welcome, too!" commenced Robin; then paused suddenly,
remembering who Roughbeard really was. Montfichet of Gamewell
entertaining Will o' th' Green!

The outlaw merely laughed good-humoredly at the lad's confusion.

"Go, take the Sheriff's prize; and vex him in some way, if you can, in
the accepting of it!"

Again Robin walked forward towards the Monceux box; this time with
flashing eyes and a resolve in his heart.

"Robin of Locksley," said the Sheriff, scarce looking at him, "here is
my golden arrow which I have offered as reward to the best bowman in
this Fair. You have been accorded the prize; and I do yield it to you
with sincere pleasure. Take the bauble now from our daughter's hand, and
use the arrow worthily."

The heralds blew a brazen blast, and the demoiselle Monceux, with a thin
smile, held out to Robin upon a silk cushion the little shining arrow
which now was his. Bowing, and on one knee, Robin took up the glittering
trophy.

"Surely 'tis a plaything more suited to a lady's hair than to an
archer," murmured the lean-faced man, who stood close by. Catching
Robin's eye, he made a significant sign, as who would say: "Here is the
Queen who would adorn it."

Robin had that other notion in his mind, however, and saw that now the
moment had arrived in which it should be put into execution. Somehow, he
contrived to bring himself before the small low box wherein,
half-startled, sat the maid Fitzwalter.

"Lady," stammered the young archer, bowing to her, "do you please accept
this little arrow which I have won. It is a pretty thing; but of small
use to me. Maybe you could make some ornament with it----"

Then he could go no farther; but dumbly held it out to her.

The girl, having seen that her father was not unwilling, stretched out
and took the Sheriff's arrow from Robin's shaking hands.

"Thanks to you, Robin o' th' Hood," she said, with that roguish little
toss of her dark curls; "I'll take the dart, and wear it in memory of
Locksley and this day!" Her eyes looked frankly into his for a brief
instant; then were hid by her silky lashes.

Robin, with bounding heart, walked proudly back to where old Warrenton
stood, glowing; and the people thunderingly applauded the archer's
choice.

"Right well was it done, Locksley!" roared the outlaw, near forgetting
himself. "I love you for it." For he saw only that the Sheriff had been
slighted, and cries of: "A Locksley!" were renewed again and again.

Maste