So they stepped along toward Tuxford, chatting and laughing, until they came nigh to the town.  Here Little John stopped and set down the baskets, for he did not care to go into the town lest he should, perchance, meet some of the Sheriff’s men.  “Alas! sweet chucks,” quoth he, “here I must leave you.  I had not thought to come this way, but I am glad that I did so.  Now, ere we part, we must drink sweet friendship.”  So saying, he unslung the leathern pottle from the end of his staff, and, drawing the stopper therefrom, he handed it to the lass who had carried his staff, first wiping the mouth of the pottle upon his sleeve.  Then each lass took a fair drink of what was within, and when it had passed all around, Little John finished what was left, so that not another drop could be squeezed from it.  Then, kissing each lass sweetly, he wished them all good den, and left them.  But the maids stood looking after him as he walked away whistling.  “What a pity,” quoth one, “that such a stout, lusty lad should be in holy orders.”

“Marry,” quoth Little John to himself, as he strode along, “yon was no such ill happening; Saint Dunstan send me more of the like.”

After he had trudged along for a time he began to wax thirsty again in the warmth of the day.  He shook his leathern pottle beside his ear, but not a sound came therefrom.  Then he placed it to his lips and tilted it high aloft, but not a drop was there.  “Little John!  Little John!” said he sadly to himself, shaking his head the while, “woman will be thy ruin yet, if thou dost not take better care of thyself.”

But at last he reached the crest of a certain hill, and saw below a sweet little thatched inn lying snugly in the dale beneath him, toward which the road dipped sharply.  At the sight of this, a voice within him cried aloud, “I give thee joy, good friend, for yonder is thy heart’s delight, to wit, a sweet rest and a cup of brown beer.”  So he quickened his pace down the hill and so came to the little inn, from which hung a sign with a stag’s head painted upon it.  In front of the door a clucking hen was scratching in the dust with a brood of chickens about her heels, the sparrows were chattering of household affairs under the eaves, and all was so sweet and peaceful that Little John’s heart laughed within him.  Beside the door stood two stout cobs with broad soft-padded saddles, well fitted for easy traveling, and speaking of rich guests in the parlor.  In front of the door three merry fellows, a tinker, a peddler, and a beggar, were seated on a bench in the sun quaffing stout ale.

“I give you good den, sweet friends,” quoth Little John, striding up to where they sat.

“Give thee good den, holy father,” quoth the merry Beggar with a grin.  “But look thee, thy gown is too short.  Thou hadst best cut a piece off the top and tack it to the bottom, so that it may be long enough.  But come, sit beside us here and take a taste of ale, if thy vows forbid thee not.”