CHAPTER X
HOW A BEGGAR FILLED THE PUBLIC EYE
Good Robin accost him in his way,
To see what he might be;
If any beggar had money,
He thought some part had he.
One bright morning, soon after the stirring events told in the
last chapter, Robin wandered forth alone down the road to
Barnesdale, to see if aught had come of the Sheriff's pursuit.
But all was still and serene and peaceful. No one was in sight
save a solitary beggar who came sturdily along his way in Robin's
direction. The beggar caught sight of Robin, at the same moment,
as he emerged from the trees, but gave no sign of having seen
him. He neither slackened nor quickened his pace, but jogged
forward merrily, whistling as he came, and beating time by
punching holes in the dusty road with the stout pike-staff in his
hand.
The curious look of the fellow arrested Robin's attention, and he
decided to stop and talk with him. The fellow was bare-legged
and bare-armed, and wore a long shift of a shirt, fastened with a
belt. About his neck hung a stout, bulging bag, which was
buckled by a good piece of leather thong.
He had three hats upon his head,
Together sticked fast,
He cared neither for the wind nor wet,
In lands where'er he past.
The fellow looked so fat and hearty, and the wallet on his
shoulder seemed so well filled, that Robin thought within
himself,
"Ha! this is a lucky beggar for me! If any of them have money,
this is the chap, and, marry, he should share it with us poorer
bodies."
So he flourished his own stick and planted himself in the
traveler's path.
"Sirrah, fellow!" quoth he; "whither away so fast? Tarry, for I
would have speech with ye!"
The beggar made as though he heard him not, and kept straight on
with his faring.
"Tarry, I say, fellow!" said Robin again; "for there's a way to
make folks obey!"
"Nay, 'tis not so," answered the beggar, speaking for the first
time; "I obey no man in all England, not even the King himself.
So let me pass on my way, for 'tis growing late, and I have still
far to go before I can care for my stomach's good."
"Now, by my troth," said Robin, once more getting in front of the
other, "I see well by your fat countenance, that you lack not for
good food, while I go hungry. Therefore you must lend me of your
means till we meet again, so that I may hie to the nearest
tavern."
"I have no money to lend," said the beggar crossly. "Methinks
you are as young a man as 1, and as well able to earn a supper.
So go your way, and I'll go mine. If you fast till you get aught
out of me, you'll go hungry for the next twelvemonth."
"Not while I have a stout stick to thwack your saucy bones!"
cried Robin. "Stand and deliver, I say, or I'll dust your shirt
for you; and if that will not teach you manners, then we'll see
what a broad arrow can do with a beggar's skin!"
The beggar smiled, and answered boast with boast. "Come on with
your staff, fellow! I care no more for it than for a pudding
stick. And as for your pretty bow--THAT for it!"
And with amazing quickness, he swung his pike-staff around and
knocked Robin's bow clean out of his hand, so that his fingers
smarted with pain. Robin danced and tried to bring his own staff
into action; but the beggar never gave him a chance. Biff!
whack! came the pike-staff, smiting him soundly and beating down
his guard.
There were but two things to do; either stand there and take a
sound drubbing, or beat a hasty retreat. Robin chose the
latter--as you or I would probably have done--and scurried back
into the wood, blowing his horn as he went.
"Fie, for shame, man!" jeered the bold beggar after him. "What
is your haste? We had but just begun. Stay and take your money,
else you will never be able to pay your reckoning at the tavern!"
But Robin answered him never a word. He fled up hill and down
dale till he met three of his men who were running up in answer
to his summons.
"What is wrong?" they asked.
"'Tis a saucy beggar," said Robin, catching his breath. "He is
back there on the highroad with the hardest stick I've met in a
good many days. He gave me no chance to reason with him, the
dirty scamp!"
The men--Much and two of the widow's sons--could scarce conceal
their mirth at the thought of Robin Hood running from a beggar.
Nathless, they kept grave faces, and asked their leader if he was
hurt.
"Nay," he replied, "but I shall speedily feel better if you will
fetch me that same beggar and let me have a fair chance at him."
So the three yeomen made haste and came out upon the highroad and
followed after the beggar, who was going smoothly along his way
again, as though he were at peace with all the world.
"The easiest way to settle this beggar," said Much, "is to
surprise him. Let us cut through yon neck of woods and come upon
him before he is aware."
The others agreed to this, and the three were soon close upon
their prey.
"Now!" quoth Much; and the other two sprang quickly upon the
beggar's back and wrested his pike-staff from his hand. At the
same moment Much drew his dagger and flashed it before the
fellow's breast.
"Yield you, my man!" cried he; "for a friend of ours awaits you
in the wood, to teach you how to fight properly."
