"My name is Prince Fairyfoot," said the boy, "and I have lost my
master's swine."

"My name," said the little man, "is Robin Goodfellow, and I'll find
them for you."

He had a tiny scarlet silk pouch hanging at his girdle, and he put his
hand into it and drew forth the smallest golden whistle you ever saw.

"Blow that," he said, giving it to Fairyfoot, "and take care that you
don't swallow it. You are such a tremendous creature!"

Fairyfoot took the whistle and put it very delicately to his lips. He
blew, and there came from it a high, clear sound that seemed to pierce
the deepest depths of the forest.

"Blow again," commanded Robin Goodfellow.

Again Prince Fairyfoot blew, and again the pure clear sound rang through
the trees, and the next instant he heard a loud rushing and tramping and
squeaking and grunting, and all the great drove of swine came tearing
through the bushes and formed themselves into a circle and stood staring
at him as if waiting to be told what to do next.

"Oh, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Goodfellow!" cried Fairyfoot, "how grateful
I am to you!"

"Not as grateful as I am to you," said Robin Goodfellow. "But for you I
should be disturbing that hawk's digestion at the present moment, instead