Robin Hood, by J. Walker McSpadden

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Title: Robin Hood

Author: J. Walker McSpadden

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

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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




Produced by Joseph S. Miller and David Widger





ROBIN HOOD


by J. Walker McSpadden



     CHAPTER    I       How Robin Hood Became an Outlaw

     CHAPTER    II      How Robin Hood Met Little John

     CHAPTER    III     How Robin Hood Turned Butcher, and Entered the
                        Sheriff's Service

     CHAPTER    IV      How Little John Entered the Sheriff's Service

     CHAPTER    V       How the Sheriff Lost Three Good Servants, and
                        Found Them Again

     CHAPTER    VI      How Robin Hood Met Will Scarlett

     CHAPTER    VII     How Robin Hood Met Friar Tuck

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

     CHAPTER    IX      How the Widow's Three Sons Were Rescued

     CHAPTER    X       How a Beggar Filled the Public Eye

     CHAPTER    XI      How Robin Hood Fought Guy of Gisbourne

     CHAPTER    XII     How Maid Marion Came Back to Sherwood Forest;
                        Also, How Robin Hood Came Before Queen Eleanor

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

     CHAPTER    XIV     How Robin Hood Was Sought of the Tinker

     CHAPTER    XV      How Robin Hood Was Tanned of the Tanner

     CHAPTER    XVI     How Robin Hood Met Sir Richard of the Lea

     CHAPTER    XVII    How the Bishop Was Dined

     CHAPTER    XVIII   How the Bishop Went Outlaw-Hunting

     CHAPTER    XIX     How the Sheriff Held Another Shooting Match

     CHAPTER    XX      How Will Stutely Was Rescued

     CHAPTER    XXI     How Sir Richard of the Lea Repaid His Debt

     CHAPTER    XXII    How King Richard Came to Sherwood Forest

     CHAPTER    XXIII   How Robin Hood and Maid Marion Were Wed

     CHAPTER    XXIV    How Robin Hood Met His Death




CHAPTER I

HOW ROBIN HOOD BECAME AN OUTLAW

     List and hearken, gentlemen,
     That be of free-born blood,
     I shall you tell of a good yeoman,
     His name was Robin Hood.

     Robin was a proud outlaw,
     While as he walked on the ground.
     So courteous an outlaw as he was one
     Was never none else found.

In the days of good King Harry the Second of England--he of the warring
sons--there were certain forests in the north country set aside for the
King's hunting, and no man might shoot deer therein under penalty of
death. These forests were guarded by the King's Foresters, the chief
of whom, in each wood, was no mean man but equal in authority to the
Sheriff in his walled town, or even to my lord Bishop in his abbey.

One of the greatest of royal preserves was Sherwood and Barnesdale
forests near the two towns of Nottingham and Barnesdale. Here for some
years dwelt one Hugh Fitzooth as Head Forester, with his good wife and
son Robert. The boy had been born in Lockesley town--in the year 1160,
stern records say--and was often called Lockesley, or Rob of Lockesley.
He was a comely, well-knit stripling, and as soon as he was strong
enough to walk his chief delight was to go with his father into the
forest. As soon as his right arm received thew and sinew he learned to
draw the long bow and speed a true arrow. While on winter evenings his
greatest joy was to hear his father tell of bold Will o' the Green, the
outlaw, who for many summers defied the King's Foresters and feasted
with his men upon King's deer. And on other stormy days the boy learned
to whittle out a straight shaft for the long bow, and tip it with gray
goose feathers.

The fond mother sighed when she saw the boy's face light up at these
woodland tales. She was of gentle birth, and had hoped to see her son
famous at court or abbey. She taught him to read and to write, to doff
his cap without awkwardness and to answer directly and truthfully both
lord and peasant. But the boy, although he took kindly to these lessons
of breeding, was yet happiest when he had his beloved bow in hand and
strolled at will, listening to the murmur of the trees.

Two playmates had Rob in these gladsome early days. One was Will
Gamewell, his father's brother's son, who lived at Gamewell Lodge, hard
by Nottingham town. The other was Marian Fitzwalter, only child of the
Earl of Huntingdon. The castle of Huntingdon could be seen from the top
of one of the tall trees in Sherwood; and on more than one bright day
Rob's white signal from this tree told Marian that he awaited her there:
for you must know that Rob did not visit her at the castle. His father
and her father were enemies. Some people whispered that Hugh Fitzooth
was the rightful Earl of Huntingdon, but that he had been defrauded out
of his lands by Fitzwalter, who had won the King's favor by a crusade to
the Holy Land. But little cared Rob or Marian for this enmity, however
it had arisen. They knew that the great green--wood was open to them,
and that the wide, wide world was full of the scent of flowers and the
song of birds.

Days of youth speed all too swiftly, and troubled skies come all too
soon. Rob's father had two other enemies besides Fitzwalter, in
the persons of the lean Sheriff of Nottingham and the fat Bishop of
Hereford. These three enemies one day got possession of the King's ear
and whispered therein to such good--or evil--purpose that Hugh Fitzooth
was removed from his post of King's Forester. He and his wife and Rob,
then a youth of nineteen, were descended upon, during a cold winter's
evening, and dispossessed without warning. The Sheriff arrested the
Forester for treason--of which, poor man, he was as guiltless as you or
I--and carried him to Nottingham jail. Rob and his mother were sheltered
over night in the jail, also, but next morning were roughly bade to go
about their business. Thereupon they turned for succor to their only
kinsman, Squire George of Gamewell, who sheltered them in all kindness.

But the shock, and the winter night's journey, proved too much for
Dame Fitzooth. She had not been strong for some time before leaving the
forest. In less than two months she was no more. Rob felt as though his
heart was broken at this loss. But scarcely had the first spring flowers
begun to blossom upon her grave, when he met another crushing blow in
the loss of his father. That stern man had died in prison before his
accusers could agree upon the charges by which he was to be brought to
trial.

Two years passed by. Rob's cousin Will was away at school; and Marian's
father, who had learned of her friendship with Rob, had sent his
daughter to the court of Queen Eleanor. So these years were lonely ones
to the orphaned lad. The bluff old Squire was kind to him, but secretly
could make nothing of one who went about brooding and as though seeking
for something he had lost. The truth is that Rob missed his old life
in the forest no less than his mother's gentleness, and his father's
companionship. Every time he twanged the string of the long bow against
his shoulder and heard the gray goose shaft sing, it told him of happy
days that he could not recall.

One morning as Rob came in to breakfast, his uncle greeted him with, "I
have news for you, Rob, my lad!" and the hearty old Squire finished his
draught of ale and set his pewter tankard down with a crash.

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

"Here is a chance to exercise your good long bow and win a pretty prize.
The Fair is on at Nottingham, and the Sheriff proclaims an archer's
tournament. The best fellows are to have places with the King's
Foresters, and the one who shoots straightest of all will win for prize
a olden arrow--a useless bauble enough, but just the thing for your lady
love, eh, Rob my boy?" Here the Squire laughed and whacked the table
again with his tankard.

Rob's eyes sparkled. "'Twere indeed worth shooting for, uncle mine," he
said. "I should dearly love to let arrow fly alongside another man. And
a place among the Foresters is what I have long desired. Will you let me
try?"

"To be sure," rejoined his uncle. "Well I know that your good mother
would have had me make a clerk of you; but well I see that the greenwood
is where you will pass your days. So, here's luck to you in the bout!"
And the huge tankard came a third time into play.

The young man thanked his uncle for his good wishes, and set about
making preparations for the journey. He traveled lightly; but his yew
bow must needs have a new string, and his cloth-yard arrows must be of
the straightest and soundest.

One fine morning, a few days after, Rob might have been seen passing
by way of Lockesley through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham town. Briskly
walked he and gaily, for his hopes were high and never an enemy had he
in the wide world. But 'twas the very last morning in all his life
when he was to lack an enemy! For, as he went his way through Sherwood,
whistling a blithe tune, he came suddenly upon a group of Foresters,
making merry beneath the spreading branches of an oak-tree. They had a
huge meat pie before them and were washing down prodigious slices of it
with nut brown ale.

One glance at the leader and Rob knew at once that he had found
an enemy. 'Twas the man who had usurped his father's place as Head
Forester, and who had roughly turned his mother out in the snow. But
never a word said he for good or bad, and would have passed on his way,
had not this man, clearing his throat with a huge gulp, bellowed out:
"By my troth, here is a pretty little archer! Where go you, my lad, with
that tupenny bow and toy arrows? Belike he would shoot at Nottingham
Fair! Ho! Ho!"

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

"My bow is as good as yours," he retorted, "and my shafts will carry as
straight and as far. So I'll not take lessons of any of ye."

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

"Show us some of your skill, and if you can hit the mark here's twenty
silver pennies for you. But if you hit it not you are in for a sound
drubbing for your pertness."

"Pick your own target," quoth Rob in a fine rage. "I'll lay my head
against that purse that I can hit it."

"It shall be as you say," retorted the Forester angrily, "your head for
your sauciness that you hit not my target."

Now at a little rise in the wood a herd of deer came grazing by, distant
full fivescore yards. They were King's deer, but at that distance seemed
safe from any harm. The Head Forester pointed to them.

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

"Done!" cried Rob. "My head against twenty pennies I'll cause yon fine
fellow in the lead of them to breathe his last."

And without more ado he tried the string of his long bow, placed a shaft
thereon, and drew it to his ear. A moment, and the quivering string sang
death as the shaft whistled across the glade. Another moment and the
leader of the herd leaped high in his tracks and fell prone, dyeing the
sward with his heart's blood.

A murmur of amazement swept through the Foresters, and then a growl of
rage. He that had wagered was angriest of all.

"Know you what you have done, rash youth?" he said. "You have killed a
King's deer, and by the laws of King Harry your head remains forfeit.
Talk not to me of pennies but get ye gone straight, and let me not look
upon your face again."

Rob's blood boiled within him, and he uttered a rash speech. "I have
looked upon your face once too often already, my fine Forester. 'Tis you
who wear my father's shoes."

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

The Forester heard his parting thrust with an oath. Red with rage he
seized his bow, strung an arrow, and without warning launched it full
af' Rob. Well was it for the latter that the Forester's foot turned on a
twig at the critical instant, for as it was the arrow whizzed by his ear
so close as to take a stray strand of his hair with it. Rob turned upon
his assailant, now twoscore yards away.

"Ha!" said he. "You shoot not so straight as I, for all your bravado.
Take this from the tupenny bow!"

Straight flew his answering shaft. The Head Forester gave one cry, then
fell face downward and lay still. His life had avenged Rob's father, but
the son was outlawed. Forward he ran through the forest, before the
band could gather their scattered wits--still forward into the great
greenwood. The swaying trees seemed to open their arms to the wanderer,
and to welcome him home.

Toward the close of the same day, Rob paused hungry and weary at the
cottage of a poor widow who dwelt upon the outskirts of the forest. Now
this widow had often greeted him kindly in his boyhood days, giving him
to eat and drink. So he boldly entered her door. The old dame was right
glad to see him, and baked him cakes in the ashes, and had him rest and
tell her his story. Then she shook her head.

"'Tis an evil wind that blows through Sherwood," she said. "The poor are
despoiled and the rich ride over their bodies. My three sons have been
outlawed for shooting King's deer to keep us from starving, and now hide
in the wood. And they tell me that twoscore of as good men as ever drew
bow are in hiding with them."

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

"Nay, nay," replied the old woman at first. But when she saw that there
was no other way, she said: "My sons will visit me to-night. Stay you
here and see them if you must."

So Rob stayed willingly to see the widow's sons that night, for they
were men after his own heart. And when they found that his mood was with
them, they made him swear an oath of fealty, and told him the haunt of
the band--a place he knew right well. Finally one of them said:

"But the band lacks a leader--one who can use his head as well as
his hand. So we have agreed that he who has skill enough to go to
Nottingham, an outlaw, and win the prize at archery, shall be our
chief."

Rob sprang to his feet. "Said in good time!" cried he, "for I had
started to that self-same Fair, and all the Foresters, and all the
Sheriff's men in Christendom shall not stand between me and the center
of their target!"

And though he was but barely grown he stood so straight and his eye
flashed with such fire that the three brothers seized his hand and
shouted:

"A Lockesley! a Lockesley! if you win the golden arrow you shall be
chief of outlaws in Sherwood Forest!"

So Rob fell to planning how he could disguise himself to go to
Nottingham town; for he knew that the Foresters had even then set a
price on his head in the market-place.

It was even as Rob had surmised. The Sheriff of Nottingham posted a
reward of two hundred pounds for the capture, dead or alive, of one
Robert Fitzooth, outlaw. And the crowds thronging the streets upon that
busy Fair day often paused to read the notice and talk together about
the death of the Head Forester.

But what with wrestling bouts and bouts with quarter-staves, and
wandering minstrels, there came up so many other things to talk about,
that the reward was forgotten for the nonce, and only the Foresters
and Sheriff's men watched the gates with diligence, the Sheriff indeed
spurring them to effort by offers of largess. His hatred of the father
had descended to the son.

