"Tune up," said David of Doncaster, encouragingly. "After all, Frank—I mean Allan—it's nice to have somebody to practise on. We shan't mind a bit, whatever it's like."
"As you're all of a shiver, Allan a Dale," said Will Scarlet, "I've thrown an armful of sticks on the fire. Stand with your back to it, and chirrup."
Thus urged on, Locke sang a ballade extolling the lighthearted way in which Robin Hood had cheated sheriffs, cozened friars, beaten foes black and blue at quarterstaff, outshot England's finest archers, and generally proved himself the "star turn" in the outdoor performances of his time.
Once rid of his nervousness Allan a Dale sang well—must have acquitted himself excellently indeed, for boys are not usually patient listeners to vocalism, and none of them interrupted him.
"Right well wilt thou please the ears of them that list to thee, my worthy Allan. A brave sight shalt thou be withal, clad in many colours, with a lovely harp of gold and silver to twang as thou singest."
"A harp!" cried poor Allan. "One of those things with green cloth round it, which needs a handcart to push it about? Not for me, Robin! I couldn't play it."
"I've got an old mandoline," observed Dave of Doncaster. "I could teach Allan to pluck a few notes out of that."
Robin shook his head vigorously. "Wrong period," he said. "Folk didn't sing Alabama coon songs in those days. Don't worry, Allan; we'll cut out the gold and silver harp. It would cost a term's pocket-money, anyhow."
Came next a brisk bout of conundrums, riddles, and rhymes, covering two foolscap sheets in Robin's small, neat handwriting. The novelty of these airy trifles was that they had nothing to do with the sportive days of Robin Hood. They actually concerned Foxenby School itself, being of a saucily personal character which made the Merry Men first gape and then laugh loudly.
"I shall ask you, David of Doncaster," said Robin, "'Why should Rooke's House and Holbeck's House always be able to work together?' You will scratch your head and look silly——"