“If there is no more,” said Robin, “I will not take a penny; and if thou hast need of more I will lend it thee. But if I find more than twenty pounds thou wilt have to give it up.”
So Robin sent Little John to search the monk’s mantle and there he found over eight hundred pounds. At this Robin rejoiced, for it was twice the sum that he needed to repay him for what he had generously lent the knight.
But the monk was very wroth, and cried:
“By Heaven, ’tis no courtesy to bid a man to dinner and then treat him so ill.”
“Nevertheless it is an old custom of ours to leave but little behind for our guests to take away with them,” said Robin.
Then the monk put spurs to his horse, for he feared to stay longer. But Robin cried after him:
“Will you not have a drink of wine before you go?”
“Nay,” said the monk, “I would I had never come near you, for I should have dined far more cheaply at Blyth or Doncaster.”
“Greet well your abbot and your prior for me,” Robin called back, “and bid them send me such a monk as you to dinner every day.”
So the monk rode away, leaving all his riches behind him; and now at last the knight came riding into the greenwood, with all his merry company. When he saw Robin he alighted from his palfrey, doffed his hood, and fell on his knee, saying: