Robin Hood

Robin Hood helps the Scarlet Knight.

It was Warrenton who brought Master Geoffrey his red-armored steed and lance, after all; for, although Robin had had a voice in the choosing of the horse, and had helped the retainer to bind the shaft and interlace the cuirass and gyres with riband such as the knight had ordered, events stayed Robin from going out with these appurtenances of war to the Lady’s Bower.

Young Fitzooth had been commanded to his mother’s chamber so soon as he had come out from his converse with the Squire. There befell an anxious interview, Mistress Fitzooth arguing for and against the Squire’s project in a breath. Robin was perplexed indeed: his ambition was fired by the Squire’s rosy pictures of what he, as a true Montfichet, must adhere to without fail upon assuming the name and mantle of Gamewell.

Most of all Robin thought of his father. What would he counsel? “Remain Fitzooth, and fight your own way in the world, boy.” That is what he might say. In the end Robin decided to sleep upon the matter. In any case he would not consent to rob Geoffrey of his inheritance; and he told old Gamewell this to his face. “When I am gone you can do what you will with the place, boy,” the old man had answered. “I have no son; but, of course, the fees and revenues will be yours. If, for a whim, you beggar yourself, I cannot stay you. But take it whilst I live; and wear Montfichet’s shield in the days when my eyes can be rejoiced by so brave a sight, for you will ne’er disgrace our ’scutcheon, I warrant me. Perchance ’tis Geoffrey’s sole chance that you should wear the badge of Gamewell. I might choose to bequeath it elsewhere.”

The lad had checked him then. “Never that, sir,” he had said. “Let Gamewell land be ruled, for ever, by Gamewell’s proper lord. I pray you to let me take counsel with my mother ere I answer you.”

“It is what I would suggest myself. Go to her.”

Then had come the argument with his mother, which had unsettled him more than before.

He went down to discuss with Warrenton and Stuteley the means by which they best could bring the horse and arms to Geoffrey, and it soon became evident that no one other than Warrenton dare attempt it, for fear of betraying the son to his still angry father.

“Are you sure, Warrenton, that you will perform this business right carefully?” Robin asked, over and over again, until the old servant became vexed.

“I am part of the house of Montfichet, lording,” snapped Warrenton, at last, “and it is not reasonable to think that I will turn against myself, as it were. Be sure that the horse and his trappings will be safely carried to my second master, Geoffrey, at the hour given. Do you keep the Squire employed in talk; and find excuse to lie in the little room next to his own that you may hear him if he moves.”

So Robin and Will went back to the hall, and presently the Squire’s voice was heard through the arras which covered the north entrance to the apartment. He was in deep converse with the clerk, and entered the hall holding him by the arm. For a moment Robin and Will were unperceived; then the Squire’s bright, keen eyes discovered them.

“Now to bed, boy!” cried he, dropping his detaining hold of the priest. “‘Tis late; and I go myself within a short space. Dismiss your squire, Robin, and bid me good e’en. An early sleeper maketh a sound man.”

“Did I see you with Warrenton, Robin Fitzooth?” put in the clerk, curiously. “I would fain have some talk with him on the matter of archery. I am told that this old man can draw as pretty a bow as any in Nottingham.”

“As any in England, I would say,” said Gamewell, proudly. “That is, in his day. Now that age is upon Warrenton and his master, cunning in such matters is to seek. Yet he will teach you a few tricks when morning is come. Now kiss me, boy, and keep clear head and ready hand for the joustings and games to-morrow. Good night; God keep thee, Robin.”

He seemed to take it for granted that Robin would, in the end, consent to become of the house of Gamewell. Already Squire George looked upon him as heir to the hall and its acres; even as slowly did Warrenton, the shrewd and faithful man-at-arms. Truth to tell, the old servant did not regard the prospect with too kind an eye.

Young Fitzooth embraced his uncle, and bade him good night with real affection. There was no chance to alter his sleeping-room to one nearer to Gamewell’s chamber.

