The next morning I started in quest, not of the deer, but of the Tinsmith, and I had not long to seek. As soon as he perceived me, he uttered a cry, and threw himself upon me, brandishing an enormous cudgel.

  “What clown is this,” I cried, “who dares to present himself before me in so unseemly a manner?”

  “It is no clown,” replied the Tinker, “but an ill-used man, resolved to take his revenge.”

  Saying this, he attacked me with his cudgel; but I placed myself beyond his reach and drew my sword.

  “Stop,” I said to him. “We will fight with equal weapons; I must have a cudgel.”

  Jasper suffered me quietly to trim the branch of an oak tree, and then recommenced his attack.

  He held his staff in both hands, and hacked at me like a woodcutter at a tree. My arms and wrists were beginning to fail me, when I called for a truce; for there was no honour to be gained from such a contest.

  “I would fain hang thee on the nearest tree,” he said furiously, throwing down his staff.

  I leapt back and blew my horn; the fellow was strong enough to send me into another world.

  Little John and the Merrie Men ran up at my call.

  I was seated beneath a tree, spent with fatigue, and, without saying a word, I pointed out the reinforcement which had come to my assistance.

  “What is it?” asked John.

  “My lad,” I replied, “here is a Tinker wight who hath given me a sound drubbing, and I recommend him to you, for he is worthy of your consideration. My good man,” I added, “an if you will join our band, you will be very welcome.”

  The Tinker accepted forthwith, and from that time, as you are aware, he hath been one of us.

  “I prefer a bow and arrows to all the cudgels in the world,” said William, “whether as a game or taken as weapons of offence and defence. It is better, in my opinion, at least to be sent out of the world by one single blow than to go piecemeal; and the wound of an arrow is a thousand times preferable to the pain caused by a blow from a cudgel.”

  “My good friend,” returned Robin, “the cudgel renders very good service where the bow hath no power. The effect doth not depend on whether your quiver is empty or full, and when you do not desire the death of an enemy, a good beating will leave him a sharper remembrance than the wound of an arrow.”

  The three friends were making their way to Nottingham as they conversed, and all at once they met a little girl dissolved in tears.

  Robin hastened toward the weeping beauty.

  “Why dost weep, my child?” he asked in a kindly tone.

  The little girl broke into sobs.

  “I want to see Robin Hood,” she answered, “and if you have any pity in your heart, Master, take me to him.”

  “I am Robin Hood, my pretty child,” replied the young man, gently. “Have my men been wanting in respect to thy youth and innocence? Is thy mother ill? Dost come to ask my help? Speak, I am entirely at thy disposal.”

  “Master, a great misfortune hath befallen us; three of my brothers, who belong to thy band, have been taken prisoners by the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

  “Tell me the name of thy brothers, my child.”

  “Adalbert, Edelbert, and Edwin the Merry-hearted,” sobbed the little girl.

  An exclamation of dismay escaped Robin.

  “Good companions,” said he, “these are the bravest and hardiest of all my troop. How did they fall into the Sheriffs hands, my little friend?”

  “In rescuing a young man who was being taken to prison for having defended his mother against the insults of some soldiers. At this very moment, Sir, they are getting ready the gallows at the gate of the town, doubtless to hang my brothers thereon.”

  “Dry thy tears, pretty child,” answered Robin kindly. “Thy brothers have naught to fear; there is not a man in all Sherwood Forest but would not be ready to give his life for these three good fellows. We will go into Nottingham; return to thy home, console thy father’s afflicted heart by thy sweet voice, and tell thy mother that Robin Hood will give her back her children.”

  “I will pray Heaven to bless thee, Master,” murmured the little girl, smiling amid her tears. “I had heard that thou wert alway ready to help the unfortunate and protect the poor. But, I beseech thee, Master Robin, haste thee, for my dear brothers are in sore danger of their lives.”

  “Trust me, dear child; I will arrive at the most propitious time. Hurry back to Nottingham, and tell no one of what thou hast done.”

  The child took Robin Hood’s hands and kissed them warmly.

  “I shall pray for thy happiness all my life, Master,” said she, in a voice full of emotion.

