“Long handle of a dirty broom,” cried the lustiest of the beggars, “if that be so, we are not disposed to bear with thy foolish company any longer. Thou dost appear a very sorry rogue, and thy presence is distasteful to us. Go, and take as a parting gift this blow on thy pate.”

  As he said these words, the tall ragamuffin dealt me a blow on the head.

  “This unexpected onslaught made me furious,” continued Little John. “I fell on the rascal, and rained a volley of blows upon him.”

  He was soon incapable of defending himself, and cried for mercy.

  “Here’s at you, lying dogs!” I cried, menacing the other miscreants with my staff.

  You would have laughed, I am sure, good friends, to have seen the blind man open his eyes and fearfully watch my movements, and the lame man run at the top of his speed toward the woods.

  I silenced the brawlers, who were shouting fit to deafen a man, and laid my staff soundly and well across their broad shoulders. A wallet, broken open by my blows, let fall some pieces of gold, and the rogue to whom they belonged fell on his knees upon his treasure, hoping, doubtless, to conceal it from me.

  “Oho!” I cried, “this puts another appearance on the matter, miserable ragamuffins, or rather thieves, that ye are. Give me instantly, to the last groat, all the money you possess, or I will beat you all into a pulp.”

  The cowards again sued for mercy, and as my arm was beginning to get tired of beating, beating, beating, I was merciful.

  When I left the beggars with my pockets full of their spoils, they could scarce stand up. I quickly took my way to the Forest, delighted with my prowess, for there is a certain justice in plundering thieves.

  Robin Hood, surrounded by his Merrie Men, was practising at archery.

  “Well, Little John,” he cried as I appeared, “are you back already? Had you not the courage to carry out your beggar’s part to a finish?”

  “Pardon me, dear Robin, I have done my duty, and my quest hath been productive. I bring back six hundred gold crowns.”

  “Six hundred golden crowns!” he cried. “Then you have plundered a Prince of the Church.”

  “Nay, Captain, I gleaned that sum from members of the beggar tribe.”

  Robin looked grave.

  “Explain yourself, John,” he said to me. “I cannot believe that you have robbed the poor.”

  I recounted the adventure to Robin, observing that beggars with pockets full of gold could only be professional thieves.

  Robin was of my opinion, and smiled again.

  “That was a good day’s work,” laughed Much “six hundred golden crowns at one haul.”

  “That very evening,” continued John, “I distributed the half of my booty among the poor in the neighbourhood of Sherwood.”

  “Good John!” cried Will, wringing the young man’s hand.

  “Generous Robin! you should say, William, for in acting thus I only obeyed the orders of my Chief.”

  “Here we are at Barnsdale,” said Much; “but the way hath not seemed long to me.”

  “I shall tell that to my sister,” cried Will, laughing.

  “And I will add,” replied Much, that I never ceased to think of her for a single instant.”

  CHAPTER VII

  William, Much, and Little John had been staying at Barnsdale for a week, and the happy household was preparing to celebrate the wedding of Winifred and Barbara. By Will Scarlett’s orders the park and gardens of the Hall had been transformed into dancing-greens; for the good-natured young man was constantly watching over the well-being of the world in general and the happiness of each in particular. Indefatigable in his efforts, he turned his hand to anything, busied himself over everything, and rilled the house with his light-hearted mirth.

  While working hard he talked and laughed, poking fun at Robin, tormenting Much. Suddenly a wild idea struck him, and he began to roar with laughter.

  “What ails you, William?” asked Robin.

  “My dear friend, I will leave you to guess the reason of my mirth,” replied Will, “and I wager you will not succeed.”

  “It must be something very entertaining, seeing it doth amuse you so much that you laugh all by yourself.”

  “In sooth, ‘tis highly entertaining. You know my six brothers? They are all built much on the same model fair as corn, gentle, placid, brave, and honest.”

  “What is all this leading up to, Will?”

  “To this: these good lads are unacquainted with love.”

  “Well?” asked Robin, smiling.

