"What knave meaneth Your Worship?" quoth the landlord, calling the
Tinker Worship to soothe him, as a man would pour oil upon angry water.
"I saw no knave with Your Worship, for I swear no man would dare call
that man knave so nigh to Sherwood Forest. A right stout yeoman I saw
with Your Worship, but I thought that Your Worship knew him, for few
there be about here that pass him by and know him not."

"Now, how should I, that ne'er have squealed in your sty, know all the
swine therein? Who was he, then, an thou knowest him so well?"

"Why, yon same is a right stout fellow whom men hereabouts do call Robin
Hood, which same--"

"Now, by'r Lady!" cried the Tinker hastily, and in a deep voice like an
angry bull, "thou didst see me come into thine inn, I, a staunch, honest
craftsman, and never told me who my company was, well knowing thine own
self who he was. Now, I have a right round piece of a mind to crack thy
knave's pate for thee!" Then he took up his cudgel and looked at the
landlord as though he would smite him where he stood.

"Nay," cried the host, throwing up his elbow, for he feared the blow,
"how knew I that thou knewest him not?"

"Well and truly thankful mayst thou be," quoth the Tinker, "that I be
a patient man and so do spare thy bald crown, else wouldst thou ne'er
cheat customer again. But as for this same knave Robin Hood, I go
straightway to seek him, and if I do not score his knave's pate, cut
my staff into fagots and call me woman." So saying, he gathered himself
together to depart.