



Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger





THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD

by Howard Pyle



PREFACE

FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER


You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give
yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the
land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent
laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you. Clap to the
leaves and go no farther than this, for I tell you plainly that if you
go farther you will be scandalized by seeing good, sober folks of real
history so frisk and caper in gay colors and motley that you would
not know them but for the names tagged to them. Here is a stout, lusty
fellow with a quick temper, yet none so ill for all that, who goes by
the name of Henry II. Here is a fair, gentle lady before whom all the
others bow and call her Queen Eleanor. Here is a fat rogue of a fellow,
dressed up in rich robes of a clerical kind, that all the good folk call
my Lord Bishop of Hereford. Here is a certain fellow with a sour temper
and a grim look--the worshipful, the Sheriff of Nottingham. And here,
above all, is a great, tall, merry fellow that roams the greenwood and
joins in homely sports, and sits beside the Sheriff at merry feast,
which same beareth the name of the proudest of the Plantagenets--Richard
of the Lion's Heart. Beside these are a whole host of knights, priests,
nobles, burghers, yeomen, pages, ladies, lasses, landlords, beggars,
peddlers, and what not, all living the merriest of merry lives, and all
bound by nothing but a few odd strands of certain old ballads (snipped
and clipped and tied together again in a score of knots) which draw
these jocund fellows here and there, singing as they go.

Here you will find a hundred dull, sober, jogging places, all tricked
out with flowers and what not, till no one would know them in their
fanciful dress. And here is a country bearing a well-known name, wherein
no chill mists press upon our spirits, and no rain falls but what rolls
off our backs like April showers off the backs of sleek drakes; where
flowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where every fellow
hath a merry catch as he travels the roads, and ale and beer and wine
(such as muddle no wits) flow like water in a brook.

This country is not Fairyland. What is it? 'Tis the land of Fancy, and
is of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of it--whisk!--you clap
the leaves of this book together and 'tis gone, and you are ready for
everyday life, with no harm done.

And now I lift the curtain that hangs between here and No-man's-land.
Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.



CONTENTS

     CHAPTER                                                PAGE

     I         HOW ROBIN HOOD CAME TO BE AN OUTLAW            1
     II        ROBIN HOOD AND THE TINKER                     14
     III       THE SHOOTING MATCH AT NOTTINGHAM TOWN         27
     IV        WILL STUTELY RESCUED BY HIS COMPANIONS        38
     V         ROBIN HOOD TURNS BUTCHER                      50
     VI        LITTLE JOHN GOES TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR           61
     VII       HOW LITTLE JOHN LIVED AT THE SHERIFF'S        68
     VIII      LITTLE JOHN AND THE TANNER OF BLYTH           81
     IX        ROBIN HOOD AND WILL SCARLET                   92
     X         THE ADVENTURE WITH MIDGE, THE MILLER'S SON   102
     Xl        ROBIN HOOD AND ALLAN A DALE                  115
     XII       ROBIN HOOD SEEKS THE CURTAL FRIAR            129
     XIII      ROBIN HOOD COMPASSES A MARRIAGE              145
     XIV       ROBIN HOOD AIDS A SORROWFUL KNIGHT           156
     XV        HOW SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA PAID HIS DEBTS    172
     XVI       LITTLE JOHN TURNS BAREFOOT FRIAR             186
     XVII      ROBIN HOOD TURNS BEGGAR                      202
     XVIII     ROBIN HOOD SHOOTS BEFORE QUEEN ELEANOR       222
     XIX       THE CHASE OF ROBIN HOOD                      243
     XX        ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBOURNE              262
     XXI       KING RICHARD COMES TO SHERWOOD FOREST        281
     EPILOGUE                                     300





How Robin Hood Came to Be an Outlaw

IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second
ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest,
near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No
archer ever lived that could speed a gray goose shaft with such skill
and cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore
merry men that roamed with him through the greenwood shades. Right
merrily they dwelled within the depths of Sherwood Forest, suffering
neither care nor want, but passing the time in merry games of archery or
bouts of cudgel play, living upon the King's venison, washed down with
draughts of ale of October brewing.

Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws and dwelled apart
from other men, yet they were beloved by the country people round about,
for no one ever came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went
away again with an empty fist.

And now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood fell afoul of the
law.

When Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew and bold of heart,
the Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed a shooting match and offered a
prize of a butt of ale to whosoever should shoot the best shaft in
Nottinghamshire. "Now," quoth Robin, "will I go too, for fain would I
draw a string for the bright eyes of my lass and a butt of good October
brewing." So up he got and took his good stout yew bow and a score
or more of broad clothyard arrows, and started off from Locksley Town
through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham.

It was at the dawn of day in the merry Maytime, when hedgerows are green
and flowers bedeck the meadows; daisies pied and yellow cuckoo buds and
fair primroses all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom and
sweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the throstle cock and cuckoo;
when lads and lasses look upon each other with sweet thoughts; when busy
housewives spread their linen to bleach upon the bright green grass.
Sweet was the greenwood as he walked along its paths, and bright the
green and rustling leaves, amid which the little birds sang with might
and main: and blithely Robin whistled as he