  “Well,” replied Will Scarlett, “an idea hath just struck me which might give us a good deal of amusement.”

  “What is it?”

  “As you are aware, I have a great influence over my brothers, and this very day I will persuade them they ought all to marry.”

  Robin began to laugh.

  “I will assemble them in a corner of the court-yard,” Will went on, “and I will put into their heads the idea of taking each of them a wife on the same day as Much and Little John.”

  “It is impossible to do such a thing, my dear Will,” responded Robin. “Your brothers are of too placid and phlegmatic a nature to be influenced by your words; besides, I know well they are not in love.”

  “So much the better; they will be obliged to pay their court to my sisters’ young friends, and that will be a most pleasing sight. Picture to yourself for one moment the appearance of Gregory, the steady, awkward, simple fellow of Gregory striving to make himself agreeable to a young woman. Come with me, Robin, for there is no time to lose; we can only give them three days in which to make their choice. I will call my brothers together, and in a grave voice deliver a fatherly oration to them.”

  “Marriage is a serious thing, Will, and ought not to be lightly treated. If your brothers, persuaded by your eloquence, consent to marry, and then later on are rendered unhappy through a thoughtless choice, will you not keenly regret having helped to make their whole life miserable?”

  “Have no fears on that score, Robin; I mean to find my brothers young maidens worthy of the most tender love both now and in the future. I know, for one, a charming little creature who loves my brother Herbert passionately.”

  “That is not enough, Will. Is this maiden worthy to call Winifred and Barbara her sisters?”

  “Without a doubt; and, what is more, I am certain that she will make an excellent wife.”

  “And hath Herbert already seen this young damsel?”

  “Certainly he hath; but the poor artless fellow little imagines that he could be the object of such a preference. Several times I tried to make him perceive that he was always welcome at Mistress Anna Meadows’ house. ‘Twas but wasted labour, for Herbert did not understand me; he is so young, in spite of his twenty-nine years. I have a great friendship for a charming damsel who would suit Egbert perfectly in every respect; then Maude was speaking to me to-day of a maiden in this neighbourhood who thinketh Harold a mighty fine fellow. Thus, as you see, Robin, we have already a part of what is needful to carry out my project.”

  “Unfortunately, Will, ‘tis not sufficient, seeing you have six brothers to marry off.”

  “Never distress yourself; I will go seek, and I shall find three more maidens.”

  “Very good. But when you have found the damsels, do you think that your brothers will please them?”

  “I am sure of it. My brothers are young and strong, fair to look upon, they resemble me in appearance,” added Will, with a touch of self-conceit in his tone; “and if they be not so attractive as you are, Robin, if they are not exactly sweet-tempered or lively, at any rate there is naught in their looks to offend the eye of a wise and sensible girl, a girl who seeks a good husband. There is Herbert,” he went on, turning towards a young man crossing a garden path; “I will call him. Herbert, come here, my lad.”

  “What dost want, Will?” replied the young man, as he came near them.

  “I wish to speak with thee.”

  “I am listening, Will.”

  “That which I have to say doth concern thy brothers also; go seek them.”

  “I will do so at once.”

  Will remained thoughtful during the few moments which elapsed before Herbert’s return.

  The young men came running up, their faces wreathed in smiles.

  “Here we are, William,” said eldest, joyfully. “To what must we set down thy wish to assemble us all around thee?”

  “To a grave cause, my dear brothers. Will you allow me first to ask you all a question?”

  The young men gave signs of assent.

  “You love our father dearly, do you not?”

  “Who dare doubt our love for him?” demanded Gregory.

  “No one; that question is merely a preliminary. So, you love our father dearly. You have never seen him behave otherwise than as a man of honour, a true Saxon?”

  “Certainly not,” cried Egbert; “but, in the name of Heaven, Will, what do thy words signify? Hath some one slandered our father’s name? Point out the wretch to me, and I undertake to avenge the honour of the Gamwells.”

