The sun shone brightly upon merry England, giving a sweeter richness to the blossoming flowers, and a sparkle to the forest's green.  The wind rose, heavily laden with scents, the sky was like a sea that never a ripple breaks, the fields lay gently drowsing, and Sherwood Forest held a quaint stillness, as it were a child holding its breath.

     In a fine house, at no great distance from Sherwood Forest, a pair of bright eyes turned often in the direction in which the forest lay.  The brow above them frowned, but the eyes held the gaiety that was on flower and sky.  The brave fellow to whom they belonged craned his head for some time toward the window and the light; but finally, settling himself flat upon his heels, he gave vent to a huge sigh.  Having thus relieved himself, he moved toward the table in the middle of the room.

     It was strewn as thickly with papers as a forest is with autumn leaves.  Their owner viewed these documents dubiously, the gaiety of his face coming and going like the light of a fitful sun.  Finally he raised one curling scroll delicately with the tips of his fingers, and cast an eye over the written sheet.  As he did so there came a crack and a rattle from below, as if the house were falling; and presently rose a babel of voices, each one more clamorous than the last.

     "Carrion!--They sell my house before I am out of it--'Tis an indecent haste!" exclaimed the listener.  The fact appeared to distress him little; he returned to his perusal of the sheet before him, running his finger along one line of it.  "Poor Richard!--he owes me a king's ransom, but of what avail to pester him for the amount, since he hath not a penny?  His cousin, too, hath poked his fingers deep into my purse; but he owns as empty a coffer, if I mistake not."  He dropped the sheet, and made careless choice of another.  "The tale is the same!" he muttered.  After a pause he tore the sheets across and across.

     "As for the remainder," he reflected, regarding the table with a disinterested eye, "these are no doubt bills and reckonings; and behind them I see but one door open to welcome me--the prison door!  Since I have no liking to enter, and since I may no longer live a life of ease, it remains to me to make a quick choice among such things as be the beggar's portion."

     Leaning on one foot, he ticked off upon his fingers the items for which he had no liking.

    "To beg,--it is a calling little to my taste; and who would bestow alms upon so well-known a spendthrift!  To borrow," he laughed gaily,--"can one drink from a dry fountain?  To steal,--well, lacka-day, who would rob the poor man of his penny? 'Twere a task ill done.

     "Nay, there remains to me only one way of escape, and, to tell the truth, I like it not ill.  I will away to Sherwood, to find in the forest glades my home, in the green grass my bed o'nights, in the King's fat deer my fare.  Better a dweller in the King's forest than in the King's prison.  My stout bow shall bear me company, and the Sheriff shall see no more of me than a clean pair of heels."

     With that the gay fellow turned his back upon the table and its contents, and left the room with a new light in his eye.

     The roisterers heard not a sound as he went his way down the stair with a nimble quietness.  When the bird was sought at length, the seekers found that it had flown.

     But the World was not long in doubt as to the direction in which it had winged its flight.  After a week or two of pleasant idling in Sherwood Forest, with nothing more serious to his account than the death of a few of the King's deer, Robin Hood cast his wits about in search of adventure.

     He was not long in finding it.  Many a stout friar and many a prosperous knight made a part of his journey lie through Sherwood's glades; and of these Robin, with a flourish of his cap, and that ease of bearing which proclaimed his quality, took a generous toll.  From the poor man he exacted no more than "Good-day"; but the rich fellow must show his purse, and must spill something of its contents before departure.

     "'Tis a poor stream that will leave empty a hollow," said Robin; and he held out a cupped hand that cried out to be filled.

     But the joke no comrade shares has a sting in the tail of it; and Robin cast his eye back upon his former companions. There were not a few of them in the same quandary as he had been in; and in the ears of these he found means to whisper a word concerning the joys of a free life in Sherwood Forest, and the gay adventure that lay in it.

     The whisper acted like a charm upon many a gay spirit, and there appeared beside Robin Hood a little band of followers, all and each in as hungry a condition, and as fond of the bow, as was he.