The great event of the day came in the afternoon. It was the archer's
contest for the golden arrow, and twenty men stepped forth to shoot.
Among them was a beggar-man, a sorry looking fellow with leggings of
different colors, and brown scratched face and hands. Over a tawny shock
of hair he had a hood drawn, much like that of a monk. Slowly he limped
to his place in the line, while the mob shouted in derision. But the
contest was open to all comers, so no man said him nay.

Side by side with Rob--for it was he--stood a muscular fellow of swarthy
visage and with one eye hid by a green bandage. Him also the crowd
jeered, but he passed them by with indifference while he tried his bow
with practiced hand.

A great crowd had assembled in the amphitheater enclosing the lists. All
the gentry and populace of the surrounding country were gathered there
in eager expectancy. The central box contained the lean but pompous
Sheriff, his bejeweled wife, and their daughter, a supercilious young
woman enough, who, it was openly hinted, was hoping to receive the
golden arrow from the victor and thus be crowned queen of the day.

Next to the Sheriff's box was one occupied by the fat Bishop of
Hereford; while in the other side was a box wherein sat a girl whose
dark hair, dark eyes, and fair features caused Rob's heart to leap.
'Twas Maid Marian! She had come up for a visit from the Queen's court at
London town, and now sat demurely by her father the Earl of Huntingdon.
If Rob had been grimly resolved to win the arrow before, the sight of
her sweet face multiplied his determination an hundredfold. He felt his
muscles tightening into bands of steel, tense and true. Yet withal his
heart would throb, making him quake in a most unaccountable way.

Then the trumpet sounded, and the crowd became silent while the herald
announced the terms of the contest. The lists were open to all comers.
The first target was to be placed at thirty ells distance, and all those
who hit its center were allowed to shoot at the second target, placed
ten ells farther off. The third target was to be removed yet farther,
until the winner was proved. The winner was to receive the golden arrow,
and a place with the King's Foresters. He it was also who crowned the
queen of the day.

The trumpet sounded again, and the archers prepared to shoot. Rob looked
to his string, while the crowd smiled and whispered at the odd figure
he cut, with his vari-colored legs and little cape. But as the first man
shot, they grew silent.

The target was not so far but that twelve out of the twenty contestants
reached its inner circle. Rob shot sixth in the line and landed fairly,
being rewarded by an approving grunt from the man with the green
blinder, who shot seventh, and with apparent carelessness, yet true to
the bull's-eye.

The mob cheered and yelled themselves hoarse at this even marksmanship.
The trumpet sounded again, and a new target was set up at forty ells.

The first three archers again struck true, amid the loud applause of the
onlookers; for they were general favorites and expected to win. Indeed
'twas whispered that each was backed by one of the three dignitaries
of the day. The fourth and fifth archers barely grazed the center. Rob
fitted his arrow quietly and with some confidence sped it unerringly
toward the shining circle.

"The beggar! the beggar!" yelled the crowd; "another bull for the
beggar!" In truth his shaft was nearer the center than any of the
others. But it was not so near that "Blinder," as the mob had promptly
christened his neighbor, did not place his shaft just within the mark.
Again the crowd cheered wildly. Such shooting as this was not seen every
day in Nottingham town.

The other archers in this round were disconcerted by the preceding
shots, or unable to keep the pace. They missed one after another and
dropped moodily back, while the trumpet sounded for the third round, and
the target was set up fifty ells distant.

"By my halidom you draw a good bow, young master," said Rob's queer
comrade to him in the interval allowed for rest. "Do you wish me to
shoot first on this trial?"

"Nay," said Rob, "but you are a good fellow by this token, and if I win
not, I hope you may keep the prize from yon strutters." And he nodded
scornfully to the three other archers who were surrounded by their
admirers, and were being made much of by retainers of the Sheriff, the
Bishop, and the Earl. From them his eye wandered toward Maid Marian's
booth. She had been watching him, it seemed, for their eyes met; then
hers were hastily averted.

"Blinder's" quick eye followed those of Rob. "A fair maid, that," he
said smilingly, "and one more worthy the golden arrow than the Sheriff's
haughty miss."

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

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

Now the archers prepared to shoot again, each with some little care. The
target seemed hardly larger than the inner ring had looked, at the first
trial. The first three sped their shafts, and while they were fair shots
they did not more than graze the inner circle.

Rob took his stand with some misgiving. Some flecking clouds overhead
made the light uncertain, and a handful of wind frolicked across the
range in a way quite disturbing to a bowman's nerves. His eyes wandered
for a brief moment to the box wherein sat the dark-eyed girl. His heart
leaped! she met his glance and smiled at him reassuringly. And in that
moment he felt that she knew him despite his disguise and looked to him
to keep the honor of old Sherwood. He drew his bow firmly and, taking
advantage of a momentary lull in the breeze, launched the arrow straight
and true-singing across the range to the center of the target.

"The beggar! the beggar! a bull! a bull!" yelled the fickle mob,
who from jeering him were now his warm friends. "Can you beat that,
Blinder?"

The last archer smiled scornfully and made ready. He drew his bow with
ease and grace and, without seeming to study the course, released the
winged arrow. Forward it leaped toward the target, and all eyes followed
its flight. A loud uproar broke forth when it alighted, just without the
center and grazing the shaft sent by Rob. The stranger made a gesture
of surprise when his own eyes announced the result to him, but saw his
error. He had not allowed for the fickle gust of wind which seized the
arrow and carried it to one side. But for all that he was the first to
congratulate the victor.

"I hope we may shoot again," quoth he. "In truth I care not for the
golden bauble and wished to win it in despite of the Sheriff for whom I
have no love. Now crown the lady of your choice." And turning suddenly
he was lost in the crowd, before Rob could utter what it was upon his
lips to say, that he would shoot again with him.

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

"You are a curious fellow enough," said the Sheriff, biting his lip
coldly; "yet you shoot well. What name go you by?"

Marian sat near and was listening intently.

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

Marian leaned back and smiled.

"Well, Rob the Stroller, with a little attention to your skin and
clothes you would not be so bad a man," said the Sheriff. "How like you
the idea of entering my service.

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

The Sheriff's brow darkened, yet for the sake of his daughter and the
golden arrow, he dissembled.

"Rob the Stroller," said he, "here is the golden arrow which has been
offered to the best of archers this day. You are awarded the prize. See
that you bestow it worthily."

At this point the herald nudged Rob and half inclined his head toward
the Sheriff's daughter, who sat with a thin smile upon her lips. But Rob
heeded him not. He took the arrow and strode to the next box where sat
Maid Marian.

"Lady," he said, "pray accept this little pledge from a poor stroller
who would devote the best shafts in his quiver to serve you."

"My thanks to you, Rob in the Hood," replied she with a roguish twinkle
in her eye; and she placed the gleaming arrow in her hair, while the
people shouted, "The Queen! the Queen!"

The Sheriff glowered furiously upon this ragged archer who had refused
his service, taken his prize without a word of thanks, and snubbed his
daughter. He would have spoken, but his proud daughter restrained him.
He called to his guard and bade them watch the beggar. But Rob had
already turned swiftly, lost himself in the throng, and headed straight
for the town gate.

That same evening within a forest glade a group of men--some twoscore
clad in Lincoln green--sat round a fire roasting venison and making
merry. Suddenly a twig crackled and they sprang to their feet and seized
their weapons.

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

Instantly the three men stepped forward.

"Tis Rob!" they cried; "welcome to Sherwood Forest, Rob!" And all the
men came and greeted him; for they had heard his story.

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

"Comrades all, ye know that our band has sadly lacked a leader--one of
birth, breeding, and skill. Belike we have found that leader in this
young man. And I and my brothers have told him that the band would
choose that one who should bring the Sheriff to shame this day and
capture his golden arrow. Is it not so?"

The band gave assent.

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

Rob laughed. "In truth I brought the Sheriff to shame for mine own
pleasure, and won his golden arrow to boot. But as to the prize ye must
e'en take my word, for I bestowed it upon a maid."

And seeing the men stood in doubt at this, he continued: "But I'll
gladly join your band, and you take me, as a common archer. For there
are others older and mayhap more skilled than I."

Then stepped one forward from the rest, a tall swarthy man. And Rob
recognized him as the man with the green blinder; only this was now
removed, and his freed eye gleamed as stoutly as the other one.

"Rob in the Hood--for such the lady called you," said he, "I can vouch
for your tale. You shamed the Sheriff e'en as I had hoped to do; and we
can forego the golden arrow since it is in such fair hands. As to your
shooting and mine, we must let future days decide. But here I, Will
Stutely, declare that I will serve none other chief save only you."

Then good Will Stutely told the outlaws of Rob's deeds, and gave him his
hand of fealty. And the widow's sons did likewise, and the other members
every one, right gladly; because Will Stutely had heretofore been the
truest bow in all the company. And they toasted him in nut brown ale,
and hailed him as their leader, by the name of Robin Hood. And he
accepted that name because Maid Marian had said it.

By the light of the camp-fire the band exchanged signs and passwords.
They gave Robin Hood a horn upon which he was to blow to summon them.
They swore, also, that while they might take money and goods from the
unjust rich, they would aid and befriend the poor and the helpless; and
that they would harm no woman, be she maid, wife, or widow. They swore
all this with solemn oaths, while they feasted about the ruddy blaze,
under the greenwood tree.

And that is how Robin Hood became an outlaw.




CHAPTER II

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET LITTLE JOHN

     "O here is my hand," the stranger reply'd,
     "I'll serve you with all my whole heart.
     My name is John Little, a man of good mettle,
     Ne'er doubt me for I'll play my part."

     "His name shall be altered," quoth William Stutely,
     "And I will his godfather be:
     Prepare then a feast, and none of the least,
     For we will be merry," quoth he.

All that summer Robin Hood and his merry men roamed in Sherwood Forest,
and the fame of their deeds ran abroad in the land. The Sheriff of
Nottingham waxed wroth at the report, but all his traps and excursions
failed to catch the outlaws. The poor people began by fearing them, but
when they found that the men in Lincoln green who answered Robin Hood's
horn meant them no harm, but despoiled the oppressor to relieve the
oppressed, they 'gan to have great liking for them. And the band
increased by other stout hearts till by the end of the summer fourscore
good men and true had sworn fealty.

But the days of quiet which came on grew irksome to Robin's adventurous
spirit. Up rose he, one gay morn, and slung his quiver over his
shoulders.

"This fresh breeze stirs the blood, my lads," quoth he, "and I would
be seeing what the gay world looks like in the direction of Nottingham
town. But tarry ye behind in the borders of the forest, within earshot
of my bugle call."

Thus saying he strode merrily forward to the edge of the wood, and
paused there a moment, his agile form erect, his brown locks flowing
and his brown eyes watching the road; and a goodly sight he made, as the
wind blew the ruddy color into his cheeks.

The highway led clear in the direction of the town, and thither he
boldly directed his steps. But at a bend in the road he knew of a
by-path leading across a brook which made the way nearer and less open,
into which he turned. As he approached the stream he saw that it had
become swollen by recent rains into quite a pretty torrent. The log
foot-bridge was still there, but at this end of it a puddle intervened
which could be crossed only with a leap, if you would not get your feet
wet.

But Robin cared little for such a handicap. Taking a running start, his
nimble legs carried him easily over and balanced neatly upon the end of
the broad log. But he was no sooner started across than he saw a tall
stranger coming from the other side. Thereupon Robin quickened his pace,
and the stranger did likewise, each thinking to cross first. Midway they
met, and neither would yield an inch.

"Give way, fellow!" roared Robin, whose leadership of a band, I am
afraid, had not tended to mend his manners.

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

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

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

His opponent budged not an inch, but laughed loudly. "Now by my
halidom!" he said good-naturedly, "I would not move after hearing that
speech, even if minded to it before; for this better man I have sought
my life long. Therefore show him to me, an it please you."

"That will I right soon," quoth Robin. "Stay you here a little while,
till I cut me a cudgel like unto that you have been twiddling in your
fingers." So saying he sought his own bank again with a leap, laid aside
his long bow and arrows, and cut him a stout staff of oak, straight,
knotless, and a good six feet in length. But still it was a full foot
shorter than his opponent's. Then back came he boldly.

"I mind not telling you, fellow," said he, "that a bout with archery
would have been an easier way with me. But there are other tunes in
England besides that the arrow sings." Here he whirred the staff about
his head by way of practice. "So make you ready for the tune I am about
to play upon your ribs. Have at you! One, two--"

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

Well was it for Robin that he was quick and nimble of foot; for the blow
that grazed a hair's breadth from his shoulder would have felled an ox.
Nevertheless while swerving to avoid this stroke, Robin was poising for
his own, and back came he forthwith--whack!

Whack! parried the other.

Whack! whack! whack! whack!

The fight waxed fast and furious. It was strength pitted against
subtlety, and the match was a merry one. The mighty blows of the
stranger went whistling around Robin's ducking head, while his own swift
undercuts were fain to give the other an attack of indigestion. Yet each
stood firmly in his place not moving backward or forward a foot for a
good half hour, nor thinking of crying "Enough!" though some chance blow
seemed likely to knock one or the other off the narrow foot-bridge. The
giant's face was getting red, and his breath came snorting forth like
a bull's. He stepped forward with a furious onslaught to finish this
audacious fellow. Robin dodged his blows lightly, then sprang in swiftly
and unexpectedly and dealt the stranger such a blow upon the short ribs
that you would have sworn the tanner was trimming down his hides for
market.

