And now the herald summoned Rob to the Sheriff’s box to receive the prize.
“You are a curious fellow enough,” said the Sheriff, biting his lip coldly; “yet you shoot well. What name go you by?”
Marian sat near and was listening intently.
“I am called Rob the Stroller, my Lord Sheriff,” said the archer.
“Well, Rob the Stroller, with a little attention to your skin and clothes you would not be so bad a man,” said the Sheriff. “How like you the idea of entering my service.
“Rob the Stroller has ever been a free man, my Lord, and desires no service.”
The Sheriff’s brow darkened, yet for the sake of his daughter and the golden arrow, he dissembled.
“Rob the Stroller,” said he, “here is the golden arrow which has been offered to the best of archers this day. You are awarded the prize. See that you bestow it worthily.”
At this point the herald nudged Rob and half inclined his head toward the Sheriff’s daughter, who sat with a thin smile upon her lips. But Rob heeded him not. He took the arrow and strode to the next box where sat Maid Marian.
“Lady,” he said, “pray accept this little pledge from a poor stroller who would devote the best shafts in his quiver to serve you.”
“My thanks to you, Rob in the Hood,” replied she with a roguish twinkle in her eye; and she placed the gleaming arrow in her hair, while the people shouted, “The Queen! the Queen!”
The Sheriff glowered furiously upon this ragged archer who had refused his service, taken his prize without a word of thanks, and snubbed his daughter. He would have spoken, but his proud daughter restrained him. He called to his guard and bade them watch the beggar. But Rob had already turned swiftly, lost himself in the throng, and headed straight for the town gate.
That same evening within a forest glade a group of men--some twoscore clad in Lincoln green--sat round a fire roasting venison and making merry. Suddenly a twig crackled and they sprang to their feet and seized their weapons.
“I look for the widow’s sons,” a clear voice said, “and I come alone.”
“Tis Rob!” they cried; “welcome to Sherwood Forest, Rob!” And all the men came and greeted him; for they had heard his story.
Then one of the widow’s sons, Stout Will, stepped forth and said: