“That indeed is a strange way of consoling yourself, my dear Robin,” laughed Will, “but it shall be as you wish. We will go in search of some passing distraction.”

  The two young men called Much, and on his appearance they all set off together in the direction indicated by Robin.

  “Robin is very gloomy to-day,” said Will, thoughtfully.

  “Why?” asked Much, in a tone of surprise.

  “Because he fears he hath been deceived in trusting Sir Richard of the Plain,” replied Little John.

  “I do not see why it should cause Robin such sorrow; we do not need money, and four hundred crowns more or less in our treasure-chest...”

  “Robin doth not think of the money,” interrupted John, almost irritably. “You are talking very foolishly, cousin. Robin is wounded at having helped an ungrateful soul, that is all.”

  “Stop,” said Will. “I hear horses approaching.”

  “I will go and meet the travellers,” cried Much, running off.

  “If it is the Knight, call us,” said John.

  William and his cousin waited, and soon Much re-appeared at the end of the path.

  “It is not Sir Richard,” said he, as he came up to his friends, “but two Dominican friars accompanied by a dozen men.” “If these Dominicans have a cavalcade at their heels,” said John, “you may be sure they are richly provided with gold, consequently they must be invited to partake of Robin’s repast.”

  “Shall we call some of the Merrie Men?” asked Will.

  “‘Tis not needful; the cravens’ hearts are in their legs and are so much the slaves of the latter that in the presence of danger their one thought is flight. But hold! here comes the monks. Remember, we absolutely must take them to Robin; he is dull, and ‘twill be a pleasant distraction for him. Get ready your bows, and be prepared to bar the way of this fine cavalcade.”

  William and Much hastened to carry out his orders.

  On turning a corner of the road, which wound at will among the trees, the travellers perceived the Foresters and the hostile position they had taken up.

  The servants, terrified at the dangerous encounter, reined in their steeds, and the Monks, who occupied the front rank of the little column, tried to hide themselves behind their men.

  “Do not attempt to move,” cried John, commandingly, “or I will surely kill you.”

  The Monks grew pale, but, finding themselves at the mercy of the Foresters, they obeyed the order so roughly given.

  “Fair stranger,” said one of the Monks, grinning most amiably, “what do you desire from a poor servant of Holy Church?”

  “I desire that ye bestir yourselves. My master hath awaited you this three hours, and the dinner groweth cold.”

  The Dominicans exchanged uneasy looks.

  “Your words are a riddle to us, my friend. Be so good as to explain yourself,” replied one of them in honeyed tones.

  “I will say it once again, and it needs no explanation, my master awaits you.”

  “Who is your master, my friend?”

  “Robin Hood,” replied Little John, shortly.

  A shudder of fear passed like an icy blast over the men who accompanied the Monks. They glanced fearfully around them, expecting, no doubt, to see more outlaws burst from the thicket.

  “Robin Hood,” repeated the Monk, in a voice more harsh than musical. “I know of Robin Hood; he is a robber by profession, on whose head a price is set.”

  “Robin Hood is no robber,” replied Little John, furiously, “and I do not counsel any one to echo the insolent accusation you bring against my noble master. But I have no time to discuss so delicate a point with you. Robin Hood invites you to dinner; follow me without demur! As for your servants, I warn them to show me their heels, an if they wish to save their lives. Will and Much, bring down the first man who attempts to remain here against my wishes.”

  The Foresters, who had lowered their bows during the conversation between the Monk and Little John, raised them once more, and stood ready to discharge their arrows. Seeing the bows raised and turned against them, the Dominicans’ men set spur to their steeds and saved themselves with a precipitation which spoke volumes for their prudence. The Monks were preparing to follow the example of their men when they were arrested by John, who constrained them to stop by seizing the bridles of their horses. Behind the Monks, John perceived a young groom who appeared to be in charge of a sumpter horse, and near the groom stood a boy, dressed as a page and dumb with fear.

  More courageous than the men of the escort, the two youths had not deserted their posts.