  “God bless thee, my child! Good-bye.”

  The little maid ran off down the road to the town, and soon disappeared beneath the shade of the trees.

  “Hurrah!” said Will. “We shall have something to do now. I shall be amused. What are your orders, Robin?”

  “Go to Little John, tell him to assemble as many of the men as he can find, and lead them of course without being seen to the outskirts of the wood nearest to Nottingham. Then at sound of my horn you will cut your way through to me, sword in hand and with bows bent.”

  “What do you purpose, then, to do?” asked Will.

  “I shall go into the town and see whether there be any means whatever of delaying the execution. Forget not, friends, that you must act with extreme caution, for should the Reeve come to learn that I have been warned of the critical condition of my men, he would take care to prevent any attempt at deliverance on my part, and would hang our comrades within the Castle. So much for the prisoners. As for you, you are well aware that his Lordship hath loudly boasted that if ever we fell into his hands, he would hang us upon the town gallows. The Sheriff hath conducted the affair of the Merry Hearts so swiftly that he cannot fear that I have been warned of the fate in store for them; consequently, in order to instil a wholesome lesson into the citizens of Nottingham, he will hang our companions publicly. I will make all speed to the town; do you rejoin your men, and follow my instructions to the letter.”

  As he said this, Robin hurried off. Hardly had he left his companions ere he met a pilgrim of the Mendicant Order.

  “What news from the town, good Father?” asked Robin.

  “The news from the town, young man,” replied the pilgrim, “is full of woe and lamentation. Three of Robin Hood’s companions are to be hanged by order of the Lord Fitz-Alwine.”

  A sudden idea crossed Robin’s mind.

  “Father,” said he, “I should like to be present at the execution of these poachers, without being known for one of the Keepers of the Forest. Wilt exchange thy clothes for mine?”

  “Art joking, young man?”

  “Nay, father, I simply desire to give thee my costume and to put on thy robe. If thou dost accept my proposition, I will give thee forty shillings, to use according to thy fancy.”

  The old man looked curiously at the author of this strange request

  “Thy clothes are handsome,” said he, “and my robe is ragged. It is not possible to believe thou shouldst wish to change thy brilliant garb for these wretched rags. He who makes fun of an old man commits a great sin; he mocks both God and misfortune.”

  “Father,” replied Robin, “I respect thy white hairs, and I pray the Virgin to take thee under her Divine protection. I put my request with no ill intent in mine heart; ‘tis necessary for the accomplishment of a good work. Hold,” added he, offering the old man twenty pieces of money, “here is an earnest of our bargain.”

  The pilgrim looked covetously at the coins.

  “Youth hath many foolish ideas,” said he, “and if thou art in a paroxysm of fantastic mirth, I see not why I should refuse to let thee have thy way.”

  “Now, that is well said,” returned Robin, “and if thou wilt disrobe ... Thy hose are fashioned by events,” continued Robin, gaily, “for, to judge by the innumerable pieces of which they are composed, they have gathered to them the materials of the four seasons.”

  The pilgrim began to laugh.

  “My robe is like a Norman’s conscience,” he said, “‘tis made up of odds and ends, while thy doublet is the image of a Saxon heart, strong and without blemish.”

  “Thy speech is golden, Father,” said Robin, donning the old man’s rags as fast as he was able, “and if I must do homage to thy wit, ‘tis likewise my duty to accord praise to the manifest scorn I inspire in thee, for thy robe is of quite a Christian simplicity.”

  “Am I to keep thy arms?” asked the pilgrim.

  “Nay, Father, for I shall want them. Now that our mutual transformation is complete, allow me to give thee some advice. Get thee hence from this part of the Forest, and above all, in the interests of thine own safety, beware of attempting to follow me. Thou hast my clothes upon thy back, my money in thy pocket, thou art rich and well clothed, go seek thy fortune some leagues away from Nottingham.”

  “I thank thee for thy advice, good lad; it doth accord well with mine own wishes. Take the benediction of an old man, and if thine enterprise be honest, I wish it immediate success.”