When he had reached his chamber, again came the suspicion of Warrenton. Robin unfastened his tunic slowly and thoughtfully. Presently he crossed the floor of his room with decided step.

“Will,” cried he, softly; and Stuteley, who had chosen his couch across the door of his young master’s chamber, sprang up at once in answer.

“Do you hold yourself ready, Will, so soon as the house is asleep. We will go out together to the bower; there is a way down to the court from my window. Rest and be still until I warn you.”

Stuteley replied in a word to him; and, blowing out his taper, Robin returned to his bed and flung himself upon it in patient expectation.

The hours passed wearily by, and movement could yet be heard about the hall. The open lattice gave entry to all sound from the court below; and from his window Robin could tell when the tapers in the hall were extinguished. Thrice he got up from his bed, and his stock of patience was slipping from him.

At last all was quiet and black in the courtyard of Gamewell.

“Will,” whispered Robin, opening his door as he spoke, “are you ready?”

Stuteley nodded as he entered on pointed toes.

“From the window,” explained Robin, pushing him towards the lattice. A faint starry radiance illumined the sky, and dim shadows held the angles and nooks of the court below them.

A dense ivy clung to and covered the walls of the house. To one of light and agile body it gave fair footing. Robin had hands and feet in it in a moment; and cautiously, adroitly came to the ground, and signalled to Will Stuteley.

The little ex-tumbler would have liked to have done tricks and shown his cleverness in the business, had there been time for it: as it was, Will dropped beside Robin lightly and easily, and instantly the two began to cross the court.

It was necessary for them to climb over the stables at their left hand. Some dogs, hearing these quiet, stealthy footfalls, began to bay furiously: and both the youths stayed themselves until the beasts went grumbling and suspicious back to the kennels.

They then renewed their journey, and, under the better light, made a safe crossing of the stable-roofs.

They managed at length to win the gardens, and then raced across the open ground to gain the shelter of the yew-trees bordering the bower. The pleasance, in the soft moonlight, looked ghostly enough: the statues and stone ornaments placed about the place seemed to be instinct with life and to wave signals of horror to Will’s starting eyes.

At last they approached the hut, and Robin saw in the bright moonlight that the door gaped black at them. There was no sign to betray either Warrenton or Geoffrey to him. Robin entered the hut, dragging the unwilling esquire after him.

A draught of chill air puffed in their faces as they entered; and a great owl blundered screamingly out into the night, the rush and noise of it startling Will to a cold ecstasy of terror. He would have plunged madly back to the hall had not Robin held firmly to him.

“Be not so foolish, friend,” said Fitzooth, crossly. His voice took his father’s tone, as always happened when he was angered.

They moved thereafter cautiously about the hut, groping before and about them to find something to show that Warrenton had fulfilled his mission. Presently Will stumbled and fell, pulling down Robin atop of him.

Robin, putting out his hand to save himself, found that his fingers grasped nothing but air. They were upon the verge of an open trap, in the far corner of the hut; and Stuteley had tripped over the edge of the reversed flap-mouth of this pit. Fitzooth’s hand rested at last upon the top rung of a ladder, and slowly the truth came to him. Quickly he drew himself up and whispered the discovery to the other.

In an instant, then, their fears were dispelled. Will would have gone down first into the pit had not Robin stayed him. Stuteley was anxious that his young master should come to no harm; and where a danger appeared an earthly one, he was quite willing to bear the brunt of it. It was thought of the Yellow Woman which dried up all the courage in his small, wiry body.

Robin carefully descended the ladder and found himself soon upon firm rocky ground. Stuteley was by his side in a flash: and then they both began feeling about them to ascertain the shape and character of this vault. Hardly had they commenced when Robin’s quick ears took warning. Sound of a quiet approach was plain.

The darkness of the pit was suddenly illumined, and the lads found themselves suddenly faced by the beams of a lanthorn suspended at about a man’s height in the air. From the blackness behind the light they heard a voice – Warrenton’s!

