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ROBIN HOOD

ILLUSTRATED BY N. C. WYETH

[Illustration]

DAVID MCKAY, PUBLISHER

PHILADELPHIA MCMXVII




ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                             Facing Page

  ROBIN AND HIS MOTHER GO TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR                          18
    The road wound in and about the forest, and at noon they
    came to a part where the trees nigh shut out the sky

  ROBIN WRESTLES WILL STUTELEY AT GAMEWELL                            53
    "Catch him by the middle," he shouted. "Now you have
    him, lording, fairly. Throw him prettily!" And sure enough
    Stuteley came down

  ROBIN MEETS MAID MARIAN                                            116
    But Robin, venturing all, drew nigh. He came to the edge of
    her box, and began to speak

  ROBIN HOOD AND HIS COMPANIONS LEND AID TO WILL O' TH' GREEN
  FROM AMBUSH                                                        156
    Their arrows flew together, marvellous shots, each finding
    its prey

  LITTLE JOHN FIGHTS WITH THE COOK IN THE SHERIFF'S HOUSE            197
    At last he made a dart upon Roger and the chase grew furious.
    Dishes, plates, covers, pots and pans--all that came in
    the way of them went flying

  ROBIN HOOD DEFEATS NAT OF NOTTINGHAM AT QUARTER-STAFF              257
    The beggar dealt his foe a back-thrust so neatly, so heartily,
    and so swiftly that Nat was swept off the stage into the crowd
    as a fly off a table

  LITTLE JOHN SINGS A SONG AT THE BANQUET                            327
    That evening, whilst Monceux raged and stormed without,
    they all sat to a great feast

  THE PASSING OF ROBIN HOOD                                          361
    Leaning heavily against Little John's sobbing breast, Robin
    Hood flew his last arrow out through the window, far away
    into the deep green of trees




ROBIN HOOD AND HIS ADVENTURES




CHAPTER I


"Well, Robin, on what folly do you employ yourself? Do you cut sticks
for our fire o' mornings?" Thus spoke Master Hugh Fitzooth, King's
Ranger of the Forest at Locksley, as he entered his house.

Robin flushed a little. "These are arrows, sir," he announced, holding
one up for inspection.

Dame Fitzooth smiled upon the boy as she rose to meet her lord. "What
fortune do you bring us to-day, father?" asked she, cheerily.

Fitzooth's face was a mask of discontent. "I bring myself, dame,"
answered he, "neither more nor less."

"Surely that is enough for Robin and me!" laughed his wife. "Come, cast
off your shoes, and give me your bow and quiver. I have news for you,
Hugh, even if you have none for us. George of Gamewell has sent his
messenger to-day, and bids me bring Robin to him for the Fair." She
hesitated to give the whole truth.

"That cannot be," began the Ranger, hastily; then checked himself. "What
wind is it that blows our Squire's friendship toward me, I wonder?" he
went on. "Do we owe him toll?"

"You are not fair to George Montfichet, Hugh--he is an open, honest
man, and he is my brother." The dame spoke with spirit, being vexed that
her husband should thus slight her item of news. "That Montfichet is of
Norman blood is sufficient to turn your thoughts of him as sour as old
milk----"

"I am as good as all the Montfichets and De Veres hereabout, dame, for
all I am but plain Saxon," returned Fitzooth, crossly, "and the day may
come when they shall know it. Athelstane the Saxon might make full as
good a King, when Henry dies, as Richard of Acquitaine, with his
harebrained notions and runagate religion. There would be bobbing of
heads and curtseying to us then, if you like. Squire George of Gamewell
would be sending messengers for me cap in hand--doubt it not."

"For that matter, there is ready welcome for you now at my brother's
house," said Mistress Fitzooth, repenting of her sharpness at once.
"Montfichet bade us _all_ to Gamewell; but here is his scroll, and you
may read it for yourself." She took a scroll from her bosom as she spoke
and offered it to her husband.

He returned to the open door that he might read it. His brow puckered
itself as he strove to decipher the flourished Norman writing. "I have
no leisure now for this screed, mother; read it to me later, an you
will."

His tone was kinder again, for he saw how Robin had been busying himself
in these last few moments. "Let us sup, mother. I dare swear we all are
hungry after the heat of the day."

"I have made and tipped a full score of arrows, sir; will you see them?"
asked Robin.

"That will I, so soon as I have found the bottom of this pasty. Sit
yourselves, mother and Robin, and we'll chatter afterwards."

Robin helped his mother to kindle the flax whereby the dim and
flickering tapers might be lighted. His fingers were more deft at this
business, it would seem, than in the making of arrows. Fitzooth, in the
intervals of his eating, took up Robin's arrows one by one and had some
shrewd gibe ready for most of them. Of the score only five were allowed
to pass; the rest were tossed contemptuously into the black hearth on to
the little heap of smouldering fire.

"By my heart, Robin, but I shall never make a proper bowman of you! Were
ever such shafts fashioned to fit across cord and yew!"

"The arrows are pretty enough, Hugh," interposed the dame.

"There 'tis!" cried Fitzooth, triumphantly. "The true bowman's hand
showeth not in the _prettiness_ of an arrow, mother, but in the
straightness and hardness of the wand. Our Robin can fly a shaft right
well, I grant you, and I have no question for his skill, but he cannot
yet make me an arrow such as I love."

"Well, I do think them right handsomely done," said Mistress Fitzooth,
unconvinced. "It is not given to everyone to make such arrows as you
can, husband; but my Robin has other accomplishments. He can play upon
the harp sweetly, and sing you a good song----"

Fitzooth must still grumble, however. "I would rather your fingers
should bend the bow than pluck at harp-strings, Robin," growled he.
"Still, there is time for all things. Read me now our brother's
message."

Robin, eager to atone for the faults of his arrows, stretched out the
paper upon the table, and read aloud the following:--

     "From George a Court Montfichet, of the Hall at Gamewell, near
     Nottingham, Squire of the Hundreds of Sandwell and Sherwood, giving
     greetings and praying God's blessing on his sister Eleanor and on
     her husband, Master Hugh Fitzooth, Ranger of the King's Forest at
     Locksley. Happiness be with you all. I do make you this screed in
     the desire that you will both of you ride to me at Gamewell, in the
     light of to-morrow, the fifth day of June, bringing with you our
     young kinsman Robin. There is a Fair toward at Nottingham for three
     days of this week, and we are to expect great and astonishing
     marvels to be performed at it.

     "Wherefore, seeing that it will doubtless give him satisfaction and
     some knowledge (for who can witness wonders without being the wiser
     for them?), fail not to present yourselves as I honestly wish. I
     also ask that Robin shall stay with me for the space