laughing, while the brown ale
flowed; and they called Little John a brave fellow, each swearing that
he loved him as his own brother; for when one has entertainment with
nothing to pay, one loves the man that gives it to one.

Then he strolled to the platform where they were at cudgel play, for he
loved a bout at quarterstaff as he loved meat and drink; and here befell
an adventure that was sung in ballads throughout the mid-country for
many a day.

One fellow there was that cracked crowns of everyone who threw cap into
the ring. This was Eric o' Lincoln, of great renown, whose name had
been sung in ballads throughout the countryside. When Little John
reached the stand he found none fighting, but only bold Eric walking up
and down the platform, swinging his staff and shouting lustily, "Now,
who will come and strike a stroke for the lass he loves the best, with a
good Lincolnshire yeoman? How now, lads? Step up! Step up! Or else
the lasses' eyes are not bright hereabouts, or the blood of Nottingham
youth is sluggish and cold. Lincoln against Nottingham, say I! For no
one hath put foot upon the boards this day such as we of Lincoln call a
cudgel player."

At this, one would nudge another with his elbow, saying, "Go thou, Ned!"
or "Go thou, Thomas!" but no lad cared to gain a cracked crown for
nothing.

Presently Eric saw where Little John stood among the others, a head and
shoulders above them all, and he called to him loudly, "Halloa, thou
long-legged fellow in scarlet! Broad are thy shoulders and thick thy
head; is not thy lass fair enough for thee to take cudgel in hand for
her sake? In truth, I believe that Nottingham men do turn to bone and
sinew, for neither heart nor courage have they! Now, thou great lout,
wilt thou not twirl staff for Nottingham?"

"Ay," quoth Little John, "had I but mine own good staff here, it would
pleasure me hugely to crack thy knave's pate, thou saucy braggart! I wot
it would be well for thee an thy cock's comb were cut!" Thus he spoke,
slowly at first, for he was slow to move; but his wrath gathered headway
like a great stone rolling down a hill, so that at the end he was full
of anger.

Then Eric o' Lincoln laughed aloud. "Well spoken for one who fears to
meet me fairly, man to man," said he. "Saucy art thou thine own self,
and if thou puttest foot upon these boards, I will make thy saucy tongue
rattle within thy teeth!"

"Now," quoth Little John, "is there never a man he