Marian gripped the arms of her two friends.
“’Tis Robin Hood himself,” she whispered. “The one in the centre, with the long feather in his cap. The two with him I know not.”
A group of men surrounded the three new arrivals, apparently discussing something of interest, for there was much waving of arms and loud speech. Presently a burst of laughter broke from the onlookers, and the group drew away, leaving Robin and his companions alone.
“A match, a match!” yelled the crowd, enthusiastically.
“What are they so excited about?” asked Ruth of Maid Marian.
“They want a shooting match with the long bow and broad arrow, but the sheriff and his assistants are loath to grant it, since they know Robin is sure to win, and the sheriff hath a son whom he would fain see carry away the fine prize offered.”
“But if they don’t hold the match he couldn’t win it, either, could he?”
“Once Robin has gone, thinking there is to be no match, the shooting would soon begin,” laughed Marian. “But Robin will not go ... not he.”
To be sure, what with the expostulations of the crowd and the fact that Robin and his men sat themselves down on the grass composedly to wait, the sheriff yielded.
“Since ye wish it,” he called, “the match will be held. Listen to the rules, and see ye mark them well.”