for the greenwood than for the cobble-stones and gray walls of London Town.” So saying, he took his place, and drew a fair, round arrow from his quiver, which he turned over and over ere he fitted it to his bowstring.

King Henry offers a prayer to Saint Hubert.

Then the King muttered in his beard, “Now, blessed Saint Hubert, if thou wilt but jog that rogue’s elbow so as to make him smite even the second ring, I will give eightscore waxen candles three fingers’ breadth in thickness to thy chapel nigh Matching.” But it may be Saint Hubert’s ears were stuffed with tow, for he seemed not to hear the King’s prayer this day.

Having gotten three shafts to his liking, merry Robin looked carefully to his bowstring ere he shot. “Yea,” quoth he to Gilbert, who stood nigh him to watch his shooting, “thou shouldst pay us a visit at merry Sherwood.” Here he drew the bowstring to his ear. “In London”—here he loosed his shaft—“thou canst find nought to shoot at but rooks and daws; there one can tickle the ribs of the noblest stags in England.” So he shot even whilst he talked, yet the shaft lodged not more than half an inch from the very centre.

“By my soul!” cried Gilbert. “Art thou the devil in blue, to shoot in that wise?”

Robin Hood shoots his three arrows in a wondrous manner.

“Nay,” quoth Robin, laughing, “not quite so ill as that, I trust.” And he took up another shaft and fitted it to the string. Again he shot, and again he smote his arrow close beside the centre; a third time he loosed his bowstring, and dropped his arrow just betwixt the other two and into the very centre, so that the feathers of all three were ruffled together, seeming from a distance to be one thick shaft.

Stout Gilbert owneth himself beaten.

And now a low murmur ran all among that great crowd, for never before had London seen such shooting as this; and never again would it see it after Robin Hood’s day had gone. All saw that the King’s archers were fairly beaten. and stout Gilbert clapped his palm to Robin’s, owning that he could never hope to draw such a bowstring as Robin Hood or Little John. But the King, full of wrath, would not have it so, though he knew in his mind that his men could not stand against those fellows. “Nay!” cried he, clenching his hands upon the arms of his seat, “Gilbert is not yet beaten! Did he not strike the clout thrice? Although I have lost my wager, he hath not yet lost the first prize. They shall shoot again, and still again, till either he or that knave Robin Hood cometh off the best. Go thou, Sir Hugh, and bid them shoot another round, and another, until one or the other is overcome.” Then Sir Hugh, seeing how wroth the King was, said never a word, but went straightway to do his bidding; so he came to where Robin Hood and the other stood, and told them what the King had said.

“With all my heart,” quoth merry Robin, “I will shoot from this time till to-morrow day if it can pleasure my most gracious lord and king. Take thy place, Gilbert lad, and shoot.”

So Gilbert took his place once more, but this time he failed, for, a sudden little wind arising, his shaft missed the centre ring, but by not more than the breadth of a barley straw.

Gilbert shooteth one more shaft, but misseth the white.

“Thy eggs are cracked, Gilbert,” quoth Robin, laughing; and straightway he loosed a shaft, and once more smote the white circle of the centre.

Robin Hood lodges another arrow in the centre ring.

Then the King arose from his place, and not a word said he, but he looked around with a baleful look, and it would have been an ill day for any one that he saw with a joyous or a merry look upon his face. Then he and his Queen and all the court left the place, but the King’s heart was brimming full of wrath within him.

The King leaveth the archery butts in bitter wrath.

After the King had gone, all the yeomen of the archer guard came crowding around Robin, and Little John, and Will, and Allan, to snatch a look at these famous fellows from the midcountry; and with them came many that had been onlookers at the sport, for the same purpose.