“How say you, all these men are your drawers? But there are at least one hundred and fifty or two hundred.”

  “Yea, my Lord, not counting the absentees. You must see, then, that with such a following I am bound to make my guests pay as heavily as may be.”

  “Give me my account,” said he, “but treat me in a friendly spirit.”

  “As a great Lord, Sir Guest, as a great Lord,” replied Robin, gaily. “Little John!” he called. The latter ran up. “Make out the charges for my Lord the Bishop of Hereford.”

  The Prelate looked at John, and began to laugh.

  “Well indeed, little, little! they call you little, and you might be a young tree! Come, gentle treasurer, give me my score.”

  “That is scarce needful, my Lord; only tell me where you keep your money, and I will pay myself.”

  “Insolent varlet!” said the Bishop, “I forbid you to poke your long fingers into my purse.”

  “I would spare you the trouble of counting, my Lord.”

  “The trouble of counting! Think you I am drunk? Go seek my valise and bring it me; I will give you a piece of gold.”

  Little John hastened to obey the Prelate’s command; he opened the valise and found a leathern bag. John emptied it; it contained three hundred pieces of gold.”

  The Bishop of Hereford, with half-closed eyes, heard John’s triumphant exclamations without comprehending them and when Robin said to him “My Lord, we thank you for generosity,” he only closed his eyes completely and muttered some confused words, of which Robin caught the following only “Saint Mary’s Abbey at once...”

  “He is fain to set forth,” said John.

  “Order his horse to be brought up,” added Robin.

  At a sign from John one of the Merrie Men brought up the horse ready saddled and with its head garlanded with flowers.

  The Bishop was hoisted half asleep into his saddle, and tied on to prevent a fall, which might prove serious; then, followed by his little company, enlivened by the wine and good cheer, he took the road to St. Mary’s.

  A band of the Merrie Men, mingling in a friendly way with the Prelate’s escort, accompanied the cavalcade to the gates of the Abbey.

  It need scarce be added that after ringing the porter’s bell the Foresters hasted away as fast as their horses could carry them.

  We will not attempt to depict the surprise and horror of the reverend brothers when the Bishop of Hereford appeared before them with a red face, staggering gait, and disordered garments.

  On the morrow of this fatal day the Bishop was mad with shame, rage, and humiliation. He passed long hours in prayer, asking God to pardon his faults, and imploring the Divine protection against that rogue and villain Robin Hood.

  At the request of the outraged Prelate the Prior of St. Mary’s armed fifty men and placed them at the disposal of his guest. Then, his blood boiling with rage, the Bishop led his little army in pursuit of the famous outlaw.

  That very day Robin, desiring to see for himself how Sir Richard of the Plain was faring, went alone along a forest path leading to the main road. The sound of an approaching cavalcade attracted his attention; he hastened his steps in the direction of the sound, and found himself face to face with the Bishop of Hereford.

  “Robin Hood!” cried the Bishop, recognising our hero. “It is Robin Hood! Traitor, surrender yourself!”

  As may be well imagined, Robin Hood had no desire to comply with this request. Surrounded on all sides, unable to defend himself or even to call his Merrie Men to his aid, he slipped daringly between two horsemen, who made as if to block his passage, and darted with the swiftness of a deer towards a little house standing about a quarter of a mile away.

  The Bishop’s men started in pursuit of the young man, but, being forced to make a detour, they could not reach as soon as he did the house in which he sought shelter.

  Robin Hood found the door of the house open, and entering, he barricaded the windows, without paying any heed to the cries of the old woman within seated at her spinning-wheel.

  “Have no fear, good mother,” said Robin, when he had finished closing the doors and windows; “I am no thief, but a poor unfortunate man, to whom you can render a service.”

  “What service? What is your name?” demanded the old dame, in very uneasy tones.

  “I am an outlaw, good mother; I am Robin Hood. The Bishop of Hereford pursues me to take my life.”

