The Sheriff noted his queer figure and asked: “Who is that ragged fellow?”
“‘Tis he that hath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric of Lincoln,” was the reply.
The shooting presently began, and the targets soon showed a fine reckoning. Last of all came the beggar’s turn.
“By your leave,” he said loudly, “I’d like it well to shoot with any other man here present at a mark of my own placing.” And he strode down the lists with a slender peeled sapling which he stuck upright in the ground. “There,” said he, “is a right good mark. Will any man try it?”
But not an archer would risk his reputation on so small a target.
Whereupon the beggar drew his bow with seeming carelessness and split the wand with his shaft.
“Long live the beggar!” yelled the bystanders.
The Sheriff swore a full great oath, and said: “This man is the best archer that ever yet I saw.” And he beckoned to him, and asked him: “How now, good fellow, what is your name, and in what country were you born?”
“In Holderness I was born,” the man replied; “men call me Reynold Greenleaf.”
“You are a sturdy fellow, Reynold Greenleaf, and deserve better apparel than that you wear at present. Will you enter my service? I will give you twenty marks a year, above your living, and three good suits of clothes.”