“Save me, masters, but you startled me rarely!” cried he, waving the lanthorn before him to make sure that these were no ghosts in front of him. “I have but this minute left Master Montfichet, having carried his horse to him in safety. He rides into Nottingham to-morrow, unattended. I would that I might be squire to him!”

“Did you indeed bring horse and arms down this ladder, Warrenton?” enquired Robin, with his suspicions still upon him. “Truly such a horse should be worth much in Nottingham Fair! I would dearly have loved to see so brave a business…”

“Nay, nay, lording,” answered Warrenton, with a half-laugh. “See” – and again he waved his light, showing them where the underground passage, for such it was, sloped upward to another and larger trap, now closed. “This way is one of the many secret ones about Gamewell, master: but do you keep the knowledge of it to yourselves, I beg, unless you would wish hurt to our future lord of Gamewell.”

Warrenton spoke thus with significance, to show Robin that he was not to think Geoffrey’s claims to the estate would be passed by. Robin Fitzooth saw that his doubts of Warrenton had been unfair: and he became ashamed of himself for harboring them.

“Give me your hand, Warrenton, and help me to climb these steps,” said he, openly. “‘Tis dark, for all your lamp; and I fain would feel friendly assistance, such as you can give.”

His tones rang pleasantly on Warrenton’s ears, and forthwith a good-fellowship was heralded between them. This was to mean much to the young hero of Locksley in the time to come; for Warrenton’s help and tuition were to make Robin Fitzooth something far better than the clever bowman he was already. This night, in a way, saw the beginning of Robin’s fortunes and strange, adventurous after-life.

The old servant told him quietly as they crept back to Gamewell that this passage-way led from the hut in the pleasance to Sherwood; and that Geoffrey for the time was hiding with the outlaws in the forest. “Our master is to be recognized by us as the Scarlet Knight at Nottingham Fair should one ask of us, lording,” Warrenton told him. “He implores us to be discreet as the grave in this matter, for in sooth his life is in the hollow of our hands.”

The old servant spoke no more. In silence he led them back into Gamewell by the private door through the stables by which he had himself emerged.

They regained their apartment, apparently without disturbing the household of Gamewell. Only did one pair of eyes and ears look and listen for them, and observe both their exit and return. It was the Clerk of Copmanhurst’s door that stood ajar; his busy mind that employed itself in speculation as to the cause and meaning of this midnight adventure.

Nottingham Fair: A wizard gives young Robin Hood a glimpse into the future.

The next day they journeyed quietly into Nottingham, taking only a few retainers with them. The clerk chose to stay at the hall, fearing, as he said, that his eyes would be offended with the vanity of the town.

When they had come to the meadows wherein the Fair was held, Robin was overcome with joy at the sight of the wonderments before him.

That which most pleased him was the tumbling and wrestling of a company of itinerant players, merry fellows, all in a great flutter of tinsel and noise. They were father and three sons, and while the old man blew vigorously upon some instrument, the three sons amused themselves and the crowd by cutting capers.

Again and again did Robin entice Master Montfichet to return to these strollers. It was the wrestling that most moved him, for they put such heart into it as to make the thing seem real. “Give them another penny, sir,” requested Robin, with heightened color. “Nay, give them a silver one. Did you ever see the like? The little one has the trick of it, for sure … I do believe that he will throw the elder in the next bout.”

“Will you try a turn with me, young master?” asked the little stroller, overhearing these words, “If you can stand twice to me, I’ll teach you the trick and more besides.”

“Nay, nay,” said the Squire, hastily. “We have no leisure for such play, Robin. Your mother is waiting for us at yonder booth. Let us go to her.”

Robin turned away reluctantly. “I do think I could stand twice to him. The grass is dry within the ring, sir – do you think I should hurt my clothes?”

Such pleading as this moved the capricious old Master of Gamewell. Although it was scarce a proper thing for one of gentle blood to mix with these commoners, yet the Squire could not forego his own appetite for sport. He turned about to the strollers: “I will give a purse of silver pennies to the one who wins the next bout,” said he. “Let any and all be welcome to the ring, and the bout shall be one of three falls. Challenge anyone in Nottingham; I dare swear some lad will be found who shall show you how to grip and throw.”

