"Base caitiff, hold!" cried the Imp, fitting an arrow to the
string: "stand an' deliver!" Give me my cap, thou varlet, thou!"
The boy's grin expanded.

"Give me my cap, base slave, or I'll shoot you - by my troth!" As
he spoke the Imp aimed his arrow, whereupon the boy ducked promptly.

"I ain't got yer cap," he grinned from the shelter of his arm. "It's
been an' gone an' throwed itself into the river!" The Imp let fly
his arrow, which was answered by a yell from the Base Varlet.

"Yah!" he cried derisively as the Imp drew his sword with a
melodramatic flourish. "Yah! put down that stick an' I'll fight yer."

The Imp indignantly repudiated his trusty weapon being called "a
stick" - "an' I don't think," he went on, "that Robin Hood ever
fought without his sword!" Let's see what the book says," and he
drew a very crumpled papercovered volume from his pocket, which
he consulted with knitted brows, while the Base Varlet watched him,
open-mouthed.

"Oh, yes," nodded the Imp; "it's all right!" Listen to this!" and
he read as follows in a stern, deep voice:

"'Then Robin tossed aside his trusty blade, an' laying bare his
knotted arm, approached the dastardly ruffian with many a merry quip
and jest, prepared for the fierce death-grip.'"

Hereupon the Imp laid aside his book and weapons and proceeded to
roll up his sleeve, having done which to his satisfaction, he faced