“What news, what news, good woman?” said Robin hastily but courteously; for he liked her well.
“God save ye, Master Robin!” said the dame wildly. “God keep ye from the fate that has met my three sons! The Sheriff has laid hands on them and they are condemned to die.”
“Now, by our Lady! That cuts me to the heart! Stout Will, and Lester, and merry John! The earliest friends I had in the band, and still among the bravest! It must not be! When is this hanging set?”
“Middle the tinker tells me that it is for tomorrow noon,” replied the dame.
“By the truth o’ my body,” quoth Robin, “you could not tell me in better time. The memory of the old days when you freely bade me sup and dine would spur me on, even if three of the bravest lads in all the shire were not imperiled. Trust to me, good woman!”
The old widow threw herself on the ground and embraced his knees.
“‘Tis dire danger I am asking ye to face,” she said weeping; “and yet I knew your brave true heart would answer me. Heaven help ye, good Master Robin, to answer a poor widow’s prayers!”
Then Robin Hood sped straightway to the forest-camp, where he heard the details of the skirmish—how that his men had been out-numbered five to one, but got off safely, as they thought, until a count of their members had shown the loss of the widow’s three sons.
“We must rescue them, my men!” quoth Robin, “even from out the shadow of the rope itself!”
Whereupon the band set to work to devise ways and means.