  “Keep an eye on those young rogues. I give them permission to follow their masters.”

  Robin had remained seated beneath the Trysting Tree, but when he saw John and his companions, he rose quickly, and, advancing to meet them, greeted the Monks with effusion.

  “Never heed the insolent fellows, Robin,” said John, irritated by the Monks’ want of respect. “They are but ignorant fellows; they have never a kind word for the poor nor courtesy toward any one at all.”

  “No matter,” replied Robin. “I know the Monks, and I expect from them neither good words nor gracious smiles; but I am a slave to politeness. Whom have you there, Will?” added Robin, looking at the two pages and the sumpter horse.

  “The remainder of a troop consisting of a dozen men,” replied the young man, with a laugh.

  “What have you done with the main body of this valiant army?”

  “Naught at all; the sight of our bent bows threw its ranks into confusion, and they fled without even turning their heads.”

  Robin began to laugh.

  “But, worthy brothers,” he continued, addressing the Monks, “you must be very hungry after so long a journey; will ye share my meal?”

  The Dominicans regarded the Merrie Men, who had run up at the sound of the horn, with so terrified an expression that Robin said kindly to them, in order to calm their fears

  “Fear naught, good Monks; no harm shall befall you. Seat yourselves at the table, and eat your fill.”

  The Monks obeyed, but it was easy to see that they were but little reassured by the young Chief’s kind words.

  “Where is your Abbey?” asked Robin; “and what name doth it bear?”

  “I belong to the Abbey of St. Mary,” said the elder of the Monks, “and I am the Grand Cellarer of the Monastery.”

  “Welcome, Brother Cellarer,” said Robin. “I am happy to receive a man of your worth. You shall give me your opinion on my wine, for you must be an excellent judge in such matters; though I dare hope you will find it to your taste, for, being myself difficult to please, I always drink wine of the best quality.”

  The Monks took heart; they ate with a good appetite, and the Cellarer acknowledged the excellence of the dishes and the full body of the wine, adding that it was a real pleasure to dine upon the turf in such joyous company.

  “My good brothers,” said Robin Hood, toward the end of the meal, “ye appeared surprised at being asked to dinner by a man whom ye did not know. I will explain the mystery of the invitation in a few words. A year ago I lent a sum of money to a friend of your Prior, and accepted as a guarantee the Holy Mother of Jesus, our sainted patroness. My unshakeable confidence in the Holy Virgin led me to believe firmly that at the expiration of the appointed term I should receive in some manner the money I had lent. Whereupon I sent three of my men to seek for travellers; they saw you, and brought you hither. You belong to a Monastery, and I can guess the delicate mission confided to you by the provident and generous benevolence of our Holy Patroness; you are come to repay me in Her name the money lent to the poor man. Be ye welcome!”

  “The debt of which you speak is quite unknown to me, Master,” returned the Monk, “and I do not bring you any money.”

  “You are mistaken, Father; I feel certain that the chests carried by that horse led by your page contain the amount due to me. How many pieces of gold have you in that pretty little leathern trunk attached so securely to the poor beast?”

  The Monk, thunderstruck by Robin Hood’s question, grew pale, and stammered out in an almost unintelligible voice “I have scarce anything, Master; most but a score of gold pieces.”

  “Only twenty pieces of gold?” turned Robin, fixing a stern look upon the Monk.

  “Yea, Master,” replied the Monk, whose livid face became suddenly suffused with colour.

  “If you are speaking the truth,” said Robin, in a friendly tone, “I will not take one groat of your small fortune from you. Better still, I will give you as much money as you may need. But, on the other hand, if you have had the bad taste to lie to me, I will not leave you even a penny piece. Little John,” continued Robin, “open the little trunk; if you find there but twenty pieces of gold, you may respect our guests’ property, but if the sum is double or treble that amount, take it all.”

  Little John hastened to obey Robin’s order. The colour faded from the Monk’s cheeks; tears of rage coursed down his cheeks; he clasped his hands convulsively together, and a deep groan burst from him.

