between themselves, and ere a week was out Monceux's reward
of a hundred golden pieces for the head of Robin Hood was the one theme
of conversation in the city.

No one identified him with Robin of Locksley--that brave misguided youth
being so entirely dead to their minds--and he was variously named as
Hood, Robin Hood, Captain Hood, and Master Robin.

A travelling tinker came at length upon the talk of the town. He had
been sitting on the bench without the "Sign of the Sixteen Does,"
dozing and drinking, and at last seeking to do both at once.

Mine host stood near by, discussing the eternal Robin.

"Folk do say that Master Monceux has sent into Lincoln for more
men-at-arms and horses, and that when he has these to hand he will soon
scourge Captain Hood from our forest."

"Of whom speak you?" asked the tinker, suddenly waking up.

"Of this Robin of the Greenwood," said the innkeeper, "but you will
never earn the Sheriff's hundred pieces!"

Then the tinker arose upon his dignity, and eyed the innkeeper
reproachfully.

"And why will I not earn the hundred pieces, gossip?" said he, with a
deadly calm in his manner.

"Where our Sheriff has failed, and a Bishop also, it is not likely that
a mere tinker will succeed," mine host answered. "Pay me for your ale,
gossip, and go on your way."

The tinker approached and laid a heavy hand upon the innkeeper's fat
shoulder. "Friend," he said, impressively, "I am one not noted either
for dullness or lack of courage. I do perpend that to earn these pieces
of which you speak one must perform some worthy business. Tell it to me,
and you and Nottingham shall see then what Middle the Tinker thinks on
it."

At this a great clacking began, so that Master Middle only came to the
gist of it in an hour. He valiantly proclaimed his intention, so soon as
he _did_ understand, of taking Robin Hood single-handed. "Why send into
Lincoln and the shires when Middle the Tinker will do this business for
you, gossips? I will go into your Sherwood this very day. Give me the
warrant, and I'll read it to Robin to purpose, I promise you!"

They pushed him, laughing and jesting between themselves, towards
Nottingham Castle, and there thrust him into the hall.

"Here is a champion come to take your pieces, Master Monceux," someone
called out. "Here is Middle, the pot-valiant," cried another.

Master Middle asked for the warrant, and obtained it. Then he sallied
forth, accompanied by the custo