“‘Ha! thou alterest thy tone now,’ answered the victor with a laugh; ‘but, if thou’rt a true man, thou may’st stand my friend. Know’st thou where dwells a yeoman they call Robin Hood?’
“‘Wherefore dost thou seek him?’ inquired the outlaw.
“‘I am his sister’s son,’ replied the youth. ‘I had the misfortune to slay my father’s steward in a quarrel, and am forced to flee from home.’
“‘Thy name?’ asked Robin Hood anxiously.
“‘Is Will Gamwell, of the town of Maxwell,’ replied the stranger.
“‘My brave boy, I am thine uncle,’ exclaimed the outlaw, clasping him in his arms with delight; ‘thou should’st have said this before we shed each other’s blood.’
“‘Forgive me—forgive me,’—cried the youth, bending on his knee; ‘and I’ll serve thee day and night.’
“‘Give me thy hand,’ replied Robin; ‘thou art a bold fellow, a true marksman, and a right valiant swordsman, as I know to my cost. Let us go seek my merry men.’ And with many a pleasant discourse the newly-found relations beguiled their path to the haunt of the outlaws. As they approached the spot, Robin Hood drew his bugle from his girdle, and sounded a few short notes. Before the music had ceased Little John stood at his side.
“‘Is danger at hand, good master?’ he said. ‘Where hast thou tarried so long? Whence this blood?’
“‘I met with this youth,’ replied Robin Hood, ‘and full sore has he beaten me.’