"Then seven sponsors shall we have," quoth Will Stutely, and hunting
among all the band, he chose the seven stoutest men of them all.

"Now by Saint Dunstan," cried Little John, springing to his feet, "more
than one of you shall rue it an you lay finger upon me."

But without a word they all ran upon him at once, seizing him by his
legs and arms and holding him tightly in spite of his struggles, and
they bore him forth while all stood around to see the sport. Then one
came forward who had been chosen to play the priest because he had a
bald crown, and in his hand he carried a brimming pot of ale. "Now, who
bringeth this babe?" asked he right soberly.

"That do I," answered Will Stutely.

"And what name callest thou him?"

"Little John call I him."

"Now Little John," quoth the mock priest, "thou hast not lived
heretofore, but only got thee along through the world, but henceforth
thou wilt live indeed. When thou livedst not thou wast called John
Little, but now that thou dost live indeed, Little John shalt thou be
called, so christen I thee." And at these last words he emptied the pot
of ale upon Little John's head.

Then all shouted with laughter as they saw the good brown ale stream
over Little John's beard and trickle from his nose and chin, while his
eyes blinked with the smart of it. At first he was of a mind to be angry