     But Robin Hood could gauge a distance, and direct a shaft, more surely than any; cracking one joke as he notched his arrow and another as it sped.  For this reason, and for a certain generous quality of mind which was peculiarly the spendthrift's, King Henry viewed him not unkindly.  In spite of his escape from his creditors, and his theft of a fat buck or two, the King bent but a wavering frown upon those who sued for Robin's pardon.  And it is said that Robin had been forgiven, and received back into favour, had not it been for an idea that lodged in the head of the Sheriff of Nottingham Town.

     The Sheriff had not too many ideas, and it was a pity that one of the brood should have meshed itself in Robin's fortunes and have hatched mischief; but so it fell out.

     For the Sheriff, who was fain to be popular despite his sour looks, contrived a trial of archery at Nottingham Town, at which trial clever fellows might exhibit, not without glory, their skill with the bow.

     Of this contest tidings came to Robin's ear as he disported himself in Sherwood's glades, whereupon nothing would serve him but that he must speed a shaft for the Sheriff of Nottingham's prize notwithstanding the fact that the Sheriff would have clapt him into prison, and have shot a stout bolt behind him, with a glad heart.

     Robin set out with a fine strut, and as gay as a peacock, in his plume hat and suit of Lincoln green-which dress he had devised for himself and his band.  But, as ill-luck would have it, ere he had left the shadow of Sherwood he came upon a company of rangers, hot in discussion concerning the contest at Nottingham, and what was like to be the result of it.

     To be sure, it needed no shrewd observer to discover that the nearest tavern held the reason of their heat.  This same reason it was that turned their tongues to an acid wit, which wit they bent upon the stranger.

     With legs straddled upon the grass, they turned a mocking gaze upon Robin, pointing fingers at his bow, which was indeed of a great size and unusual in the shaping.

     "He betakes himself to Nottingham, no doubt-to win the Sheriff's prize!" cried one, brimming over with humour.  And as if the wit were of the finest, the whole company laughed, shaking with mirth till the tears ran down their cheeks.

     Little as their laughter was to Robin's liking, he would have passed on without retort.  Indeed, he had almost left their company when another bright spirit was moved to divert his companions.

     "Hast ever heard of a flying house, good friends ?" cried he.

     "Nay," said they, "we have heard naught of one."

     "Nor have I," cried the wit; "but, given a flying house, it seems to me our neighbour might find a target for his shafts!"

     At this sally the party burst into greater laughter than before; and Robin, turning with a twist of the shoulder, viewed the revellers with a glance compounded of anger and disdain.

     "See ye yon buck," cried he, "where three trees grow abreast? I wager ye my head against any money the tavern may have left to ye, that with this same bow I hit it whence I stand!"

     "Done!" cried they, one and all.  'Twas a wager that pleased them well; and, giving their muddled wits to the task, they scrambled to their feet.

     "Having parted with his head, he will appear a less handsome fellow," said one, "and less cock-ahoop!"

     "Nay," said another, "give thy tongue a rest, friend; it is ill to taunt the man ere he show his skill."

     "Of little avail to taunt him after, since he will be without ears to lend to the jest!" muttered the first.

     And, being a base fellow, he gave fresh play to his humour as the arrow waited to speed, that by so doing he might breed a flaw in the marksman's aim.

     Nevertheless, the arrow found its home, and the buck fell.

     "'Twas a good shot," muttered one stout fellow grudgingly; the while the others gaped with starting eyes.

     Robin Hood answered never a word.  His rancour was sped with the arrow, and he made no joy over their discomfiture, being of a generous nature, as hath been said.

     Nay, more, he returned to every rascal the money he had wagered, excepting only that base fellow who had sought to make his arm tremble as he loosed the shaft.

     From that same exception ensued a pretty quarrel, since the man was little inclined to forego his money.  And anent the quarrel, some say that Robin was concerned in it, and some say not.  By reason of the potions they had swallowed the rangers were little able to reason clearly, and whereas one fellow saw the justice of the stranger's act, a second sided with the malcontent.  Words grew to blows, and blows to worse than blows.  The upshot of all being that two rangers lost their lives by random shots.