The stranger reeled and came within an ace of falling, but regained his
footing right quickly.

"By my life, you can hit hard!" he gasped forth, giving back a blow
almost while he was yet staggering.

This blow was a lucky one. It caught Robin off his guard. His stick had
rested a moment while he looked to see the giant topple into the water,
when down came the other upon his head, whack! Robin saw more stars
in that one moment than all the astronomers have since discovered, and
forthwith he dropped neatly into the stream.

The cool rushing current quickly brought him to his senses, howbeit he
was still so dazed that he groped blindly for the swaying reeds to
pull himself up on the bank. His assailant could not forbear laughing
heartily at his plight, but was also quick to lend his aid. He thrust
down his long staff to Robin crying, "Lay hold of that, an your fists
whirl not so much as your head!"

Robin laid hold and was hauled to dry land for all the world like
a fish, except that the fish would never have come forth so wet and
dripping. He lay upon the warm bank for a space to regain his senses.
Then he sat up and gravely rubbed his pate.

"By all the saints!" said he, "you hit full stoutly. My head hums like a
hive of bees on a summer morning."

Then he seized his horn, which lay near, and blew thereon three shrill
notes that echoed against the trees. A moment of silence ensued, and
then was heard the rustling of leaves and crackling of twigs like the
coming of many men; and forth from the glade burst a score or two of
stalwart yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green, like Robin, with good Will
Stutely and the widow's three sons at their head.

"Good master," cried Will Stutely, "how is this? In sooth there is not a
dry thread on your body."

"Why, marry," replied Robin, "this fellow would not let me pass the
footbridge, and when I tickled him in the ribs, he must needs answer by
a pat on the head which landed me overboard."

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

"Nay, let him go free," said Robin. "The fight was a fair one and I
abide by it. I surmise you also are quits?" he continued, turning to the
stranger with a twinkling eye.

"I am content," said the other, "for verily you now have the best end of
the cudgel. Wherefore, I like you well, and would fain know your name."

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

"Then am I right sorry that I beat you," exclaimed the man, "for I was
on my way to seek you and to try to join your merry company. But after
my unmannerly use of the cudgel, I fear we are still strangers."

"Nay, never say it!" cried Robin, "I am glad I fell in with you; though,
sooth to say, I did all the falling!"

And amid a general laugh the two men clasped hands, and in that clasp
the strong friendship of a lifetime was begun.

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

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

"Enter our company then, John Little; enter and welcome. The rites are
few, the fee is large. We ask your whole mind and body and heart even
unto death."

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

Thereupon Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up and said: "The
infant in our household must be christened, and I'll stand godfather.
This fair little stranger is so small of bone and sinew, that his old
name is not to the purpose." Here he paused long enough to fill a horn
in the stream. "Hark ye, my son,"--standing on tiptoe to splash the
water on the giant--"take your new name on entering the forest. I
christen you Little John."

At this jest the men roared long and loud.

"Give him a bow, and find a full sheath of arrows for Little John,"
said Robin joyfully. "Can you shoot as well as fence with the staff, my
friend?"

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

Thus chatting pleasantly the band turned back into the woodland and
sought their secluded dell, where the trees were the thickest, the moss
was the softest, and a secret path led to a cave, at once a retreat and
a stronghold. Here under a mighty oak they found the rest of the band,
some of whom had come in with a brace of fat does. And here they built
a ruddy fire and sat down to the meat and ale, Robin Hood in the center
with Will Stutely on the one hand and Little John on the other. And
Robin was right well pleased with the day's adventure, even though he
had got a drubbing; for sore ribs and heads will heal, and 'tis not
every day that one can find a recruit as stout of bone and true of soul
as Little John.




CHAPTER III

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

     The butcher he answered jolly Robin,
     "No matter where I do dwell,
     For a butcher am I, and to Nottingham
     Am I going, my flesh to sell."

The next morning the weather had turned ill, and Robin Hood's band
stayed close to their dry and friendly cave. The third day brought a
diversion in the shape of a trap by a roving party of the Sheriff's men.
A fine stag had been struck down by one Of Will Stutely's fellows, and
he and others had stepped forth from the covert to seize it, when twenty
bowmen from Nottingham appeared at the end of the glade. Down dropped
Will's men on all fours, barely in time to hear a shower of arrows
whistle above their heads. Then from behind the friendly trees they
sent back such a welcome that the Sheriff's men deemed it prudent not to
tarry in their steps. Two of them, in sooth, bore back unpleasant wounds
in their shoulders, from the encounter.

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

"What," he gasped, "do my men fear to fight this Robin Hood, face to
face? Would that I could get him within my reach, once. We should see
then; we should see!"

What it was the Sheriff would see, he did not state. But he was to have
his wish granted in short space, and you and I will see how he profited
by it.

The fourth day and the one following this friendly bout, Little John was
missing. One of his men said that he saw him talking with a beggar, but
did not know whither they had gone. Two more days passed. Robin grew
uneasy. He did not doubt the faith of Little John, but he was fearful
lest a roving band of Foresters had captured him.

At last Robin could not remain quiet. Up sprang he, with bow and arrows,
and a short sword at his side.

"I must away to Nottingham town, my men," he cried. "The goodly Sheriff
has long desired to see me; and mayhap he can tell me tidings of the
best quarter-staff in the shire"--meaning Little John.

Others of the band besought him to let them go with him, but he would
not.

"Nay," he said smilingly, "the Sheriff and I are too good friends to put
doubt upon our meeting. But tarry ye in the edge of the wood opposite
the west gate of the town, and ye may be of service ere to-morrow
night."

So saying he strode forward to the road leading to Nottingham, and stood
as before looking up and down to see if the way was clear. Back at a
bend in the road he heard a rumbling and a lumbering, when up drove
a stout butcher, whistling gaily, and driving a mare that sped slowly
enough because of the weight of meat with which the cart was loaded.

"A good morrow to you, friend," hailed Robin. "Whence come you and where
go you with your load of meat?"

"A good morrow to you," returned the butcher, civilly enough. "No matter
where I dwell. I am but a simple butcher, and to Nottingham am I going,
my flesh to sell. 'Tis Fair week, and my beef and mutton should fetch a
fair penny," and he laughed loudly at his jest. "But whence come you?"

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

"The saints forefend that you should treat me ill!" said the butcher in
terror. "Oft have I heard of you, and how you lighten the purses of the
fat priests and knights. But I am naught but a poor butcher, selling
this load of meat, perchance, for enough to pay my quarter's rent."

"Rest you, my friend, rest you," quoth Robin, "not so much as a silver
penny would I take from you, for I love an honest Saxon face and a fair
name with my neighbors. But I would strike a bargain with you."

Here he took from his girdle a well-filled purse, and continued, "I
would fain be a butcher, this day, and sell meat at Nottingham town.
Could you sell me your meat, your cart, your mare, and your good-will,
without loss, for five marks?"

"Heaven bless ye, good Robin," cried the butcher right joyfully, "that
can I!" And he leaped down forthwith from the cart, and handed Robin the
reins in exchange for the purse.

"One moment more," laughed Robin, "we must e'en change garments for the
nonce. Take mine and scurry home quickly lest the King's Foresters try
to put a hole through this Lincoln green."

So saying he donned the butcher's blouse and apron, and, climbing into
the cart, drove merrily down the road to the town.

When he came to Nottingham he greeted the scowling gate-keeper blithely
and proceeded to the market-place. Boldly he led his shuffling horse to
the place where the butchers had their stalls.

He had no notion of the price to ask for his meat, but put on a foolish
and simple air as he called aloud his wares:

     "Hark ye, lasses and dames, hark ye,
     Good meat come buy, come buy,
     Three pen'orths go for one penny,
     And a kiss is good, say I!"

Now when the folk found what a simple butcher he was, they crowded
around his cart; for he really did sell three times as much for one
penny as was sold by the other butchers. And one or two serving-lasses
with twinkling eyes liked his comely face so well that they willingly
gave boot of a kiss.

But the other butchers were wroth when they found how he was taking
their trade; and they accordingly put their heads together.

One said, "He is a prodigal and has sold his father's land, and this is
his first venture in trading."

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

Robin heard these sayings, but only laughed merrily and sang his song
the louder. His good-humor made the people laugh also and crowd round
his cart closely, shouting uproariously when some buxom lass submitted
to be kissed.

Then the butchers saw that they must meet craft with craft; and they
said to him, "Come, brother butcher, if you would sell meat with us, you
must e'en join our guild and stand by the rules of our trade."

"We dine at the Sheriff's mansion to-day," said another, "and you must
take one of our party."

     "Accurst of his heart," said jolly Robin,
     "That a butcher will deny.
     I'll go with you, my brethren true,
     And as fast as I can hie."

Whereupon, having sold all his meat, he left his horse and cart in
charge of a friendly hostler and prepared to follow his mates to the
Mansion House.

It was the Sheriff's custom to dine various guilds of the trade, from
time to time, on Fair days, for he got a pretty profit out of the fees
they paid him for the right to trade in the market-place. The Sheriff
was already come with great pomp into the banqueting room, when Robin
Hood and three or four butchers entered, and he greeted them all with
great condescension; and presently the whole of a large company was
seated at a table groaning beneath the good cheer of the feast.

Now the Sheriff bade Robin sit by his right hand, at the head of the
board; for one or two butchers had whispered to the official, "That
fellow is a right mad blade, who yet made us much sport to-day. He sold
more meat for one penny than we could sell for three; and he gave extra
weight to whatsoever lass would buss him." And others said, "He is
some prodigal who knows not the value of goods, and may be plucked by a
shrewd man right closely."

The Sheriff was will to pluck a prodigal with the next man, and he was
moreover glad to have a guest who promised to enliven the feast. So, as
I have told you, he placed Robin by his side, and he made much of him
and laughed boisterously at his jests; though sooth to say, the laugh
were come by easily, for Robin had never been in merrier mood, and his
quips and jests soon put the whole table at a roar.

Then my lord Bishop of Hereford came in, last of all, to say a ponderous
grace and take his seat on the other side of the Sheriff--the prelate's
fat body showing up in goodly contrast to the other's lean bones.

After grace was said, and while the servants clattered in with the meat
platters, Robin stood up and said:

"An amen say I to my lord Bishop's thanks! How, now, my fine fellows, be
merry and drink deep; for the shot I'll pay ere I go my way, though it
cost me five pounds and more. So my lords and gentlemen all, spare not
the wine, but fall to lustily."

"Hear! hear!" shouted the butchers.

"Now are you a right jolly soul," quoth the Sheriff, "but this feast is
mine own. Howbeit you must have many a head of horned beasts, and many
an acre of broad land, to spend from your purse so freely."

"Aye, that have I," returned Robin, his eyes all a twinkle, "five
hundred horned beasts have I and my brothers, and none of them have we
been able to sell. That is why I have turned butcher. But I know not the
trade, and would gladly sell the whole herd, an I could find a buyer."

At this, the Sheriff's greed 'gan to rise. Since this fool _would_ be
plucked, thought he, why should not he do the plucking?

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

"Five hundred and ten fat beasts by actual count, that I would sell for
a just figure. Aye, to him who will pay me in right money, would I sell
them for twenty pieces of gold. Is that too much to ask, lording?"

Was there ever such an idiot butcher? thought the Sheriff; and he so far
forgot his dignity as to nudge the Bishop in his fat ribs.

"Nay, good fellow," quoth he chuckling, "I am always ready to help
any in my shire. An you cannot find a buyer for your herd at this just
figure, I will e'en buy them myself."

At this generosity Robin was quite overcome, and fell to praising the
Sheriff to the skies, and telling him that he should not have cause to
forget the kindness.

"Tut, tut," said the Sheriff, "'tis naught but a trade. Drive in your
herd tomorrow to the market-place and you shall have money down."

"Nay, excellence," said Robin, "that can I not easily do, for they are
grazing in scattered fashion. But they are over near Gamewell, not more
than a mile therefrom at most. Will you not come and choose your own
beasts tomorrow?"

"Aye, that I will," said the Sheriff, his cupidity casting his caution
to the winds. "Tarry with me over night, and I will go with you in the
morning."

This was a poser for Robin, since he liked not the idea of staying over
night at the Sheriff's house. He had hoped to appoint a meeting-place
for the other, but now saw that this might excite doubt. He looked
around at the company. By this time, you must know, the feast had
progressed far, and the butchers were deep in their cups. The Sheriff
and Robin had talked in a low voice, and my lord Bishop was almost
asleep.

"Agreed," said Robin presently, and the words were no sooner out of his
mouth than the door opened and a serving-man entered bearing tray of
mulled wine. At sight of the fellow's face, Robin gave an involuntary
start of surprise which was instantly checked. The other also saw him,
stood still a moment, and as if forgetting something turned about and
left the hall.

It was Little John.

A dozen questions flashed across Robin's mind, and he could find answer
for none of them. What was Little John doing in the Sheriff's house? Why
had he not told the band? Was he true to them? Would he betray him?

But these questions of distrust were dismissed from Robin's open mind
as soon as they had entered. He knew that Little John was faithful and
true.

