he could have this careless

freedom of the woods. And Much, the miller's son, and Arthur-a-Bland,

and Middle, and Stutely and Scarlet and Little John and others played

at the quarter-staff, giving and getting many lusty blows. Then as

the shades of night drew on, the whole company--knights and

foresters--supped and drank around a blazing fire, while Allen sang

sweetly to the thrumming of the harp, and the others joined in the

chorus.

'Twas a happy, care-free night--this last one together under the

greenwood tree. Robin could not help feeling an undertone of sadness

that it was to be the last; for the charm of the woodland was still upon

him. But he knew 'twas better so, and that the new life with Marian and

in the service of his King would bring its own joys.

Then the night deepened, the fire sank, but was replenished and the

company lay down to rest. The King, at his own request, spent the night

in the open. Thus they slept--King and subject alike--out under the

stars, cared for lovingly by Nature, kind mother of us all.

In the morning the company was early astir and on their way to

Nottingham. It was a goodly cavalcade. First rode King Richard of the

Lion Heart, with his tall figure set forth by the black armor and waving

plume in his helm. Then came Sir Richard of the Lea with fourscore

knights and men-at-arms. And after them came Robin Hood and Maid Marian

riding upon milk-white steeds. Allan-a-Dale also escorted Mistress Dale

on horseback, for she was to be matron-of-honor at the wedding. These

were followed by sevenscore archers clad in their bravest Lincoln green,

and with their new bows unstrung in token of peace.

Outside the gates of Nottingham town they were halted.

"Who comes here?" asked the warder's surly voice.

"Open to the King of England!" came back the clear answer, and the gates

were opened and the bridge let down without delay.

Almost before the company had crossed the moat the news spread through

the town like wildfire.

"The King is here! The King is here, and hath taken Robin Hood!"

From every corner flocked the people to see the company pass; and wildly

did they cheer for the King, who rode smilingly with bared head down

through the market-place.

At the far end of it, he was met by the Sheriff who came up puffing in

his haste to do the King honor. He fairly turned green with rage when he

saw Sir Richard of the Lea and Robin Hood in the royal company, but made

low obeisance to his master.

"Sir Sheriff," quoth the King, "I have come to rid the shire of outlaws,

according to my promise. There be none left, for all have now taken

service with their King. And lest there should be further outbreak,

I have determined to place in charge of this shire a man who fears

no other man in it. Master Little John is hereby created Sheriff of

Nottingham, and you will turn over the keys to him forthwith."

The Sheriff bowed, but dared utter no word. Then the King turned to the

Bishop of Hereford, who had also come up to pay his respects.

"Harkee, my lord Bishop," quoth he, "the stench of your evil actions

had reached our nostrils. We shall demand strict accounting for certain

seizures of the lands and certain acts of oppression which ill become a

churchman. But of this later. This afternoon you must officiate at the

wedding of two of our company, in Nottingham Church. So make you ready."

The Bishop also bowed and departed, glad to escape a severer censure for

the time.

The company then rode on to the Mansion House, where the King held high

levee through all the noon hours, and the whole town made a holiday.

In the afternoon the way from the Mansion House to Nottingham Church was

lined with cheering people, as the wedding party passed by. The famous

bowmen were gazed at as curiously as though they had been wild animals,

but were cheered none the less. Robin who had long been held in secret

liking was now doubly popular since he had the King's favor.

Along the way ahead of the King and the smiling bride and groom to be

ran little maids strewing flowers; while streamers floated in greeting

from the windows. I ween, the only hearts that were not glad this day

were those of the old Sheriff, and of his proud daughter, who peered

between the shutters of her window and was like to eat out her heart

from envy and hatred.

At last the party reached the church, where the King dismounted lightly

from his horse and helped the bride to alight; while Will Scarlet,

the best man, assisted Mistress Dale. Within the church they found

the Bishop robed in state, and by his side Friar Tuck who had been

especially deputed to assist.

The service was said in Latin, while the organ pealed forth softly. The

King gave away the bride, as he had said, and afterwards claimed first

kiss for his pains. Then the happy party dispersed, and Robin and Marian

passed out again through the portal, man and wife.

