"I hope not," said Little John, laughing. "I'm too big."
"Are you?" said Robin. "I should like to be as big as you."
"No, no, don't," cried Little John. "You go on growing till you're a six-footer, and then you stop. All that grows after that's waste o' good stuff, and gets in your way. Big uns like me are always knocking their heads against something."
"But how am I to know when I'm six feet high?" said Robin.
"Oh! I'll tell you, I'll keep measuring you, my lad."
"And how am I to stop growing?"
Little John took off his cap and scratched his head, as he wrinkled up his big, good-humored face.
"Well, I don't quite know," he said; "but there's plenty o' time yet, and we shall see. Might put a big stone in your hat; or keep you in a very dry place; or tie your shoulders down to your waist—no, that wouldn't do."
"Why?" said Robin promptly.
"Because it wouldn't stop your legs growing, and it's boys' legs that grow the most when they're young. I say, though, what's become of all those arrows I made you?"