the mark in the very center. "Aha!" cried he, "mend thou that if thou
canst"; while even the yeomen clapped their hands at so fair a shot.

"That is a keen shot indeed," quoth Robin. "Mend it I cannot, but mar
it I may, perhaps."

Then taking up his own good stout bow and nocking an arrow with care, he
shot with his very greatest skill. Straight flew the arrow, and so true
that it lit fairly upon the stranger's shaft and split it into
splinters. Then all the yeomen leaped to their feet and shouted for joy
that their master had shot so well.

"Now by the lusty yew bow of good Saint Withold," cried the stranger,
"that is a shot indeed, and never saw I the like in all my life before!
Now truly will I be thy man henceforth and for aye. Good Adam Bell[1]
was a fair shot, but never shot he so!"

[1] Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and William of Cloudesly were three
noted north-country bowmen whose names have been celebrated in many
ballads of the olden time.

"Then have I gained a right good man this day," quoth jolly Robin.
"What name goest thou by, good fellow?"

"Men call me John Little whence I came," answered the stranger.

Then Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up. "Nay, fair little
stranger," said he, "I like not thy name and fain would I have it
otherwise. Little art thou indeed, and small of bone and sinew,
therefore shalt thou be christened Little John, and I will be thy