the song.

"I know not," quoth Little John in a surly voice. "But this I do know,
that it is an ill thing to do to check the flow of a good song."

"Nay, Little John," said Robin, "be not vexed, I prythee; but I have
been watching him coming along, bent beneath that great bag over his
shoulder, ever since thou didst begin thy song. Look, Little John, I
pray, and see if thou knowest him."

Little John looked whither Robin Hood pointed. "Truly," quoth he, after
a time, "I think yon fellow is a certain young miller I have seen now
and then around the edge of Sherwood; a poor wight, methinks, to spoil a
good song about."

"Now thou speakest of him," quoth Robin Hood, "methinks I myself have
seen him now and then. Hath he not a mill over beyond Nottingham Town,
nigh to the Salisbury road?"

"Thou art right; that is the man," said Little John.

"A good stout fellow," quoth Robin. "I saw him crack Ned o' Bradford's
crown about a fortnight since, and never saw I hair lifted more neatly
in all my life before."

By this time the young miller had come so near that they could see him
clearly. His clothes were dusted with flour, and over his back he
carried a great sack of meal, bending so as to bring the whole weight
upon his shoulders, and across the sack was a thick quarterstaff. His
limbs were stout and strong, and he strode along the dusty road right
sturdily with the heavy sack across his shoulders. His cheeks were ruddy
as a winter hip, his hair was flaxen in color, and on his chin was a
downy growth of flaxen beard.

"A good honest fellow," quoth Robin Hood, "and such an one as is a
credit to English yeomanrie. Now let us have a merry jest with him. We
will forth as though we were common thieves and pretend to rob him of
his honest gains. Then will we take him into the forest and give him a
feast such as his stomach never held in all his life before. We will
flood his throat with good canary and send him home with crowns in his
purse for every penny he hath. What say ye, lads?"

"Truly, it is a merry thought," said Will Scarlet.

"It is well planned," quoth Little John, "but all the saints preserve us
from any more drubbings this day! Marry, my poor bones ache so that I--"

"Prythee peace, Little John," quoth Robin. "Thy foolish tongue will get
us both well laughed at yet."

"My foolish tongue, forsooth," growled Little John to Arthur a Bland.
"I would it could keep our master from getting us into a