the
lists."

"So that is the rule of it, eh, Warrenton?" said Robin. "I would like to
choose my own Queen----"

"It matters not one jot or tittle to young Master Montfichet. See--the
wreath has been duly bestowed and the Sheriff will announce his girl
Queen, until the night, of Beauty in all Royal Nottingham. There will be
some further mummery when the golden arrow is won. Doubtless, the winner
will have to yield it up to Monceux's girl again, on a pretence that
all is hers, now she is Queen. So shall my lord the Sheriff keep his
prize after all; and be able to offer it again next year----"

Robin checked the garrulous old man with a gesture.

"Now give me my bow, Warrenton," commanded young Fitzooth, somewhat
roughly; "and do you tell me how I am to enter myself in the lists."

"Your esquire should announce you," returned the other, respectfully.
"See, here he comes----"

"The Red Knight would thank you, master, for your courtesies," said
Stuteley, approaching Robin. "He will wait for us at Nottingham gate;
and prays that you will accept the chargers of the unhorsed knights from
him. They are his by right of conquest, as you know."

"I will accept them, and thank him for the gift," returned Robin,
briefly, guessing that this was the reply that Geoffrey would desire him
to make. "Now tell the heralds that Robin of Locksley will enter for the
Sheriff's prize. Give no more of my name than that, Will," he added
warningly, in a lower voice.

Stuteley vanished, and Robin turned again to the lists. The Sheriff's
daughter had already been crowned, and sat now in supercilious state in
the Sheriff's own seat. Geoffrey had gone, and Fitzwalter's box was
empty.

"I'll not shoot at all," said Robin, suddenly. "Go, Warrenton, bring
back Stuteley to me. I have changed my mind in the matter."

"Does your wound fret you, lording?" asked Warrenton, solicitously.
"Forgive me that I should have forgot----"

"Nay--'tis not that at all. I have no wish to shoot. Fetch Will to me."

It was too late. Stuteley had already given in Robin's name to the
heralds, and signified that he would shoot first of all. He came into
the box even as Warrenton went out for him.

Half-angrily, Robin took the bow from the retainer's hands and slung his
quiver about him. He strode moodily across the lists to the spot where
the other archers had already gathered. When they saw this youngling
with his odd little cape preparing himself, they smiled a