On a sharp and invigorating afternoon, when the crackling bonfire was a sheer delight, they feasted right jovially on the contents of Robin's pack. It was a far finer spread than ever he had given them before, and he was the soul of good temper throughout. Finally, when all were satisfied, he drew from his pocket a sewn-up copy of the magazine.
"List ye, my Merry Men. Right earnestly have ye striven to fill to overflowing the pages of our first number. Yet, by my troth, now that it is done and put together, it likes me not. It is a dud, a frost, a fizzle, a wash-out."
There was a chorus of disappointed cries.
"Why, Robin, what's amiss with it?" asked Little John, in consternation.
"Amiss with it?" echoed Robin. "Look here at the title-page. What saith it? The Merry Men's Magazine. What's bound to be expected of a 'mag.' with a name like that? Fun and frolic from first page to last. I turn to page 23. What do I find? An article on famous executions. A bright and cheerful subject! Page 24 introduces us to 'The Deathbed in the Shop'. Page 27 tells us how a party of old Foxes walked into a sandbank and never were seen again. Page 31 contains 'Curious Graveyard Epitaphs'——"
"They were funny ones," put in the compiler of them, protestingly.
"Funny as a boiling lobster," retorted Robin. "How about this one?
"'The poor boy here was starved at school,
One meal a day was this school's rule.'
Very funny, I don't think—being starved to death. Then what price this one:
"'Here lies the body of young Jim Sawner,
Of him his mother is a mourner.
To you youths let this be a warner—
Grim Death lies waiting round the corner.'