“Now on with the foot races, lads.”
Some of the villagers heeded him, and the runners grouped themselves ready for the word, while the older men cleared the track, shoving the spectators back into line with much racket of voice and commotion generally.
In the midst of all this Maid Marian whispered to Rose and Ruth, who were looking on at it all with great interest.
“Can you run?”
“Run? D’you want us to race?” both of them asked incredulously, staring at the young men who waited in a tense row.
Marian giggled, her black eyes snapping.
“I want you to help me get Robin Hood his lawful prize,” she continued, speaking low and hurriedly. “As soon as the race starts, when all are watching to see who wins, we must slip into the pavilion, grasp bow and arrows and quiver and make a dash for the edge of the forest yonder. You see Robin and his men are heading there now. They will be ready for us ... will you do it?”
“Of course—won’t we, Ruth? Golly, I hope we make it.” And Rose felt her heart going faster as she looked at the strip of road and the rising slope that lay between the common and the forest. Robin and his men, apparently giving up any intention of claiming the prize, were walking slowly across the grass. The sheriff’s son was talking to his father, evidently far from pleased at his parent’s way of winning prizes for him, or so the girls judged by the expression of his face and his gestures, for he was too far off for his words to be heard.
With Marian to manœuvre, the girls soon found themselves before the pavilion, and there they stood, looking in as though lost in admiration at the brave show inside. The men stationed at the entrance paid no attention to them. Seeing that Robin and his friends had gone, they lounged forward to get a better view of the approaching race. Marian slipped inside, followed close by Rose and her sister. A wild shouting behind told them the race was on. Instantly each grasped one of the coveted articles, Rose getting the arrows, which were stood beside the quiver to make the better showing, Ruth snatching that and Marian the bow. Lightly they turned, and saw only the broad backs of a row of spectators, all eagerly urging the runners on by name. They stepped out, circled the pavilion, and were about to start running toward the forest when the sheriff’s son stood before them.
Gasping, but clutching tight to their plunder, the girls halted, wavering like birds who tilt on a bough.