He recovered his spirits and began again upon a vein of foolish banter,
for the amusement of the Sheriff and his guests, all being now merry
with wine.

"A song!" one of them shouted, and the cry was taken up round the table.
Robin mounted his chair and trolled forth:

     "A lass and a butcher of Nottingham
     Agreed 'twixt them for to wed.
     Says he, 'I'll give ye the meat, fair dame,
     And ye will give me the bread."

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

     "With a hey and a ho
     And a hey nonny no,
     A butcher of Nottingham!"

While the song was at its height, Little John reappeared, with other
servants, and refilled the cups. He came up to Robin and, as if asking
him if he would have more wine, said softly, "Meet me in the pantry
to-night."

Robin nodded, and sang loudly. The day was already far spent, and
presently the company broke up with many hiccupy bows of the Sheriff and
little notice of the drowsy Bishop.

When the company was dispersed, the Sheriff bade a servant show Robin to
his room, and promised to see him at breakfast the next day.

Robin kept his word and met Little John that night, and the sheriff next
day; but Little John has been doing so much in the meantime that he must
be allowed a chapter to himself.

So let us turn to another story that was sung of, in the ballads of
olden time, and find out how Little John entered the Sheriff's service.




CHAPTER IV

HOW LITTLE JOHN ENTERED THE SHERIFF'S SERVICE

     List and hearken, gentlemen,
     All ye that now be here,
     Of Little John, that was Knight's-man,
     Good mirth ye now shall hear.

It had come around another Fair day at Nottingham town, and folk crowded
there by all the gates. Goods of many kinds were displayed in gaily
colored booths, and at every cross-street a free show was in progress.
Here and there, stages had been erected for the play at quarter-staff, a
highly popular sport.

There was a fellow, one Eric of Lincoln, who was thought to be the
finest man with the staff for miles around. His feats were sung about in
ballads through all the shire. A great boaster was he withal, and to-day
he strutted about on one of these corner stages, and vaunted of his
prowess, and offered to crack any man's crown for a shilling. Several
had tried their skill with Eric, but he had soon sent them spinning in
no gentle manner, amid the jeers and laughter of the onlookers.

A beggar-man sat over against Eric's stage and grinned every time a pate
was cracked. He was an uncouth fellow, ragged and dirty and unshaven.
Eric caught sight of his leering face at one of his boasts--for there
was a lull in the game, because no man else wanted to come within reach
of Eric's blows. Eric, I say, noticed the beggar-man grinning at him
rather impudently, and turned toward him sharply.

"How now, you dirty villain!" quoth he, "mend your manners to your
betters, or, by our Lady, I'll dust your rags for you."

The beggar-man still grinned. "I am always ready to mend my manners to
my betters," said he, "but I am afraid you cannot teach me any better
than you can dust my jacket."

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

"That will I," said the beggar, getting up slowly and with difficulty.
"It will pleasure me hugely to take a braggart down a notch, an some
good man will lend me a stout quarter-staff."

At this a score of idlers reached him their staves--being ready enough
to see another man have his head cracked, even if they wished to save
their own--and he took the stoutest and heaviest of all. He made a sorry
enough figure as he climbed awkwardly upon the stage, but when he had
gained it, he towered full half a head above the other, for all his
awkwardness. Nathless, he held his stick so clumsily that the crowd
laughed in great glee.

Now each man took his place and looked the other up and down, watching
warily for an opening. Only a moment stood they thus, for Eric, intent
on teaching this rash beggar a lesson and sweeping him speedily off the
stage, launched forth boldly and gave the other a sounding crack on the
shoulder. The beggar danced about, and made as though he would drop his
staff from very pain, while the crowd roared and Eric raised himself for
another crushing blow. But just then the awkward beggar came to life.
Straightening himself like a flash, he dealt Eric a back-handed blow,
the like of which he had never before seen. Down went the boaster to the
floor with a sounding thump, and the fickle people yelled and laughed
themselves purple; for it was a new sight to see Eric of Lincoln eating
dust.

But he was up again almost as soon as he had fallen, and right quickly
retreated to his own ringside to gather his wits and watch for an
opening. He saw instantly that he had no easy antagonist, and he came in
cautiously this time.

And now those who stood around saw the merriest game of quarter-staff
that was ever played inside the walls of Nottingham town. Both men
were on their guard and fenced with fine skill, being well matched in
prowess. Again and again did Eric seek to force an opening under the
other's guard, and just as often were his blows parried. The beggar
stood sturdily in his tracks contenting himself with beating off the
attack. For a long time their blows met like the steady crackling of
some huge forest fire, and Eric strove to be wary, for he now knew that
the other had no mean wits or mettle. But he grew right mad at last, and
began to send down blows so fierce and fast that you would have sworn
a great hail-storm was pounding on the shingles over your head. Yet he
never so much as entered the tall beggar's guard.

Then at last the stranger saw his chance and changed his tune of
fighting. With one upward stroke he sent Eric's staff whirling through
the air. With another he tapped Eric on the head; and, with a third
broad swing, ere the other could recover himself, he swept him clear off
the stage, much as you would brush a fly off the window pane.

Now the people danced and shouted and made so much ado that the
shop-keepers left their stalls and others came running from every
direction. The victory of the queer beggar made him immensely popular.
Eric had been a great bully, and many had suffered defeat and insult
at his hands. So the ragged stranger found money and food and drink
everywhere at his disposal, and he feasted right comfortably till the
afternoon.

Then a long bow contest came on, and to it the beggar went with some of
his new friends. It was held in the same arena that Robin had formerly
entered; and again the Sheriff and lords and ladies graced the scene
with their presence, while the people crowded to their places.

When the archers had stepped forward, the herald rose and proclaimed the
rules of the game: how that each man should shoot three shots, and to
him who shot best the prize of a yoke of fat steers should belong.
A dozen keen-eyed bowmen were there, and among them some of the best
fellows in the Forester's and Sheriff's companies. Down at the end of
the line towered the tall beggar-man, who must needs twang a bow-string
with the best of them.

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

"'Tis he that hath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric of
Lincoln," was the reply.

The shooting presently began, and the targets soon showed a fine
reckoning. Last of all came the beggar's turn.

"By your leave," he said loudly, "I'd like it well to shoot with any
other man here present at a mark of my own placing." And he strode down
the lists with a slender peeled sapling which he stuck upright in the
ground. "There," said he, "is a right good mark. Will any man try it?"

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

Whereupon the beggar drew his bow with seeming carelessness and split
the wand with his shaft.

"Long live the beggar!" yelled the bystanders.

The Sheriff swore a full great oath, and said: "This man is the best
archer that ever yet I saw." And he beckoned to him, and asked him: "How
now, good fellow, what is your name, and in what country were you born?"

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

"You are a sturdy fellow, Reynold Greenleaf, and deserve better apparel
than that you wear at present. Will you enter my service? I will give
you twenty marks a year, above your living, and three good suits of
clothes."

"Three good suits, say you? Then right gladly will I enter your service,
for my back has been bare this many a long day."

Then Reynold turned him about to the crowd and shouted: "Hark ye, good
people, I have entered the Sheriff's service, and need not the yoke of
steers for prize. So take them for yourselves, to feast withal."

At this the crowd shouted more merrily than ever, and threw their caps
high into the air. And none so popular a man had come to Nottingham town
in many a long day as this same Reynold Greenleaf.

Now you may have guessed, by this time, who Reynold Greenleaf really
was; so I shall tell you that he was none other than Little John. And
forth went he to the Sheriff's house, and entered his service. But it
was a sorry day for the Sheriff when he got his new man. For Little John
winked his shrewd eye and said softly to himself: "By my faith, I shall
be the worst servant to him that ever yet had he!"

Two days passed by. Little John, it must be confessed, did not make
a good servant. He insisted upon eating the Sheriff's best bread and
drinking his best wine, so that the steward waxed wroth. Nathless the
Sheriff held him in high esteem, and made great talk of taking him along
on the next hunting trip.

It was now the day of the banquet to the butchers, about which we have
already heard. The banquet hall, you must know, was not in the main
house, but connected with it by a corridor. All the servants were
bustling about making preparations for the feast, save only Little John,
who must needs lie abed the greater part of the day. But he presented
himself at last, when the dinner was half over; and being desirous
of seeing the guests for himself he went into the hall with the other
servants to pass the wine. First, however, I am afraid that some of
the wine passed his own lips while he went down the corridor. When he
entered the banqueting hall, whom should he see but Robin Hood himself.
We can imagine the start of surprise felt by each of these bold fellows
upon seeing the other in such strange company. But they kept their
secrets, as we have seen, and arranged to meet each other that same
night. Meanwhile, the proud Sheriff little knew that he harbored the two
chief outlaws of the whole countryside beneath his roof.

After the feast was over and night was beginning to advance, Little John
felt faint of stomach and remembered him that he had eaten nothing all
that day. Back went he to the pantry to see what eatables were laid by.
But there, locking up the stores for the night, stood the fat steward.

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

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

"Sirrah lie-abed," quoth he, "'tis late in the day to be talking of
eating. Since you have waited thus long to be hungry, you can e'en take
your appetite back to bed again."

"Now by mine appetite, that will I not do," cried Little John. "Your
own paunch of fat would be enough for any bear to sleep on through the
winter. But my stomach craves food, and food it shall have!"

Saying this he brushed past the steward and tried the door, but it
was locked fast; whereat the fat steward chuckled and jangled his keys
again.

Then was Little John right mad, and he brought down his huge fist on the
door-panel with a sledge-hammer blow that shivered an opening you could
thrust your hand into. Little John stooped and peered through the hole
to see what food lay within reach, when crack! went the steward's keys
upon his crown, and the worthy danced around him playing a tattoo that
made Little John's ears ring. At this he turned upon the steward and
gave him such a rap that his back went nigh in two, and over went the
fat fellow rolling on the floor.

"Lie there," quoth Little John, "till ye find strength to go to bed.
Meanwhile, I must be about my dinner." And he kicked open the buttery
door without ceremony and brought to light a venison pasty and cold
roast pheasant--goodly sights to a hungry man. Placing these down on a
convenient shelf he fell to with right good will. So Little John ate and
drank as much as he would.

Now the Sheriff had in his kitchen a cook, a stout man and bold, who
heard the rumpus and came in to see how the land lay. There sat Little
John eating away for dear life, while the fat steward was rolled under
the table like a bundle of rags.

"I make my vow!" said the cook, "you are a shrewd hind to dwell thus in
a household, and ask thus to dine." So saying he laid aside his spit and
drew a good sword that hung at his side.

"I make my vow!" said Little John, "you are a bold man and hardy to come
thus between me and my meat. So defend yourself and see that you prove
the better man." And he drew his own sword and crossed weapons with the
cook.

Then back and forth they clashed with sullen sound. The old ballad which
tells of their fight says that they thought nothing for to flee, but
stiffly for to stand. There they fought sore together, two miles away
and more, but neither might the other harm for the space of a full hour.

"I make my vow!" cried Little John, "you are the best swordsman that
ever yet I saw. What say you to resting a space and eating and drinking
good health with me. Then we may fall to again with the swords."

"Agreed!" said the cook, who loved good fare as well as a good fight;
and they both laid by their swords and fell to the food with hearty
will. The venison pasty soon disappeared, and the roast pheasant flew
at as lively a rate as ever the bird itself had sped. Then the warriors
rested a space and patted their stomachs, and smiled across at
each other like bosom friends; for a man when he as dined looks out
pleasantly upon the world.

"And now good Reynold Greenleaf," said the cook, "we may as well settle
this brave fight we have in hand."

"A true saying," rejoined the other, "but first tell me, friend--for
I protest you are my friend henceforth--what is the score we have to
settle?"

"Naught save who can handle the sword best," said the cook. "By my troth
I had thought to carve you like a capon ere now."

"And I had long since thought to shave your ears," replied Little John.
"This bout we can settle in right good time. But just now I and my
master have need of you, and you can turn your stout blade to better
service than that of the Sheriff."

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

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




CHAPTER V

HOW THE SHERIFF LOST THREE GOOD SERVANTS AND FOUND THEM AGAIN

     "Make good cheer," said Robin Hood.
     "Sheriff! for charity!
     And for the love of Little John
     Thy life is granted thee!"

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

"Now by my troth you are a brave fellow," he said. "I have heard great
tales of your prowess, and the half has not been told. But who might
this tall slasher be?"

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

"Then Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, I like you well, on my honor as
Much the miller's son; and you too, bold Robin Hood. An you take me, I
will enter your service right gladly."

"Spoken like a stout man!" said Robin, seizing him by the hand. "But I
must back to my own bed, lest some sleepy warden stumble upon me, and
I be forced to run him through. Lucky for you twain that wine flowed
so freely in the house to-day; else the noise of your combat would have
brought other onlookers besides Robin Hood. Now if ye would flee the
house to-night, I will join you in the good greenwood to-morrow."

"But, good master," said the cook, "you would not stay here over night!
Verily, it is running your head into a noose. Come with us. The Sheriff
has set strict watch on all the gates, since 'tis Fair week, but I know
the warden at the west gate and could bring us through safely. To-morrow
you will be stayed." "Nay, that will I not," laughed Robin, "for I shall
go through with no less escort than the Sheriff himself. Now do you,
Little John, and do you, Much the miller's son, go right speedily. In
the borders of the wood you will find my merry men. Tell them to kill
two fine harts against to-morrow eve, for we shall have great company
and lordly sport."