The father of the players struck a most pompous attitude and blew three piercing blasts. “Come one, come all!” cried he. “Here be the three great wrestlers from Cumberland, where wrestling is practised by every lad and man! Here are the wrestlers who have beaten all in their own county, and who now seek to overcome other champions! Oyez, oyez! There is a prize of twenty silver pennies to be handed to the winner of the next bout (did you say twenty or thirty pennies, lording?). Come one, come all – the lads from Cumberland challenge you!”

“Now let me wrestle for the pence, sir,” pleaded Robin, catching hold of the Squire’s sleeve. “Why should not I try to win them? They might become the foundation of that fortune which I would have for my father’s sake.”

“Twenty pennies would buy him little of Broadweald, boy,” laughed the Squire. “Nor should a Montfichet struggle in the mob for vulgar gain. You are a Montfichet – remember it – on your mother’s side. We will see how they fare, these men of Cumberland, against the lads of Nottingham and Sherwood. Here comes one in answer to the challenge.”

A thin, pale-faced fellow had claimed the purse whilst the Squire had been speaking. “‘Tis yours if you can take it,” answered the old stroller, as he and his lads cleared the ring. A great crowd of folk gathered about, and Montfichet and Robin were in danger of being jostled into the background.

“Stand here beside me, lording,” commanded the stroller. “Do you keep back there, impudent dogs! This is the noble who gives the purse. There shall be no purse at all, an you harry us so sorely. Stand back, you and you!” He pushed back the mob with vigorous thrusts. “Now let the best man win.”

The two lads had stripped to their waists, and were eyeing each other warily. The Nottingham youth, despite his slimness, showed clean and muscular against the swarthy thick-set boy from Cumberland. They suddenly closed in and clutched each other, then swayed uncertainly from side to side. The crowd cheered madly.

The competitors for Montfichet’s purse were evenly matched in strength: it remained for one of them to throw the other by means of some trick or feint. The stroller tried a simple ruse, and nigh lost his feet in doing it.

“You must show us a better attempt than that, Cumberland!” called out someone. Robin, quick-eared to recognize a voice, turned his head instantly, and in time to catch a glimpse of Will o’ th’ Green, the robber of Sherwood!

Seeing Robin’s gaze fixed upon him, Master Will deemed it prudent to discreetly withdraw. He nodded boldly to the lad first, however; then moved slowly away. “Hold fast to him, Nottingham, for your credit’s sake,” he cried, ere disappearing.

Meanwhile the wrestlers tugged and strained every nerve. Great beads of perspiration stood out upon their brows. Neither made any use of the many common tricks of wrestling: each perceived in the other no usual foe.

Suddenly the Nottingham lad slipped, or seemed to slip, and instantly the other gripped him for a throw. Fatal mistake – ’twas but a ruse – and so clear a one as to end the first round. The Nottingham lad recovered adroitly, and now that the other had his arm low about the enemy’s body, his equipoise was readily disturbed. The stroller felt himself swiftly thrust downward, and as they both fell together it was he who went undermost.

“A Nottingham! A Nottingham!” clamored the crowd, approvingly. Then all prepared themselves for the second round.

This, to Robin’s surprise, was ended as soon as begun. The Cumberland lad knew of a clever grip, and practised it upon the other immediately, and the Nottingham hero went down heavily.

The third bout was a stubborn match, but fortune decided it at length in favor of the stroller. Montfichet handed the purse to the winner without regret. “Spend the money worthily as you have won it, Cumberland,” spoke the Squire. “Now, Robin, let us join your mother. She will be weary waiting for us.”

“And if your stomach sickens for a fight with me, master, here may I be found until Saturday at noon.” So said the little tumbler, roguishly. “‘Tis a pity that we could not tussle for the purse, eh? but I would have given your ribs a basting.”

