out, this sweet day, and see what befalls each of
us."

"That fitteth my mind," quoth Little John, "so let us forth, say I."

Thereupon Little John and Friar Tuck went to the storehouse of the band,
and there chose for the yeoman the robe of a Gray Friar. Then they came
forth again, and a mighty roar of laughter went up, for not only had the
band never seen Little John in such guise before, but the robe was too
short for him by a good palm's-breadth. But Little John's hands were
folded in his loose sleeves, and Little John's eyes were cast upon the
ground, and at his girdle hung a great, long string of beads.

And now Little John took up his stout staff, at the end of which hung
a chubby little leathern pottle, such as palmers carry at the tips of
their staves; but in it was something, I wot, more like good Malmsey
than cold spring water, such as godly pilgrims carry. Then up rose Robin
and took his stout staff in his hand, likewise, and slipped ten golden
angels into his pouch; for no beggar's garb was among the stores of the
band, so he was fain to run his chance of meeting a beggar and buying
his clothes of him.

So, all being made ready, the two yeomen set forth on their way,
striding lustily along all in the misty morning. Thus they walked down
the forest path until they came to the highway, and then along the
highway till it split in twain, leading on one hand to Blyth and on the
other to Gainsborough. Here the yeomen stopped.

Quoth jolly Robin, "Take thou the road to Gainsborough, and I will take
that to Blyth. So, fare thee well, holy father, and mayst thou not ha'
cause to count thy beads in earnest ere we meet again."

"Good den, good beggar that is to be," quoth Little John, "and mayst
thou have no cause to beg for mercy ere I see thee next."

So each stepped sturdily upon his way until a green hill rose between
them, and the one was hid from the sight of the other.

Little John walked along, whistling, for no one was nigh upon all the
road. In the budding hedges the little birds twittered merrily, and on
either hand the green hills swept up to the sky, the great white clouds
of springtime sailing slowly over their crowns in lazy flight. Up hill
and down dale walked Little John, the fresh wind blowing in his face and
his robes fluttering behind him, and so at last he came to a crossroad
that led to Tuxford. Here he met three pretty lasses, each bearing a
basket of eggs to market. Quoth he, "Whither a