And Robin left them as suddenly as he had come.

"Comrade," then said Little John, "we may as well bid the Sheriff's roof
farewell. But ere we go, it would seem a true pity to fail to take such
of the Sheriff's silver plate as will cause us to remember him, and also
grace our special feasts."

"'Tis well said indeed," quoth the cook.

Thereupon they got a great sack and filled it with silver plate from the
shelves where it would not at once be missed, and they swung the sack
between them, and away they went, out of the house, out of the town, and
into the friendly shelter of Sherwood Forest.

The next morning the servants were late astir in the Sheriff's house.
The steward awoke from a heavy sleep, but his cracked head was still in
such a whirl that he could not have sworn whether the Sheriff had ever
owned so much as one silver dish. So the theft went undiscovered for the
nonce.

Robin Hood met the Sheriff at breakfast, when his host soon spoke of
what was uppermost in his heart--the purchase of the fine herd of cattle
near Gamewell. 'Twas clear that a vision of them, purchased for twenty
paltry gold pieces, had been with him all through the night, in his
dreams. And Robin again appeared such a silly fellow that the Sheriff
saw no need of dissembling, but said that he was ready to start at once
to look at the herd.

Accordingly they set forth, Robin in his little butcher's cart, behind
the lean mare, and the Sheriff mounted on a horse. Out of Nottingham
town, through gates open wide, they proceeded, and took the hill road
leading through Sherwood Forest. And as they went on and plunged deeper
among the trees, Robin whistled blithely and sang snatches of tunes.

"Why are you so gay, fellow?" said the Sheriff, for, sooth to say, the
silence of the woods was making him uneasy.

"I am whistling to keep my courage up," replied Robin.

"What is there to fear, when you have the Sheriff of Nottingham beside
you?" quoth the other pompously.

Robin scratched his head.

"They do say that Robin Hood and his men care little for the Sheriff,"
he said.

"Pooh!" said the Sheriff. "I would not give _that_ for their lives, if
I could once lay hands upon them." And he snapped his fingers angrily.
"But Robin Hood himself was on this very road the last time I came to
town," said the other.

The Sheriff started at the crackling of a twig under his horse's feet,
and looked around.

"Did you see him?" he asked.

"Aye, that did I! He wanted the use of this mare and cart to drive to
Nottingham. He said he would fain turn butcher. But see!"

As he spoke he came to a turn in the road, and there before them stood a
herd of the King's deer, feeding. Robin pointed to them and continued:

"There is my herd of cattle, good Master Sheriff! How do you like them?
Are they not fat and fair to see?"

The Sheriff drew rein quickly. "Now fellow," quoth he, "I would I were
well out of this forest, for I care not to see such herds as these, or
such faces as yours. Choose your own way, therefore, whoever you be, and
let me go mine."

"Nay," laughed Robin, seizing the Sheriff's bridle, "I have been at too
much pains to cultivate your company to forego it now so easily. Besides
I wish you to meet some of my friends and dine with me, since you have
so lately entertained me at your board."

So saying he clapped a horn on his lips and winded three merry notes.
The deer bounded away; and before the last of them was seen, there came
a running and a rustling, and out from behind covert and tree came full
twoscore of men, clad in Lincoln green, and bearing good yew bows in
their hands and short swords at their sides. Up they ran to Robin Hood
and doffed their caps to him respectfully, while the Sheriff sat still
from very amazement.

"Welcome to the greenwood!" said one of the leaders, bending the knee
with mock reverence before the Sheriff.

The Sheriff glared. It was Little John.

"Woe the worth, Reynold Greenleaf," he said, "you have betrayed me!"

"I make my vow," said Little John, "that you are to blame, master. I was
misserved of my dinner, when I was at your house. But we shall set you
down to a feast we hope you will enjoy."

"Well spoken, Little John," said Robin Hood. "Take you his bridle and
let us do honor to the guest who has come to feast with us."

Then turning abruptly the whole company plunged into the heart of the
forest.

After twisting and turning till the Sheriff's bewildered head sat
dizzily upon his shoulders, the greenwood men passed through a narrow
alley amid the trees which led to a goodly open space flanked by
wide-spreading oaks. Under the largest of these a pleasant fire was
crackling, and near it two fine harts lay ready for cooking. Around the
blaze were gathered another company of yeomen quite as large as that
which came with Robin Hood. Up sprang they as the latter advanced and
saluted their leader with deference, but with hearty gladness to see him
back again.

That merry wag Will Stutely was in command; and when he saw the
palefaced Sheriff being led in like any culprit, he took his cloak and
laid it humbly upon the ground and besought the Sheriff to alight upon
it, as the ground of Sherwood was unused to such dignitaries.

"Bestir yourselves, good fellows!" cried Robin Hood; "and while our new
cook, whom I see with us, is preparing a feast worthy of our high guest,
let us have a few games to do him honor!"

Then while the whole glade was filled with the savory smell of roasting
venison and fat capons, and brown pasties warmed beside the blaze,
and mulled wine sent forth a cordial fragrance, Robin Hood placed the
Sheriff upon a knoll beneath the largest oak and sat himself down by
him.

First stepped forward several pairs of men armed with the quarter-staff,
the widow's sons among them, and so skilfully did they thrust and parry
and beat down guards, that the Sheriff, who loved a good game as well as
any man, clapped his hands, forgetting where he was, and shouted, "Well
struck! well struck! Never have I seen such blows at all the Fairs of
Nottingham!"

Then the best archers of the band set up a small wand at eightscore
paces distant, and thereon they affixed a wreath of green. And the
archers began to shoot; and he who shot not through the garland without
disturbing its leaves and tendrils was fain to submit to a good sound
buffet from Little John. But right cunning was the shooting, for the
men had spent a certain time in daily practice, and many were the shafts
which sped daintily through the circle. Nathless now and again some
luckless fellow would shoot awry and would be sent winding from a long
arm blow from the tall lieutenant while the glade roared with laughter.
And none more hearty a guffaw was given than came from the Sheriff's own
throat, for the spirit of the greenwood was upon him.

But presently his high mood was dashed. The company sat down to meat,
and the guest was treated to two more disturbing surprise. The cook came
forward to serve the food, when the Sheriff beheld in him his own former
servant, and one whom he supposed was at the moment in the scullery at
Nottingham.

Much the miller's son grinned by way of answer to the Sheriff's
amazement, and served the plates, and placed them before the party. Then
did the Sheriff gasp and fairly choke with rage. The service was his own
silverware from the Mansion House!

"You rascals! you rogues!" he spluttered. "Was it not enough to defraud
me out of three of my servants, that you must also rob me of my best
silver service? Nay, by my life, but I will not touch your food!"

But Robin Hood bade him pause.

"Gramercy!" quoth he, "servants come and go, in merry England, and so
does service. The platters are but used to do your worship honor. And as
for your life, it is forfeit to your eagerness to buy my herd of cattle
so cheaply. Now sit you down again and make good cheer, Sheriff, for
charity! And for the love of Little John your life is granted you!"

So the Sheriff sat him down again, with the best face he could assume,
and soon the cook's viands were disappearing down his gullet as rapidly
as the next man's. And they feasted royally and clinked each other's
cups until the sun had ceased to print the pattern of the leaves upon
the forest carpet.

Then the Sheriff arose and said: "I thank you, Robin Hood, one-time
butcher, and you, Little John, one-time beggar, and you, Much, one-time
cook, and all you good men who have entertained me in Sherwood so well.
Promises I make not as to how I shall requite you when next you come to
Nottingham, for I am in the King's service. So for the present the score
rests with you. But the shadows grow long and I must away, if you will
be pleased to pilot me to the road."

Then Robin Hood and all his men arose and drank the Sheriff's health,
and Robin said: "If you must needs go at once we will not detain
you--except that you have forgotten two things."

"What may they be?" asked the Sheriff, while his heart sank within him.

"You forget that you came with me to-day to buy a herd of horned beasts;
likewise that he who dines at the Greenwood Inn must pay the landlord."

The Sheriff fidgeted like a small boy who has forgotten his lesson.

"Nay, I have but a small sum with me," he began apologetically.

"What is that sum, gossip?" questioned Little John, "for my own wage
should also come out of it!"

"And mine!" said Much.

"And mine!" smiled Robin.

The Sheriff caught his breath. "By my troth, are all these silver dishes
worth anything?"

The outlaws roared heartily at this.

"I'll tell you what it is, worship," said Robin, "we three rascally
servants will compound our back wages for those plates. And we will keep
the herd of cattle free for our own use--and the King's. But this little
tavern bill should be settled! Now, what sum have you about you?"

"I have only those twenty pieces of gold, and twenty others," said the
Sheriff: and well it was that he told the truth for once, for Robin
said:

"Count it, Little John."

Little John turned the Sheriff's wallet inside out. "'Tis true enough,"
he said.

"Then you shall pay no more than twenty pieces for your entertainment,
excellence," decreed Robin. "Speak I soothly, men of greenwood?"

"Good!" echoed the others.

"The Sheriff should swear by his patron saint that he will not molest
us," said Will Stutely; and his addition was carried unanimously.

"So be it, then," cried Little John, approaching the sheriff. "Now swear
by your life and your patron saint--"

"I will swear it by St. George, who is patron of us all," said the
Sheriff vigorously, "that I will never disturb or distress the outlaws
in Sherwood."

"But let me catch any of you _out_ of Sherwood!" thought he to himself.

Then the twenty pieces of gold were paid over, and the Sheriff once more
prepared to depart.

"Never had we so worshipful a guest before," said Robin; "and as the new
moon is beginning to silver the leaves, I shall bear you company myself
for part of the way. 'Twas I who brought you into the wood."

"Nay, I protest against your going needlessly far," said Sheriff.

"But I protest that I am loath to lose your company," replied Robin.
"The next time I may not be so pleased."

And he took the Sheriff's horse by the bridle rein, and led him through
the lane and by many a thicket till the main road was reached.

"Now fare you well, good Sheriff," he said, "and when next you think to
despoil a poor prodigal, remember the herd you would have bought over
against Gamewell. And when next you employ a servant, make certain that
he is not employing you."

So saying he smote the nag's haunch, and off went the Sheriff upon the
road to Nottingham.

And that is how--you will find from many ballads that came to be sung
at the Sheriff's expense, and which are known even to the present
day--that, I say, is how the Sheriff lost three good servants and found
them again.




CHAPTER VI

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET WILL SCARLET

     The youngster was clothed in scarlet red
     In scarlet fine and gay;
     And he did frisk it o'er the plain,
     And chanted a roundelay.

One fine morning, soon after the proud Sheriff had been brought to
grief, Robin Hood and Little John went strolling down a path through the
wood. It was not far from the foot--bridge where they had fought their
memorable battle; and by common impulse they directed their steps to
the brook to quench their thirst and rest them in the cool bushes. The
morning gave promise of a hot day. The road even by the brook was dusty.
So the cooling stream was very pleasing and grateful to their senses.

On each side of them, beyond the dusty highway, stretched out broad
fields of tender young corn. On the yon side of the fields uprose the
sturdy oaks and beeches and ashes of the forest; while at their feet
modest violets peeped out shyly and greeted the loiterers with an odor
which made the heart glad. Over on the far side of the brook in a tiny
bay floated three lily-pads; and from amid some clover blossoms on the
bank an industrious bee rose with the hum of busy contentment. It was a
day so brimful of quiet joy that the two friends lay flat on their
backs gazing up at the scurrying clouds, and neither caring to break the
silence.

Presently they heard some one coming up the road whistling gaily, as
though he owned the whole world and 'twas but made to whistle in. Anon
he chanted a roundelay with a merry note.

"By my troth, a gay bird!" quoth Robin, raising up on his elbow. "Let us
lie still, and trust that his purse is not as light as his heart."

So they lay still, and in a minute more up came a smart stranger dressed
in scarlet and silk and wearing a jaunty hat with a curling cock feather
in it. His whole costume was of scarlet, from the feather to the silk
hosen on his legs. A goodly sword hung at his side, its scabbard all
embossed with tilting knights and weeping ladies. His hair was long and
yellow and hung clustering about his shoulders, for all the world like a
schoolgirl's; and he bore himself with as mincing a gait as the pertest
of them.

Little John clucked his teeth drolly at this sight. "By my troth, a gay
bird!" he said echoing the other's words--then added, "But not so bad a
build for all his prettiness. Look you, those calves and thighs are well
rounded and straight. The arms, for all that gold-wrought cloak, hang
stoutly from full shoulders. I warrant you the fop can use his dainty
sword right well on occasion."

"Nay," retorted Robin, "he is naught but a ladies' man from court. My
long-bow 'gainst a plugged shilling that he would run and bellow lustily
at sight of a quarter-staff. Stay you behind this bush and I will soon
get some rare sport out of him. Belike his silk purse may contain more
pennies than the law allows to one man in Sherwood or Barnesdale."

