“Perhaps not,” said Little John, “but I don’t often lose my arrows.”

“This one has gone right through the ferns,” thought Robin, and he felt glad with the thought of the big fellow having missed the mark, but as they walked nearer, he kept his eyes fixed upon the great trunk dimly seen in the shade, being tripped up twice by the bracken fronds; but he saved himself from a fall and watched the tree trunk still, while the hat hanging on the old bough grew plainer, just as it had been before.

They had walked back nearly three parts of the way when Robin suddenly saw something which made him start, for there was a tiny bit of something white above something dark, and those marks were not on the brim of the hat before.

The next minute Robin’s eyes began to open wider, for he knew that he was looking at the feathered end of the arrow, pointing straight at him; and directly after, as he stepped a little on one side to avoid an ant-hill, he could see the whole of the arrow except the point, which had passed through the brim of the hat.

“Why, you hit it!” he cried excitedly.

“Well, that’s what I tried to do,” said Little John.

“But you hit it just in the place I said.”

“Yes, you told me to,” said Little John, smiling.  “That’s how you must learn to shoot when you grow up to be a man.”

Young Robin said nothing, but stood rubbing one ear very gently, and staring at the hat.

“Well,” said Little John, smiling down at his companion, “what are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking that it is very wonderful for you to stand so far off and shoot like that.”

“Were you, now?” said Little John.  “Well, it is not wonderful at all.  If you keep on trying for years you will be able to do it quite as well.  I’ll teach you.  Shall I?”

“I should like you to,” said Robin, shaking his head; “but I can’t stop here.  I must go home to my father.”

“Oh! must you?” said Little John.  “Go home to your father and mother, eh?”

Robin shook his head.

“No,” he said; “my mother’s dead, and I live sometimes with father and sometimes with aunt.  I am going home to father now, as soon as you show me the way.  When are you going to show me?”

Little John screwed up his face till it was full of wrinkles.  “Ah,” he said, “I don’t know.  You must ask the captain.”

“Who is the captain?” said the boy.

“Eh?  Why, Robin Hood, of course.  But I wouldn’t ask him just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Eh?  Why not?  Because it might be awkward.  You see, it’s a long way, and you couldn’t go by yourself.”

“Well, you could show me,” said young Robin.  “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“I would if I could,” said Little John; “but I’m afraid I couldn’t.”

“Oh! you could, I’m sure,” said young Robin.  “You’re so big.”

“Oh! yes, I’m big enough,” said Little John, laughing; “but if I were to take you home your father would not let me come back again; and besides, the captain would not let me go for fear that I should be killed.”