Then the King muttered in his beard, “Now, blessed Saint Hubert, if thou wilt but jog that rogue’s elbow so as to make him smite even the second ring, I will give eightscore waxen candles three fingers’-breadth in thickness to thy chapel nigh Matching.”  But it may be Saint Hubert’s ears were stuffed with tow, for he seemed not to hear the King’s prayer this day.

Having gotten three shafts to his liking, merry Robin looked carefully to his bowstring ere he shot.  “Yea,” quoth he to Gilbert, who stood nigh him to watch his shooting, “thou shouldst pay us a visit at merry Sherwood.”  Here he drew the bowstring to his ear.  “In London”—­here he loosed his shaft—­“thou canst find nought to shoot at but rooks and daws; there one can tickle the ribs of the noblest stags in England.”  So he shot even while he talked, yet the shaft lodged not more than half an inch from the very center.

“By my soul!” cried Gilbert.  “Art thou the devil in blue, to shoot in that wise?”

“Nay,” quoth Robin, laughing, “not quite so ill as that, I trust.”  And he took up another shaft and fitted it to the string.  Again he shot, and again he smote his arrow close beside the center; a third time he loosed his bowstring and dropped his arrow just betwixt the other two and into the very center, so that the feathers of all three were ruffled together, seeming from a distance to be one thick shaft.

And now a low murmur ran all among that great crowd, for never before had London seen such shooting as this; and never again would it see it after Robin Hood’s day had gone.  All saw that the King’s archers were fairly beaten, and stout Gilbert clapped his palm to Robin’s, owning that he could never hope to draw such a bowstring as Robin Hood or Little John.  But the King, full of wrath, would not have it so, though he knew in his mind that his men could not stand against those fellows.  “Nay!” cried he, clenching his hands upon the arms of his seat, “Gilbert is not yet beaten!  Did he not strike the clout thrice?  Although I have lost my wager, he hath not yet lost the first prize.  They shall shoot again, and still again, till either he or that knave Robin Hood cometh off the best.  Go thou, Sir Hugh, and bid them shoot another round, and another, until one or the other is overcome.”  Then Sir Hugh, seeing how wroth the King was, said never a word, but went straightway to do his bidding; so he came to where Robin Hood and the other stood, and told them what the King had said.

“With all my heart,” quoth merry Robin, “I will shoot from this time till tomorrow day if it can pleasure my most gracious lord and King.  Take thy place, Gilbert lad, and shoot.”

So Gilbert took his place once more, but this time he failed, for, a sudden little wind arising, his shaft missed the center ring, but by not more than the breadth of a barley straw.

“Thy eggs are cracked, Gilbert,” quoth Robin, laughing; and straightway he loosed a shaft, and once more smote the white circle of the center.