“Now shall I twist his ears for him, Squire?” said Robin.

“Nay, boy, let his ears grow longer, as befitteth; then you will have freer play with them. Come with me to see the miracle-play, and be not so ready to answer these rascallions. I begin to think that we should not have gone the round of the shows by ourselves, Master Spitfire. Travelling unattended with you is too dangerous a business.”

Montfichet smiled despite his chidings. He had already taken a fancy to this high-spirited youth. He walked affectionately, with his hand upon Robin’s shoulder, towards the booth where, with her maids, Mistress Fitzooth was waiting for them. “Are you sorry for Nottingham, Robin?” he asked, as they passed by the pale-faced, rueful wrestler. “Then take him this little purse quietly. Tell him it is for consolation, from a friend.”

Robin gladly performed the task; then, as he returned to the Squire’s side, thought to ask instruction on a point which had perplexed him not a little. “Yesterday, sir,” he began, “when we were in the greenwood, all men seemed eager to catch the robber chief.”

“Well, Robin?”

“To-day he walks about Nottingham Fair, and no one attempts to tarry him. Why is this, sir? Is the ground sanctuary?”

“Have you spied out Will o’ th ‘Green indeed?” began Montfichet, eagerly. “That were hard to believe, for all he is so audacious.”

“Truly, sir, I saw him when we were at the wrestling. He peered at me above the caps of the people.”

“Point him out now to me, Robin, if you can.” The Squire became humorously doubtful, and his amusement grew upon him as Robin vainly searched with his bright eyes about the throng. “No Will o’ th’ Green is here, child; he would be a fish out of water, indeed, in Nottingham town. Dearly would I love to catch him, though.”

“Yet I did see him, sir, and he knew me. Now here is my mother, who shall tell you how long we talked together yesterday. It is not likely that I would forget his voice.”

“Well, well, perhaps you are right,” said the Squire. “At any rate, we’ll keep sharp eyes for the rogue. Have you seen the miracle-play, Sister Nell?” he added now to Mistress Fitzooth.

“I have been waiting here for you,” answered she, briefly, “Robin, what do you think of it all?”

Robin’s reply was drowned in the noise of the music made within the tents. It was so dreadful a din that all were fain to move away.

“See, mother, here is a wizard; let us go in here!” Robin had spied a dim, mysterious booth, outside of which were triangles and cones and fiery serpents coming forth from a golden pot, with cabalistic signs and figures about the sides of it. Standing there was a tall, aged man, clad in a long red robe and leaning upon a star-capped wand.

“Will you have the stars read to you, lording?” he asked, gravely.

“Ay, surely!” clamored Robin. “Come, mother mine; come, sir, let us ask him questions of Locksley, and hear what my father may be doing.”

“Do you think that you will hear truth, child? Well, have your way. Will you join us, Nell – the business is a pleasing one, for these knaves have the tricks of their trade. But harkee, friends, give no real heed to the mummery.”

The wizard ushered them into his tent. Then he dropped the edge of the canvas over the opening, shrouding them in complete darkness.

The Squire began an angry protest, thinking that now was a good chance for any confederate to rob them or cut their pockets: but the wizard, unheeding, struck suddenly upon a small gong. A little blue flame sprang up from a brazier at the far end of the tent.

In the strange light one could now see the furniture and appurtenances of this quaint place. They were curious enough, although few in number. A globe, and a small table covered with a black cloth; a bench strewn with papers and parchments; and a skeleton of an ape, terribly deformed, were the chief items of the collection.

A curtain concealed part of the tent. Behind the brazier were hanging shelves covered with little bottles and phials. The wizard stretched his wand out towards the dancing blue flame, and it forthwith leaped up into a golden glory.

“Approach, Robin, son of Fitzooth the Ranger,” commanded the wizard. “Place your hand upon the globe and look down upon this table.” He pushed away the black cloth, showing that the center of the table was made of flat green glass. “Look steadily, and tell me what you see.”

“I see through it the grass of the ground on which we stand,” said Robin. “There is naught else.”

