"I thank you, sir," said the Sheriff slowly. "I can give you nothing but thanks, for after a year of sorrow I find my child is after all alive and well."
"And I hope not worse than when accident brought him into our hands. What do you say? Do you find him changed?"
"Bigger and stronger," said the Sheriff, drawing the boy closer to him, while the little fellow clung to his hand.
"Our woodland life; and I warrant you, Master Sheriff, that he is none the worse, for he is the truest, most gracious little fellow I ever met. Here, Little Namesake, speak out, and let your father know you have been a good boy ever since you came here to stay."
Young Robin was silent, and looked from one to the other in a curiously abashed fashion.
"Well, boy, why don't you speak?" cried Robin Hood merrily. "I want Master Sheriff to hear that we have not spoiled you. Come, tell him. You have always been a good boy, haven't you?"
Young Robin hung his head.
"No," he said slowly, with his brow wrinkled up, his head hanging and one foot scraping softly at the mossy grass. "No, not always."
Little John burst into a tremendous roar of laughter, and began to stamp about, with the result that young Robin made a dash at him and tried vainly to climb up and clap his hand over the great fellow's lips.
"Don't—don't tell," cried the boy.