minds that bringeth gloom to the world. For what sayeth that merry song thou singest, Little John? is it not thus?—“For when my love’s eyes do shine, do shine

And when her lips smile so rare,

The day it is jocund and fine, so fine,

Though let it be wet or be fair,

And when the stout ale is all flowing so fast,

Our sorrows and troubles are things of the past.”

“Nay,” said Friar Tuck piously, “ye do think of profane things and of naught else; yet, truly, there be better safe-guards against care and woe than ale drinking and bright eyes, to wit, fasting and meditation. Look upon me, have I the likeness of a sorrowful man?”

At this a great shout of laughter went up from all around, for the night before the stout Friar had emptied twice as many canakins of ale as any one of all the merry men.

“Truly,” quoth Robin, when he could speak for laughter, “I should say that thy sorrows were about equal to thy goodliness.”

So they stepped along, talking, singing, jesting, and laughing, until they had come to a certain little church that belonged to the great estates owned by the rich Priory of Emmet. Here it was that fair Ellen was to be married on that morn, and here was the spot toward which the yeomen had pointed their toes. On the other side of the road from where the church stood with waving fields of barley around, ran a stone wall along the roadside. Over the wall from the highway was a fringe of young trees and bushes, and here and there the wall itself was covered by a mass of blossoming woodbine that filled all the warm air far and near with its sweet summer odor. Then straightway the yeomen leaped over the wall, alighting on the tall soft grass upon the other side, frightening a flock of sheep that lay there in the shade so that they scampered away in all directions. Here was a sweet cool shadow both from the wall and from the fair young trees and bushes, and here sat the yeomen down, and glad enough they were to rest after their long tramp of the morning.

They come to the church where fair Ellen is to be married

“Now,” quoth Robin, “I would have one of you watch and tell me when he sees any one coming to the church, and the one I choose shall be young David of Doncaster. So get thee upon the wall, David, and hide beneath the woodbine so as to keep watch.”

Robin bids young David of Doncaster to watch for whoso may come.

Accordingly young David did as he was bidden, the others stretching themselves at length upon the grass, some talking together and others sleeping. Then all was quiet save only for the low voices of those that talked together, and for Allan’s restless footsteps pacing up and down, for his soul was so full of disturbance that he could not stand still, and saving, also, for the mellow snoring of Friar Tuck, who enjoyed his sleep with a noise as of one sawing soft wood very slowly. Robin lay upon his back and gazed aloft into the leaves of the trees, his thought leagues away, and so a long time passed.

Then up spoke Robin: “Now tell us, young David of Doncaster, what dost thou see?”

Then David answered, “I see the white clouds floating and I feel the wind a-blowing and three black crows are flying over the wold; but naught else do I see, good master.”

So silence fell again and another time passed, broken only as I have said, till Robin, growing impatient, spake again. “Now tell me, young David, what dost thou see by this?”

And David answered, “I see the windmills swinging and three tall poplar trees swaying against the sky, and a flock of field-fares are flying over the hill; but naught else do I see, good master.”

So another time passed, till at last Robin asked young David once more what he saw; and David said, “I hear the cuckoo singing, and I see how the wind makes waves in the barley field; and now over the hill to the church cometh an old friar, and in his hands he carries a great bunch of keys; and lo! now he cometh to the church door.”

The old Porter cometh to open the church.

Then up rose Robin Hood and shook Friar Tuck by the shoulder. “Come, rouse thee, holy man!” cried he; whereupon, with much