for these holy men; go back to thine ale-house. Nay, if these most holy brothers of mine do but give me the word, I’ll beat thy head with this stout staff till it is as soft as whipped eggs.”

At these words a great shout of laughter went up from those on the bench, and the landlord’s face grew red as a cherry from smothering his laugh in his stomach; but he kept his merriment down, for he wished not to bring the ill-will of the brothers of Fountain Abbey upon him by unseemly mirth. So the two brethren, as they could do naught else, having mounted their nags, turned their noses toward Lincoln, and rode away.

“I cannot stay longer, sweet friends,” quoth Little John, as he pushed in betwixt the two cobs, “therefore I wish you good den. Off we go, we three.” So saying, he swung his stout staff over his shoulder and trudged off, measuring his pace with that of the two nags.

Little John and the two brothers of Fountain Abbey leave the inn.

The two brothers glowered at Little John when he so pushed himself betwixt them, then they drew as far away from him as they could, so that the yeoman walked in the middle of the road, whilst they rode on the footpath on either side of the way. As they so went away, the Tinker, the Pedler, and the Beggar ran skipping out into the middle of the highway, each with a pot in his hand, and looked after them laughing.

Whilst they were in sight of those at the inn the two brothers walked their horses soberly, not caring to make ill matters worse by seeming to run away from Little John, for they could not but think how it would sound in folks’ ears when they heard how the brethren of Fountain Abbey scampered away from a strolling friar, like the Ugly One, when the blessed Saint Dunstan loosed his nose from the red-hot tongs where he had held it fast; but when they had crossed the crest of the hill and the inn was lost to sight, quoth the fat Brother to the thin Brother, “Brother Ambrose, had we not better mend our pace?”

“Why truly, gossip,” spoke up Little John, “methinks it would be well to boil our pot a little faster, for the day is passing on. So if it will not jolt thy fat too much, onward, say I.”

At this the two friars said nothing, but they glared again on Little John with baleful looks; then, without another word, they clucked to their horses, and both broke into a canter. So they galloped for a mile and more, and Little John ran betwixt them as lightly as a stag, and never turned a hair with the running. At last the fat Brother drew his horse’s rein with a groan, for he could stand the shaking no longer. “Alas,” said Little John, with not so much as a catch in his breath, “I did sadly fear that the roughness of this pace would shake thy poor old fat paunch.”

To this the fat Friar said never a word, but he stared straight before him, and he gnawed his nether lip. And now they travelled forward more quietly, Little John in the middle of the road whistling merrily to himself, and the two friars in the footpath on either side saying never a word.

Then presently they met three merry minstrels, all clad in red, who stared amain to see a Gray Friar with such short robes walking in the middle of the road, and two brothers, with heads bowed with shame, riding upon richly-caparisoned cobs on the foot-paths. When they had come near to the minstrels, Little John waved his staff like an usher clearing the way. “Make way!” he cried, in a loud voice, “Make way! make way! for here we go; we three!” Then how the minstrels stared, and how they laughed! But the fat Friar shook as with an ague, and the lean Friar bowed his head over his horse’s neck.

Little John and the two friars meet three strolling minstrels.

Then next they met a stout burgher and his wife and their two fair daughters, all dressed in their Sunday best, riding from their cousin’s house in the country back to Tuxford again. These Little John saluted gravely. Quoth he, “Good den, good folk. Here we go, we three.” At this the women stared, for women do not take a joke so