the road, they spied a knight riding towards them.
He came alone, without squire or follower, and promised to be an easy
prey to the trio of stout woodsmen. But as he came near they saw that
something was amiss with him. He rode with one foot in the stirrup, the
other hanging loose; a simple hood covered his head, and hung
negligently down over his eyes; grief or despair filled his visage, "a
soryer man than he rode never in somer's day."

Little John stepped into the road, courteously bent his knee to the
stranger, and bade him welcome to the greenwood.

"Welcome be you, gentle knight," he said; "my master has awaited you
fasting, these three hours."

"Your master--who is he?" asked the knight, lifting his sad eyes.

"Robin Hood, the forest chief," answered Little John.

"And a lusty yeoman he," said the knight. "Men say much good of him. I
thought to dine to-day at Blythe or Dankaster, but if jolly Robin wants
me I am his man. It matters little, save that I have no heart to do
justice to any man's good cheer. Lead on, my courteous friend. The
greenwood, then, shall be my dining-hall."

Our scene now changes to the lodge of the woodland chief. An hour had
passed. A merry scene met the eye. The long table was well covered with
game of the choicest, swan, pheasants, and river fowl, and with roasts
and steaks of venison, which had been on hoof not many hours before.
Around it sat a jolly company of foresters, green-clad like the trees
about them. At its head sat Robin Hood, his handsome face lending
encouragement to the laughter and gleeful chat of his men. Beside him
sat the knight, sober of attire, gloomy of face, yet brightening under
the courteous treatment of his host and the gay sallies of the outlaw
band.

"Gramercy, Sir Woodman," said the knight, when the feast was at an end,
"such a dinner as you have set me I have not tasted for weeks. When I
come again to this country I hope to repay you with as good a one."

"A truce to your dinner," said Robin, curtly. "All that dine in our
woodland inn pay on the spot, Sir Knight. It is a good rule, I wot."

"To full hands, mayhap," said the knight; "but I dare not, for very
shame, proffer you what is in my coffers."

"Is it so little, then?"

"Ten shillings is not wealth," said the knight. "I can offer you no
more."

"Faith, if that be all, keep it, in God's name; and I'll lend you more,
if you be in need. Go look, Little John; we take no stranger's word in
t