  “Ho, ho!” said Robin, watching the Brother, “it appears that the twenty pieces of gold are in numerous company. Well, John,” he asked, “is our guest as poor as he would fain make out?”

  “I know not if he be poor,” answered John; “but of one thing am I well assured, and that is that I have just found eight hundred gold pieces in the little trunk.”

  “Leave me the money, Master,” said the Monk; “it is not mine, and I am responsible for it to my Father Superior.”

  “To whom bear you these eight hundred pieces of gold?” questioned Robin.

  “To the Inspectors of St. Mary’s Abbey, from our Abbot.”

  “The Inspectors abuse the generosity of your Prior, Brother, and it ill becomes them to repay themselves so heavily for a few words of indulgence. This time they shall have nothing, and you will tell them that Robin Hood, having need of money, hath carried off the sum they expected.”

  “There is yet another chest,” said John; “shall I open it?”

  “Nay,” replied Robin; “I will content myself with eight hundred pieces of gold. Sir Monk, you are free to continue your journey. You have been treated with courtesy, and I hope I see you depart satisfied on all points.”

  “I do not consider a forcible invitation and an open theft very courteous,” said the Monk, superciliously. “Here am I obliged to return to the Monastery, and what can I say to the Prior?”

  “You will greet him from me,” laughed Robin Hood. “He knows me, the worthy Father, and he will be very sensible of this token of good friendship.”

  The Monks mounted their horses, and, with hearts bursting with rage, galloped off along the road leading to the Abbey.

  “The Holy Virgin be praised!” cried Little John; “she hath returned to us the money you lent Sir Richard, and if the latter have broken his word, we can still console ourselves in that we have lost nothing.”

  “I cannot so easily console myself in having lost confidence in the word of a Saxon,” replied Robin, “and I should have preferred a visit from Sir Richard, poor and despoiled of everything, rather than be convinced that he is ungrateful and without honour.”

  “Noble Master,” suddenly called a voice from the glade, “a Knight appeareth on the high-road, accompanied by an hundred men, all armed to the teeth. Shall we prepare to bar their way?”

  “Are they Normans?” asked Robin, quickly.

  “One seldom sees Saxons so richly clothed as these travellers,” answered the lad who had announced the approach of the troop.

  “Look alive, then, my Merrie Men,” cried Robin. “To your bows and lurking-places. Get ready your arrows, but draw not ere you receive my order to attack.”

  The men disappeared, and the crossroad where Robin remained soon appeared completely deserted.

  “You come not with us?” John asked Robin, who sat motionless at the foot of a tree.

  “Nay,” rejoined the young man; “I will await the strangers, and find out with whom we have to deal.”

  “Then I remain with you,” said Little John; “to be alone might prove dangerous for you, an arrow is so quickly sped. If they strike you, I am at least here to defend you.”

  “I, too, will remain as body-guard,” said Will, seating himself beside Robin, who had stretched himself carelessly on the grass.

  The unexpected arrival of a body of men so formidable in proportion to the number of the Foresters, who were mostly scattered all about the wood, disquieted Robin slightly, and he did not wish to commence hostilities before being assured of victory.

  The horsemen advanced rapidly along the glade. When they were an arrow’s flight from where Robin lay, the man who seemed to be their chief cantered up to encounter Robin.

  “It is Sir Richard,” cried John gaily, as he looked at the approaching horseman.

  “Holy Mother, I praise thee!” said Robin, springing to his feet. “A Saxon hath not broken his word.”

  Sir Richard leapt from his horse, ran toward Robin, and threw himself into his arms.

  “God keep thee, Robin Hood,” said he, giving the young man a fatherly embrace. “God keep thee in health and happiness to thy last day!”

  “Be welcome to the green wood, gentle Knight,” replied Robin, with emotion. “I am happy to see thee true to thy promise, and with a heart full of kindness to thy devoted servant.”