     Maybe Robin deserved the odium of their end, maybe not; but, guilty or no, it is certain he was credited with having despatched the knaves; the consequence of this being that he was forced to flee back to the forest, the Sheriff now at his heels in earnest, and King Harry's pardon a bubble burst in the air.

     Thereupon Robin Hood turned his thoughts from his old life, and bent them entirely upon the new.  And having been sought many times by the Sheriff and his men, whom he ever outwitted and sent home with draggled plumes, it occurred to him to make an order of his band of followers, to which order should be admitted only such brave fellows as had won renown at quarter-staff or by skill with the bow, or had otherwise proved themselves of a good courage and a manly disposition.

     Following this fancy, Robin found means to set himself in the way of such good fellows; and, having provoked each one by gibe or strategy, Robin would put his courage to the proof.  Thereafter, if the victim came well out of the encounter, he was offered a free life in Sherwood Forest under the leadership of merry Robin.  And I can well believe what is said, that none refused the offer; for the fame of the archers of Sherwood was spreading far; and of Robin it is reputed that he had great skill, not only in archery, but in winning men's hearts.

     By such means as have been here reported, he won to himself Midge the Miller's son, Will Scarlet, Little John--whom he loved most dearly of all, and who was second to him in authority,-- and many another skilful fellow.

     With these he led a gay life in Sherwood Forest, practising with bow and arrow; and compelling many a traveller to spend a night at Robin Hood's Inn--as they termed it,--for which hospitality travellers paid generously ere they departed. And some there were who paid not unwillingly, declaring that so fine a supper as Robin provided, and so sweet a bed as that on the green sward, deserved their price.

     One day, as Robin lay upon the grass day-dreaming, with the summer sun shining on him to sweeten the dreams, it chanced that Midge the Miller's son, who practised with his bow but a short space distant, made a shot finer than any Robin had seen.

     "'Twas a good shot, Midge," said he. "I wager no man has made a better;" and his eye wandered the way the arrow had sped.

     But the Miller's son replied: "My master, 'twas but a chance hit, and the Curtal Friar of Fountaine Abbey can make any day, of intention, a shot as fine."

     At these words the archer raised himself, and the dream died out of his eyes as a mist dies before the sun.  "Now who is this Curtal Friar?" asked he; "and where may he be found?"

     "He is one who hath great skill with the bow," said Midge the Miller's son, "and with the sword also.  Indeed he is a man of great courage as well as of great learning.  As for Fountaine Abbey, it lieth not far distant;" and he proceeded to describe where it lay.

     Thereupon Robin called together fifty of his men, and proceeded in search of the Curtal Friar.  And having come near the good man's dwelling, he perceived the Friar sitting beside the stream, reading a godly book.

     Having assured himself that this was indeed the fellow he sought, Robin hid his men in a thicket that grew near, and advanced upon the Friar, who, he perceived, was armed with a steel buckler and a trusty sword.

     "Friend," said Robin, "I have great need to cross this stream, and since thou art likely to be better acquainted with it than I, I beg of thee to bear me across."

     The Curtal Friar set aside his volume and regarded the stranger with a shrewd eye.  At length he rose to his feet.  And without having uttered a word, he bore Robin Hood to the other bank, as he had prayed.

     But in crossing the stream the Friar found means to release his sword.  The reason of this soon became apparent.  As the Curtal Friar set down his heavy burden, he brought the sword before Robin's notice.  "Lo," said he, "here am I upon a side of the stream on which I have no business, wherefore I beg thee to perform, in thy turn, a good office, and bear me back to my stool and my book."

     At this speech Robin changed countenance, but, seeing no means of escape, he replied: "It is a good retort, Friar.  I will bear thee across; but, I pray thee, put up thy sword."

     The Curtal Friar replaced his sword, and without further word Robin took him upon his back.

