“Nay, good Little John,” quoth Robin gently,
for he liked ill to have such a jest told of him.
“Why should we speak of this little matter?
Prythee, let us keep this day’s doings among
ourselves.”
“With all my heart,” quoth Little John.
“But, good master, I thought that thou didst
love a merry story, because thou hast so often made
a jest about a certain increase of fatness on my joints,
of flesh gathered by my abiding with the Sheriff of—”
“Nay, good Little John,” said Robin hastily,
“I do bethink me I have said full enough on
that score.”
“It is well,” quoth Little John, “for
in truth I myself have tired of it somewhat.
But now I bethink me, thou didst also seem minded to
make a jest of the rain that threatened last night;
so—”
“Nay, then,” said Robin Hood testily,
“I was mistaken. I remember me now it did
seem to threaten rain.”
“Truly, I did think so myself,” quoth
Little John, “therefore, no doubt, thou dost
think it was wise of me to abide all night at the Blue
Boar Inn, instead of venturing forth in such stormy
weather; dost thou not?”
“A plague of thee and thy doings!” cried
Robin Hood. “If thou wilt have it so, thou
wert right to abide wherever thou didst choose.”
“Once more, it is well,” quoth Little
John. “As for myself, I have been blind
this day. I did not see thee drubbed; I did not
see thee tumbled heels over head in the dust; and
if any man says that thou wert, I can with a clear
conscience rattle his lying tongue betwixt his teeth.”
“Come,” cried Robin, biting his nether
lip, while the others could not forbear laughing.
“We will go no farther today, but will return
to Sherwood, and thou shalt go to Ancaster another
time, Little John.”
So said Robin, for now that his bones were sore, he
felt as though a long journey would be an ill thing
for him. So, turning their backs, they retraced
their steps whence they came.
When the four yeomen had traveled for a
long time toward Sherwood again, high noontide being
past, they began to wax hungry. Quoth Robin Hood,
“I would that I had somewhat to eat. Methinks
a good loaf of white bread, with a piece of snow-white
cheese, washed down with a draught of humming ale,
were a feast for a king.”
“Since thou speakest of it,” said Will
Scarlet, “methinks it would not be amiss myself.
There is that within me crieth out, ’Victuals,
good friend, victuals!’”
“I know a house near by,” said Arthur
a Bland, “and, had I but the money, I would
bring ye that ye speak of; to wit, a sweet loaf of
bread, a fair cheese, and a skin of brown ale.”
“For the matter of that, thou knowest I have
money by me, good master,” quoth Little John.
“Why, so thou hast, Little John,” said
Robin. “How much money will it take, good
Arthur, to buy us meat and drink?”
