The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
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 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 traveled 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 footpaths. 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.
Then next they met two noble knights in rich array, with hawk on wrist,
and likewise two fair ladies clad in silks and velvets, all a-riding on
noble steeds. These all made room, staring, as Little John and the two
friars came along the road. To them Little John bowed humbly. "Give
you greetings, lords and ladies," said he. "But here we go, we three."
Then all laughed, and one of the fair ladies cried out, "What three
meanest thou, merry friend?"
Little John looked over his shoulder, for they had now passed each
other, and he called back, "Big Jack, lean Jack and fat Jack-pudding."
At this the fat Friar gave a groan and seemed as if he were like to fall
from his saddle for shame; the other brother said nothing, but he looked
before him with a grim and stony look.
Just ahead of them the road took a sudden turn around a high hedge, and
some twoscore paces beyond the bend another road crossed the one they
were riding upon. When they had come to the crossroad and were well
away from those they had left, the lean Friar drew rein suddenly. "Look
ye, fellow," quoth he in a voice quivering with rage, "we have had
enough of thy vile company, and care no longer to be made sport of. Go
thy way, and let us go ours in peace."
"La there, now!" quoth Little John. "Methought we were such a merry
company, and here thou dost blaze up like fat in the pan. But truly, I
ha' had enow of you today, though I can ill spare your company. I know
ye will miss me, but gin ye want me again, whisper to Goodman Wind, and
he will bring news thereof to me. But ye see I am a poor man and ye are
rich. I pray you give me a penny or two to buy me bread and cheese at
the next inn."
"We have no money, fellow," said the lean Friar harshly. "Come, Brother
Thomas, let us forward."
But Little John caught the horses by the bridle reins, one in either
hand. "Ha' ye in truth no money about you whatsoever?" said he. "Now, I
pray you, brothers, for charity's sake, give me somewhat to buy a crust
of bread, e'en though it be only a penny."
"I tell thee, fellow, we have no money," thundered the fat little Friar
with the great voice.
"Ha' ye, in holy truth, no money?" asked Little John.
"Not a farthing," said the lean Friar sourly.
"Not a groat," said the fat Friar loudly.
"Nay," quoth Little John, "this must not be. Far be it from me to see
such holy men as ye are depart from me with no money. Get both of you
down straightway from off your horses, and we will kneel here in the
middle of the crossroads and pray the blessed Saint Dunstan to send us
some money to carry us on our journey."
"What sayest thou, thou limb of evil!" cried the lean Friar, fairly
gnashing his teeth with rage. "Doss thou bid me, the high cellarer of
Fountain Abbey, to get down from my horse and kneel in the dirty road to
pray to some beggarly Saxon saint?"
"Now," quoth Little John, "I ha' a great part of a mind to crack thy
head for thee for speaking thus of the good Saint Dunstan! But get down
straightway, for my patience will not last much longer, and I may forget
that ye are both in holy orders." So saying, he twirled his stout staff
till it whistled again.
At this speech both friars grew as pale as dough. Down slipped the fat
Brother from off his horse on one side, and down slipped the lean
Brother on the other.
"Now, brothers, down on your knees and pray," said Little John;
thereupon, putting his heavy hands upon the shoulder of each, he forced
them to their knees, he kneeling also. Then Little John began to
beseech Saint Dunstan for money, which he did in a great loud voice.
After he had so besought the Saint for a time, he bade the friars feel
in their pouches and see if the Saint had sent them anything; so each
put his hand slowly in the pouch that hung beside him, but brought
nothing thence.
"Ha!" quoth Little John, "have your prayers so little virtue? Then let
us at it again." Then straightway he began calling on Saint Dunstan
again, somewhat in this wise: "O gracious Saint Dunstan! Send some
money straightway to these poor folk, lest the fat one waste away and
grow as lean as the lean one, and the lean one waste away to nothing at
all, ere they get to Lincoln Town; but send them only ten shillings
apiece, lest they grow puffed up with pride, Any more than that that
thou sendest, send to me.
"Now," quoth he, rising, "let us see what each man hath." Then he thrust
his hand into his pouch and drew thence four golden angels. "What have
ye, brothers?" said he.
Then once again each friar slowly thrust his hand into his pouch, and
once again brought it out with nothing in it.
"Have ye nothing?" quoth Little John. "Nay, I warrant there is somewhat
that hath crept into the seams of your pouches, and so ye ha' missed it.
Let me look."