  “I should have come empty-handed even, Robin Hood, to have the honour of wringing thy hand; but, luckily for mine own satisfaction, I can return the money thou didst lend me with so much grace, kindness, and courtesy.”

  “Hast, then, recovered entirely the possession of thy property?” asked Robin Hood.

  “Yea, and may God prosper thee in proportion to the happiness which I owe to thee.”

  Robin’s attention was next attracted by the men, magnificently clad in the fashion of the day, who formed a glittering line behind Sir Richard.

  “Doth this fine troop belong to thee?” asked the young man.

  “It doth at present,” answered the Knight, with a smile.

  “I admire the bearing of the men and their martial figures,” continued Robin, in a tone of some surprise; “they seem to be perfectly disciplined.”

  “Yea, they are brave and faithful, and all of Saxon origin, and their temper loyal for I have proved all the qualities which I have described to thee. Thou wouldst do me a good service, dear Robin, if thou wouldst instruct thy men to entertain my companions; they have made a long journey, and will require some hours of repose.”

  “They shall learn the meaning of forest hospitality,” replied Robin, heartily. “My Merrie Men,” continued he to his band, who began to appear on all sides, “these strangers are brother Saxons, they are hungry and thirsty; I pray you show them how we treat the friends who visit us in the green wood.”

  The Foresters obeyed Robin’s orders with a promptitude which should have satisfied Sir Richard, for before retiring with his host he beheld the turf covered with viands, pots of ale and bottles of good wine.

  Robin Hood, Sir Richard, Little John, and Will sat down to a succulent repast, and when dessert was brought, the Knight began the following account of the events which had befallen him since his first encounter with our hero.

  “I cannot depict to you, my good friends, with what sentiments of gratitude and infinite joy I quitted the Forest a year agone to-day. My heart leapt within me, and I was in so great a haste to see my wife and children once more, that I regained the Castle in less time than it would take to tell you all my story.

  “We are saved,” I cried, straining my beloved ones to my heart. My wife dissolved in tears, and almost fainted.

  “Who is the generous friend who hath come to our aid?” asked Herbert.

  “My children,” I replied, “I knocked in vain at every door; in vain I implored the succour of those who called themselves my friends; and I received no pity save from one man to whom I was unknown. This benevolent man is a noble Outlaw, the protector of the poor, the support of the wretched, the avenger of the oppressed, and his name is Robin Hood.”

  “My children knelt around their mother, and piously rendered to God the sincere thanks of a profound gratitude. This duty accomplished, Herbert entreated me to allow him to pay thee a visit, but I pointed out to him that such a step would give thee more pain than pleasure, since thou dost not love to hear thy good deeds spoken of.”

  “My dear Knight,” interrupted Robin “let us put aside this part of thy story, and tell us how thou didst arrange thy business with the Abbot of St. Mary’s.”

  “Patience, good host, patience,” said Sir Richard, with a smile. “I do not wish to praise thee. Be not afraid; I know thy admirable modesty on that point. Nevertheless, I must tell thee that sweet Lilas joined her prayers to Herbert’s, and I was obliged to exert all my paternal authority to calm the impatience of their young hearts. I promised my children in your name, however, that they should have the happiness of seeing you at the Castle.”

  “Thou didst well, Sir Richard, and I promise thee that some day I will seek thy hospitality,” said Robin, with emotion.

  “Thank thee, good host; I will inform Herbert and Lilas of the engagement thou hast just made, and the hope of thanking thee in person will give them great satisfaction.”

  “On the morrow of my return,” continued Sir Richard, “I presented myself at St. Mary’s Abbey. I learnt later that at the very moment that I was making my way towards the Abbey, the Abbot and the Prior were together in the refectory and speaking of me in these terms

  “It is a year to-day,” said the Abbot to the Prior, “since a Knight whose domains adjoin the Monastery, borrowed from me four hundred pieces of gold; he was to repay me the money with interest, or leave me the free disposal of all his property. According to me, the time is up at mid-day, therefore I consider the moment for payment hath arrived, and I consider myself absolute master of all his hereditaments.”