So saying Robin Hood stepped forth briskly from the covert and planted
himself in the way of the scarlet stranger. The latter had walked
so slowly that he was scarce come to their resting-place; and now
on beholding Robin he neither slackened nor quickened his pace but
sauntered idly straight ahead, looking to the right and to the left,
with the finest air in the world, but never once at Robin.

"Hold!" quoth the outlaw. "What mean ye by running thus over a wayfarer,
rough shod?"

"Wherefore should I hold, good fellow?" said the stranger in a smooth
voice, and looking at Robin for the first time.

"Because I bid you to," replied Robin.

"And who may you be?" asked the other as coolly as you please.

"What my name is matters not," said Robin; "but know that I am a public
tax-gatherer and equalizer of shillings. If your purse have more than a
just number of shillings or pence, I must e'en lighten it somewhat; for
there are many worthy people round about these borders who have less
than the just amount. Wherefore, sweet gentleman, I pray you hand over
your purse without more ado, that I may judge of its weight in proper
fashion."

The other smiled as sweetly as though a lady were paying him a
compliment.

"You are a droll fellow," he said calmly. "Your speech amuses me
mightily. Pray continue, if you have not done, for I am in no hurry this
morning."

"I have said all with my tongue that is needful," retorted Robin,
beginning to grow red under the collar. "Nathless, I have other
arguments which may not be so pleasing to your dainty skin. Prithee,
stand and deliver. I promise to deal fairly with the purse."

"Alack-a-day!" said the stranger with a little shrug of his shoulders;
"I am deeply sorrowful that I cannot show my purse to every rough lout
that asks to see it. But I really could not, as I have further need of
it myself and every farthing it contains. Wherefore, pray stand aside."

"Nay that will I not! and 'twill go the harder with you if you do not
yield at once."

"Good fellow," said the other gently, "have I not heard all your speech
with patience? Now that is all I promised to do. My conscience is salved
and I must go on my way. To-rol-o-rol-e-loo!" he caroled, making as
though to depart.

"Hold, I say!" quoth Robin hotly; for he knew how Little John must be
chuckling at this from behind the bushes. "Hold I say, else I shall have
to bloody those fair locks of yours!" And he swung his quarter-staff
threateningly.

"Alas!" moaned the stranger shaking his head. "The pity of it all! Now I
shall have to run this fellow through with my sword! And I hoped to be a
peaceable man henceforth!" And sighing deeply he drew his shining blade
and stood on guard.

"Put by your weapon," said Robin. "It is too pretty a piece of steel to
get cracked with common oak cudgel; and that is what would happen on
the first pass I made at you. Get you a stick like mine out of yon
undergrowth, and we will fight fairly, man to man."

The stranger thought a moment with his usual slowness, and eyed Robin
from head to foot. Then he unbuckled his scabbard, laid it and the sword
aside, and walked deliberately over to the oak thicket. Choosing from
among the shoots and saplings he found a stout little tree to his
liking, when he laid hold of it, without stopping to cut it, and gave a
tug. Up it came root and all, as though it were a stalk of corn, and the
stranger walked back trimming it as quietly as though pulling up trees
were the easiest thing in the world.

Little John from his hiding-place saw the feat, and could hardly
restrain a long whistle. "By our Lady!" he muttered to himself, "I would
not be in Master Robin's boots!"

Whatever Robin thought upon seeing the stranger's strength, he uttered
not a word and budged not an inch. He only put his oak staff at parry as
the other took his stand.

There was a threefold surprise that day, by the brookside. The stranger
and Robin and Little John in the bushes all found a combat that upset
all reckoning. The stranger for all his easy strength and cool nerve
found an antagonist who met his blows with the skill of a woodman. Robin
found the stranger as hard to hit as though fenced in by an oak hedge.
While Little John rolled over and over in silent joy.

Back and forth swayed the fighters, their cudgels pounding this way and
that, knocking off splinters and bark, and threatening direst damage to
bone and muscle and skin. Back and forth they pranced kicking up a cloud
of dust and gasping for fresh air. From a little way off you would have
vowed that these two men were trying to put out a fire, so thickly
hung the cloud of battle over them. Thrice did Robin smite the scarlet
man--with such blows that a less stout fellow must have bowled over.
Only twice did the scarlet man smite Robin, but the second blow was
like to finish him. The first had been delivered over the knuckles, and
though 'twas a glancing stroke it well nigh broke Robin's fingers, so
that he could not easily raise his staff again. And while he was dancing
about in pain and muttering a dust-covered oath, the other's staff came
swinging through the cloud at one side--zip!--and struck him under the
arm. Down went Robin as though he were a nine-pin--flat down into the
dust of the road. But despite the pain he was bounding up again like an
India rubber man to renew the attack, when Little John interfered.

"Hold!" said he, bursting out of the bushes and seizing the stranger's
weapon. "Hold, I say!"

"Nay," retorted the stranger quietly, "I was not offering to smite him
while he was down. But if there be a whole nest of you hatching here by
the waterside, cluck out the other chicks and I'll make shift to fight
them all."

"Not for all the deer in Sherwood!" cried Robin. "You are a good fellow
and a gentleman. I'll fight no more with you, for verily I feel sore in
wrist and body. Nor shall any of mine molest you henceforth."

Sooth to say, Robin did not look in good fighting trim. His clothes were
coated with dirt, one of his hosen had slipped halfway down from his
knee, the sleeve of his jerkin was split, and his face was streaked with
sweat and dirt. Little John eyed him drolly.

"How now, good master," quoth he, "the sport you were to kick up has
left you in sorry plight. Let me dust your coat for you."

"Marry, it has been dusted enough already," replied Robin; "and I now
believe the Scripture saying that all men are but dust, for it has
sifted me through and through and lined my gullet an inch deep. By your
leave"--and he went to the brookside and drank deep and laved his face
and hands.

All this while the stranger had been eyeing Robin attentively and
listening to his voice as though striving to recall it.

"If I mistake not," he said slowly at last, "you are that famous outlaw,
Robin Hood of Barnesdale."

"You say right," replied Robin; "but my fame has been tumbling sadly
about in the dust to-day."

"Now why did I not know you at once?" continued the stranger. "This
battle need not have happened, for I came abroad to find you to-day, and
thought to have remembered your face and speech. Know you not me, Rob,
my lad? Hast ever been to Gamewell Lodge?"

"Ha! Will Gamewell! my dear old chum, Will Gamewell!" shouted Robin,
throwing his arms about the other in sheer affection. "What an ass I was
not to recognize you! But it has been years since we parted, and your
gentle schooling has polished you off mightily."

Will embraced his cousin no less heartily.

"We are quits on not knowing kinsmen," he said, "for you have changed
and strengthened much from the stripling with whom I used to run foot
races in old Sherwood."

"But why seek you me?" asked Robin. "You know I am an outlaw and
dangerous company. And how left you mine uncle? and have you heard aught
of late of--of Maid Marian?"

"Your last question first," answered Will, laughing, "for I perceive
that it lies nearest your heart. I saw Maid Marian not many weeks after
the great shooting at Nottingham, when you won her the golden arrow. She
prizes the bauble among her dearest possessions, though it has made her
an enemy in the Sheriff's proud daughter. Maid Marian bade me tell you,
if I ever saw you, that she must return to Queen Eleanor's court, but
she could never forget the happy days in the greenwood. As for the old
Squire, he is still hale and hearty, though rheumatic withal. He speaks
of you as a sad young dog, but for all that is secretly proud of your
skill at the bow and of the way you are pestering the Sheriff, whom
he likes not. 'Twas for my father's sake that I am now in the open, an
outlaw like yourself. He has had a steward, a surly fellow enough, who,
while I was away at school, boot-licked his way to favor until he lorded
it over the whole house. Then he grew right saucy and impudent, but my
father minded it not, deeming the fellow indispensable in managing the
estate. But when I came back it irked me sorely to see the fellow strut
about as though he owned the place. He was sly enough with me at first,
and would brow-beat the Squire only while I was out of earshot. It
chanced one day, however, that I heard loud voices through an open
window and paused to hearken. That vile servant called my father 'a
meddling old fool,' 'Fool and meddler art thou thyself, varlet,' I
shouted, springing through the window, '_that_ for thy impudence!' and
in my heat I smote him a blow mightier than I intended, for I have
some strength in mine arm. The fellow rolled over and never breathed
afterwards, I think I broke his neck or something the like. Then I knew
that the Sheriff would use this as a pretext to hound my father, if I
tarried. So I bade the Squire farewell and told him I would seek you in
Sherwood."

"Now by my halidom!" said Robin Hood; "for a man escaping the law, you
took it about as coolly as one could wish. To see you come tripping
along decked out in all your gay plumage and trolling forth a roundelay,
one would think you had not a care in all the world. Indeed I remarked
to Little John here that I hoped your purse was not as light as your
heart."

"Belike you meant _head_," laughed Will; "and is this Little John the
Great? Shake hands with me, an you will, and promise me to cross a staff
with me in friendly bout some day in the forest!"

"That will I!" quoth Little John heartily. "Here's my hand on it. What
is your last name again, say you?"

"'Tis to be changed," interposed Robin; "then shall the men armed with
warrants go hang for all of us. Let me bethink myself. Ah!--I have it!
In scarlet he came to us, and that shall be his name henceforth. Welcome
to the greenwood, Will Scarlet!"

"Aye, welcome, Will Scarlet!" said Little John; and they all clasped
hands again and swore to be true each to the other and to Robin Hood's
men in Sherwood Forest.




CHAPTER VII

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET FRIAR TUCK

     The friar took Robin Hood on his back,
     Deep water he did bestride,
     And spake neither good word nor bad,
     Till he came at the other side.

In summer time when leaves grow green, and flowers are fresh and gay,
Robin Hood and his merry men were all disposed to play. Thus runs a
quaint old ballad which begins the next adventure. Then some would leap
and some would run and some try archery and some ply the quarter-staff
and some fall to with the good broad sword. Some again would try a round
at buffet and fisticuff; and thus by every variety of sport and exercise
they perfected themselves in skill and made the band and its prowess
well known throughout all England.

It had been a custom of Robin Hood's to pick out the best men in all the
countryside. Whenever he heard of one more than usually skilled in
any feat of arms he would seek the man and test him in personal
encounter--which did not always end happily for Robin. And when he had
found a man to his liking he offered him service with the bold fellows
of Sherwood Forest.

Thus it came about that one day after a practice at shooting, in which
Little John struck down a hart at five hundred feet distance, Robin Hood
was fain to boast.

"God's blessing on your heart!" he cried, clapping the burly fellow on
the shoulder; "I would travel an hundred miles to find one who could
match you!"

At this Will Scarlet laughed full roundly.

"There lives a curtall friar in Fountain's Abbey--Tuck, by name--who can
beat both him and you," he said.

Robin pricked up his ears at this free speech.

"By our Lady," he said, "I'll neither eat nor drink till I see this same
friar."

And with his usual impetuosity he at once set about arming himself for
the adventure. On his head he placed a cap of steel. Underneath his
Lincoln green he wore a coat of chain metal. Then with sword and buckler
girded at his side he made a goodly show. But he also took with him his
stout yew bow and a sheaf of chosen arrows.

So he set forth upon his way with blithe heart; for it was a day when
the whole face of the earth seemed glad and rejoicing in pulsing life.
Steadily he pressed forward by winding ways till he came to a green
broad pasture land at whose edge flowed a stream dipping in and out
among the willows and rushes on the banks. A pleasant stream it was, but
it flowed calmly as though of some depth in the middle. Robin did not
fancy getting his feet wet, or his fine suit of mail rusted, so he
paused on the hither bank to rest and take his bearings.

As he sat down quietly under the shade of a drooping willow he heard
snatches of a jovial song floating to him from the farther side; then
came a sound of two men's voices arguing. One was upholding the
merits of hasty pudding and the other stood out stoutly for meat pie,
"especially"--quoth this one--"when flavored with young onions!"

"Gramercy!" muttered Robin to himself, "that is a tantalizing speech to
a hungry man! But, odds bodikins! did ever two men talk more alike than
those two fellows yonder!"

In truth Robin could well marvel at the speech, for the voices were
curiously alike.

Presently the willows parted on the other bank, and Robin could hardly
forebear laughing out right. His mystery was explained. It was not two
men who had done all this singing and talking, but one--and that one a
stout curtall friar who wore a long cloak over his portly frame, tied
with a cord in the middle. On his head was a knight's helmet, and in his
hand was a no more warlike weapon than a huge pasty pie, with which he
sat down by the water's edge. His twofold argument was finished. The
meat pie had triumphed; and no wonder! for it was the present witness,
soon to give its own testimony.

But first the friar took off his helmet to cool his head, and a droll
picture he made. His head was as round as an apple, and eke as smooth in
spots. A fringe of close curling black hair grew round the base of his
skull, but his crown was bare and shiny as an egg. His cheeks also were
smooth and red and shiny; and his little gray eyes danced about with
the funniest air imaginable. You would not have blamed Robin Hood for
wanting to laugh, had you heard this serious two-faced talk and then
seen this jovial one-faced man. Good humor and fat living stood out all
over him; yet for all that he looked stout enough and able to take
care of himself with any man. His short neck was thick like that of a
Berkshire bull; his shoulders were set far back, and his arms sprouted
therefrom like two oak limbs. As he sat him down, the cloak fell apart
disclosing a sword and buckler as stout as Robin's own.

