ight hand nor the left, until at last he
came to where the path branched, leading on the one hand onward to Fosse
Way, and on the other, as well Little John knew, to the merry Blue Boar
Inn. Here Little John suddenly ceased whistling and stopped in the
middle of the path. First he looked up and then he looked down, and
then, tilting his cap over one eye, he slowly scratched the back part of
his head. For thus it was: at the sight of these two roads, two voices
began to alarum within him, the one crying, "There lies the road to the
Blue Boar Inn, a can of brown October, and a merry night with sweet
companions such as thou mayst find there"; the other, "There lies the
way to Ancaster and the duty thou art sent upon." Now the first of these
two voices was far the louder, for Little John had grown passing fond of
good living through abiding at the Sheriff's house; so, presently,
looking up into the blue sky, across which bright clouds were sailing
like silver boats, and swallows skimming in circling flight, quoth he,
"I fear me it will rain this evening, so I'll e'en stop at the Blue Boar
till it passes by, for I know my good master would not have me wet to
the skin." So, without more ado, off he strode down the path that lay
the way of his likings. Now there was no sign of any foul weather, but
when one wishes to do a thing, as Little John did, one finds no lack of
reasons for the doing.

Four merry wags were at the Blue Boar Inn; a butcher, a beggar, and two
barefoot friars. Little John heard them singing from afar, as he walked
through the hush of the mellow twilight that was now falling over hill
and dale. Right glad were they to welcome such a merry blade as Little
John. Fresh cans of ale were brought, and with jest and song and merry
tales the hours slipped away on fleeting wings. None thought of time or
tide till the night was so far gone that Little John put by the thought
of setting forth upon his journey again that night, and so bided at the
Blue Boar Inn until the morrow.

Now it was an ill piece of luck for Little John that he left his duty
for his pleasure, and he paid a great score for it, as we are all apt to
do in the same case, as you shall see.

Up he rose at the dawn of the next day, and, taking his stout pikestaff
in his hand, he set forth upon his journey once more, as though he would
make up for lost time.

In the good town of Blyth there lived a stout tanner, celebrated far and
near for feat