e woodlands. So they came to the
edge of Sherwood, and there the Knight kissed Robin upon the cheeks and
left him and was gone.

Thus Robin Hood helped a noble knight out of his dire misfortunes, that
else would have smothered the happiness from his life.

Little John Turns Barefoot Friar

COLD WINTER had passed and spring had come. No leafy thickness had yet
clad the woodlands, but the budding leaves hung like a tender mist about
the trees. In the open country the meadow lands lay a sheeny green, the
cornfields a dark velvety color, for they were thick and soft with
the growing blades. The plowboy shouted in the sun, and in the purple
new-turned furrows flocks of birds hunted for fat worms. All the broad
moist earth smiled in the warm light, and each little green hill clapped
its hand for joy.

On a deer's hide, stretched on the ground in the open in front of the
greenwood tree, sat Robin Hood basking in the sun like an old dog fox.
Leaning back with his hands clasped about his knees, he lazily watched
Little John rolling a stout bowstring from long strands of hempen
thread, wetting the palms of his hands ever and anon, and rolling the
cord upon his thigh. Near by sat Allan a Dale fitting a new string to
his harp.

Quoth Robin at last, "Methinks I would rather roam this forest in the
gentle springtime than be King of all merry England. What palace in the
broad world is as fair as this sweet woodland just now, and what king in
all the world hath such appetite for plover's eggs and lampreys as I for
juicy venison and sparkling ale? Gaffer Swanthold speaks truly when he
saith, 'Better a crust with content than honey with a sour heart.'"

"Yea," quoth Little John, as he rubbed his new-made bowstring with
yellow beeswax, "the life we lead is the life for me. Thou speakest of
the springtime, but methinks even the winter hath its own joys. Thou and
I, good master, have had more than one merry day, this winter past, at
the Blue Boar. Dost thou not remember that night thou and Will Stutely
and Friar Tuck and I passed at that same hostelry with the two beggars
and the strolling friar?"

"Yea," quoth merry Robin, laughing, "that was the night that Will
Stutely must needs snatch a kiss from the stout hostess, and got a
canakin of ale emptied over his head for his pains."

"Truly, it was the same," said Little John, laughing also. "Methinks
that was a goodly song that the strolling friar sang. Friar Tuck, thou
hast