shade, nigh to the highroad.

In front of them, over beyond the hedge, the dusty road stretched away across the plain; behind them the meadow lands and bright green fields of tender young corn lay broadly in the sun, and overhead spread the shade of the cool, rustling leaves of the beechen tree. Pleasantly to their nostrils came the tender fragrance of the purple violets and wild thyme that grew within the dewy moisture of the edge of the little fountain, and pleasantly came the soft gurgle of the water; all else was sunny silence, broken only now and then by the crow of a distant cock, borne up to them on the wings of the soft and gentle breeze, or the drowsy drone of the humble-bee burrowing in the clover blossoms that grew in the sun, or the voice of the busy housewife in the nearest farmhouse. All was so pleasant and so full of the gentle joy of the bright Maytime, that for a long time neither of the three cared to speak, but each lay on his back, gazing up through the trembling leaves of the trees to the bright sky overhead. At last, Robin, whose thoughts were not quite so busy wool-gathering as those of the others, and who had been gazing around him now and then, broke the silence.

“Heyday!” quoth he, “yon is a gayly-feathered bird, I take my vow.”

The others looked and saw a young man walking slowly down the highway. Gay was he, indeed, as Robin had said, and a fine figure he cut, for his doublet was of scarlet silk and his stockings also; a handsome sword hung by his side, the embossed leathern scabbard being picked out with fine threads of gold; his cap was of scarlet velvet, and a broad feather hung down behind and back of one ear. His hair was long and yellow and curled upon his shoulders, and in his hand he bore an early rose, which he smelt at daintily now and then.

Robin seeth a stranger clad in scarlet.

“By my life!” quoth Robin Hood, laughing, “saw ye e’er such a pretty, mincing fellow?”

“Truly, his clothes have overmuch prettiness for my taste,” quoth Arthur a Bland; “but, ne’ertheless, his shoulders are broad and his loins are narrow. And seest thou, good master, how that his arms hang from his body? They dangle not down like spindles, but hang stiff and bend at the elbow. I take my vow, there be no bread and milk limbs in those find clothes, but stiff joints and tough thews.”

“Methinks thou art right, friend Arthur,” said Little John. “I do verily think that yon is no such rose-leaf and whipped-cream gallant as he would have one take him to be.”

“Pah!” quoth Robin Hood, “the sight of such a fellow doth put a nasty taste into my mouth! Look how he doth hold that fair flower betwixt his thumb and finger, as he would say, ‘Good rose, I like thee not so ill but I can bear thy odor for a little while.’ I take it ye are both wrong, and verily believe that were a furious mouse to run across his path, he would cry, ‘La!’ or ‘Alack-a-day!’ and fall straightway into a swoom. I wonder who he may be.”

“Some great baron’s son, I doubt not,” answered Little John, “with good and true men’s money lining his purse.”

“Ay, marry, that is true, I make no doubt,” quoth Robin. “What a pity that such men as he, that have no thought but to go abroad in gay clothes, should have good fellows, whose shoes they are not fit to tie, dancing at their bidding. By Saint Dunstan, Saint Alfred, Saint Withold, and all the good men in the Saxon calendar, it doth make me mad to see such gay lordlings from over the sea go stepping on the necks of good Saxons who owned this land before ever their great-grandsires chewed rind of brawn! By the bright bow of Heaven, I will have their ill-gotten gains from them, even though I hang for it as high as e’er a forest tree in Sherwood!”

“Why, how now, master,” quoth Little John, “what heat is this? Thou dost set thy pot-a-boiling, and mayhap no bacon to cook! Methinks yon fellow’s hair is over light for Norman locks. He may be a good man and true for aught thou knowest.”

“Nay,” said Robin, “my head against a leaden farthing, he is what I say. Whenever saw ye Saxon mince