e that our good friend Scarlet knew thee
and thy dogs. I tell thee seriously that I felt my heart crumble away
from me when I saw my shaft so miss its aim, and those great beasts of
thine coming straight at me."

"Thou mayst indeed be thankful, friend," said the Friar gravely. "But,
Master Will, how cometh it that thou dost now abide in Sherwood?"

"Why, Tuck, dost thou not know of my ill happening with my father's
steward?" answered Scarlet.

"Yea, truly, yet I knew not that thou wert in hiding because of it.
Marry, the times are all awry when a gentleman must lie hidden for so
small a thing."

"But we are losing time," quoth Robin, "and I have yet to find that same
Curtal Friar."

"Why, uncle, thou hast not far to go," said Will Scarlet, pointing to
the Friar, "for there he stands beside thee."

"How?" quoth Robin, "art thou the man that I have been at such pains to
seek all day, and have got such a ducking for?"

"Why, truly," said the Friar demurely, "some do call me the Curtal Friar
of Fountain Dale; others again call me in jest the Abbot of Fountain
Abbey; others still again call me simple Friar Tuck."

"I like the last name best," quoth Robin, "for it doth slip more glibly
off the tongue. But why didst thou not tell me thou wert he I sought,
instead of sending me searching for black moonbeams?"

"Why, truly, thou didst not ask me, good master," quoth stout Tuck; "but
what didst thou desire of me?"

"Nay," quoth Robin, "the day groweth late, and we cannot stand longer
talking here. Come back with us to Sherwood, and I will unfold all to
thee as we travel along."

So, without tarrying longer, they all departed, with the stout dogs at
their heels, and wended their way back to Sherwood again; but it was
long past nightfall ere they reached the greenwood tree.

Now listen, for next I will tell how Robin Hood compassed the happiness
of two young lovers, aided by the merry Friar Tuck of Fountain Dale.

Robin Hood Compasses a Marriage

AND NOW had come the morning when fair Ellen was to be married, and on
which merry Robin had sworn that Allan a Dale should, as it were, eat
out of the platter that had been filled for Sir Stephen of Trent. Up
rose Robin Hood, blithe and gay, up rose his merry men one and all, and
up rose last of all stout Friar Tuck, winking the smart of sleep from
out his eyes. Then, while the air seemed to brim over with the song of
many birds, all blended together and all joying