proud-prince. Now thou Robert, how does he?"

Said the man who had looked to Christopher's wound, and had
put aside his coat and shirt: "He is sore hurt, but
meseemeth not deadly. Nay, belike he may live as long as
thou, or longer, whereas thou wilt ever be shoving thy red
head and lank body wheresoever knocks are going."

David rose with a sigh of one who is lightened of a load,
and said: "Well Robert, when thou hast bound his wound let
us have him into the house: Ho lads! there is light enough
to cut some boughs and make a litter for him. But, ho
again! has no one gone after the felon to take him?"

Robert grinned up from his job with the hurt man: "Nay,
King David," said he, "it is mostly thy business; mayhappen
thou wilt lay thy heels on thy neck and after him."

The red-head stamped on the ground, and half drew his sax,
and shoved it back again unto the sheath, and then said
angrily: "I marvel at thee, Robert, that thou didst not
send a man or two at once after the felon: how may I leave
my comrade and sweet board-fellow lying hurt in the
wild-wood? Art thou growing over old for our woodland ways,
wherein loitering bringeth louting?"

Robert chuckled and said: "I thought thou wouldst take the
fly in thy mouth, foster-son: if the felon escape Ralph
Longshanks and Anthony Green, then hath he the devil's luck;
and they be after him."