  “The honour of the Gamwells is unsullied, dear brothers; and if it has been soiled by a lie, the stain would have been already washed out in the slanderer’s blood. I wish to speak to you of something less grave, but still very serious; only you must not interrupt me, an if you wish to hear the last words of my harangue before nightfall. Show your approbation or disapprobation of my words by nodding or shaking your heads. Attend; I am about to begin again. The conduct of our father is that of an honourable man, and ought to serve as our guide and model.”

  “Yea,” nodded the six fair heads with one accord.

  “Our mother hath followed the same path,” continued Will. “Her existence hath been the accomplishment of every duty, the example of every virtue?”

  “Yea, yea!”

  “How, then, have you been able to remain blind, with this picture of bliss before you? How can you be so ungrateful to Providence? How is it you refuse to accord to our parents a token of respect, tenderness, and gratitude?”

  Will’s brothers stared in astonishment, for they could make naught of his words.

  “What mean you, William?” asked Gregory.

  “I would say, Sirs, that, following the example of our father, you should marry, and by so doing prove your admiration of our father’s conduct, who himself married.”

  “Oh, good Lord!” cried the youths, but little pleased.

  “Marriage is happiness,” Will continued. “Think how happy you will be when you have a dear little creature hanging on your arm like the flower on a vigorous plant, a dear little creature who will love you, think of you, and whose happiness you will be. Look around you, rogues, and you will see the sweet fruits of marriage. First of all, there are Maude and me, whom I am sure you must envy when we are playing with our dear little child. Then Robin and Marian. Think of Little John, and imitate that worthy lad’s example. Do you want further proof of the happiness shed by heaven on young husbands and wives? Go and visit Halbert Lindsay and his pretty wife Grace; go down into the valley of Mansfield, and there you will find Allan Clare and the Lady Christabel. You are shockingly selfish to have never thought it was your duty to make a woman happy. Nay, do not shake your heads; you will never persuade any one that you are good and generous lads. I blush for the hardness of your hearts, and I am hurt by hearing everywhere: ‘The sons of the old Knight have bad hearts.’ I am resolved to put an end to such a state of things, and I warn you that I intend you to marry.”

  “Really!” said Rupert, defiantly. “Well, I want no wife. Marriage may be a very fine thing, but at present it doth in no wise concern me.”

  “Thou dost not want a wife?” replied Will. “Very possibly; but thou shalt take one, for I know a maiden who will make thee take back that opinion.”

  Rupert shook his head.

  “Come now, speak freely; dost love any one woman more than another?”

  “Yea,” replied the young man, gravely.

  “Bravo!” cried Will, quite taken aback at this unexpected confidence, for Rupert shunned the society of girls. “Who is she? Tell us her name.”

  “It is my mother,” said the simple lad.

  “Thy mother!” repeated Will, a little scornfully. “Thou dost teach us nothing new. I have long been aware that thou dost love, venerate, and respect our mother. I am not speaking of the filial affection which we have for our parents; I speak of another thing of love, true love. Love is a sentiment which... a tender feeling that... well, a sensation which makes the heart leap toward a young woman. One can adore one’s mother and cherish a charming maiden at the same time.”

  “I do not wish to marry, either,” said Gregory.

  “Dost think thou hast a will of thine own, my boy?” replied Will. “Wilt soon be shown thine error. Canst tell me thy reason for refusing to marry?”

  “No,” murmured Gregory, fearfully.

  “Wilt live for thyself alone?”

  Gregory remained silent.

  “Hast thou the audacity to answer me,” cried Will, with an affectation of indignation, “that thou dost share the opinion of the rascals who despise the society of women?”

  “I did not say that, and still less do I think it; but...”

  “There is no but which can hold good in the face of reasons so conclusive as those which I do give you all. Therefore, prepare to set up house, my lads; for you will be married at the same time as Winifred and Barbara.”

  “What,” cried Egbert, “in three days? Thou art mad, Will; we have not time to find wives.”

  “Leave that to me; I will undertake to satisfy you better even than your natural modesty could dare to hope.”

