ght have known thee by that pretty maiden air of thine--that
dainty, finicking manner of gait. Dost thou not know me, lad? Look upon
me well."

"Now, by the breath of my body!" cried the other, "I do believe from my
heart that thou art mine own Uncle Robin. Nay, certain it is so!" And
each flung his arms around the other, kissing him upon the cheek.

Then once more Robin held his kinsman off at arm's length and scanned
him keenly from top to toe. "Why, how now," quoth he, "what change is
here? Verily, some eight or ten years ago I left thee a stripling lad,
with great joints and ill-hung limbs, and lo! here thou art, as tight a
fellow as e'er I set mine eyes upon. Dost thou not remember, lad, how I
showed thee the proper way to nip the goose feather betwixt thy fingers
and throw out thy bow arm steadily? Thou gayest great promise of being a
keen archer. And dost thou not mind how I taught thee to fend and parry
with the cudgel?"

"Yea," said young Gamwell, "and I did so look up to thee, and thought
thee so above all other men that, I make my vow, had I known who thou
wert, I would never have dared to lift hand against thee this day. I
trust I did thee no great harm."

"No, no," quoth Robin hastily, and looking sideways at Little John,
"thou didst not harm me. But say no more of that, I prythee. Yet I will
say, lad, that I hope I may never feel again such a blow as thou didst
give me. By'r Lady, my arm doth tingle yet from fingernail to elbow.
Truly, I thought that I was palsied for life. I tell thee, coz, that
thou art the strongest man that ever I laid mine eyes upon. I take my
vow, I felt my stomach quake when I beheld thee pluck up yon green tree
as thou didst. But tell me, how camest thou to leave Sir Edward and thy
mother?"

"Alas!" answered young Gamwell, "it is an ill story, uncle, that I
have to tell thee. My father's steward, who came to us after old Giles
Crookleg died, was ever a saucy varlet, and I know not why my father
kept him, saving that he did oversee with great judgment. It used to
gall me to hear him speak up so boldly to my father, who, thou knowest,
was ever a patient man to those about him, and slow to anger and harsh
words. Well, one day--and an ill day it was for that saucy fellow--he
sought to berate my father, I standing by. I could stand it no
longer, good uncle, so, stepping forth, I gave him a box o' the ear,
and--wouldst thou believe it?--the fellow straightway died o't. I think
they