ook thou
hast somewhat in the bottom of that fat sack of meal. Good Arthur, empty
the bag upon the ground; I warrant thou wilt find a shilling or two in
the flour."

"Alas!" cried the Miller, falling upon his knees, "spoil not all my good
meal! It can better you not, and will ruin me. Spare it, and I will give
up the money in the bag."

"Ha!" quoth Robin, nudging Will Scarlet. "Is it so? And have I found
where thy money lies? Marry, I have a wondrous nose for the blessed
image of good King Harry. I thought that I smelled gold and silver
beneath the barley meal. Bring it straight forth, Miller."

Then slowly the Miller arose to his feet, and slowly and unwillingly he
untied the mouth of the bag, and slowly thrust his hands into the meal
and began fumbling about with his arms buried to the elbows in the
barley flour. The others gathered round him, their heads together,
looking and wondering what he would bring forth.

So they stood, all with their heads close together gazing down into the
sack. But while he pretended to be searching for the money, the Miller
gathered two great handfuls of meal. "Ha," quoth he, "here they are, the
beauties." Then, as the others leaned still more forward to see what he
had, he suddenly cast the meal into their faces, filling their eyes and
noses and mouths with the flour, blinding and half choking them. Arthur
a Bland was worse off than any, for his mouth was open, agape with
wonder of what was to come, so that a great cloud of flour flew down his
throat, setting him a-coughing till he could scarcely stand.

Then, while all four stumbled about, roaring with the smart of the meal
in their eyeballs, and while they rubbed their eyes till the tears
made great channels on their faces through the meal, the Miller seized
another handful of flour and another and another, throwing it in their
faces, so that even had they had a glimmering of light before they were
now as blind as ever a beggar in Nottinghamshire, while their hair and
beards and clothes were as white as snow.

Then catching up his great crabstaff, the Miller began laying about him
as though he were clean gone mad. This way and that skipped the four,
like peas on a drumhead, but they could see neither to defend themselves
nor to run away. Thwack! thwack! went the Miller's cudgel across their
backs, and at every blow great white clouds of flour rose in the air
from their jackets and went drifting down the breeze.

"Stop!" roared