One half-holiday, passing through an empty class-room, he saw by the other door a paper-bag, through a slit in which a biscuit peeped.
"Hello!" he muttered. "Some clumsy idiot's dropped a bagful of fodder." Picking it up he opened the bag. "Half-a-pound of mixed biscuits, mostly chocolate ones! Whew! What a find! Nobody about. Impossible to know who owns them. Might be any one of the four hundred kids in Foxenby. Grain, old son, you've stumbled on a good thing."
Glancing quickly round to make sure he was unobserved, he turned his back on the door and popped a chocolate biscuit into his mouth.
"Scrumptious!" he murmured. "Any more little waifs and strays in want of a good home? A dozen of you? Walk right in!"
His hand was in the bag again, when the sound of a soft footfall behind him caused him to swing round nervously. Then all the toothsome biscuits went crashing to the floor as he found himself engulfed by a resistless wave of Merry Men, who, led by Robin, spread themselves round him and half-smothered him in their tight embraces.
"Another beastly trap, you cowardly cads!" he cried. "Let go of me, or I'll half kill somebody!"
Considering that he was as firmly trussed up as a turkey at Yuletide, this threat was empty and vainglorious. His immediate captors numbered half a dozen, and there were so many more in reserve that a strong man might have despaired of breaking away.
"Shut up, you greedy food-sneak," said Robin. "You're our prisoner, and you're going out to the Forest. There you will be tried as a robber and a knave. Bring him along, my Merry Men."
"I'll yell the house down," Grain declared.
"Not you! Little John, throw thy muffler round his mouth if the varlet maketh the slightest sound. Across the yard with him, lads; there's no time to waste."