  Robin saluted the pilgrim gracefully and made off with all haste in the direction of the town.

  At the moment when Robin, thus disguised, and bearing no weapon save an oaken cudgel, arrived at Nottingham, a procession of mercenaries left the Castle, and took the road toward the end of the town, where three gallows had been set up.

  Suddenly an unexpected piece of news went round the crowd; the hangman was ill, and, being on the point of death himself, was quite unable to launch another into eternity. By order of the Sheriff, a proclamation was made; and a man was called for who would consent to fulfil the office of hangman.

  Robin, who had placed himself at the head of the procession, advanced towards Baron Fitz-Alwine.

  “My Noble Lord,” said he, in a snuffling voice, “what will you give me, an I consent to take the hangman’s place?”

  The Baron stepped back, as one who fears a dangerous contact.

  “Methinketh,” replied the noble Baron, looking Robin up and down, “that if I should offer thee a new assortment of clothing, thou shouldst be glad to accept such reward. Therefore, beggar, if thou wilt get us out of this difficulty, I will e’en give thee six new suits, and beside that the hangman’s perquisite of thirteen pence.”

  “And what will you give’me, my Lord, if I hang you into the bargain?” asked Robin, approaching the Baron.

  “Keep thy distance, beggar, and repeat what thou hast just said; I did not understand it.”

  “You offered me six new suits and thirteen pence,” returned Robin, “for hanging these poor lads. I ask what you would add to my reward an if I engage to hang you and a dozen of your Norman dogs.”

  “Shameless ragamuffin! What is the meaning of thine insolence?” cried the Baron, astounded at the pilgrim’s audacity. “Dost know whom thou art addressing? Impertinent knave, one word more and thou wilt make the fourth bird hanging on the gallows-tree.”

  “Have you remarked,” quoth Robin, “that I am a poor man, very miserably clad?”

  “Yea, in truth, very miserably clad,” replied the Baron, making a face of disgust.

  “Well,” continued our hero, “that outer misery hides within a large heart and a right sensitive nature. I am very sensible to an insult, and resent disdain and injury at least as much as you do, noble Baron. You do not scruple to insult my misery.”

  “Hold thy tongue, thou beggarly chatterbox. Dost dare compare thyself with me, the Lord Fitz-Alwine? Go to, thou art mad.”

  “I am a poor man,” said Robin, “a very poor, miserable man.” “I did not come here to listen to the prating of one of thy sort,” returned the Baron, impatiently. “If thou dost refuse my offer, get you gone; if thou dost accept it, prepare to fill thine office.”

  “I do not rightly know in what mine office consists,” returned Robin, who was seeking to gain time for his men to reach the outskirts of the wood. “I have never acted as hangman, and I thank the Holy Virgin for it. Cursed be the infamous trade and the miserable wretch who doth practise it.”

  “How now? dost mock me?” roared the Baron, beside himself at Robin’s insolence. “Hark thee, if thou dost not set about thy work at once, I will have thee soundly beaten.”

  “And would that help you on at all, my Lord?” returned Robin. “Would you the more readily find a man disposed to carry out your orders? No, you have just made a proclamation which all have heard, and yet I am the only man who hath offered to do your wishes.”

  “I know well enow what art driving at, base wretch,” cried the Baron, overwhelmed with rage. “Thou wouldst have the sum promised thee for despatching these clowns into another world increased.”

  Robin shrugged his shoulders.

  “Let them be hanged by whom you please,” replied he, affecting complete indifference.

  “Not at all, not at all,” returned the Baron, in a milder voice; “thou shalt do the work. I will double the reward, and if thou dost not fill thine office exactly, I shall have the right to call thee the least conscientious hangman in the world.”

  “If I wished to put the unhappy creatures to death,” replied Robin, “I should content myself with the reward you have already offered me, but I refuse point blank to soil my hands by contact with the gallows.”

  “What dost mean, wretch?” bellowed the Baron.

  “Wait, my Lord; I will call for men who, at my command, will deliver you for ever from the sight of these terrible culprits.”

  As he finished speaking Robin blew a joyous flourish upon his hunting-horn, and laid his hands upon the terrified Baron.

