In vain the high cellarer denied that he represented any such exalted
personage. He even lied as to the state of his coffers. It was a lie
wasted, for Little John served him as he had the knight, and found a
good eight hundred pounds in the monk's baggage.

"Fill him with wine of the best!" cried Robin. "Our Lady is a generous
debtor. She pays double. Fill him with wine and let him go. He has paid
well for his dinner."

Hardly had the monk and his train gone, in dole and grief, before
another and merrier train was seen winding under the great oaks of the
forest. It was the knight on his way to pay his debt. After him rode a
hundred men clad in white and red, and bearing as a present to the
delighted foresters a hundred bows of the finest quality, each with its
sheaf of arrows, with burnished points, peacock feathers, and notched
with silver. Each shaft was an ell long.

The knight begged pardon. He had been delayed. On his way he had met a
poor yeoman who was being ill-treated. He had stayed to rescue him. The
sun was down; the hour passed; but he bore his full due to the generous
lords of the greenwood.

"You come too late," said Robin. "The Virgin, your surety, has been
before you and paid your debt. The holy monks of St. Mary, her
almoners, have brought it. They paid well, indeed; they paid double.
Four hundred is my due, the other four hundred is yours. Take it, my
good friend, our Lady sends it, and dwell henceforth in a state
befitting your knightly station."

Once more the good knight, Sir Richard of the Lee, dined with Robin