“Now a murrain seize thee and thy news, thou scurvy dog,” quoth the Tinker, “for thou speakest but ill of good men.  But sad news it is indeed, gin there be two stout fellows in the stocks.”

“Nay,” said Robin, “thou hast missed the mark and dost but weep for the wrong sow.  The sadness of the news lieth in that there be but two in the stocks, for the others do roam the country at large.”

“Now by the pewter platter of Saint Dunstan,” cried the Tinker, “I have a good part of a mind to baste thy hide for thine ill jest.  But gin men be put in the stocks for drinking ale and beer, I trow thou wouldst not lose thy part.”

Loud laughed Robin and cried, “Now well taken, Tinker, well taken!  Why, thy wits are like beer, and do froth up most when they grow sour!  But right art thou, man, for I love ale and beer right well.  Therefore come straightway with me hard by to the Sign of the Blue Boar, and if thou drinkest as thou appearest—­and I wot thou wilt not belie thy looks—­I will drench thy throat with as good homebrewed as ever was tapped in all broad Nottinghamshire.”

“Now by my faith,” said the Tinker, “thou art a right good fellow in spite of thy scurvy jests.  I love thee, my sweet chuck, and gin I go not with thee to that same Blue Boar thou mayst call me a heathen.”

“Tell me thy news, good friend, I prythee,” quoth Robin as they trudged along together, “for tinkers, I ween, are all as full of news as an egg of meat.”

“Now I love thee as my brother, my bully blade,” said the Tinker, “else I would not tell thee my news; for sly am I, man, and I have in hand a grave undertaking that doth call for all my wits, for I come to seek a bold outlaw that men, hereabouts, call Robin Hood.  Within my pouch I have a warrant, all fairly written out on parchment, forsooth, with a great red seal for to make it lawful.  Could I but meet this same Robin Hood I would serve it upon his dainty body, and if he minded it not I would beat him till every one of his ribs would cry Amen.  But thou livest hereabouts, mayhap thou knowest Robin Hood thyself, good fellow.”

“Ay, marry, that I do somewhat,” quoth Robin, “and I have seen him this very morn.  But, Tinker, men say that he is but a sad, sly thief.  Thou hadst better watch thy warrant, man, or else he may steal it out of thy very pouch.”

“Let him but try!” cried the Tinker.  “Sly may he be, but sly am I, too.  I would I had him here now, man to man!” And he made his heavy cudgel to spin again.  “But what manner of man is he, lad?

“Much like myself,” said Robin, laughing, “and in height and build and age nigh the same; and he hath blue eyes, too.”

“Nay,” quoth the Tinker, “thou art but a green youth.  I thought him to be a great bearded man.  Nottingham men feared him so.”

“Truly, he is not so old nor so stout as thou art,” said Robin.  “But men do call him a right deft hand at quarterstaff.”