So he went first to the lean Friar, and, thrusting his hand into the
pouch, he drew forth a leathern bag and counted therefrom one hundred
and ten pounds of golden money. "I thought," quoth Little John, "that
thou hadst missed, in some odd corner of thy pouch, the money that the
blessed Saint had sent thee. And now let me see whether thou hast not
some, also, brother." Thereupon he thrust his hand into the pouch of the
fat Friar and drew thence a bag like the other and counted out from it
threescore and ten pounds. "Look ye now," quoth he, "I knew the good
Saint had sent thee some pittance that thou, also, hadst missed."
Then, giving them one pound between them, he slipped the rest of the
money into his own pouch, saying, "Ye pledged me your holy word that ye
had no money. Being holy men, I trust that ye would not belie your word
so pledged, therefore I know the good Saint Dunstan hath sent this in
answer to my prayers. But as I only prayed for ten shillings to be sent
to each of you, all over and above that belongeth by rights to me, and
so I take it. I give you good den, brothers, and may ye have a pleasant
journey henceforth." So saying, he turned and left them, striding away.
The friars looked at one another with a woeful look, and slowly and
sadly they mounted their horses again and rode away with never a word.
But Little John turned his footsteps back again to Sherwood Forest, and
merrily he whistled as he strode along.
And now we will see what befell Robin Hood in his venture as beggar.
Robin Hood Turns Beggar
AFTER JOLLY ROBIN had left Little John at the forking of the roads, he
walked merrily onward in the mellow sunshine that shone about him. Ever
and anon he would skip and leap or sing a snatch of song, for pure
joyousness of the day; for, because of the sweetness of the springtide,
his heart was as lusty within him as that of a colt newly turned out to
grass. Sometimes he would walk a long distance, gazing aloft at the
great white swelling clouds that moved slowly across the deep blue sky;
anon he would stop and drink in the fullness of life of all things, for
the hedgerows were budding tenderly and the grass of the meadows was
waxing long and green; again he would stand still and listen to the
pretty song of the little birds in the thickets or hearken to the clear
crow of the cock daring the sky to rain, whereat he would laugh, for it
took but little to tickle Robin's heart into merriment. So he trudged
manfully along, ever willing to stop for this reason or for that, and
ever ready to chat with such merry lasses as he met now and then. So
the morning slipped along, but yet he met no beggar with whom he could
change clothes. Quoth he, "If I do not change my luck in haste, I am
like to have an empty day of it, for it is well nigh half gone already,
and, although I have had a merry walk through the countryside, I know
nought of a beggar's life."
Then, after a while, he began to grow hungry, whereupon his mind turned
from thoughts of springtime and flowers and birds and dwelled upon
boiled capons, Malmsey, white bread, and the like, with great
tenderness. Quoth he to himself, "I would I had Willie Wynkin's wishing
coat; I know right well what I should wish for, and this it should be."
Here he marked upon the fingers of his left hand with the forefinger of
his right hand those things which he wished for. "Firstly, I would have
a sweet brown pie of tender larks; mark ye, not dry cooked, but with a
good sop of gravy to moisten it withal. Next, I would have a pretty
pullet, fairly boiled, with tender pigeons' eggs, cunningly sliced,
garnishing the platter around. With these I would have a long, slim loaf
of wheaten bread that hath been baked upon the hearth; it should be warm
from the fire, with glossy brown crust, the color of the hair of mine
own Maid Marian, and this same crust should be as crisp and brittle as
the thin white ice that lies across the furrows in the early winter's
morning. These will do for the more solid things; but with these I must
have three potties, fat and round, one full of Malmsey, one of Canary,
and one brimming full of mine own dear lusty sack." Thus spoke Robin to
himself, his mouth growing moist at the corners with the thoughts of the
good things he had raised in his own mind.
So, talking to himself, he came to where the dusty road turned sharply
around the hedge, all tender with the green of the coming leaf, and
there he saw before him a stout fellow sitting upon a stile, swinging
his legs in idleness. All about this lusty rogue dangled divers pouches
and bags of different sizes and kinds, a dozen or more, with great,
wide, gaping mouths, like a brood of hungry daws. His coat was gathered
in at his waist, and was patched with as many colors as there are
stripes upon a Maypole in the springtide. On his head he wore a great
tall leathern cap, and across his knees rested a stout quarterstaff of
blackthorn, full as long and heavy as Robin's. As jolly a beggar was he
as ever trod the lanes and byways of Nottinghamshire, for his eyes were
as gray as slate, and snapped and twinkled and danced with merriment,
and his black hair curled close all over his head in little rings of