     But in crossing the stream the archer made a pretence of clasping his burden, and so unfastened the Curtal Friar's sword, which slid into the water.

     Thereupon, when they were again upon the first side of the stream, Robin exclaimed, with an angry look: "Behold, I have served thee!  It is my turn to demand service.  Bear me, therefore, across the stream, that I may go on my way."

     At this peremptory speech the ears of the Curtal Friar tingled.  He perceived, however, the trick Robin had played upon him in the loss of his sword, and made no demur.  And again he started to cross the stream.

     But in the middle of the stream the Friar made a pretence of stumbling, and to such good effect that Robin shot over his head and into the water.

"Ah," cried the Friar, "'twas that trusty sword of mine upon which my foot slipt!"  And, having sought about in the water for some time, he discovered his sword and bore it back with him to the spot where he had been resting.

     But the archer, his mouth full of water, and his clothes heavy with it, stumbled to the opposite bank, where he began to shoot at the Curtal Friar, taking careful aim.

     The Friar marvelled at the accuracy of the shafts, yet he caught them every one upon his steel buckler; and that without a word.

     Thereafter the combatants came to close quarters, using each one his sword, and that with energy as well as skill, for his ducking had not cooled Robin's blood, and the Curtal Friar was minded to punish this saucy fellow.

     Thus the blows fell fast and furious, and so well matched were the combatants that, when evening came, both were aweary yet neither had won the day.

     Thereupon Robin Hood, liking well the Curtal Friar's skill--though he liked not so well his jest, made offer to him of a place in his band of followers and a fee for his services on Sundays and holy-clays; which offer the Friar joyfully accepted, his shrewd eye twinkling with satisfaction over his adventure with Robin Hood.

     But a few weeks had passed when there came upon Robin another adventure, one not of his own seeking, which he liked, at the moment, less than his adventure with the Curtal Friar.

     Since the fortunes of the band were fallen somewhat low, Will Scarlet and Little John betook them one morning to the forest fringes to look out for likely travellers to sup at Robin Hood's Inn.  All day long were they absent, returning at eve with a knight in their company so dejected of mien that to look at him was to feel one's heart fall into one's boots.

     "A melancholy fellow !" cried Robin.  "One much in need of our fare and our company!"  And he ordered a supper that had scarce its fellow on the King's table.  But when it was set before him, the captive knight murmured an excuse with a changing cheek, and would have partaken of nothing had not Robin all but thrust the food down his throat, listening not at all to the excuse he offered.  Whereupon the knight ate, being forced so to do; and, indeed, he appeared greatly in need of a meal, and in his heart inclined to do it justice; a matter which Robin marked, ill-pleased, reading in his guest's former reluctance to partake, a future reluctance to produce his purse.

     When the meal was over, many a story rose to the merry host's lips; and right well he told them; but the melancholy knight had never the ghost of a smile with which to greet a jest.  Indeed, Robin marked that with each hour his face grew longer.  As for words, he uttered none, good or ill.

     On the morrow the knight would have departed as silently, saving a quiet "Thanks be to thee", and wrapt round with the same gloom, had not Robin laid a restraining hand upon his horse, a smile upon his lips.

     "A moment, good sir," said he.  "Know that he who sups at Robin Hood's Inn doth not depart without showing his purse.  We would fain have a sight of thine."

     At this speech the knight appeared greatly embarrassed, changing colour swiftly, hanging his head, and clapping a hand upon his pocket.  But he answered nothing.

     Robin received this silence with coldness, letting his eye roam disdainfully from the downcast face of his guest to the shades of Sherwood.

     "It is an ill thing," quoth he in an icy tone, and bowing with some mockery, "to observe so mean a spirit in so great a man; and methinks such a spirit cries for punishment.  Haste thee, Sir Knight; find a gift for us, lest, being driven to harsher measures, we seek it for ourselves."

     This contemptuous address appeared to rouse the stranger suddenly to speech and to dignity.