  “Eh, what? You are Robin Hood?” said the peasant dame, clasping her hands, “the noble and generous Robin Hood! God be praised for enabling a poor creature like myself to pay her debt of gratitude to the charitable outlaw! Look at me, my son, and search the memory of your good deeds for the features of her who speaks with you now. It is two years agone. An ungrateful woman would say you came in here by chance; I say you were sent by Divine Providence. You found me quite alone. I had just lost my husband; there was naught left for me but death. Your sweet and consoling words gave me back courage, strength, and health. The next day a man, sent by your orders, brought me food, clothing, and money. I asked him the name of my generous benefactor, and he answered me, “He is called Robin Hood.” Since that day, my son, I have alway remembered you in my prayers. My house and my life are yours; do as you will with your servant.”

  “I thank you, good mother,” replied Robin Hood, cordially pressing the woman’s trembling hands. “I crave your help, not through fear of danger, out to avoid useless shedding of blood. The Bishop is accompanied by fifty men, and, as you see, a struggle between us is impossible I am but one.”

  “If your enemies discover your retreat they will kill you,” said the old woman.

  “Be not uneasy, good mother. They shall not accomplish their end. We will invent a plan for saving ourselves from their violence.”

  “What plan, my son? Speak; I am ready to obey you.”

  “Will you exchange your garments for mine?”

  “Exchange our garments!” cried the old dame. “I fear, my son, that would be but a useless trick. How could you transform a woman of my age into a gay young gentleman?”

  “I will disguise you so well, good mother,” replied Robin, “that it will be quite possible to deceive the soldiers, to whom my face is probably unknown. You must feign to be drunk, and my Lord of Hereford will be so anxious to seize my person that he will look only at your dress.”

  The transformation was quickly effected. Robin put on the old woman’s grey gown; then he helped her to dress herself in his hose, tunic, and buskins.

  This done, Robin hid the peasant’s grey hair under his elegant cap, and attached his weapons to her belt.

  The double disguise was just completed when the soldiers arrived at the door of the cottage.

  First they knocked repeatedly; then a soldier proposed that he should make his horse kick in the door.

  The Prelate received the proposition favourably, whereupon the horseman, turning his horse round, backed it against the door, at the same time pricking it up with his lance. This produced an effect contrary to that expected by the soldier, for the animal reared and threw his rider to the ground.

  This accident to the poor soldier, who shot through the air with the rapidity of an arrow, had a disastrous effect. The Bishop, who had come up to see the door fall in and to prevent Robin Hood from escaping, was struck violently in the face by the soldier’s spurs.

  The pain caused by this blow so exasperated the old man that, without thinking of the unjust cruelty of his rage, he raised the mace which he carried in his hand as a token of his rank, and unmercifully beat the unlucky wretch, who lay half dead under the hoofs of the plunging horse.

  In the midst of this valiant proceeding the cottage door opened.

  “Close your ranks!” cried the Bishop, in a tone of command; “close your ranks!”

  The soldiers pressed in confusion around the cottage.

  The Bishop dismounted, but as he touched the ground, he stumbled over the body of the soldier, where it lay weltering in blood, and fell head foremost through the open doorway.

  The confusion caused by this ludicrous accident served Robin Hood’s turn admirably. Stunned and breathless, the Bishop saw, without examining closely, a figure standing motionless in the darkest corner of the room.

  “Seize the rogue!” cried his Lordship, pointing out the old woman to his soldiers. “Gag him, bind him to a horse. You are answerable for his safe keeping with your lives, for if ye let him escape, ye shall all hang without mercy.”

  The soldiers rushed upon the person indicated by their leader’s furious outcry, and in default of a gag they muffled up the old woman’s face in a large handkerchief which happened to be handy.

  Bold to rashness, Robin Hood in a trembling voice implored mercy for the prisoner; but the Bishop thrust him aside and left the cottage, after enjoying the intense satisfaction of seeing his enemy bound hand and foot on the back of a horse.

  Sick and half blinded by the wound which had gashed his face, his Lordship remounted and ordered his men to follow him to the Trysting Tree of the outlaws. It was upon the highest branch of this that the Bishop proposed to hang Robin. The worthy man was determined to give the outlaws a terrible warning of the fate in store for them, if they continued to follow their worthless leader’s mode of life.

