The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, Howard Pyle [e book reader pc txt] 📗

heard for a while but the munching of food and the gurgle of ale as it left the skin.

At last, after a long time had passed thus, Robin pushed the food from him and heaved a great sigh of deep content, for he felt as though he had been made all over anew.

“And now, good friend,” quoth he, leaning upon one elbow, “I would have at thee about that other matter of seriousness of which I spoke not long since.”

“How!” said the Beggar reproachfully, “thou wouldst surely not talk of things appertaining to serious affairs upon such ale as this!”

“Nay,” quoth Robin, laughing. “I would not check thy thirst, sweet friend; drink while I talk to thee. Thus it is: I would have thee know that I have taken a liking to thy craft and would fain have a taste of a beggar’s life mine own self.”

Said the Beggar, “I marvel not that thou hast taken a liking to my manner of life, good fellow, but `to like’ and `to do’ are two matters of different sorts. I tell thee, friend, one must serve a long apprenticeship ere one can learn to be even so much as a clapper-dudgeon, much less a crank or an Abraham-man.[3] I tell thee, lad, thou art too old to enter upon that which it may take thee years to catch the hang of.”

 

[3] Classes of traveling mendicants that infested England as late as the middle of the seventeenth century. VIDE Dakkar’s ENGLISH VILLAINIES, etc.

 

“Mayhap that may be so,” quoth Robin, “for I bring to mind that Gaffer Swanthold sayeth Jack Shoemaker maketh ill bread; Tom Baker maketh ill shoon. Nevertheless, I have a mind to taste a beggar’s life, and need but the clothing to be as good as any.”

“I tell thee, fellow,” said the Beggar, “if thou wert clad as sweetly as good Saint Wynten, the patron of our craft, thou wouldst never make a beggar. Marry, the first jolly traveler that thou wouldst meet would beat thee to a pudding for thrusting thy nose into a craft that belongeth not to thee.”

“Nevertheless,” quoth Robin, “I would have a try at it; and methinks I shall change clothes with thee, for thy garb seemeth to be pretty, not to say gay. So not only will I change clothes, but I will give thee two golden angels to boot. I have brought my stout staff with me, thinking that I might have to rap some one of the brethren of thy cloth over the head by way of argument in this matter, but I love thee so much for the feast thou hast given me that I would not lift even my little finger against thee, so thou needst not have a crumb of fear.”

To this the Beggar listened with his knuckles resting against his hips, and when Robin had ended he cocked his head on one side and thrust his tongue into his cheek.

“Marry, come up,” quoth he at last. “Lift thy finger against me, forsooth! Art thou out of thy wits, man? My name is Riccon Hazel, and I come from Holywell, in Flintshire, over by the River Dee. I tell thee, knave, I have cracked the head of many a better man than thou art, and even now I would scald thy crown for thee but for the ale thou hast given me. Now thou shalt not have so much as one tag-rag of my coat, even could it save thee from hanging.”

“Now, fellow,” said Robin, “it would ill suit me to spoil thy pretty head for thee, but I tell thee plainly, that but for this feast I would do that to thee would stop thy traveling the country for many a day to come. Keep thy lips shut, lad, or thy luck will tumble out of thy mouth with thy speech!”

“Now out, and alas for thee, man, for thou hast bred thyself ill this day!” cried the Beggar, rising and taking up his staff. “Take up thy club and defend thyself, fellow, for I will not only beat thee but I will take from thee thy money and leave thee not so much as a clipped groat to buy thyself a lump of goose grease to rub thy cracked crown withal. So defend thyself, I say.”

Then up leaped merry Robin and snatched up his staff also. “Take my money, if thou canst,” quoth he. “I promise freely to give thee every farthing if thou dost touch me.” And he twirled his staff in his fingers till it whistled again.

Then the Beggar swung his staff also, and struck a mighty blow at Robin, which the yeoman turned. Three blows the Beggar struck, yet never one touched so much as a hair of Robin’s head. Then stout Robin saw his chance, and, ere you could count three, Riccon’s staff was over the hedge, and Riccon himself lay upon the green grass with no more motion than you could find in an empty pudding bag.

“How now!” quoth merry Robin, laughing. “Wilt thou have my hide or my money, sweet chuck?” But to this the other answered never a word. Then Robin, seeing his plight, and that he was stunned with the blow, ran, still laughing, and brought the skin of ale and poured some of it on the Beggar’s head and some down his throat, so that presently he opened his eyes and looked around as though wondering why he lay upon his back.