     "Sir," said he, raising his head, "I would have refused thy hospitality had I been able.  As for my purse, I hold it back for shame of the mean sum it contains, so unfitting to one of my station and name.  For I carry but a few shillings, the which, if I were robbed of them, I should be robbed of my all, and be unable to pursue my way."

     As the stranger uttered these words the archer let his eye observe, though not too evidently, the trappings of the knight's horse, and the costume in which he journeyed; and he found them of the poorest, ill befitting the traveller's rank.

     "Tell me," said he, "how one of thy gentle blood hath reached so sad a state."

     Whereupon the melancholy knight related how his name was Sir Richard Lea, and how, by reason of many misfortunes, not of his own seeking nor to his discredit, his lands and estates were become mortgaged to the Priory of St. Mary, the which, if they were not redeemed in a few hours' time, he-Sir Richard--must lose everything.  "And I am now on my way to declare that I cannot redeem them," said the knight.

     "But the Prior will surely await a little thy convenience!" cried Robin Hood.

     "Nay," said the knight, "he will wait not one moment longer than he need.  For he hath long intrigued to bring my estates into his hands, as many can testify."

     "If the sum be so great--"

     "It is but three hundred pounds," said the knight; "but if it were but one hundred, I should be as little able to pay it."

     "It is hard that so just a knight should be so used," said the archer.  His face lightened with hope, then clouded with anger; for he had heard of Sir Richard Lea and knew him to be a knight of right fair fame.

     Thereupon Robin had consultation with his men, discovering at length, with a rueful humour, that their joint coffers contained the sum of three hundred pounds, neither more nor less.  This sum the archers bestowed upon good Sir Richard, despite his protestations, and to the lifting of his despair.

     "So rides away our guest," quoth Robin to his men, "leaving us leaner than he found us!  Good Will Scarlet and Little John, I like not this fashion of replenishing our coffers.  Have ye other guests in store with coats of a like pattern?  If so be, we are likely to fare ill!"

     At this rueful speech Will Scarlet hung his head and Little John wore a shamefaced air.  Yet were all merry, sending no repentance after their generosity, and bearing ill fortune with a good grace.

     Little John and Will Scarlet had it upon their minds that they must redeem their reputation; and but a few weeks had passed by when they brought to Robin Hood's Inn a stout Prior, so laden about with baggage that he could scarce stir on his horse.

     Right well did the Prior sup, right well did the Prior sleep, but when, before departure, the Prior's score was presented to him, up went the Prior's eyebrows as if they were minded to seek the hair he had lost.

     "Good Robin," said he, whining, "I am but the poor Prior of St. Mary's, with but twenty marks in my purse.  I know thee well that thou wouldst not seek to rob a man so poor."

     But Robin, lounging upon one foot, then upon the other, made as if he had not heard the speech.  He bade his men search the Prior's baggage, whereupon four hundred pounds were discovered, wrapt about in silks and other costly things.

     "'Tis a miracle!" said Robin, and the corners of his lips twitched to a smile, the while the Prior's mouth drew in as if he had bitten into a sour apple.  "See, good Prior," continued he, "Heaven hath regarded thy poverty, yet hath not forgotten our need.  Here is payment of thy score, and with good interest; it hath been given for thee into our hands.  Keep, then, the twenty marks which are thine.  Since Heaven hath paid us, we will forgive thee the debt."

     And, setting the Prior upon his horse, the archers, laughing, sent him upon his way.

     When good Sir Richard Lea returned, after many months, to repay the archers, Robin Hood related to him how the Prior of St. Mary's, being a just man, had paid the debt for him, and with good interest! But, since Sir Richard would not have the money he had brought returned to him, Robin Hood distributed it, debt and interest, among the poor.

     In many other ways, of which I may not speak now, did Robin Hood assist such poor men as sought him or came by chance across his path; so that he was beloved, despite his wild deeds.

     After many years he was pardoned by brave King Richard, and brought back to his own estate.  Yet, when the time came for him to die, Robin Hood shot an arrow once more in his beloved glades of Sherwood; and where the arrow fell, there he prayed his body should find a grave.