The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood - Howard Pyle (free reads TXT) 📗

golden angels. “What have ye, brothers?” said he.

Then once again each friar slowly thrust his hand into his pouch, and once again brought it out with nothing in it.

“Have ye nothing?” quoth Little John. “Nay, I warrant there is somewhat that hath crept into the seams of your pouches, and so ye ha’ missed it. Let me look.”

So he went first to the lean Friar, and, thrusting his hand into the pouch, he drew forth a leathern bag and counted therefrom one hundred and ten pounds of golden money. “I thought,” quoth Little John, “that thou hadst missed, in some odd corner of thy pouch, the money that the blessed Saint had sent thee. And now let me see whether thou hast not some, also, brother.” Thereupon he thrust his hand into the pouch of the fat Friar and drew thence a bag like the other and counted out from it threescore and ten pounds. “Look ye now,” quoth he, “I knew the good Saint had sent thee some pittance that thou, also, hadst missed.”

Then, giving them one pound between them, he slipped the rest of the money into his own pouch, saying, “Ye pledged me your holy word that ye had no money. Being holy men, I trust that ye would not belie your word so pledged, therefore I know the good Saint Dunstan hath sent this in answer to my prayers. But as I only prayed for ten shillings to be sent to each of you, all over and above that belongeth by rights to me, and so I take it. I give you good den, brothers, and may ye have a pleasant journey henceforth.” So saying, he turned and left them, striding away. The friars looked at one another with a woeful look, and slowly and sadly they mounted their horses again and rode away with never a word.

But Little John turned his footsteps back again to Sherwood Forest, and merrily he whistled as he strode along.

And now we will see what befell Robin Hood in his venture as beggar.

 

Robin Hood Turns Beggar

AFTER JOLLY ROBIN had left Little John at the forking of the roads, he walked merrily onward in the mellow sunshine that shone about him. Ever and anon he would skip and leap or sing a snatch of song, for pure joyousness of the day; for, because of the sweetness of the springtide, his heart was as lusty within him as that of a colt newly turned out to grass. Sometimes he would walk a long distance, gazing aloft at the great white swelling clouds that moved slowly across the deep blue sky; anon he would stop and drink in the fullness of life of all things, for the hedgerows were budding tenderly and the grass of the meadows was waxing long and green; again he would stand still and listen to the pretty song of the little birds in the thickets or hearken to the clear crow of the cock daring the sky to rain, whereat he would laugh, for it took but little to tickle Robin’s heart into merriment. So he trudged manfully along, ever willing to stop for this reason or for that, and ever ready to chat with such merry lasses as he met now and then. So the morning slipped along, but yet he met no beggar with whom he could change clothes. Quoth he, “If I do not change my luck in haste, I am like to have an empty day of it, for it is well nigh half gone already, and, although I have had a merry walk through the countryside, I know nought of a beggar’s life.”

Then, after a while, he began to grow hungry, whereupon his mind turned from thoughts of springtime and flowers and birds and dwelled upon boiled capons, Malmsey, white bread, and the like, with great tenderness. Quoth he to himself, “I would I had Willie Wynkin’s wishing coat; I know right well what I should wish for, and this it should be.” Here he marked upon the fingers of his left hand with the forefinger of his right hand those things which he wished for. “Firstly, I would have a sweet brown pie of tender larks; mark ye, not dry cooked, but with a good sop of gravy to moisten it withal. Next, I would have a pretty pullet, fairly boiled, with tender pigeons’ eggs, cunningly sliced, garnishing the platter around. With these I would have a long, slim loaf of wheaten bread that hath been baked upon the hearth; it should be warm from the fire, with glossy brown crust, the color of the hair of mine own Maid Marian, and this same crust should be as crisp and brittle as the thin white ice that lies across the furrows in the early winter’s morning. These will do for the more solid things; but with these I must have three potties, fat and round, one full of Malmsey, one of Canary, and one brimming full of mine own dear lusty sack.” Thus spoke Robin to himself, his mouth growing moist at the corners with the thoughts of the good things he had raised in his own mind.

So, talking to himself, he came to where the dusty road turned sharply around the hedge, all tender with the green of the coming leaf, and there he saw before him a stout fellow sitting upon a stile, swinging his legs in idleness. All about this lusty rogue dangled divers pouches and bags of different sizes and kinds, a dozen or more, with great, wide, gaping mouths, like a brood of hungry daws. His coat was gathered in at his waist, and was patched with as many colors as there are stripes upon a Maypole in the springtide. On his head he wore a great tall leathern cap, and across his knees rested a stout quarterstaff of blackthorn, full as long and heavy as Robin’s. As jolly a beggar was he as ever trod the lanes and byways of Nottinghamshire, for his eyes were as gray as slate, and snapped and twinkled and danced with merriment, and his black hair curled close all over his head in little rings of kinkiness.