Then Robin, seeing that he had somewhat gathered the wits that had just been rapped out of his head, said, “Now, good fellow, wilt thou change clothes with me, or shall I have to tap thee again? Here are two golden angels if thou wilt give me freely all thy rags and bags and thy cap and things. If thou givest them not freely, I much fear me I shall have to—” and he looked up and down his staff.

Then Riccon sat up and rubbed the bump on his crown. “Now, out upon it!” quoth he. “I did think to drub thee sweetly, fellow. I know not how it is, but I seem, as it were, to have bought more beer than I can drink. If I must give up my clothes, I must, but first promise me, by thy word as a true yeoman, that thou wilt take nought from me but my clothes.”

“I promise on the word of a true yeoman,” quoth Robin, thinking that the fellow had a few pennies that he would save.

Thereupon the Beggar drew a little knife that hung at his side and, ripping up the lining of his coat, drew thence ten bright golden pounds, which he laid upon the ground beside him with a cunning wink at Robin. “Now thou mayst have my clothes and welcome,” said he, “and thou mightest have had them in exchange for thine without the cost of a single farthing, far less two golden angels.”

“Marry,” quoth Robin, laughing, “thou art a sly fellow, and I tell thee truly, had I known thou hadst so much money by thee maybe thou mightst not have carried it away, for I warrant thou didst not come honestly by it.”

Then each stripped off his clothes and put on those of the other, and as lusty a beggar was Robin Hood as e’er you could find of a summer’s day. But stout Riccon of Holywell skipped and leaped and danced for joy of the fair suit of Lincoln green that he had so gotten. Quoth he, “I am a gay-feathered bird now. Truly, my dear Moll Peascod would never know me in this dress. Thou mayst keep the cold pieces of the feast, friend, for I mean to live well and lustily while my money lasts and my clothes are gay.”

So he turned and left Robin and, crossing the stile, was gone, but Robin heard him singing from beyond the hedge as he strode away:

“_For Polly is smiling and Molly is glad When the beggar comes in at the door, And Jack and Dick call him a fine lusty lad, And the hostess runs up a great score.

Then hey, Willy Waddykin, Stay, Billy Waddykin, And let the brown ale flow free, flow free, The beggar’s the man for me_.”

 

Robin listened till the song ended in the distance, then he also crossed the stile into the road, but turned his toes away from where the Beggar had gone. The road led up a gentle hill and up the hill Robin walked, a half score or more of bags dangling about his legs. Onward he strolled for a long time, but other adventure he found not. The road was bare of all else but himself, as he went kicking up little clouds of dust at each footstep; for it was noontide, the most peaceful time of all the day, next to twilight. All the earth was silent in the restfulness of eating time; the plowhorses stood in the furrow munching, with great bags over their noses holding sweet food, the plowman sat under the hedge and the plowboy also, and they, too, were munching, each one holding a great piece of bread in one fist and a great piece of cheese in the other.

So Robin, with all the empty road to himself, strode along whistling merrily, his bags and pouches bobbing and dangling at his thighs. At last he came to where a little grass-grown path left the road and, passing through a stile and down a hill, led into a little dell and on across a rill in the valley and up the hill on the other side, till it reached a windmill that stood on the cap of the rise where the wind bent the trees in swaying motion. Robin looked at the spot and liked it, and, for no reason but that his fancy led him, he took the little path and walked down the grassy sunny slope of the open meadow, and so came to the little dingle and, ere he knew it, upon four lusty fellows that sat with legs outstretched around a goodly feast spread upon the ground.

Four merry beggars were they, and each had slung about his neck a little board that rested upon his breast. One board had written upon it, “I am blind,” another, “I am deaf,” another, “I am dumb,” and the fourth, “Pity the lame one.” But although all these troubles written upon the boards seemed so grievous, the four stout fellows sat around feasting as merrily as though Cain’s wife had never opened the pottle that held misfortunes and let them forth like a cloud of flies to pester us.

The deaf man was the first to hear Robin, for he said, “Hark, brothers, I hear someone coming.” And the blind man was the first to see him, for he said, “He is an honest man, brothers, and one of like craft to ourselves.” Then the dumb man called to him in a great voice and said, “Welcome, brother; come and sit while there is still some of the feast left and a little Malmsey in the pottle.” At this, the lame man, who had taken off his wooden leg and unstrapped his own leg, and was sitting with it stretched out upon the grass so as to rest it, made room for Robin among them. “We are glad to see thee, brother,” said he, holding out the flask of Malmsey.

“Marry,” quoth Robin, laughing, and weighing the flask in his hands ere he drank, “methinks it is no more than seemly of you all to be glad to see me, seeing that I bring sight to the blind, speech to the dumb, hearing to the deaf, and such a lusty leg to a lame man. I drink to