Young Robin looked pityingly at this prisoner, and a longing came over him to loosen the thong which tied his hands tightly behind him, and take off the bandage so that he could breathe freely, but just then Robin Hood cried: 

“Well, my lads, whom have we here?”

The bowed down gray-haired prisoner rose erect at this, and cried: 

“Is that Robin Hood who speaks?”

Before the outlaw could answer; he was stopped by a cry:  from the boy, who threw down his bow and darted to the prisoner’s side.

“Father!” he cried; and he leaped up, as active now as one of the deer of the forest, to fling his arms about the prisoner’s neck.

But only for a moment.

The next he had dropped to the ground, to look fiercely round at the astonished men, as he drew the dagger which hung from his belt.

[Illustration:  Robin looked fiercely round at the astonished men, as he drew the dagger which hung from his belt.]

“Who dared do this?” he cried, as he reached up to tear the bandage from the face bending over him, and then darted round to begin sawing at the thong which held his father’s hands.

Little John took a step or two forward to help the boy, but Robin Hood held up his hand to keep him back, and a dead silence fell upon the great group of foresters who had pressed forward, and who eagerly watched the scene before them in the soft, amber sunshine which came slanting through the trees.  The task was hard, but the little fellow worked well, and many moments had not elapsed before the prisoner’s hands were free, and as if seeing no one but the little forester before him in green, and quite regardless of all around, he dropped upon his knees, clasped the boy to his breast, and softly whispered the words: 

“Thank God!”

Young Robin’s arms were tightly round his father’s neck by this time, and he was kissing the care-worn face again and again.

“They didn’t know who you were, father; they didn’t know who you were,” cried the boy passionately, as if asking his father’s pardon for the outrage committed upon him.

“No, Rob,” said the Sheriff, in a choking voice; “they did not know who I was.  But you know your poor old father again.”

“Know you again!” cried the boy, hanging back, and looking at his father wonderingly.  “Why, yes; but what a long time you have been before you came to fetch me.”

“Yes, yes, my boy; a long, long year of misery and sorrow; but I have found you now, at last.”

“Oh!  I am glad,” cried the boy, struggling free, and catching his father’s hand to lead him towards where Robin Hood and Marian were standing, wet-eyed, looking on.

“This is my father,” cried the boy proudly.  “This is Robin Hood, the captain, father,” he continued, and the Sheriff bowed gravely; “and this is Maid Marian, who has been so good to me.”

The Sheriff bowed slowly ’and gravely, as if to the greatest lady in the land, and then the boy dragged at his father’s hand.