rushlight that costeth but a groat.

The day was well-nigh gone when they came near to the greenwood tree. Even at a distance they saw by the number of men that Little John had come back with some guest, but when they came near enough, who should they find but the Lord Bishop of Hereford. The good Bishop was in a fine stew, I wot. Up and down he walked beneath the tree like a fox caught in a hencoop. Behind him were three black friars standing close together in a frightened group, like three black sheep in a tempest. Hitched to the branches of the trees close at hand were six horses, one of them a barb with gay trappings upon which the Bishop was wont to ride, and the others laden with packs of divers shapes and kinds, one of which made Robin’s eyes glisten, for it was a box not over large, but heavily bound with bands and ribs of iron.

Robin findeth guests in the forest awaiting him.

When the Bishop saw Robin and those with him come into the open he made as though he would have run toward the yeoman, but the fellow that guarded the Bishop and the three friars thrust his quarterstaff in front, so that his lordship was fain to stand back, though with frowning brow and angry speech.

“Stay, my Lord Bishop,” cried jolly Robin, in a loud voice, when he saw what had passed; “I will come to thee with all speed, for I would rather see thee than any man in merry England.” So saying, he quickened his steps, and soon came to where the Bishop stood fuming.

“How now,” quoth the Bishop in a loud and angry voice, when Robin had so come to him, “is this the way that thou and thy band treat one so high in the church as I am? I and these brethren were passing peacefully along the high-road with our packhorses, and a half score of men to guard them, when up comes a great strapping fellow full seven feet high, with fourscore or more men back of him, and calls upon me to stop—me, the Lord Bishop of Hereford, mark thou! Whereupon my armed guards—beshrew them for cowards!—straight ran away. But look ye; not only did this fellow stop me, but he threatened me, saying that Robin Hood would strip me as bare as a winter hedge. Then, beside all this, he called me such vile names as ‘fat priest,’ ‘man-eating bishop,’ ‘money-gorging usurer,’ and what not, as though I were no more than a strolling beggar or tinker. Moreover, when I came here I found a great fat man, a mock priest, that slapped me upon the shoulder as though I, God wot, were a pot-house fellow.”

The Bishop of Hereford complaineth of Little John and of Friar Tuck.

“Marry, come up with a wanion!” cried Friar Tuck, bustling forward and thrusting himself in front of the Bishop; “Marry come up, I say!” and he snapped his fingers under the Bishop’s nose, whereat the other started back as though the snap were a clap of thunder. “Mock priest! thou callest me, forsooth! Look ye now, Bishop, I wot I am as holy a man as thou art, and might have been a bishop mine own self, had I not been born under a hedge. I am as learned, too, as thou art, albeit I could never master that vile Latin, my tongue being only shaped for good stout English; yet I tell thee, I can say my ‘Paters’ and ‘Aves’ with no more a slip o’ the tongue than thou, thou fat man!”

At this the Bishop glared upon the stout Friar like an angry cat, whilst even Sir Richard laughed; only Robin kept a grave face. “Stand back, Tuck,” said he, “thou shouldst not beard his lordship’s reverence in this wise. Alas! my lord, that thou hast been so ill-treated by my band! I tell thee truly that we greatly reverence thy cloth. Little John, stand forth straightway.”

At these words Little John came forward, twisting his face into a whimsical look, as though he would say, “Ha’ mercy upon me, good master.” Then Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford and said: “Was this the man who spake so boldly to your lordship?”

“Ay, truly it was the same,” said the Bishop; “a naughty fellow, I wot.”

“And didst thou, Little John,” said Robin, in a sad voice, “call his lordship a fat priest?”

Robin Hood pretends to take