ed her to a tree by her long,
yellow locks.

Yet did Hynde Etin not kill the maiden, but this is what he did.

He pulled up by the root the tallest tree he could see, and in
the hollow he dug a deep deep cave, and into the cave he thrust
May Margaret.

'Now will ye wander no more in my woods!' cried Hynde Etin. 'Here
shall ye stay, or home shall ye come with me to be my wife.'

'Nay, here will I rather stay!' cried May Margaret, 'for my
father will seek for me and will find me here.'

But the cave was dark and cold, and the earl sought yet did not
find his daughter.

No bed was there in the cave for May Margaret, no bed save the
rough earth, no pillow save a stone.

Poor May Margaret! She did not like the dark or the cold. Ere
many days had passed away, she thought it would be better to live
with Hynde Etin than to stay longer alone in so dismal a cave.

'Take me out, take me out!' then cried May Margaret.

Hynde Etin heard the maiden's call and he came and took her out
of the cave. Deep into the greenwood he carried her, where his
own home had been built, and there he made May Margaret, the
earl's daughter, his wife.

For twelve long years Margaret lived in the greenwood. And Hynde
Etin was kind to her and she grew to love him well.

Seven little sons had Margaret, and happy and gay was their life
in their woodland home. Yet oft did Margaret grieve that her
little wee sons had never been taken to holy church. She wished
that the priest might christen them there.

Now one day Hynde Etin slung his bow across his shoulder, placed
a sheath of arrows in his belt, and was up and away to the hunt.
With him he took his eldest wee son.

Under the gay greenwood they paced, Hynde Etin and his eldest
son, and the thrush sang to them his morning song. Upward over
the hills they climbed, and they heard the chimes of church bells
clear.

Then the little wee son said to his father, 'An ye would not be
angry with me, father, there is somewhat I would ask.'

'Ask what ye will, my bonny wee boy,' said Hynde Etin, 'for never
will I be cross with you.'

'My mother ofttimes weeps, father. Why is it that she sobs so
bitterly?'

'Your mother weeps, my little wee son, for sore she longs to see
her own kin. Twelve long years is it and more since last she saw
them, or heard the church bells ring.

'An earl's daughter was your mother dear, and if I had not stolen
her away one bonny night in May she might have wedded a kn