Out through the cheering streets they fared, while the greenwood men ran

ahead and flung gold pennies right and left in their joy, and bade the

people drink the health of the young couple and the King. Then the

whole party took horse at Will Scarlet's earnest wish, and went down to

Gamewell Lodge, where the old Squire George wept for joy at seeing his

son and the King and the wedding--party. That night they spent there,

and feasted, and the next day, Sir Richard of the Lea claimed them.

And thus, amid feasting and rejoicing and kingly favor, Robin Hood, the

new Earl of Huntingdon, and his bride began their wedded life.

CHAPTER XXIV

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET HIS DEATH

"Give me my bent bow in my hand,

And a broad arrow I'll let flee;

And where this arrow is taken up,

There shall my grave digg'd be."

Now by good rights this story should end with the wedding of Robin Hood

and Maid Marian; for do not many pleasant tales end with a wedding and

the saying, "and they lived happy ever after."

But this is a true account--in so far as we can find the quaint old

ballads which tell of it--and so we must follow one more of these songs

and learn how Robin, after living many years longer, at last came to

seek his grave. And the story of it runs in this wise.

Robin Hood and his men, now the Royal Archers, went with King Richard of

the Lion Heart through England settling certain private disputes which

had arisen among the Norman barons while the King was gone to the Holy

Land. Then the King proceeded amid great pomp and rejoicing to the

palace at London, and Robin, the new Earl of Huntingdon, brought his

Countess thither, where she became one of the finest ladies of the

Court.

The Royal Archers were now divided into two bands, and one-half of them

were retained in London, while the other half returned to Sherwood and

Barnesdale, there to guard the King's preserves.

Several months passed by, and Robin began to chafe under the restraint

of city life. He longed for the fresh pure air of the greenwood, and

the rollicking society of his yeomen. One day, upon seeing some lads

at archery practice upon a green, he could not help but lament, saying,

"Woe is me! I fear my hand is fast losing its old time cunning at the

bow-string!"

Finally he became so distraught that he asked leave to travel in foreign

lands, and this was granted him. He took Maid Marian with him, and

together they went through many strange countries. Finally in an Eastern

land a great grief came upon Robin. Marian sickened of a plague and

died. They had been married but five years, and Robin felt as though all

the light had gone out of his life.

He wandered about the world for a few months longer, trying to forget

his grief, then came back to the court, at London, and sought some

commission in active service. But unluckily, Richard was gone again upon

his adventures, and Prince John, who acted as Regent, had never been

fond of Robin. He received him with a sarcastic smile.

"Go forth into the greenwood," said he, coldly, "and kill some more of

the King's deer. Belike, then, the King will make you Prime Minister, at

the very least, upon his return."

The taunt fired Robin's blood. He had been in a morose mood, ever since

his dear wife's death. He answered Prince John hotly, and the Prince

bade his guards seize him and cast him into the Tower.

After lying there for a few weeks, he was released by the faithful

Stutely and the remnant of the Royal Archers, and all together they fled

the city and made their way to the greenwood. There Robin blew the old

familiar call, which all had known and loved so well. Up came running

the remainder of the band, who had been Royal Foresters, and when they

saw their old master they embraced his knees and kissed his hands, and

fairly cried for joy that he had come again to them. And one and all

forswore fealty to Prince John, and lived quietly with Robin in the

greenwood, doing harm to none and only awaiting the time when King

Richard should come again.

But King Richard came not again, and would never need his Royal Guard

more. Tidings presently reached them, of how he had met his death in a

foreign land, and how John reigned as King in his stead. The proof of

these events followed soon after, when there came striding through the

glade the big, familiar form of Little John.

"Art come to arrest us?" called out Robin, as he ran forward and

embraced his old comrade.

"Nay, I am not come as the Sheriff of Nottingham, thanks be," answered

Little John. "The new King has deposed me, and 'tis greatly to

my liking, for I have long desired to join you here again in the

greenwood."

Then were the rest of the band right glad at this news, and toasted

Little John royally.

The new King waged fierce war upon the outlaws, soon after this, and

sent so many scouting parties into Sherwood and Barnesdale that Robin

and his men left these woods for a time and went into Derbyshire, near

Haddon Hall. A curious pile of stone is shown to this day as the ruins

of Robin's Castle, where the bold outlaw is believed to have defied his

enemies for a year or more. At any rate King John found so many troubles

of his own, after a time, that he ceased troubling the outlaws.

