bow must needs have a new string, and his cloth-yard arrows must be of
the straightest and soundest.

One fine morning, a few days after, Rob might have been seen passing
by way of Lockesley through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham town. Briskly
walked he and gaily, for his hopes were high and never an enemy had he
in the wide world. But 'twas the very last morning in all his life
when he was to lack an enemy! For, as he went his way through Sherwood,
whistling a blithe tune, he came suddenly upon a group of Foresters,
making merry beneath the spreading branches of an oak-tree. They had a
huge meat pie before them and were washing down prodigious slices of it
with nut brown ale.

One glance at the leader and Rob knew at once that he had found
an enemy. 'Twas the man who had usurped his father's place as Head
Forester, and who had roughly turned his mother out in the snow. But
never a word said he for good or bad, and would have passed on his way,
had not this man, clearing his throat with a huge gulp, bellowed out:
"By my troth, here is a pretty little archer! Where go you, my lad, with
that tupenny bow and toy arrows? Belike he would shoot at Nottingham
Fair! Ho! Ho!"

A roar of laughter greeted this sally. Rob flushed, for he was mightily
proud of his shooting.

"My bow is as good as yours," he retorted, "and my shafts will carry as
straight and as far. So I'll not take lessons of any of ye."

They laughed again loudly at this, and the leader said with frown: