"

It was a day in merry spring-tide. Under the sun-sprinkled shadows of
the "woody and famous forest of Barnsdale" (adjoining Sherwood) stood
gathered a group of men attired in Lincoln green, bearing long bows in
their hands and quivers of sharp-pointed arrows upon their shoulders,
hardy men all, strong of limb and bold of face.

[Illustration: ROBIN HOOD'S WOODS.]

Leaning against an oak of centuried growth stood Robin Hood, the famous
outlaw chief, a strong man and sturdy, with handsome face and merry blue
eyes, one fitted to dance cheerily in days of festival, and to strike
valiantly in hours of conflict. Beside him stood the tall and stalwart
form of Little John, whose name was given him in jest, for he was the
stoutest of the band. There also were valiant Much, the miller's son,
gallant Scathelock, George a Green, the pindar of Wakefield, the fat and
jolly Friar Tuck, and many another woodsman of renown, a band of lusty
archers such as all England could not elsewhere match.

"Faith o' my body, the hours pass apace," quoth Little John, looking
upward through the trees. "Is it not time we should dine?"

"I am not in the mood to dine without company," said Robin. "Our table
is a dull one without guests. If we had now some bold baron or fat
abbot, or even a knight or squire, to help us carve our haunch of
venison, and to pay his scot for the feast, I wot me all our appetites
would be better."

He laughed meaningly as he looked round the circle of faces.

"Marry, if such be your whim," answered Little John, "tell us whither we
shall go to find a guest fit to grace our greenwood table, and of what
rank he shall be."

"At least let him not be farmer or yeoman," said Robin. "We war on
hawks, not on doves. If you can bring me a bishop now, or i' faith, the
high-sheriff of Nottingham, we shall dine merrily. Take Much and
Scathelock with you, and away. Bring me earl or baron, abbot or simple
knight, or squire, if no better can be had; the fatter their purses the
better shall be their welcome."

Taking their bows, the three yeomen strode at a brisk pace through the
forest, bent upon other game than deer or antlered stag. On reaching the
forest edge near Barnsdale, they lurked in the bushy shadows and kept
close watch and ward upon the highway that there skirted the wood, in
hope of finding a rich relish to Robin's meal.

Propitious fortune seemed to aid their quest. Not long had they bided in
ambush when, afar on