“Ay, that will I give thee a song, my lovely fellow,” quoth the Tinker, “for I never tasted such ale in all my days before.  By Our Lady, it doth make my head hum even now!  Hey, Dame Hostess, come listen, an thou wouldst hear a song, and thou too, thou bonny lass, for never sing I so well as when bright eyes do look upon me the while.”

Then he sang an ancient ballad of the time of good King Arthur, called “The Marriage of Sir Gawaine,” which you may some time read yourself, in stout English of early times; and as he sang, all listened to that noble tale of noble knight and his sacrifice to his king.  But long before the Tinker came to the last verse his tongue began to trip and his head to spin, because of the strong waters mixed with the ale.  First his tongue tripped, then it grew thick of sound; then his head wagged from side to side, until at last he fell asleep as though he never would waken again.

Then Robin Hood laughed aloud and quickly took the warrant from out the Tinker’s pouch with his deft fingers.  “Sly art thou, Tinker,” quoth he, “but not yet, I bow, art thou as sly as that same sly thief Robin Hood.”

Then he called the host to him and said, “Here, good man, are ten broad shillings for the entertainment thou hast given us this day.  See that thou takest good care of thy fair guest there, and when he wakes thou mayst again charge him ten shillings also, and if he hath it not, thou mayst take his bag and hammer, and even his coat, in payment.  Thus do I punish those that come into the greenwood to deal dole to me.  As for thine own self, never knew I landlord yet that would not charge twice an he could.”

At this the host smiled slyly, as though saying to himself the rustic saw, “Teach a magpie to suck eggs.”

The Tinker slept until the afternoon drew to a close and the shadows grew long beside the woodland edge, then he awoke.  First he looked up, then he looked down, then he looked east, then he looked west, for he was gathering his wits together, like barley straws blown apart by the wind.  First he thought of his merry companion, but he was gone.  Then he thought of his stout crabstaff, and that he had within his hand.  Then of his warrant, and of the fourscore angels he was to gain for serving it upon Robin Hood.  He thrust his hand into his pouch, but not a scrap nor a farthing was there.  Then he sprang to his feet in a rage.

“Ho, landlord!” cried he, “whither hath that knave gone that was with me but now?”

“What knave meaneth Your Worship?” quoth the landlord, calling the Tinker Worship to soothe him, as a man would pour oil upon angry water.  “I saw no knave with Your Worship, for I swear no man would dare call that man knave so nigh to Sherwood Forest.  A right stout yeoman I saw with Your Worship, but I thought that Your Worship knew him, for few there be about here that pass him by and know him not.”

“Now, how should I, that ne’er have squealed in your sty, know all the swine therein?  Who was he, then, an thou knowest him so well?”