Nathless, Robin was not dismayed at sight of the weapons. Instead, his
heart fell within him when he saw the meat pie which was now in fair
way to be devoured before his very eyes; for the friar lost no time in
thrusting one hand deep into the pie, while he crossed himself with the
other.

Thereupon Robin seized his bow and fitted a shaft.

"Hey, friar!" he sang out, "carry me over the water, or else I cannot
answer for your safety."

The other started at the unexpected greeting, and laid his hand upon
his sword. Then he looked up and beheld Robin's arrow pointing full upon
him.

"Put down your bow, fellow," he shouted back, "and I will bring you over
the brook. 'Tis our duty in life to help each other, and your keen shaft
shows me that you are a man worthy of some attention." So the friar
knight got him up gravely, though his eyes twinkled with a cunning
light, and laid aside his beloved pie and his cloak and his sword and
his buckler, and waded across the stream with waddling dignity. Then he
took Robin Hood upon his back and spoke neither good word nor bad till
he came to the other side.

Lightly leaped Robin off his back, and said, "I am much beholden to you,
good father."

"Beholden, say you!" rejoined the other drawing his sword; "then by my
faith you shall e'en repay your score. Now mine own affairs, which are
of a spiritual kind and much more important than yours which are carnal,
lie on the other side of this stream. I see that you are a likely man
and one, moreover, who would not refuse to serve the church. I must
therefore pray of you that whatsoever I have done unto you, you will do
also unto me. In short, my son, you must e'en carry me back again."

Courteously enough was this said; but so suddenly had the friar drawn
his sword that Robin had no time to unsling his bow from his back,
whither he had placed it to avoid getting it wet, or to unfasten his
scabbard. So he was fain to temporize.

"Nay, good father, but I shall get my feet wet," he commenced.

"Are your feet any better than mine?" retorted the other. "I fear me
now that I have already wetted myself so sadly as to lay in a store of
rheumatic pains by way of penance."

"I am not so strong as you," continued Robin; "that helmet and sword and
buckler would be my undoing on the uncertain footing amidstream, to say
nothing of your holy flesh and bones."

"Then I will lighten up, somewhat," replied the other calmly. "Promise
to carry me across and I will lay aside my war gear."

"Agreed," said Robin; and the friar thereupon stripped himself; and
Robin bent his stout back and took him up even as he had promised.

Now the stones at the bottom of the stream were round and slippery, and
the current swept along strongly, waist-deep, in the middle. More-over
Robin had a heavier load than the other had borne, nor did he know the
ford. So he went stumbling along now stepping into a deep hole, now
stumbling over a boulder in a manner that threatened to unseat his rider
or plunge them both clear under current. But the fat friar hung on and
dug his heels into his steed's ribs in as gallant manner as if he were
riding in a tournament; while as for poor Robin the sweat ran down him
in torrents and he gasped like the winded horse he was. But at last he
managed to stagger out on the bank and deposit his unwieldy load.

No sooner had he set the friar down than he seized his own sword.

"Now, holy friar," quoth he, panting and wiping the sweat from his brow,
"what say the Scriptures that you quote so glibly?--Be not weary of
well doing. You must carry me back again or I swear that I will make a
cheese-cloth out of your jacket!"

The friar's gray eyes once more twinkled with a cunning gleam that boded
no good to Robin; but his voice was as calm and courteous as ever.

"Your wits are keen, my son," he said; "and I see that the waters of the
stream have not quenched your spirit. Once more will I bend my back to
the oppressor and carry the weight of the haughty."

So Robin mounted again in high glee, and carried his sword in his
hand, and went prepared to tarry upon the other side. But while he
was bethinking himself what great words to use, when he should arrive
thither, he felt himself slipping from the friar's broad back. He
clutched frantically to save himself but had too round a surface to
grasp, besides being hampered by his weapon. So down went he with a
loud splash into the middle of the stream, where the crafty friar had
conveyed him.

"There!" quoth the holy man; "choose you, choose you, my fine fellow,
whether you will sink or swim!" And he gained his own bank without more
ado, while Robin thrashed and spluttered about until he made shift to
grasp a willow wand and thus haul himself ashore on the other side.

Then Robin's rage waxed furious, despite his wetting, and he took his
bow and his arrows and let fly one shaft after another at the worthy
friar. But they rattled harmlessly off his steel buckler, while he
laughed and minded them no more than if they had been hail-stones.

"Shoot on, shoot on, good fellow," he sang out; "shoot as you have
begun; if you shoot here a summer's day, your mark I will not shun!"

So Robin shot, and passing well, till all his arrows were gone, when
from very rage he began to revile him.

"You bloody villain!" shouted he, "You psalm-singing hypocrite! You
reviler of good hasty pudding! Come but within reach of my sword
arm, and, friar or no friar, I'll shave your tonsure closer than ever
bald-pated monk was shaven before!"

"Soft you and fair!" said the friar unconcernedly; "hard words are
cheap, and you may need your wind presently. An you would like a bout
with swords, meet me halfway i' the stream."

And with this speech the friar waded into the brook, sword in hand,
where he was met halfway by the impetuous outlaw.

Thereupon began a fierce and mighty battle. Up and down, in and out,
back and forth they fought. The swords flashed in the rays of the
declining sun and then met with a clash that would have shivered less
sturdy weapons or disarmed less sturdy wielders. Many a smart blow was
landed, but each perceived that the other wore an undercoat of linked
mail which might not be pierced. Nathless, their ribs ached at the force
of the blows. Once and again they paused by mutual consent and caught
breath and looked hard each at the other; for never had either met so
stout a fellow.

Finally in a furious onset of lunge and parry Robin's foot stepped on a
rolling stone, and he went down upon his knees. But his antagonist would
not take this advantage: he paused until Robin should get upon his feet.

"Now by our Lady!" cried the outlaw, using his favorite oath, "you are
the fairest swordsman that I have met in many a long day. I would beg a
boon of you."

"What is it?" said the other.

"Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth and blow three blasts
thereon."

"That will I do," said the curtall friar, "blow till your breath fails,
an it please you."

Then, says the old ballad, Robin Hood set his horn to mouth and blew
mighty blasts; and half a hundred yeomen, bows bent, came raking over
the lee.

"Whose men are these," said the friar, "that come so hastily?"

"These men are mine," said Robin Hood, feeling that his time to laugh
was come at last.

Then said the friar in his turn, "A boon, a boon, the like I gave to
you. Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth and whistle three blasts
thereon."

"That will I do," said Robin, "or else I were lacking in courtesy."

The friar set his fist to his mouth and put the horn to shame by the
piercing whistles he blew; whereupon half a hundred great dogs came
running and jumping so swiftly that they had reached their bank as soon
as Robin Hood's men had reached his side.

Then followed a rare foolish conflict. Stutely, Much, Little John
and the other outlaws began sending their arrows whizzing toward the
opposite bank; but the dogs, which were taught of the friar, dodged the
missiles cleverly and ran and fetched them back again, just as the dogs
of to-day catch sticks.

"I have never seen the like of this in my days!" cried Little John,
amazed.

"'Tis rank sorcery and witchcraft."

"Take off your dogs, Friar Tuck!" shouted Will Scarlet, who had but then
run up, and who now stood laughing heartily at the scene.

"Friar Tuck!" exclaimed Robin, astounded. "Are you Friar Tuck? Then am I
your friend, for you are he I came to seek."

"I am but a poor anchorite, a curtall friar," said the other, whistling
to his pack, "by name Friar Tuck of Fountain's Dale. For seven years
have I tended the Abbey here, preached o' Sundays, and married and
christened and buried folk--and fought too, if need were; and if it
smacks not too much of boasting, I have not yet met the knight or
trooper or yeoman that I would yield before. But yours is a stout blade.
I would fain know you."

"'Tis Robin Hood, the outlaw, who has been assisting you at this
christening," said Will Scarlet glancing roguishly at the two opponents'
dripping garments. And at this sally the whole bad burst into a shout of
laughter, in which Robin and Friar Tuck joined.

"Robin Hood!" cried the good friar presently, holding his sides; "are
you indeed that famous yeoman? Then I like you well; and had I known you
earlier, would have both carried you across and shared my pasty pie with
you."

"To speak soothly," replied Robin gaily, "'twas that same pie that led
me to be rude. Now, therefore, bring it and your dogs and repair with us
to the greenwood. We have need of you--with this message came I to-day
to seek you. We will build you a hermitage in Sherwood Forest, and you
shall keep us from evil ways. Will you not join our band?"

"Marry, that will I!" cried Friar Tuck jovially. "Once more will I cross
this much beforded stream, and go with you to the good greenwood!"




CHAPTER VIII

HOW ALLAN-A-DALE'S WOOING WAS PROSPERED

     "What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood,
     "Come tell me, without any fail!"
     "By the faith o' my body," then said the young man,
     "My name it is Allan-a-Dale."

Friar Tuck and Much the miller's son soon became right good friends over
the steaming stew they jointly prepared for the merry men that evening.
Tuck was mightily pleased when he found a man in the forest who could
make pasties and who had cooked for no less person than the High Sheriff
himself. While Much marveled at the friar's knowledge of herbs and
simples and woodland things which savored a stew greatly. So they
gabbled together like two old gossips and, between them, made such a
tasty mess that Robin Hood and his stout followers were like never to
leave off eating. And the friar said grace too, with great unction, over
the food; and Robin said Amen! and that henceforth they were always to
have mass of Sundays.

So Robin walked forth into the wood that evening with his stomach full
and his heart, therefore, in great contentment and love for other men.
He did not stop the first passer-by, as his manner often was, and desire
a fight. Instead, he stepped behind a tree, when he heard a man's voice
in song, and waited to behold the singer. Perhaps he remembered, also,
the merry chanting of Will Scarlet, and how he had tried to give it
pause a few days before.

Like Will, this fellow was clad in scarlet, though he did not look quite
as fine a gentleman. Nathless, he was a sturdy yeoman of honest face and
a voice far sweeter than Will's. He seemed to be a strolling minstrel,
for he bore a harp in his hand, which he thrummed, while his lusty tenor
voice rang out with--

     "Hey down, and a down, and a down!
     I've a lassie back i' the town;
     Come day, come night, Come dark or light,
     She will wed me, back i' the town!"

Robin let the singer pass, caroling on his way.

"'Tis not in me to disturb a light-hearted lover, this night," he
muttered, a memory of Marian coming back to him. "Pray heaven she may be
true to him and the wedding be a gay one 'back i' the town!"'

So Robin went back to his camp, where he told of the minstrel.

"If any of ye set on him after this," quoth he in ending, "bring him to
me, for I would have speech with him."

The very next day his wish was gratified. Little John and Much the
miller's son were out together on a foraging expedition when they espied
the same young man; at least, they thought it must be he, for he was
clad in scarlet and carried a harp in his hand. But now he came drooping
along the way; his scarlet was all in tatters; and at every step he
fetched a sigh, "Alack and a well-a-day!"

Then stepped forth Little John and Much the miller's son.

"Ho! do not wet the earth with your weeping," said Little John, "else we
shall all have lumbago."

No sooner did the young man catch sight of them than he bent his bow,
and held an arrow back to his ear.

"Stand off! stand off!" he said; "what is your will with me?"

"Put by your weapon," said Much, "we will not harm you. But you must
come before our master straight, under yon greenwood tree."

So the minstrel put by his bow and suffered himself to be led before
Robin Hood.

"How now!" quoth Robin, when he beheld his sorry countenance, "are you
not he whom I heard no longer ago than yesternight caroling so blithely
about 'a lassie back i' the town'?"

"The same in body, good sir," replied the other sadly; "but my spirit is
grievously changed."

"Tell me your tale," said Robin courteously. "Belike I can help you."

"That can no man on earth, I fear," said the stranger; "nathless, I'll
tell you the tale. Yesterday I stood pledged to a maid, and thought
soon to wed her. But she has been taken from me and is to become an
old knight's bride this very day; and as for me, I care not what ending
comes to my days, or how soon, without her."

"Marry, come up!" said Robin; "how got the old knight so sudden
vantage?"

"Look you, worship, 'tis this way. The Normans overrun us, and are in
such great favor that none may say them nay. This old returned Crusader
coveted the land whereon my lady dwells. The estate is not large, but
all in her own right; whereupon her brother says she shall wed a title,
and he and the old knight have fixed it up for to-day."

"Nay, but surely--" began Robin.

"Hear me out, worship," said the other. "Belike you think me a sorry
dog not to make fight of this. But the old knight, look you, is not
come-at-able. I threw one of his varlets into a thorn hedge, and another
into a water-butt, and a third landed head-first into a ditch. But I
couldn't do any fighting at all."

"'Tis a pity!" quoth Little John gravely. He had been sitting
cross-legged listening to this tale of woe. "What think you, Friar Tuck,
doth not a bit of fighting ease a man's mind?"

"Blood-letting is ofttimes recommended of the leeches," replied Tuck.

"Does the maid love you?" asked Robin Hood.

"By our troth, she loved me right well," said the minstrel. "I have a
little ring of hers by me which I have kept for seven long years."