  “As for me, I positively refuse to relinquish my liberty,” said Gregory.

  “I did not think to find such selfishness in a son of my mother’s,” said William, in a wounded tone.

  Poor Gregory blushed.

  “See here, Gregory,” said Rupert. “Let Will do as he doth purpose; he only wishes our happiness, after all, and if he will have the kindness to seek me a wife, why, I will take her. Thou knowest well, brother, that resistance is useless; William hath always done what he would with us.”

  “Since William doth insist upon marrying us off,” added Stephen, “I would as lieve wed in three days as in six months.”

  “I am of Stephen’s opinion,” said the timid Harold.

  “I give way to force,” added Gregory, “for Will is a very devil; he would surely end sooner or later in dragging me into his nets.”

  “Thou wilt soon thank me for having overthrown thy false allegations, and thy joy shalt be my reward.”

  “I will marry to oblige thee, Will,” said Gregory, again; “but I hope that in return thou wilt give me a pretty little bride.”

  “I will introduce you one and all to young and charming maidens, and, if ye do not find them adorable, ye may spread it abroad that Will Scarlett doth not know a pretty face.”

  “I can spare thee the trouble of hunting about for me,” said Herbert, “my wife is already found.”

  “Ha, ha!” laughed Will, “you will see, Robin, that my fine fellows are provided for, and their apparent distaste for marriage is but a merry jest. Who is thy beloved, Herbert?”

  “Anna Meadows. We had arranged that our marriage should take place at the same time as my sisters’.”

  “Sly dog!” said Will, giving his brother a dig in the ribs. “I spoke to thee yesterday of the maiden, and thou hadst never a word to say.”

  “‘Twas only this morning my dear Anna gave me a satisfactory reply.”

  “Very good; but when I alluded to her love for thee, thou didst make no response.”

  “I had none to make. Thou saidst to me, ‘Mistress Anna is very pretty, she hath a good temper, she will make an excellent wife.’ As I have long known all that, thy reflections were but an echo of mine own. Thou didst add further, ‘Mistress Anna loveth thee well.’ I believed it, thou didst think it; we were each as wise as the other, and consequently I had nothing to tell thee.”

  “Well answered, discreet Herbert; and I see, from my brothers’ silence, that thou alone art worthy of mine esteem.”

  “I had already made up my mind to marry,” said Harold; “Maude inspired me with the wish.”

  “Hath Maude chosen thy wife?” asked Will, with a laugh.

  “Yea, brother; Maude said it was very agreeable to live with a charming little wife, and I agree with her.”

  “Hurrah!” cried Will, in delight. “My good brothers, will you consent willingly, with hand on heart, to be married on the same day as Winifred and Barbara?”

  “We consent,” answered the young men, who had no prospective wives.

  “Hurrah for marriage!” cried Will, again, throwing his bonnet in the air.

  “Hurrah!” repeated the six voices, with one accord.

  “Will,” said Egbert, “think of our brides; thou must haste to present us to them, for sure they would wish to converse a little with us before wedding us.”

  “That is very like. Come with me, all. I have a pretty maiden for Egbert, and I think I know three girls who would suit Gregory, Rupert, and Stephen admirably.”

  “My dear Will,” said Rupert, “I wish for a fair, slim maiden; I would not care to marry too stout a wife.”

  “I know thy romantic taste, and I will deal with thee accordingly; thy betrothed is frail as a reed and pretty as an angel. Come, my lads, I will present you one after another; ye shall pay your court, and if ye do not know how to please a woman, I will advise you, or, better still, I will take your places beside your lady-loves.”

  “What a pity ‘tis that thou canst not marry our future wives, brother Will; things would go so much more smoothly then.”

  William shook his fist at his brother, took Gregory by the arm, and set out from Barnsdale, accompanied by the procession of lovers.

  The seven brothers soon reached the village, where Herbert separated himself from his companions to pay a visit to his beloved; Harold disappeared some moments later; and Will, accompanied by the rest of his brothers, made his way to the home of the maiden destined for Egbert.