“Look again, Robin of Locksley.”

Robin strained his eyes in the hope of discovering something of mystery. But the flat glass was clear and disappointing.

“Let me take your place, Robin,” said Mistress Fitzooth, impatiently.

But now the green of the glass began to fade; and it seemed to become opaque and misty. Robin dimly saw in it a sudden miniature picture of a glade in the forest of Sherwood, the trees moving under a south-west wind, and the grasses and flowers bowing together and trembling.

It seemed to be summer; the bracken was high and green. A man, clad in doublet and hose of Lincoln green, strode forward into the center of the picture. He was a slim fellow, not over tall, with a likeable face, bearded and bronzed; and a forester, too, if one might judge by the longbow which he carried. He wore no badge nor mark of servitude, however, and walked as a free man. His face, vaguely familiar, wore an expectant look. He turned his glances right and left. A low call sounded from the bushes on his left. Robin could hear it as a sound afar off.

The man cautiously moved towards the verge of the glade, and as he did so there came a shower of light laughter from the undergrowth. Pushing aside the bracken came forth two arms; a merry face appeared; then, quick as a flash, upstood a page, gaily clad, with black curly hair and strange eyes.

The man opened his arms to the lad, and then Robin saw that ’twas no boy at all. It was a maid, joyous with life, playing such a prank as this that she might bring herself to her true love’s side.

Robin watched them delightedly. In some way he knew that in this mirrored picture he was concerned to a curious degree; and when a cold cloud passing above the glade took the sun and the light from it Robin felt an intense anxiety.

“Can you see aught now, Robin of the Woods?” murmured the soft voice of the wizard, and Robin would have asked him who was the man, if his tongue had been at command.

His eyes took all the strength of his brain. They waited furiously for the cloud to pass.

When all had become clear again the man was alone. His face was sorrowful, ill, and old. He was fitting an arrow to his bow, and his hand trembled as his fingers drew the string. He drew it slowly, almost wearily, yet with a practised gesture. Robin, watching him, saw the arrow leap forth from the picture.

“He is dying and shoots his last arrow – is it not so?” he uttered thickly, striving to understand.

While he spoke the vision faded and was gone.

Young Robin Hood is accosted by robbers in the forest.

The day broke clear and sweet. From Locksley to the borders of Sherwood Forest was but a stone’s cast.

Robin was in high glee, and had been awake long ere daylight. He had dressed himself in his best doublet, green trunk hose, and pointed shoes, and had strung and unstrung his bow full a score of times. A sumpter mule had been saddled to carry the baggage, for the dame had, at the last moment, discovered a wondrous assortment of fineries and fripperies that must perforce be translated to Gamewell.

Robin was carolling like any bird.

“Are you glad to be leaving Locksley, my son?” asked Hugh Fitzooth.

“Ay, rarely!”

“‘Tis a dull place, no doubt. And glad to be leaving home too?”

“No, sir; only happy at the thought of the Fair. Doubt it not that I shall be returned to you long ere a month is gone.”

“A year, Robin, a year! Twelve changing months ere you will see me again. I have given my word now. Keep me a place in your heart, Robin.”

“You have it all now, sir, be sure, and I am not really so glad within as I seem without.”

“Tut, I am not chiding you. Get you upon your jennet, dame; and, Robin, do you show the way. Roderick and the other shall lead the baggage mule. Have you pikes with you, men, and full sheaths?”

“I have brought me a dagger, father,” cried Robin, joyfully.

So, bravely they set forth from their quiet house at Locksley, and came within the hour to Copmanhurst. Here only were the ruins of the chapel and the clerk’s hermitage, a rude stone building of two small rooms.

Enclosed with high oaken stakes and well guarded by two gaunt hounds was the humble abode of the anchorite.

The clerk came to the verge of his enclosure to greet them, and stood peering above the palisade. “Give you good morrow, father,” cried Robin; “get your steed and tie up the dogs. We go to Nottingham this day and you are to come with us!”

