"Thank you," murmured the marshal.
"I feel like a trespasser," continued Timothy. "The place just suits your costumes. We have no business here. Why did you let us in?"
"I don't know what object there would have been in getting it up, if we didn't let you in," said the marshal, striving not to be bored.
Timothy was still in the clouds as they pushed their way into the inner circle of the crowd, just in time for the finish of a bout at quarter-staff between Robin Hood and Little John. Then Robin Hood ran to the top of the hill, and blew a shrill blast upon his horn. A shout answered him, and his band of merry men, all clad in Lincoln green, came pouring over the brow of the hill. Long ago, when Timothy was a child, Robin Hood had been his hero. He had procured a bow and arrow, and was wont to strut about the back-yard, pretending to shoot the dun deer. Here he was face to face with the famous outlaw, and the old glamour gathered about him. After the familiar scene of Little John's christening, the drinking-horns were filled, and the band threw themselves down upon the soft grass, covered with violets. All listened while the minstrel touched his harp, and the beautiful voice of Allan-a-Dale sang the plaintive old ballad Islington.
Timothy was still hearing the echoes of the song when his guide said to him, "It is all over. That is the last of the day."
"I should like to see it over again," sighed Timothy.
The girl laughed impatiently. "If you are going back to town to-night, I am afraid you will have to go at once. The train leaves in about ten minutes. Good-night," and she held out her hand to him.
"Good-night," said Timothy. "Do you know," he said, "I have to thank you for one of the pleasantest days of my life."
"I am very glad," said the marshal, not knowing what else to say.
"I am going home to write a love-story," declared Timothy, "all about Old England and May-day, and you shall be the heroine!"