Robin Hood

David McKay, PUBLISHER PHILADELPHIA MCMXVII

Well, Robin, on what folly do you employ yourself? Do you cut sticks for our fire o' mornings? Thus spoke Master Hugh Fitzooth, King's Ranger of the Forest at Locksley, as he entered his house.
Robin flushed a little. These are arrows, sir, he announced, holding one up for inspection.
Dame Fitzooth smiled upon the boy as she rose to meet her lord. What fortune do you bring us to-day, father? asked she, cheerily.
Fitzooth's face was a mask of discontent. I bring myself, dame, answered he, neither more nor less.
Surely that is enough for Robin and me! laughed his wife. Come, cast off your shoes, and give me your bow and quiver. I have news for you, Hugh, even if you have none for us. George of Gamewell has sent his messenger to-day, and bids me bring Robin to him for the Fair. She hesitated to give the whole truth.
That cannot be, began the Ranger, hastily; then checked himself. What wind is it that blows our Squire's friendship toward me, I wonder? he went on. Do we owe him toll?

You are not fair to George Montfichet, Hugh—he is an open, honest man, and he is my brother. The dame spoke with spirit, being vexed that her husband should thus slight her item of news. That Montfichet is of Norman blood is sufficient to turn your thoughts of him as sour as old milk——
I am as good as all the Montfichets and De Veres hereabout, dame, for all I am but plain Saxon, returned Fitzooth, crossly, and the day may come when they shall know it. Athelstane the Saxon might make full as good a King, when Henry dies, as Richard of Acquitaine, with his harebrained notions and runagate religion. There would be bobbing of heads and curtseying to us then, if you like. Squire George of Gamewell would be sending messengers for me cap in hand—doubt it not.