"What is your name?" then said Robin Hood.

"By the faith of my body," replied the young man, "my name is
Allan-a-Dale."

"What will you give me, Allan-a-Dale," said Robin Hood, "in ready gold
or fee, to help you to your true love again, and deliver her back unto
you?"

"I have no money, save only five shillings," quoth Allan; "but--are you
not Robin Hood?"

Robin nodded.

"Then you, if any one, can aid me!" said Allan-a-Dale eagerly. "And if
you give me back my love, I swear upon the Book that I will be your true
servant forever after."

"Where is this wedding to take place, and when?" asked Robin.

"At Plympton Church, scarce five miles from here; and at three o' the
afternoon."

"Then to Plympton we will go!" cried Robin suddenly springing into
action; and he gave out orders like a general: "Will Stutely, do you
have four-and-twenty good men over against Plympton Church 'gainst three
o' the afternoon. Much, good fellow, do you cook up some porridge for
this youth, for he must have a good round stomach--aye, and a better
gear! Will Scarlet, you will see to decking him out bravely for the
nonce. And Friar Tuck, hold yourself in readiness, good book in hand, at
the church. Mayhap you had best go ahead of us all."

The fat Bishop of Hereford was full of pomp and importance that day at
Plympton Church. He was to celebrate the marriage of an old knight--a
returned Crusader--and a landed young woman; and all the gentry
thereabout were to grace the occasion with their presence. The church
itself was gaily festooned with flowers for the ceremony, while out
in the church-yard at one side brown ale flowed freely for all the
servitors.

Already were the guests beginning to assemble, when the Bishop, back in
the vestry, saw a minstrel clad in green walk up boldly to the door and
peer within. It was Robin Hood, who had borrowed Allan's be-ribboned
harp for the time.

"Now who are you, fellow?" quoth the Bishop, "and what do you here at
the church-door with you harp and saucy air?"

"May it please your Reverence," returned Robin bowing very humbly, "I
am but a strolling harper, yet likened the best in the whole North
Countree. And I had hope that my thrumming might add zest to the wedding
to-day."

"What tune can you harp?" demanded the Bishop.

"I can harp a tune so merry that a forlorn lover will forget he is
jilted," said Robin. "I can harp another tune that will make a bride
forsake her lord at the altar. I can harp another tune that will bring
loving souls together though they were up hill and down dale five good
miles away from each other."

"Then welcome, good minstrel," said the Bishop, "music pleases me right
well, and if you can play up to your prattle, 'twill indeed grace your
ceremony. Let us have a sample of your wares."

"Nay, I must not put finger to string until the bride and groom have
come. Such a thing would ill fortune both us and them."

"Have it as you will," said the Bishop, "but here comes the party now."

Then up the lane to the church came the old knight, preceded by ten
archers liveried in scarlet and gold. A brave sight the archers made,
but their master walked slowly leaning upon a cane and shaking as though
in a palsy.

And after them came a sweet lass leaning upon her brother's arm. Her
hair did shine like glistering gold, and her eyes were like blue violets
that peep out shyly at the sun. The color came and went in her cheeks
like that tinting of a sea-shell, and her face was flushed as though
she had been weeping. But now she walked with a proud air, as though she
defied the world to crush her spirit. She had but two maids with her,
finikin lasses, with black eyes and broad bosoms, who set off their
lady's more delicate beauty well. One held up the bride's gown from the
ground; the other carried flowers in plenty.

"Now by all the wedding bells that ever were rung!" quoth Robin boldly,
"this is the worst matched pair that ever mine eyes beheld!"

"Silence, miscreant!" said a man who stood near.

The Bishop had hurriedly donned his gown and now stood ready to meet the
couple at the chancel.

But Robin paid no heed to him. He let the knight and his ten archers
pass by, then he strode up to the bride, and placed himself on the other
side from her brother.

"Courage, lady!" he whispered, "there is another minstrel near, who
mayhap may play more to your liking."

The lady glanced at him with a frightened air, but read such honesty and
kindness in his glance that she brightened and gave him a grateful look.

"Stand aside, fool!" cried the brother wrathfully.

"Nay, but I am to bring good fortune to the bride by accompanying her
through the church-doors," said Robin laughing.

Thereupon he was allowed to walk by her side unmolested, up to the
chancel with the party.

"Now strike up your music, fellow!" ordered the Bishop.

"Right gladly will I," quoth Robin, "an you will let me choose my
instrument. For sometimes I like the harp, and other times I think the
horn makes the merriest music in all the world."

And he drew forth his bugle from underneath his green cloak and blew
three winding notes that made the church--rafters ring again.

"Seize him!" yelled the Bishop; "there's mischief afoot! These are the
tricks of Robin Hood!"

The ten liveried archers rushed forward from the rear of the church,
where they had been stationed. But their rush was blocked by the
onlookers who now rose from their pews in alarm and crowded the aisles.
Meanwhile Robin had leaped lightly over the chancel rail and stationed
himself in a nook by the altar.

"Stand where you are!" he shouted, drawing his bow, "the first man to
pass the rail dies the death. And all ye who have come to witness a
wedding stay in your seats. We shall e'en have one, since we are come
into the church. But the bride shall choose her own swain!"

Then up rose another great commotion at the door, and four-and-twenty
good bowmen came marching in with Will Stutely at their head. And they
seized the ten liveried archers and the bride's scowling brother and the
other men on guard and bound them prisoners.

Then in came Allan-a-Dale, decked out gaily, with Will Scarlet for best
man. And they walked gravely down the aisle and stood over against the
chancel.

"Before a maiden weds she chooses--an the laws of good King Harry be
just ones," said Robin. "Now, maiden, before this wedding continues,
whom will you have to husband?"

The maiden answered not in words, but smiled with a glad light in her
eyes, and walked over to Allan and clasped her arms about his neck.

"That is her true love," said Robin. "Young Allan instead of the gouty
knight. And the true lovers shall be married at this time before we
depart away. Now my lord Bishop, proceed with the ceremony!"

"Nay, that shall not be," protested the Bishop; "the banns must be cried
three times in the church. Such is the law of our land."

"Come here, Little John," called Robin impatiently; and plucked off the
Bishop's frock from his back and put it on the yeoman.

Now the Bishop was short and fat, and Little John was long and lean.
The gown hung loosely over Little John's shoulders and came only to
his waist. He was a fine comical sight, and the people began to laugh
consumedly at him.

"By the faith o' my body," said Robin, "this cloth makes you a man.
You're the finest Bishop that ever I saw in my life. Now cry the banns."

So Little John clambered awkwardly into the quire, his short gown
fluttering gaily; and he called the banns for the marriage of the maid
and Allan-a-Dale once, twice, and thrice.

"That's not enough," said Robin; "your gown is so short that you must
talk longer."

Then Little John asked them in the church four, five, six, and seven
times.

"Good enough!" said Robin. "Now belike I see a worthy friar in the back
of this church who can say a better service than ever my lord Bishop of
Hereford. My lord Bishop shall be witness and seal the papers, but do
you, good friar, bless this pair with book and candle."

So Friar Tuck, who all along had been back in one corner of the church,
came forward; and Allan and his maid kneeled before him, while the old
knight, held an unwilling witness, gnashed his teeth in impotent rage;
and the friar began with the ceremony.

When he asked, "Who giveth this woman?" Robin stepped up and answered in
a clear voice:

"I do! I, Robin Hood of Barnesdale and Sherwood! And he who takes her
from Allan-a-Dale shall buy her full dearly."

So the twain were declared man and wife and duly blessed; and the bride
was kissed by each sturdy yeoman beginning with Robin Hood.

Now I cannot end this jolly tale better than in the words of the ballad
which came out of the happening and which has been sung in the villages
and countryside ever since:

     "And thus having end of this merry wedding,
     The bride lookt like a queen;
     And so they returned to the merry greenwood
     Amongst the leaves so green."



CHAPTER IX

HOW THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS WERE RESCUED

     Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,
     With a link a down and a down,
     And there he met with the proud Sheriff,
     Was walking along the town.

The wedding-party was a merry one that left Plympton Church, I ween; but
not so merry were the ones left behind. My lord Bishop of Hereford
was stuck up in the organ-loft and left, gownless and fuming. The ten
liveried archers were variously disposed about the church to keep him
company; two of them being locked in a tiny crypt, three in the belfry,
"to ring us a wedding peal," as Robin said; and the others under
quire seats or in the vestry. The bride's brother at her entreaty was
released, but bidden not to return to the church that day or interfere
with his sister again on pain of death. While the rusty old knight was
forced to climb a high tree, where he sat insecurely perched among the
branches, feebly cursing the party as it departed.

It was then approaching sundown, but none of the retainers or villagers
dared rescue the imprisoned ones that night, for fear of Robin Hood's
men. So it was not until sunup the next day, that they were released.
The Bishop and the old knight, stiff as they were, did not delay longer
than for breakfast, but so great was their rage and shame--made straight
to Nottingham and levied the Sheriff's forces. The Sheriff himself was
not anxious to try conclusions again with Robin in the open. Perhaps he
had some slight scruples regarding his oath. But the others swore that
they would go straight to the King, if he did not help them, so he was
fain to consent.

A force of an hundred picked men from the Royal Foresters and swordsmen
of the shire was gathered together and marched straightway into the
greenwood. There, as fortune would have it, they surprised some score of
outlaws hunting, and instantly gave chase. But they could not surround
the outlaws, who kept well in the lead, ever and anon dropping behind
a log or boulder to speed back a shaft which meant mischief to the
pursuers. One shaft indeed carried off the Sheriff's hat and caused
that worthy man to fall forward upon his horse's neck from sheer terror;
while five other arrows landed in the fleshy parts of Foresters' arms.

But the attacking party was not wholly unsuccessful. One outlaw in his
flight stumbled and fell; when two others instantly stopped and helped
to put him on his feet again. They were the widow's three sons, Stout
Will, and Lester, and John. The pause was an unlucky one for them, as
a party of Sheriff's men got above them and cut them off from their
fellows. Swordsmen came up in the rear, and they were soon hemmed in on
every side. But they gave good account of themselves, and before they
had been overborne by force of numbers they had killed two and disabled
three more.

The infuriated attackers were almost on the point of hewing the stout
outlaws to pieces, when the Sheriff cried:

"Hold! Bind the villains! We will follow the law in this and take them
to the town jail. But I promise ye the biggest public hanging that has
been seen in this shire for many changes of the moon!"

So they bound the widow's three sons and carried them back speedily to
Nottingham.

Now Robin Hood had not chanced to be near the scene of the fight, or
with his men; so for a time he heard nothing of the happening.

But that evening while returning to the camp he was met by the widow
herself, who came weeping along the way.

"What news, what news, good woman?" said Robin hastily but courteously;
for he liked her well.

"God save ye, Master Robin!" said the dame wildly. "God keep ye from the
fate that has met my three sons! The Sheriff has laid hands on them and
they are condemned to die."

"Now, by our Lady! That cuts me to the heart! Stout Will, and Lester,
and merry John! The earliest friends I had in the band, and still among
the bravest! It must not be! When is this hanging set?"

"Middle the tinker tells me that it is for tomorrow noon," replied the
dame.

"By the truth o' my body," quoth Robin, "you could not tell me in better
time. The memory of the old days when you freely bade me sup and dine
would spur me on, even if three of the bravest lads in all the shire
were not imperiled. Trust to me, good woman!"

The old widow threw herself on the ground and embraced his knees.

"'Tis dire danger I am asking ye to face," she said weeping; "and yet I
knew your brave true heart would answer me. Heaven help ye, good Master
Robin, to answer a poor widow's prayers!"

Then Robin Hood sped straightway to the forest-camp, where he heard the
details of the skirmish--how that his men had been out-numbered five to
one, but got off safely, as they thought, until a count of their members
had shown the loss of the widow's three sons.

"We must rescue them, my men!" quoth Robin, "even from out the shadow of
the rope itself!"

Whereupon the band set to work to devise ways and means.

Robin walked apart a little way with his head leaned thoughtfully upon
his breast--for he was sore troubled--when whom should he meet but an
old begging palmer, one of a devout order which made pilgrimages and
wandered from place to place, supported by charity.

This old fellow walked boldly up to Robin and asked alms of him; since
Robin had been wont to aid members of his order.

"What news, what news, thou foolish old man?" said Robin, "what news, I
do thee pray?"

"Three squires in Nottingham town," quoth the palmer, "are condemned
to die. Belike that is greater news than the shire has had in some
Sundays."

Then Robin's long-sought idea came to him like a flash.

"Come, change thine apparel with me, old man," he said, "and I'll give
thee forty shillings in good silver to spend in beer or wine."

"O, thine apparel is good," the palmer protested, "and mine is ragged
and torn. The holy church teaches that thou should'st ne'er laugh an old
man to scorn."

"I am in simple earnest, I say. Come, change thine apparel with mine.
Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold to feast they brethren right
royally."

So the palmer was persuaded; and Robin put on the old man's hat, which
stood full high in the crown; and his cloak, patched with black and
blue and red, like Joseph's coat of many colors in its old age; and
his breeches, which had been sewed over with so many patterns that the
original was scarce discernible; and his tatter