find quarry, Robin. I think that they
would sooner kill the archer than the birds. There, mind not my jesting.
Men shall talk of you; and I may live to hear them. Be just always; and
be honest."

* * * * *

The day broke clear and sweet. From Locksley to the borders of Sherwood
Forest was but a stone's cast.

Robin was in high glee, and had been awake long ere daylight. He had
dressed himself in his best doublet, green trunk hose, and pointed
shoes, and had strung and unstrung his bow full a score of times. A
sumpter mule had been saddled to carry the baggage, for the dame had, at
the last moment, discovered a wondrous assortment of fineries and
fripperies that most perforce be translated to Gamewell.

Robin was carolling like any bird.

"Are you glad to be leaving Locksley, my son?" asked Hugh Fitzooth.

"Ay, rarely!"

"'Tis a dull place, no doubt. And glad to be leaving home too?"

"No, sir; only happy at the thought of the Fair. Doubt it not that I
shall be returned to you long ere a month is gone."

"A year, Robin, a year! Twelve changing months ere you will see me
again. I have given my word now. Keep me a place in your heart, Robin."

"You have it all now, sir, be sure, and I am not really so glad within
as I seem without."

"Tut, I am not chiding you. Get you upon your jennet, dame; and, Robin,
do you show the way. Roderick and the other shall lead the baggage mule.
Have you pikes with you, men, and full sheaths?"

"I have brought me a dagger, father," cried Robin, joyfully.

So, bravely they set forth from their quiet house at Locksley, and came
within the hour to Copmanhurst. Here only were the ruins of the chapel
and the clerk's hermitage, a rude stone building of two small rooms.

Enclosed with high oaken stakes and well guarded by two gaunt hounds was
the humble abode of the anchorite.

The clerk came to the verge of his enclosure to greet them, and stood
peering above the palisade. "Give you good morrow, father," cried Robin;
"get your steed and tie up the dogs. We go to Nottingham this day and
you are to come with us!"

The monk shook his head. "I may not leave this spot, child, for matters
of vanity," he answered, in would-be solemn tones.

"Will you not ride with the dame and my son, father?" asked Fitzooth.
"George of Gamewell has sent in for Robin, and I wish that you should
journey with him, giving him such sage counsel as may fit him for a
year's s