Little John and the Tanner of Blyth

           Onefineday,notlongafterLittleJohnhadleftabidingwiththeSheriffandhadcomeback,withhisworship’scook,tothemerrygreenwood,ashasjustbeentold,RobinHoodandafewchosenfellowsofhisbandlayuponthesoftswardbeneaththegreenwoodtreewheretheydwelled.Thedaywaswarmandsultry,sothatwhilemostofthebandwerescatteredthroughtheforestuponthismissionanduponthat,thesefewstoutfellowslaylazilybeneaththeshadeofthetree,inthesoftafternoon,passingjestsamongthemselvesandtellingmerrystories,withlaughterandmirth.

           AlltheairwasladenwiththebitterfragranceoftheMay,andalltheboskyshadesofthewoodlandsbeyondrangwiththesweetsongofbirds—thethrostlecock,thecuckoo,andthewoodpigeon—andwiththesongofbirdsmingledthecoolsoundofthegurglingbrookthatleapedoutoftheforestshades,andranfrettingamiditsrough,graystonesacrossthesunlitopengladebeforethetrystingtree.Andafairsightwasthathalfscoreoftall,stoutyeomen,allcladinLincolngreen,lyingbeneaththebroad-spreadingbranchesofthegreatoaktree,amidthequiveringleavesofwhichthesunlightshiveredandfellindancingpatchesuponthegrass.

           SuddenlyRobinHoodsmotehisknee.

           "BySaintDunstan,"quothhe,"Ihadnighforgotthatquarter-daycomethonapace,andyetnoclothofLincolngreeninallourstore.Itmustbelookedto,andthatinquickseason.