  No sooner had the cavalcade disappeared into the depths of the wood, than Robin Hood left the cottage and ran towards the Trysting Tree.

  He had just entered a glade when he perceived Little John, Will Scarlett, and Much at some little distance.

  “See there in the centre of the clearing,” said Little John to his two friends, “what a strange creature approaches; it looks like an old witch. By’r Lady, if I thought the vixen had evil intentions, I would let fly an arrow at her.”

  “Thine arrow could not touch” replied Will, laughing.

  “And wherefore, I pray thee? Dost doubt my skill?”

  “Not the least in the world; but an if, as thou dost suppose, this woman is a witch, she could arrest the flight of thine arrow.”

  “By my faith I” quoth Much, who had kept his attention fixed on the strange figure, “I share Little John’s opinion. This doth seem a very extraordinary old dame; her figure is gigantic, and, moreover, she doth not walk like a woman, she covers the ground with prodigious strides. Verily she affrighteth me; and if you will suffer it, Will, we will e’en prove the power of the sorcery she seems richly endowed withal.”

  “Act not so rashly, Much,” replied Will. “The garments this poor creature wears claim our respect; and for me, you know I could not hurt a woman. Beside, who knows whether this strange creature be verily a witch? One must not judge by appearances, for ofttimes it happens that an ugly rind doth enclose an excellent fruit. In spite of her ridiculous looks, the poor old dame is, mayhap, a good wench and an honest Christian. Be kind to her, and, to make the indulgence easier, call to mind Robin’s orders, which do straitly forbid any hostile or even disrespectful doings toward women.”

  Little John made as if to bend his bow and take aim at the supposed witch.

  “Hold!” cried a deep and sonorous voice.

  The three men uttered a cry of surprise.

  “I am Robin Hood,” added the person who had puzzled the Foresters so sorely, and while declaring his name, Robin tore off the head-dress which covered his head and part of his face. “I was quite unrecognisable, then?” asked our hero, as he joined his comrades.

  “You are very ugly, my good friend,” replied Will.

  “Why did you assume such an unbecoming disguise?” asked Much.

  Robin related to his friends as briefly as possible the mishap which had befallen him.

  “Now,” he continued, having ended his tale, “we must think about defending ourselves. First of all, I must have clothes. You, good Much, will do me the service of hastening to the store-house, and bringing me thence some suitable garments. Meanwhile, Will and Little John will assemble all the men who are in the Forest round about the Trysting Tree. Hasten, my lads; I promise you compensation for all the trouble caused us by my Lord Bishop of Hereford.”

  Little John and Will dashed off into the Forest in different directions, while Much went in search of the garments required by Robin.

  An hour later Robin, arrayed an elegant hunting-suit, arrived at the Trysting Tree.

  John brought sixty men, and Will had collected forty.

  Robin dispersed his men among the thickets which formed an impenetrable background to the clearing, and seated himself at the foot of the great tree designed by his Lordship to serve as a gallows.

  Scarce were these arrangements completed, ere the ground echoed with the sound of the approaching cavalcade, and the Bishop arrived, followed by his escort.

  When the soldiers had made their way to the middle of the clearing, the blast of a horn rang through the air, the foliage of the young trees stirred, and from every side emerged men armed to the teeth.

  A cold shudder ran through the Bishop at sight of the Foresters’ formidable appearance. The latter ranged themselves in battle array at a sign from their Chief, who had not yet been perceived by the Prelate; he threw a glance of dismay around him, and discovered a young man clad in a scarlet tunic, with words of command on his lips, directing the band of outlaws.

  “Who is this man?” demanded the Bishop of a soldier standing beside the prisoner, who was bound to a horse.

  “That man is Robin Hood,” replied the prisoner, in trembling tones.

  “Robin Hood!” quoth the Bishop. “And who, then, art thou, wretch?”

  “I am but a woman, my Lord, a poor old woman.”

  “Woe be to thee, malignant hag!” cried the infuriated Bishop, “woe be to thee! Come, my men,” continued his Lordship, beckoning to his men, “charge down the glade. Fear nothing; force a road with your swords through the ranks of these rogues. Forward, my brave lads, forward!”

