“Marry,” quoth merry Robin, “I sit beneath the hedge here to drop salt on the tails of golden birds; but in sooth thou art the first chick of any worth I ha’ seen this blessed day.”

At these words the Cobbler’s eyes opened big and wide, and his mouth grew round with wonder, like a knothole in a board fence.  “Slack-a-day,” quoth he, “look ye, now!  I ha’ never seen those same golden birds.  And dost thou in sooth find them in these hedges, good fellow?  Prythee, tell me, are there many of them?  I would fain find them mine own self.”

“Ay, truly,” quoth Robin, “they are as thick here as fresh herring in Cannock Chase.”

“Look ye, now!” said the Cobbler, all drowned in wonder.  “And dost thou in sooth catch them by dropping salt on their pretty tails?”

“Yea,” quoth Robin, “but this salt is of an odd kind, let me tell thee, for it can only be gotten by boiling down a quart of moonbeams in a wooden platter, and then one hath but a pinch.  But tell me, now, thou witty man, what hast thou gotten there in that pouch by thy side and in that pottle?”

At these words the Cobbler looked down at those things of which merry Robin spoke, for the thoughts of the golden bird had driven them from his mind, and it took him some time to scrape the memory of them back again.  “Why,” said he at last, “in the one is good March beer, and in the other is a fat capon.  Truly, Quince the Cobbler will ha’ a fine feast this day an I mistake not.”

“But tell me, good Quince,” said Robin, “hast thou a mind to sell those things to me?  For the hearing of them sounds sweet in mine ears.  I will give thee these gay clothes of blue that I have upon my body and ten shillings to boot for thy clothes and thy leather apron and thy beer and thy capon.  What sayst thou, bully boy?”

“Nay, thou dost jest with me,” said the Cobbler, “for my clothes are coarse and patched, and thine are of fine stuff and very pretty.”

“Never a jest do I speak,” quoth Robin.  “Come, strip thy jacket off and I will show thee, for I tell thee I like thy clothes well.  Moreover, I will be kind to thee, for I will feast straightway upon the good things thou hast with thee, and thou shalt be bidden to the eating.”  At these words he began slipping off his doublet, and the Cobbler, seeing him so in earnest, began pulling off his clothes also, for Robin Hood’s garb tickled his eye.  So each put on the other fellow’s clothes, and Robin gave the honest Cobbler ten bright new shillings.  Quoth merry Robin, “I ha’ been a many things in my life before, but never have I been an honest cobbler.  Come, friend, let us fall to and eat, for something within me cackles aloud for that good fat capon.”  So both sat down and began to feast right lustily, so that when they were done the bones of the capon were picked as bare as charity.

Then Robin stretched his legs out with a sweet feeling of comfort within him.  Quoth he, “By the turn of thy voice, good Quince, I know that thou hast a fair song or two running loose in thy head like colts in a meadow.  I prythee, turn one of them out for me.”