But in one of the last sorties Robin was wounded. The cut did not seem

serious, and healed over the top; but it left a lurking fever. Daily his

strength ebbed away from him, until he was in sore distress.

One day as he rode along on horseback, near Kirklees Abbey, he was

seized with so violent a rush of blood to the head that he reeled and

came near falling from his saddle. He dismounted weakly and knocked at

the Abbey gate. A woman shrouded in black peered forth.

"Who are you that knock here? For we allow no man within these walls,"

she said.

"Open, for the love of Heaven!" he begged. "I am Robin Hood, ill of a

fever and in sore straits."

At the name of Robin Hood the woman started back, and then, as though

bethinking herself, unbarred the door and admitted him. Assisting his

fainting frame up a flight of stairs and into a front room, she loosed

his collar and bathed his face until he was revived. Then she spoke

hurriedly in a low voice:

"Your fever will sink, if you are bled. See, I have provided a lancet

and will open your veins, while you lie quiet."

So she bled him, and he fell into a stupor which lasted nearly all that

day, so that he awoke weak and exhausted from loss of blood.

Now there is a dispute as to this abbess who bled him. Some say that

she did it in all kindness of heart; while others aver that she was none

other than the former Sheriff's daughter, and found her revenge at last

in this cruel deed.

Be that as it may, Robin's eyes swam from very weakness when he awoke.

He called wearily for help, but there was no response. He looked

longingly through the window at the green of the forest; but he was too

weak to make the leap that would be needed to reach the ground.

He then bethought him of his horn,

Which hung down at his knee;

He set his horn unto his mouth,

And blew out weak blasts three.

Little John was out in the forest near by, or the blasts would never

have been heard. At their sound he sprang to his feet.

"Woe! woe!" he cried, "I fear my master is near dead, he blows so

wearily!"

So he made haste and came running up to the door of the abbey, and

knocked loudly for admittance. Failing to get reply, he burst in the

door with frenzied blows of his mighty fist, and soon came running up

to the room where Robin lay, white and faint. "Alas, dear master!" cried

Little John in great distress; "I fear you have met with treachery! If

that be so, grant me one last boon, I pray."

"What is it?" asked Robin.

"Let me burn Kirklees-Hall with fire, and all its nunnery."

"Nay, good comrade," answered Robin Hood gently, "I cannot grant such

a boon. The dear Christ bade us forgive all our enemies. Moreover,

you know I never hurt woman in all my life; nor man when in woman's

company."

He closed his eyes and fell back, so that his friend thought him dying.

The great tears fell from the giant's eyes and wet his master's hand.

Robin slowly rallied and seized his comrade's outstretched arm.

"Lift me up, good Little John," he said brokenly, "I want to smell

the air from the good greenwood once again. Give me my good yew

bow--here--here-and fix a broad arrow upon the string. Out yonder--among

the oaks--where this arrow shall fall--let them dig my grave."

And with one last mighty effort he sped his shaft out of the open

window, straight and true, as in the days of old, till it struck the

largest oak of them all and dropped in the shadow of the trees. Then he

fell back upon the sobbing breast of his devoted friend.

"'Tis the last!" he murmured, "tell the brave hearts to lay me there

with the green sod under my head and feet. And--let them lay--my bent

bow at my side, for it has made sweet music in mine ears."

He rested a moment, and Little John scarce knew that he was alive. But

on a sudden Robin's eye brightened, and he seemed to think himself back

once more with the band in the open forest glade. He struggled to rise.

"Ha! 'tis a fine stag, Will! And Allan, thou never didst thrum the harp

more sweetly. How the light blazes! And Marian!--'tis my Marian--come at

last!"

So died the body of Robin Hood; but his spirit lives on through the

centuries in the deathless ballads which are sung of him, and in the

hearts of men who love freedom and chivalry.

They buried him where his last arrow had fallen, and they set a stone to

mark the spot. And on the stone were graven these words:

"Here underneath his little stone

Lies Robert, Earl of Huntingdon;

Never archer as he so good,

And people called him Robin Hood.

Such outlaws as he and his men

Will England never see again."

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