At last the sun began to sink low in the heavens; the light grew red and the shadows long.  The air grew full of silence, the birds twittered sleepily, and from afar came, faint and clear, the musical song of the milkmaid calling the kine home to the milking.

Then Stutely arose from where he was lying.  “A plague of such ill luck!” quoth he.  “Here have we abided all day, and no bird worth the shooting, so to speak, hath come within reach of our bolt.  Had I gone forth on an innocent errand, I had met a dozen stout priests or a score of pursy money-lenders.  But it is ever thus:  the dun deer are never so scarce as when one has a gray goose feather nipped betwixt the fingers.  Come, lads, let us pack up and home again, say I.”

Accordingly, the others arose, and, coming forth from out the thicket, they all turned their toes back again to Sherwood.  After they had gone some distance, Will Stutely, who headed the party, suddenly stopped.  “Hist!” quoth he, for his ears were as sharp as those of a five-year-old fox.  “Hark, lads!  Methinks I hear a sound.”  At this all stopped and listened with bated breath, albeit for a time they could hear nothing, their ears being duller than Stutely’s.  At length they heard a faint and melancholy sound, like someone in lamentation.

“Ha!” quoth Will Scarlet, “this must be looked into.  There is someone in distress nigh to us here.”

“I know not,” quoth Will Stutely, shaking his head doubtfully, “our master is ever rash about thrusting his finger into a boiling pot; but, for my part, I see no use in getting ourselves into mischievous coils.  Yon is a man’s voice, if I mistake not, and a man should be always ready to get himself out from his own pothers.”

Then out spake Will Scarlet boldly.  “Now out upon thee, to talk in that manner, Stutely!  Stay, if thou dost list.  I go to see what may be the trouble of this poor creature.”

“Nay,” quoth Stutely, “thou dost leap so quickly, thou’lt tumble into the ditch.  Who said I would not go?  Come along, say I.”  Thus saying, he led the way, the others following, till, after they had gone a short distance, they came to a little opening in the woodland, whence a brook, after gurgling out from under the tangle of overhanging bushes, spread out into a broad and glassy-pebbled pool.  By the side of this pool, and beneath the branches of a willow, lay a youth upon his face, weeping aloud, the sound of which had first caught the quick ears of Stutely.  His golden locks were tangled, his clothes were all awry, and everything about him betokened sorrow and woe.  Over his head, from the branches of the osier, hung a beautiful harp of polished wood inlaid with gold and silver in fantastic devices.  Beside him lay a stout ashen bow and half a score of fair, smooth arrows.

“Halloa!” shouted Will Stutely, when they had come out from the forest into the little open spot.  “Who art thou, fellow, that liest there killing all the green grass with salt water?”