The monk shook his head. “I may not leave this spot, child, for matters of vanity,” he answered, in would-be solemn tones.

“Will you not ride with the dame and my son, father?” asked Fitzooth. “George of Gamewell has sent in for Robin, and I wish that you should journey with him, giving him such sage counsel as may fit him for a year’s service in the great and worshipful company that he now may meet.”

“Come with us to-day, father,” urged Mistress Fitzooth also. “I have brought a veal pasty and some bread, so that we may not be hungry on the road. Also, there is a flask of wine.”

“Nay, daughter, I have no thought for the carnal things of life. I will go with you, since the Ranger of Locksley orders it. It is my place to obey him whom the King has put in charge of our greenwood. Bide here whilst I make brief preparation.”

His eyes had twinkled, though, when the dame had spoken; and one could see that ’twas not on roots and fresh water alone that the clerk had thrived. Full and round were the lines of him under his monkly gown; and his face was red as any harvest moon.

Hugh bade farewell briefly to them, while the clerk was tying up his hounds and chattering with them.

When the clerk was ready Fitzooth kissed his dame and bade her be firm with their son; then, embracing Robin, ordered him to protect his mother from all mischance. Also he was to bear himself honorably and quietly; and, whilst being courteous to all folk, he was not to give way unduly to anyone who should attempt to browbeat or to cozen him.

“Remember always that your father is a proud man; and see, take those arrows of my own making and learn from them how to trim the hazel. You have a steady hand and bold eye; be a craftsman when you return to Locksley, and I will give you control of some part of the forest, under me. Now, farewell – take my greetings to our brother at Gamewell.”

Then the King’s Forester turned on his heel and strode back towards Locksley. Once he paused and faced about to wave his cap to them: then his figure vanished into the green of the trees.

A sadness fell upon Robin – unaccountable and perplexing. But the hermit soberly journeyed toward Nottingham, the two men-at-arms, with the sumpter mule, riding in front.

The road wound in and about the forest, and at noon they came to a part where the trees nigh shut out the sky.

Robin spied out a fine old stag, and his fingers itched to fit one of his new arrows to his bow. “These be all of them King’s deer, father?” he asked the friar, thoughtfully.

“Every beast within Sherwood, royal or mean, belongs to our King, child.”

“Do they not say that Henry is away in a foreign land, father?”

“Ay, but he will return. His deer are not yet to be slain by your arrows, child. When you are Ranger at Locksley, in your father’s stead, who shall then say you nay?”

“My father does not shoot the King’s deer, except those past their time,” answered Robin, quickly. “He tends them, and slays instead any robbers who would maltreat or kill the does. Do you think I could hit yon beast, father? He makes a pretty mark, and my arrow would but prick him?”

The clerk glanced toward Mistress Fitzooth. “Dame,” said he, gravely, “do you not think that here, in this cool shadow, we might well stay our travelling? Surely it is near the hour of noon? And,” here he sank his voice to a sly whisper, “it would be well perhaps to let this temptation pass away from before our Robin! Else, I doubt not, the King will be one stag the less in Sherwood.”

“I like not this dark road, father,” began the dame. “We shall surely come to a brighter place. Robin, do you ride near to me, and let your bow be at rest. Warrenton, your uncle’s man, told me but yesterday.”

Her voice was suddenly drowned in the noise of a horn, wound so shrilly and distantly as to cause them all to start. Then, in a moment, half a score of lusty rascals appeared, springing out of the earth almost. The men-at-arms were seized, and the little cavalcade brought to a rude halt.

“Toll, toll!” called out the leader. “Toll must you pay, everyone, ere your journey be continued!”

“Forbear,” cried Robin, waving his dagger so soon as the man made attempt to take his mother’s jennet by the bridle. “Tell me the toll, and the reason for it; and be more mannerly.”

The man just then spied that great stag which Robin had longed to shoot, bounding away to the left of them. Swiftly he slipped an arrow across his longbow and winged it after the flying beast.

