grunting, the stout Tuck got to his feet. “Marry, bestir thyself,” quoth Robin, “for yonder, in the church door, is one of thy cloth. Go thou and talk to him, and so get thyself into the church, that thou mayst be there when thou art wanted; meantime, Little John, Will Stutely, and I will follow thee anon.”

So Friar Tuck clambered over the wall, crossed the road, and came to the church, where the old Friar was still laboring with the great key, the lock being somewhat rusty and he somewhat old and feeble.

“Hilloa, brother,” quoth Tuck, “let me aid thee.” So saying, he took the key from the other’s hand, and quickly opened the door with a turn of it.

“Who art thou, good brother?” asked the old Friar, in a high, wheezing voice. “Whence comest thou, and whither art thou going?” And he winked and blinked at stout Friar Tuck like an owl at the sun.

Friar Tuck talketh with the other.

“Thus do I answer thy questions, brother,” said the other. “My name is Tuck, and I go no farther than this spot, if thou wilt haply but let me stay while this same wedding is going forward. I come from Fountain Dale, and, in truth, am a certain poor hermit, as one may say, for I live in a cell beside the fountain blessed by that holy Saint Ethelrada, which same suffered the sharpest martyrdom that ever befell a woman, to wit, she had her tongue cut out, so that she could speak no more words than a dead jackdaw, as it were. But what befell? Marry, listen. Straight came this blessed woman to that same fountain,—so it was, and yet I am fain to confess that ne’er ha I got much good from the waters thereof; for cold water doth ever stir my inward parts with certain gripings and what not.”

“But,” piped the old brother, in his high, wheezing voice, “I do much wish to know what befell this holy woman upon coming to that same blessed fountain.”

“Marry, a’ drank o’ the waters, and straightway regained that which an evil-minded fellow might say, and many might think, was no such heavenly gift, and that was her powers of speech. But, if I understand aught, there is to be a gay wedding here to-day; so, if thou mindest not, I would fain rest me in the cool shade within, for I would like to see this fine sight.”

“Truly, thou art welcome, brother,” said the old man, leading the way within. Meantime, Robin Hood, in his guise of harper, together with Little John and Will Stutely, had come to the church. Robin sat him down on a bench beside the door, but Little John, carrying the two bags of gold, went within, as did Will Stutely.

Little John and Will Stutely go into the church, whilst Robin sits by the door.

So Robin sat by the door, looking up the road and down the road to see who might come, till, after a time, he saw six horsemen come riding sedately and slowly, as became them, for they were churchmen in high orders. Then, when they had come nearer, Robin saw who they were, and knew them. The first was the Bishop of Hereford, and a fine figure he cut, I wot. His vestments were of the richest silk, and around his neck was a fair chain of beaten gold. The cap that hid his tonsure was of black velvet, and around the edges of it were rows of jewels that flashed in the sunlight, each stone being set in gold. His hose were of flame-colored silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the long, pointed toes being turned up and fastened to his knees, and on either instep was embroidered a cross in gold thread. Beside the Bishop rode the Prior of Emmet upon a mincing palfrey. Rich were his clothes also, but not so gay as the stout Bishop’s. Behind these were two of the higher brethren of Emmet, and behind these again two retainers belonging to the Bishop; for the Lord Bishop of Hereford strove to be as like the great barons as was in the power of one in holy orders.

The Bishop of Hereford and the Prior of Emmet come to the church.

When Robin saw this train drawing near, with flash of jewels and silk and jingle of silver bells on the trappings of the nags, he looked sourly upon them. Quoth he to himself, “Yon Bishop is overgaudy