  Doubtless the brave lads thought that if the order to attack the bandits was easy enough to give, it was more difficult to carry out, for they did not stir.

  At a signal from Robin, the Foresters adjusted their arrows, lifting their bows with admirable uniformity; and their reputation for skill was so widely known and so renowned that the Bishop’s soldiers, unable to remain inactive, stooped in their saddles as one man.

  “Down with your arms!” cried Robin Hood. “Unbind the prisoner.”

  The soldiers obeyed the young man’s orders.

  “My good mother,” said Robin, leading the old woman beyond the glade, “go home now, and to-morrow I will send you a reward for your kind action. Go quick. I have no time to thank you now, but forget not that my gratitude is great.”

  The old dame kissed Robin Hood’s hands, and went her way, accompanied by a guide.

  “O Lord, have pity on me!” cried the Bishop, wringing his hands.

  Robin Hood drew nearer to his enemy.

  “Welcome, my Lord,” said he, in a wheedling tone, “and permit me to thank you for your visit. My hospitality, I see, proved so attractive that you could not resist the desire of once more partaking its delights.”

  The Bishop gazed despairingly at Robin, and a deep sigh escaped him.

  “You appear downcast, my Lord,” Robin continued. “What troubles you? Are not you pleased to meet with me again?”

  “I cannot well say that I am pleased,” replied the Bishop, “for, indeed, the plight in which I find myself renders that impossible. You can readily guess my intention in coming here, and your conscience will acquit you if you avenge yourself on me, for you will be striking an enemy — However, let me say this much. Let me go free, and never, under any circumstances whatever, will I seek to harm you. Let me go with my men, and your soul will not have to answer to God for a mortal sin, for such it would surely be, were you to attempt the life of a high priest of the Holy Church.”

  “I detest murder and violence, my Lord,” replied Robin Hood, “as mine actions do daily prove. I never attack; I am content to defend my life and the lives of my brave followers, who trust in me. Did I cherish in my heart the least sentiment of hate or rancour toward you, my Lord, I would inflict on you the same death which you had intended for me. But it is not so. I bear you no ill will, and I take no vengeance on those who have not succeeded in harming me. Therefore I will set you free, but on one condition only.”

  “Speak, Sir,” said the Bishop, graciously.

  “You must promise to respect my independence and the liberty of my men; you must swear that at no future period and under no circumstances whatever will you lend a hand to any attempt upon my life.”

  “I have willingly promised to do you no harm,” replied the Bishop, suavely.

  “A promise is not binding on an unscrupulous conscience, my Lord. I must have an oath.”

  “I swear by St. Paul to let you live as you please.”

  “Very good, my Lord; you are free.”

  “I thank you a thousand times, Robin Hood. Will you be so good as to give an order to my men to assemble; they have dispersed, and are fraternising with your companions.”

  “I will do as you wish, my Lord; in a few minutes the men will be in the saddle. In the mean time will you accept some slight refreshment?”

  “Nay, nay! I wish for naught,” the Bishop answered hastily, terrified at the mere mention of the word.

  “You have been long fasting, my Lord, and a slice of pasty...”

  “Not a morsel, good host not a mouthful even.”

  “A cup of good wine, then?”

  “Nay, nay, a hundred times nay!”

  “You will neither eat nor drink with me, my Lord?”

  “I am neither hungry nor thirsty. I wish to depart, that is all. Do not seek to detain me longer, I pray you.”

  “As you please, my Lord. Little John,” added Robin, “his Reverence wishes to leave us.”

  “His Reverence is at perfect liberty,” growled John. “I will give him his bill.”

  “My bill!” repeated the Bishop, in surprise. “What do you mean? I have neither eaten nor drunken.”

  “Oh! that boots not,” replied Little John, calmly; “from the moment you enter the hostelry, you must share its expenses. Your men are hungry; they ask for food. Your horses are satisfied already; nor must we be the sufferers by your abstemiousness, and receive naught, because it doth not please you to accept of anything. We demand largess for the servants who have had the trouble of entertaining man and beast.”