after another from his eyes, and dripping upon his bosom,
for he felt that the time of parting was near at hand. Then, presently,
Robin Hood bade him string his stout bow for him, and choose a smooth
fair arrow from his quiver. This Little John did, though without
disturbing his master or rising from where he sat. Robin Hood's fingers
wrapped lovingly around his good bow, and he smiled faintly when he felt
it in his grasp, then he nocked the arrow on that part of the string
that the tips of his fingers knew so well. "Little John," said he,
"Little John, mine own dear friend, and him I love better than all
others in the world, mark, I prythee, where this arrow lodges, and there
let my grave be digged. Lay me with my face toward the East, Little
John, and see that my resting place be kept green, and that my weary
bones be not disturbed."

As he finished speaking, he raised himself of a sudden and sat upright.
His old strength seemed to come back to him, and, drawing the bowstring
to his ear, he sped the arrow out of the open casement. As the shaft
flew, his hand sank slowly with the bow till it lay across his knees,
and his body likewise sank back again into Little John's loving arms;
but something had sped from that body, even as the winged arrow sped
from the bow.

For some minutes Little John sat motionless, but presently he laid that
which he held gently down, then, folding the hands upon the breast and
covering up the face, he turned upon his heel and left the room without
a word or a sound.

Upon the steep stairway he met the Prioress and some of the chief among
the sisters. To them he spoke in a deep, quivering voice, and said he,
"An ye go within a score of feet of yonder room, I will tear down
your rookery over your heads so that not one stone shall be left upon
another. Bear my words well in mind, for I mean them." So saying, he
turned and left them, and they presently saw him running rapidly across
the open, through the falling of the dusk, until he was swallowed up by
the forest.

The early gray of the coming morn was just beginning to lighten the
black sky toward the eastward when Little John and six more of the band
came rapidly across the open toward the nunnery. They saw no one, for
the sisters were all hidden away from sight, having been frightened by
Little John's words. Up the stone stair they ran, and a great sound of
weeping was presently heard. After a while this ceased, and then came
the scuff