"Beshrew me!" I cried, confronting the amazed Mr. Selwyn, "who dares
lay hands on bold Robin Hood? - away, base rogue, hie thee hence or
I am like to fetch thee a dour ding on that pate o' thine!"
Mr. Selwyn loosed the Imp and stared at me in speechless astonishment,
as well he might.
"Look ye, master," I continued, entering into the spirit of the
thing, "no man lays hand on Robin Hood whiles Little-John can twirl
a staff or draw a bow-string - no, by St. Cuthbert!"
The Imp, retired to a safe distance, stood hearkening in a transport
till, bethinking him of his part, he fished out the tattered book
and began surreptitiously turning over the pages; as for Mr. Selwyn,
he only fumbled at his moustache and stared.
"Aye, but I know thee," I went on again, "by thy sly and crafty look,
by thy scallopped cape and chain of office, I know thee for that
same Sheriff of Nottingham that hath sworn to our undoing. Go to!
didst' think to take Robin - in the greenwood? Out upon thee! Thy
years should have taught thee better wisdom. Out upon thee!"
"Now will I feed" - began the Imp, with the book carefully held
behind him, "now will I feed fat mine vengeance - to thy knees for
a scurvy rascal!"
"Aye, by St.
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