“A miss, an easy miss!” called Robin, impatiently. Dropping his dagger, he snatched an arrow from his quiver, fitted it to his bow and sent it speeding towards the stag. “Had I but aimed sooner!” murmured Robin, regretfully, when his arrow failed by a yard to reach its quarry; and the clerk held up his hands in pious horror of his words.

“The shot was a long one, young master,” spoke the robber, and he stooped to pick up Robin’s little weapon. “Here is your bodkin – ’tis no fault of yours that the arrow was not true.”

They all laughed right merrily; but Robin was vexed.

“Stand away, fellows,” said he, “and let us pass on. Else shall you all be whipped.”

Again the leader of the band spoke. “Toll first, lording; tender it prettily to us, and you shall only tender it once.”

“I’ll tender it not at all,” retorted young Fitzooth. “Fie upon you for staying a woman upon the King’s highroad! Pretty men, forsooth, to attack in so cowardly a fashion!”

“All must buy freedom of the greenwood, master,” answered the man, quite civilly. “We, who exact the toll, take no heed of sex. Pay us now, and when you return there shall be no questioning.”

“A woman should be a safe convoy and free from all toll,” argued Robin. “Now here are my two men.”

“Slaves, master; and they have only your mule and the two pikes. It is not enough.”

“You will leave us nothing then, it seems,” said Dame Fitzooth, in trembling but brave voice.

“There is one thing that we all do value, mistress, and I purpose sparing you that. We will do no one of you any bodily harm.”

“Take my purse, then,” sighed Mistress Fitzooth. “There is little enough in it, for we are poor folk.”

“Ask toll of the Church,” cried Robin, staying his mother. “The Church is rich, and has to spare. And afterwards, she can grant absolution to you all.”

Again the robbers laughed, as the clerk began explaining very volubly to them that they were welcome to all that Mother Church could on this occasion offer.

“We know better than to stay a monk for toll,” said the robber. “Beside, would your excellence have us commit sacrilege?”

“I would have you leave hold of my bridle,” answered Robin, very wrathfully.

“Pay the toll cheerfully, youngling,” cried one of the others, “and be not so wordy in the business. We have other folk to visit; the day is already half gone from Sherwood.”

“I will shoot with you for the freedom of the forest,” said Robin, desperately. “An I lose, then shall you take all but my mother’s jennet. She shall be allowed to carry my mother into Gamewell, whilst I remain here, as hostage, for her return.”

“Let the dame bring back a hundred crowns in each of her hands, then,” replied the chief of the robbers.

“It is agreed,” answered Robin, after one appealing glance towards the dame. “Now help me down from my horse, and let the clerk see fair play. Set us a mark, good father, and pray Heaven to speed my arrows cunningly.”

The clerk, who had kept himself much in the background, now spoke. “This wager seems to savor of unholiness, friends,” said he, solemnly. “Yet, in that it also smacks of manliness, I will even consent to be judge. You, sir, since you are doubtless well acquainted with the part, can speak for distance. Now, I do appoint the trunk of yon birch-tree as first mark in this business.”

“Speed your arrow, then, lording,” laughed the robber, gaily. “‘Tis but forty ells away! I will follow you respectfully, never doubt it.”

Robin bent his bow and trained his eyes upon the birch.

Then suddenly came back upon him his father’s words: “Remember that I am a proud man, Robin.”

“I will,” muttered Robin, betwixt set teeth, and he aimed with all his heart and soul in it. There came the twang of the bowstring, and the next moment the gooseshaft was flying towards its mark.

“A pretty shot, master,” said the robber, glancing carelessly towards the arrow, quivering still in the trunk of the birch-tree. “But you have scarce taken the centre of our mark. Let me see if I may not mend your aim.”

His arrow sang through the summer air, and took root fairly in the middle of the trunk, side by side with Robin’s.

“You win first round, friend,” said the clerk, with seeming reluctance. “Now, listen, both, whilst I make you a better test.” He was about to continue, when an interruption occurred, one that saved him necessity of further speech.