he greenwood."

John examined the knight's effects, and reported that he had told the
truth. Robin gazed curiously at his guest.

"I held you for a knight of high estate," he said. "A heedless
husbandman you must have been, a gambler or wassailer, to have brought
yourself to this sorry pass. An empty pocket and threadbare attire ill
befit a knight of your parts."

"You wrong me, Robin," said the knight, sadly. "Misfortune, not sin, has
beggared me. I have nothing left but my children and my wife; but it is
through no deed of my own. My son--my heir he should have been--slew a
knight of Lancashire and his squire. To save him from the law I have
made myself a beggar. Even my lands and house must go, for I have
pledged them to the abbot of St. Mary as surety for four hundred pounds
loaned me. I cannot pay him, and the time is near its end. I have lost
hope, good sir, and am on my way to the sea, to take ship for the Holy
Land. Pardon my tears, I leave a wife and children."

"Where are your friends?" asked Robin.

"Where are the last year's leaves of your trees?" asked the knight.
"They were fair enough while the summer sun shone; they dropped from me
when the winter of trouble came."

"Can you not borrow the sum?" asked Robin. "Not a groat," answered the
knight. "I have no more credit than a beggar."

"Mayhap not with the usurers," said Robin. "But the greenwood is not
quite bare, and your face, Sir Knight, is your pledge of faith. Go to my
treasury, Little John, and see if it will not yield four hundred
pounds."

"I can promise you that, and more if need be," answered the woodman.
"But our worthy knight is poorly clad, and we have rich cloths to spare,
I wot. Shall we not add a livery to his purse?"

"As you will, good fellow, and forget not a horse, for our guest's mount
is of the sorriest."

The knight's sorrow gave way to hope as he saw the eagerness, of the
generous woodmen. Little John's count of the money added ample
interest; the cloths were measured with a bow-stick for a yard, and a
palfrey was added to the courser, to bear their welcome gifts. In the
end Robin lent him Little John for a squire, and gave him twelve months
in which to repay his loan. Away he went, no longer a knight of rueful
countenance.

"Nowe as the knight went on his way,
This game he thought full good,
When he looked on Bernysdale
He blyssed Robin Hode;

"And when he thought on Bernysdale,
On Scathelock, Mu