  “My Lord,” said he, “your life hangs by a thread; if you make a movement, I plunge this knife into your heart. Forbid your servants to come to your assistance,” Robin added, brandishing an immense hunting-knife over the old man’s head.

  “Soldiers, remain in your ranks!” cried the Baron, in a stentorian voice.

  The sun glanced off the sparkling blade of the knife, and the shining reflection dazzled the old lord, and made him appreciate his adversary’s power; so, instead of attempting an impossible resistance, he submitted with groans.

  “What dost desire of me?” he said, trying to put a conciliatory softness into his voice.

  “The life of the three men whom you would hang, my Lord,” replied Robin Hood.

  “I cannot grant thee that boon, my good man,” returned the old man; “the unhappy creatures have killed the King’s deer, which misdemeanor is punishable by death. The whole town of Nottingham knows of their crime and their sentence, and if, from a culpable weakness I grant thy prayer, the King would be informed of a compliance so entirely inexcusable.”

  At that moment a great tumult was observed among the crowd, and the whistling of arrows was heard.

  Robin, who knew his men were come, gave a shout.

  “Ah, you are Robin Hood,” groaned the Baron.

  “Yea, my Lord,” replied our hero, “I am Robin Hood.”

  Protected in a friendly manner by the inhabitants of the town, the Merrie Men now appeared from all directions, and Will Scarlett with his brave fellows soon joined their companions.

  The prisoners once free, Baron Fitz-Alwine saw plainly that the only means of getting himself safe and sound out of such a critical situation was to conciliate Robin Hood.

  “Take the prisoners away quickly,” said he. “My soldiers, exasperated by the remembrance of a recent defeat, might put obstacles in the way of the success of your project.”

  “This act of courtesy was dictated to you by fear,” retorted Robin Hood, laughingly. “I do not dread any violence from your soldiers; the number and valour of my men render them invulnerable.”

  Saying which, Robin Hood saluted the old man ironically, turned his back on him, and ordered his men to hie them back to the Forest.

  The Baron’s livid features expressed rage and fear. He called his men together, remounted his horse, and rode off in all haste.

  The citizens of Nottingham, who regarded poaching as hardly a blameworthy action, surrounded the Merrie Men, uttering shouts of joy. Then the chief men of the town, put at ease by the Baron’s flight, testified their sympathy to Robin Hood, while the parents of the young prisoners embraced the knees of their sons’ deliverer.

  The humble and sincere thanks of these poor people appealed more to Robin Hood’s heart than any lofty sentiments expressed in flowery rhetoric could have done.

  CHAPTER IX

  A whole year had slipped away since the day when Robin had so generously succoured Sir Richard of the Plain, and for some weeks past the Merrie Men had again taken up their abode in Barnsdale Forest. From the early morning of the day fixed for the Knight’s visit Robin had been prepared to receive him, but the appointed hour did not bring the expected visitor.

  “He will not come,” said Will Scarlett, who, with Little John and Robin, was seated beneath a tree watching with some impatience the road which stretched before them.

  “Sir Richard’s ingratitude will give us a lesson,” replied Robin. “It will teach us to put no trust in the promises of men; but for the sake of the human race I should not like to be deceived by Sir Richard, for I have never seen a man who bore in his countenance more visible imprints of loyalty and frankness; and I declare that if my debtor doth not keep his word, I shall no longer know by what external sign to know an honest man.”

  “I await the good Knight’s coming with certainty,” said Little John. “The sun is not yet hidden beyond the trees and Sir Richard will be here before another hour hath passed.”

  “May God grant it, my dear John,” replied Robin Hood, “for, like you, I would fain hope that the word of a Saxon is a pledge of honour. I will stay here until the first stars begin to peep out, and if the Knight come not, I shall mourn for him as for a friend. Take your arms my lads, call Much, and patrol the road leading to St. Mary’s Abbey. You may meet with Sir Richard, or, in default of that ungrateful man, some rich Norman, or even some half-famished devil. I wish to see some unknown face; go, seek some adventure, and bring me any guest whatsoever.”