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The Project Gutenberg Etext of Robin Hood by J. Walker McSpadden


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Robin Hood, by J. Walker McSpadden

February, 1997  [Etext #832]


The Project Gutenberg Etext of Robin Hood by J. Walker McSpadden
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This etext was prepared by Joseph S. Miller, Pensacola, FL and
Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University Library, Prescott, AZ.


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 1, 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 as 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.

Thesemtidings 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."





End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Robin Hood by J. Walker McSpadden