e
queerest gait upon him; and as he hobbled round and round the stage
under Nat's blows the people laughed continuously.

Nat caught him smartly upon the right arm a sounding thwack. The beggar
made as if to drop his staff forthright, and Nat lifted himself for
another and crushing blow.

But the one-eyed man recovered his guard, sprang suddenly on one side,
and, as Nat's staff was descending vainly, the beggar dealt his foe a
back-thrust so neatly, so heartily, and so swiftly that Nat was swept
off the stage into the crowd as a fly off a table.

The beggar waited the full time for him to return; and then claimed the
prize.

The victory of this queer unknown was popular. Nat was a great bully and
braggart, and many of them had suffered insult at his hands. Therefore,
when the beggar went to fetch his prize from the Sheriff's own hands,
there was great cheering and applause. He found Monceux seated in a
handsome booth, with his daughter and her maids, near by the archery
rings. Here the shooting was in progress.

The Sheriff narrowly watched each competitor, and glanced often towards
Mistress Monceux. The demoiselle Marie had one of her women sitting near
her feet, so that every movement she made might be observed. The
Sheriff's daughter signalled "No," and "No" again to her father as the
various bowmen took their places.

The beggar paused to watch the contest. It seemed to amuse him
exceedingly.

Master Patch was thus for some minutes close to the Sheriff's tent. His
patched eye was turned towards it, and he seemed to be blissfully
unaware of the great man's near presence. But he had taken due note,
nevertheless, of Master Monceux and his cold daughter, and the maid
sitting so forlornly upon the hard ground at the latter's feet.

One of the Nottingham men, a tanner by trade, had so far been most
successful, and, like Nat, he began to be disdainful of the rest, and to
swagger it somewhat each time his turn to shoot came round. "The prize
will surely be thine, Arthur-a-Bland," cried Monceux, loudly clapping
his hands together after this fellow had made a fair shot.

"Indeed, I do not think that Master Hood himself would beat me to-day,"
admitted Arthur-a-Bland, conceitedly.

The beggar heard both remark and answer. "Thou speakest well, gossip,"
he said, "here in Nottingham town; yet I would venture to advise thee,
were this pretty place in Sherwood and the bold Robin within earshot."

The archer turned towa