"Give me a fair chance," said the beggar valiantly, "and I'll
fight you all at once."
But they would not listen to him. Instead, they turned him about
and began to march him toward the forest. Seeing that it was
useless to struggle, the beggar began to parley.
"Good my masters," quoth he, "why use this violence? I will go
with ye safe and quietly, if ye insist, but if ye will set me
free I'll make it worth your while. I've a hundred pounds in my
bag here. Let me go my way, and ye shall have all that's in the
bag."
The three outlaws took council together at this.
"What say you?" asked Much of the others. "Our master will be
more glad to see this beggar's wallet than his sorry face."
The other two agreed, and the little party came to a halt and
loosed hold of the beggar.
"Count out your gold speedily, friend," said Much. There was a
brisk wind blowing, and the beggar turned about to face it,
directly they had unhanded him.
"It shall be done, gossips," said he. "One of you lend me your
cloak and we will spread it upon the ground and put the wealth
upon it."
The cloak was handed him, and he placed his wallet upon it as
though it were very heavy indeed. Then he crouched down and
fumbled with the leather fastenings. The outlaws also bent over
and watched the proceeding closely, lest he should hide some of
the money on his person. Presently he got the bag unfastened and
plunged his hands into it. Forth from it he drew--not shining
gold--but handfuls of fine meal which he dashed into the eager
faces of the men around him. The wind aided him in this, and
soon there arose a blinding cloud which filled the eyes, noses,
and mouths of the three outlaws till they could scarcely see or
breathe.
While they gasped and choked and sputtered and felt around wildly
for that rogue of a beggar, he finished the job by picking up the
cloak by its corners and shaking it vigorously in the faces of
his suffering victims. Then he seized a stick which lay
conveniently near, and began to rain blows down upon their heads,
shoulders, and sides, all the time dancing first on one leg, then
on the other, and crying,
"Villains! rascals! here are the hundred pounds I promised. How
do you like them? I' faith, you'll get all that's in the bag."
Whack! whack! whack! whack! went the stick, emphasizing each
word. Howls of pain might have gone up from the sufferers, but
they had too much meal in their throats for that. Their one
thought was to flee, and they stumbled off blindly down the road,
the beggar following them a little way to give them a few parting
love-taps.
"Fare ye well, my masters," he said finally turning the other
way; "and when next I come along the Barnesdale road, I hope you
will be able to tell gold from meal dust!"
With this he departed, an easy victor, and again went whistling
on his way, while the three outlaws rubbed the meal out of their
eyes and began to catch their breath again.
As soon as they could look around them clearly, they beheld Robin
Hood leaning against a tree trunk and surveying them smilingly.
He had recovered his own spirits in full measure, on seeing their
plight.
"God save ye, gossips!" he said, "ye must, in sooth, have gone
the wrong way and been to the mill, from the looks of your
clothes."
Then when they looked shamefaced and answered never a word, he
went on, in a soft voice,
"Did ye see aught of that bold beggar I sent you for, lately?"
"In sooth, master," responded Much the miller's son, "we heard
more of him than we saw him. He filled us so full of meal that I
shall sweat meal for a week. I was born in a mill, and had the
smell of meal in my nostrils from my very birth, you might say,
and yet never before did I see such a quantity of the stuff in so
small space."
And he sneezed violently.
"How was that?" asked Robin demurely.
"Why we laid hold of the beggar, as you did order, when he
offered to pay for his release out of the bag he carried upon his
back."
"The same I coveted," quoth Robin as if to himself.
"So we agreed to this," went on Much, "and spread a cloak down,
and he opened his bag and shook it thereon. Instantly a great
cloud of meal filled the air, whereby we could neither see nor
breathe; and in the midst of this cloud he vanished like a
wizard."
"But not before he left certain black and blue spots, to be
remembered by, I see," commented Robin.
"He was in league with the evil one," said one of the widow's
sons, rubbing himself ruefully.
Then Robin laughed outright, and sat him down upon the gnarled
root of a tree, to finish his merriment.
"Four bold outlaws, put to rout by a sorry beggar!" cried he. "I
can laugh at ye, my men, for I am in the same boat with ye. But
'twould never do to have this tale get abroad--even in the
greenwood--how that we could not hold our own with the odds in
our favor. So let us have this little laugh all to ourselves,
and no one else need be the wiser!"
The others saw the point of this, and felt better directly,
despite their itching desire to get hold of the beggar again.
And none of the four ever told of the adventure.
But the beggar must have boasted of it at the next tavern; or a
little bird perched among the branches of a neighboring oak must
have sung of it. For it got abroad, as such tales will, and was
put into a right droll ballad which, I warrant you, the four
outlaws did not like to hear.
