“Nay,” muttered Little John (for he had heard so much upon this score that he was sore upon the point), “nay, truly, mayhap I have more flesh upon my joints than I once had, yet, flesh or no flesh, I doubt not that I could still hold my place and footing upon a narrow bridge against e’er a yeoman in Sherwood, or Nottinghamshire, for the matter of that, even though he had no more fat about his bones than thou hast, good master.”

At this reply a great shout of laughter went up, and all looked at Robin Hood, for each man knew that Little John spake of a certain fight that happened between their master and himself, through which they first became acquainted.

“Nay,” quoth Robin Hood, laughing louder than all.  “Heaven forbid that I should doubt thee, for I care for no taste of thy staff myself, Little John.  I must needs own that there are those of my band can handle a seven-foot staff more deftly than I; yet no man in all Nottinghamshire can draw gray goose shaft with my fingers.  Nevertheless, a journey to Ancaster may not be ill for thee; so go thou, as I bid, and thou hadst best go this very evening, for since thou hast abided at the Sheriff’s many know thy face, and if thou goest in broad daylight, thou mayst get thyself into a coil with some of his worship’s men-at-arms.  Bide thou here till I bring thee money to pay our good Hugh.  I warrant he hath no better customers in all Nottinghamshire than we.”  So saying, Robin left them and entered the forest.

Not far from the trysting tree was a great rock in which a chamber had been hewn, the entrance being barred by a massive oaken door two palms’- breadth in thickness, studded about with spikes, and fastened with a great padlock.  This was the treasure house of the band, and thither Robin Hood went and, unlocking the door, entered the chamber, from which he brought forth a bag of gold which he gave to Little John, to pay Hugh Longshanks withal, for the cloth of Lincoln green.

Then up got Little John, and, taking the bag of gold, which he thrust into his bosom, he strapped a girdle about his loins, took a stout pikestaff full seven feet long in his hand, and set forth upon his journey.

So he strode whistling along the leafy forest path that led to Fosse Way, turning neither to the right hand nor the left, until at last he came to where the path branched, leading on the one hand onward to Fosse Way, and on the other, as well Little John knew, to the merry Blue Boar Inn.  Here Little John suddenly ceased whistling and stopped in the middle of the path.  First he looked up and then he looked down, and then, tilting his cap over one eye, he slowly scratched the back part of his head.  For thus it was:  at the sight of these two roads, two voices began to alarum within him, the one crying, “There lies the road to the Blue Boar Inn, a can of brown October, and a merry night with sweet companions such as thou mayst find there”; the other, “There lies the way to Ancaster and the