with a sly twinkle in his eyes.

“Give over, I say!” quoth Robin in a fume. “My coat hath been dusted enough already, without aid of thine.” Then, turning to the stranger, he said, “What may be thy name, good fellow?”

“My name is Gamwell,” answered the other.

“Ha!” cried Robin, “is it even so? I have near kin of that name. Whence camest thou, fair friend?”

“From Maxfield Town I come,” answered the stranger. “There was I born and bred, and thence I come to seek my mother’s young brother, whom men call Robin Hood. So, if perchance thou mayst direct me”—

“Ha! Will Gamwell!” cried Robin, placing both hands upon the other’s shoulders and holding him off at arm’s length. “Surely, it can be none other! I might have known thee by that pretty maiden air of thine,—that dainty, finicking manner of gait. Dost thou not know me, lad? Look upon me well.”

Robin Hood findeth that the stranger is his own sister’s son.

“Now, by the breath of my body!” cried the other, “I do believe from my heart that thou art mine own Uncle Robin. Nay, certain it is so!” and each flung his arms around the other, kissing him upon the cheek. Then once more Robin held his kinsman off at arm’s length and scanned him keenly from top to toe. “Why, how now,” quoth he, “what change is here? Verily, some eight or ten years ago I left thee a stripling lad, with great joints and ill-hung limbs, and lo! here thou art, as tight a fellow as e’er I set mine eyes upon. Dost thou not remember, lad, how I showed thee the proper way to nip the goose feather betwixt thy fingers and throw out thy bow arm steadily? Thou gavest great promise of being a keen archer. And dost thou not mind how I taught thee to fend and parry with the cudgel?

“Yea,” said young Gamwell, “and I did so look up to thee, and thought thee so above all other men that, I make my vow, had I known who thou wert, I would never have dared to lift hand against thee this day. I trust I did thee no great harm.”

“No, no,” quoth Robin, hastily, and looking sideways at Little John, “thou didst not harm me. But say no more of that, I prythee. Yet I will say, lad, that I hope I may never feel again such a blow as thou didst give me. By ’r Lady, my arm doth tingle yet from finger-nail to elbow. Truly, I thought that I was palsied for life. I tell thee, coz, that thou art the strongest man that ever I laid mine eyes upon. I take my vow, I felt my stomach quake when I beheld thee pluck up yon green tree as thou didst. But tell me, how camest thou to leave Sir Edward and thy mother?”

“Alas!” answered young Gamwell, “it is an ill story, uncle, that I have to tell thee. My father’s Will Gramwell steward, who came to us after old Giles telleth his story. Crookleg died, was ever a saucy varlet, and I know not why my father kept him, saving that he did oversee with great judgment. It used to gall me to hear him speak up so boldly to my father, who, thou knowest, was ever a patient man to those about him, and slow to anger and harsh words. Well, one day—and an ill day it was for that saucy fellow—he sought to berate my father, I standing by. I could stand it no longer, good uncle, so, stepping forth, I gave him a box o’ the ear, and—wouldst thou believe it?—the fellow straightway died o’t. I think they said I broke his neck, or something o’ the like. So off they packed me to seek thee and escape the law. I was on my way when thou sawest me, and here I am.”

“Well, by the faith of my heart,” quoth Robin Hood, “for any one escaping the law, thou wast taking it the most easily that ever I beheld in all my life. Whenever did any one in all the world see one who had slain a man, and was escaping because of it, tripping along the highway like a dainty court damsel, sniffing at a rose the while?”

“Nay, uncle,” answered Will Gamwell, “over haste never churned good butter, as the old saying hath it. Moreover, I do verily believe that this overstrength of my body hath taken the