“Halloa, good fellow,” quoth Robin, when he had come nigh to the other, “what art thou doing here this merry day, when the flowers are peeping and the buds are swelling?”

Then the other winked one eye and straightway trolled forth in a merry voice:

“I sit upon the stile, And I sing a little while As I wait for my own true dear, O, For the sun is shining bright, And the leaves are dancing light, And the little fowl sings she is near, O.

 

“And so it is with me, bully boy, saving that my doxy cometh not.”

“Now that is a right sweet song,” quoth Robin, “and, were I in the right mind to listen to thee, I could bear well to hear more; but I have two things of seriousness to ask of thee; so listen, I prythee.”

At this the jolly Beggar cocked his head on one side, like a rogue of a magpie. Quoth he, “I am an ill jug to pour heavy things into, good friend, and, if I mistake not, thou hast few serious words to spare at any time.”

“Nay,” quoth jolly Robin, “what I would say first is the most serious of all thoughts to me, to wit, `Where shall I get somewhat to eat and drink?’ “

“Sayst thou so?” quoth the Beggar. “Marry, I make no such serious thoughts upon the matter. I eat when I can get it, and munch my crust when I can get no crumb; likewise, when there is no ale to be had I wash the dust from out my throat with a trickle of cold water. I was sitting here, as thou camest upon me, bethinking myself whether I should break my fast or no. I do love to let my hunger grow mightily keen ere I eat, for then a dry crust is as good to me as a venison pasty with suet and raisins is to stout King Harry. I have a sharp hunger upon me now, but methinks in a short while it will ripen to a right mellow appetite.”

“Now, in good sooth,” quoth merry Robin, laughing, “thou hast a quaint tongue betwixt thy teeth. But hast thou truly nought but a dry crust about thee? Methinks thy bags and pouches are fat and lusty for such thin fare.”

“Why, mayhap there is some other cold fare therein,” said the Beggar slyly.

“And hast thou nought to drink but cold water?” said Robin.

“Never so much as a drop,” quoth the Beggar. “Over beyond yon clump of trees is as sweet a little inn as ever thou hast lifted eyelid upon; but I go not thither, for they have a nasty way with me. Once, when the good Prior of Emmet was dining there, the landlady set a dear little tart of stewed crabs and barley sugar upon the window sill to cool, and, seeing it there, and fearing it might be lost, I took it with me till that I could find the owner thereof. Ever since then they have acted very ill toward me; yet truth bids me say that they have the best ale there that ever rolled over my tongue.”

At this Robin laughed aloud. “Marry,” quoth he, “they did ill toward thee for thy kindness. But tell me truly, what hast thou in thy pouches?”

“Why,” quoth the Beggar, peeping into the mouths of his bags, “I find here a goodly piece of pigeon pie, wrapped in a cabbage leaf to hold the gravy. Here I behold a dainty streaked piece of brawn, and here a fair lump of white bread. Here I find four oaten cakes and a cold knuckle of ham. Ha! In sooth, ‘tis strange; but here I behold six eggs that must have come by accident from some poultry yard hereabouts. They are raw, but roasted upon the coals and spread with a piece of butter that I see—”

“Peace, good friend!” cried Robin, holding up his hand. “Thou makest my poor stomach quake with joy for what thou tellest me so sweetly. If thou wilt give me to eat, I will straightway hie me to that little inn thou didst tell of but now, and will bring a skin of ale for thy drinking and mine.”

“Friend, thou hast said enough,” said the Beggar, getting down from the stile. “I will feast thee with the best that I have and bless Saint Cedric for thy company. But, sweet chuck, I prythee bring three quarts of ale at least, one for thy drinking and two for mine, for my thirst is such that methinks I can drink ale as the sands of the River Dee drink salt water.”

So Robin straightway left the Beggar, who, upon his part, went to a budding lime bush back of the hedge, and there spread his feast upon the grass and roasted his eggs upon a little fagot fire, with a deftness gained by long labor in that line. After a while back came Robin bearing a goodly skin of ale upon his shoulder, which he laid upon the grass. Then, looking upon the feast spread upon the ground—and a fair sight it was to look upon— he slowly rubbed his hand over his stomach, for to his hungry eyes it seemed the fairest sight that he had beheld in all his life.

“Friend,” said the Beggar, “let me feel the weight of that skin.

“Yea, truly,” quoth Robin, “help thyself, sweet chuck, and meantime let me see whether thy pigeon pie is fresh or no.”

So the one seized upon the ale and the other upon the pigeon pie, and nothing was