with his
head on the wet moss."

"Everybody knows there are witches," said Will Scarlet, "and folks say
that wherever they may be through the day, they run to the forest when
the sun begins to sink, and while they're running they can't say any
magic words to hurt a man if he shoots them."

"What's that?" whispered Much the miller's son softly, and he fitted an
arrow to the string.

"Wait; make a cross on it first," said Little John.

Something was flitting over the little moor. The soft gray mist hid the
lower part of it, but the men could see what looked like the upper part
of a woman's body, scurrying along through the fog in some mysterious
fashion. Its arms were tossing wildly about, and it seemed to be
beckoning. The head was covered with what might have been a kerchief,
but it was too dusky to see clearly.

"Don't shoot till it's nearer," whispered William Scarlet. "They say if
you hurt a witch and don't kill her outright, you'll go mad forever
after."

Nearer came the witch, but still Much the miller's son waited with his
bow bent and the arrow aimed. The witch ran under the low bough of a
tree, the kerchief was caught on a broken limb, and--

"Why, it's Master Robin!" shouted Much the miller's son. "It's Master
Robin himself"; and so it was. No time had he taken to throw off the
gray kirtle and the black jacket and the blue and red kerchief about his
head; for as soon as ever he could no longer hear the tramp of the
horses's hoofs, he had run with the distaff still in his hand to the
shelter of the good greenwood and the help of his own faithful men and
true.

Meanwhile the bishop was still telling stories of what he did before he
was a bishop, and the men were laughing at them, and the merry little
old woman was having the gayest time of all, even though she dared not
laugh out loud.

Now that the bishop had caught Robin Hood he had no fear of the
greenwood rangers; and as the forest road was much nearer than the
highway, down the forest road the happy company went. The merry little
old woman had sometimes sat on a pillion and ridden a farm beast from
the plough; but to be on a great horse like this, one that held his head
so high and stepped so carefully where it was rough, and galloped so
lightly and easily where it was smooth--why, she had never even dreamed
of such a magnificent ride. Not a word did she speak, not even when the
bishop began to tell her that no gallows would be high enough to ha