he called the host to him and said, “Here, good man, are ten broad shillings for the entertainment thou hast given us this day. See that thou takest good care of thy fair guest there, and when he wakes thou mayest again charge him ten shillings also, and if he hath it not, thou mayst take his bag and hammer, and even his coat, in payment. Thus do I punish those that come into the greenwood to deal dole to me. As for thine own self, never knew I landlord yet that would not charge twice as he could.”

At this the host smiled slyly, as though saying to himself the rustic saw, “Teach a magpie to suck eggs.”

The Tinker slept until the afternoon drew to a close and the shadows grew long beside the woodland edge, then he awoke. First he looked up, then he looked down, then he looked east, then he looked west, for he was gathering his wits together, like barley-straws blown apart by the wind. First he thought of his merry companion, but he was gone. Then he thought of his stout crabstaff, and that he had within his hand. Then of his warrant, and of the fourscore angels he was to gain for serving it upon Robin Hood. He thrust his hand into his pouch, but not a scrap nor a farthing was there. Then he sprang to his feet in a rage.

The Tinker awaketh, and the landlord maketh him pay the score again, so that he loseth coat, bag, and hammer; whereupon he voweth vengeance against Robin.

“Ho, landlord!” cried he, “whither hath that knave gone that was with me but now?”

“What knave meaneth your worship?” quoth the landlord, calling the Tinker worship to soothe him, as a man would pour oil upon angry water; “I saw no knave with your worship, for I swear no man would dare call that man knave so nigh to Sherwood Forest. A right stout yeoman I saw with your worship, but I thought that your worship knew him, for few there be about here that pass him by and know him not.”

“Now, how should I, that ne’er have squealed in your sty, know all the swine therein? Who was he, then, as thou knowest him so well?”

“Why, yon same is a right stout fellow whom men hereabouts do call Robin Hood; which same”—

“Now, by’r Lady!” cried the Tinker hastily, and in a deep voice like an angry bull, “thou didst see me come into thine inn, I, a staunch, honest craftsman, and never told me who my company was, well knowing thine own self who he was. Now, I have a right round piece of mind to crack thy knave’s pate for thee!” Then he took up his cudgel and looked at the landlorad as though he would smite him where he stood.

“Nay,” cried the host, throwing up his elbow, for he feared the blow, “how knew I that thou knewest him not?”

“Well and truly thankful mayst thou be,” quoth the Tinker, “that I be a patient man, and so do spare thy bald crown, else wouldst thou ne’er cheat customer again. But as for this same knave, Robin Hood, I go straightway to seek him, and if I do not score his knave’s pate, cut my staff into fagots and call me woman.” So saying, he gathered himself together to depart.

“Nay,” quoth the landlord, standing in front of him and holding out his arms like a gooseherd driving his flock, for money made him bold, “thou goest not till thou hast paid me my score.”

“But did not he pay thee?”

“Not so much as one farthing; and ten good shillings’ worth of ale have ye drunk this day. Nay, I say, thou goest not away without paying me, else shall our good sheriff know of it.”

“But nought have I to pay thee with, good fellow,” quoth the Tinker.

“‘Good fellow’ not me,” said the landlord. “Good fellow am I not when it cometh to lose ten shillings! Pay me that thou owest me in broad money, or else leave thy coat and bag and hammer; yet, I wot they are not worth ten shillings, and I shall lose thereby. Nay, an thou stirrest, I have a great dog within and I will loose him upon thee. Maken, open thou the door and let forth Brian if this fellow stirs one step.”

“Nay,” quoth the Tinker,—for, by roaming the country, he had learned what dogs were,—“take thou what thou wilt have,