"All that dine in our
woodland inn pay on the spot, Sir Knight. It is a good rule, I wot."
"To full hands, mayhap," said the knight; "but I dare not, for very
shame, proffer you what is in my coffers."
"Is it so little, then?"
"Ten shillings is not wealth," said the knight. "I can offer you no
more."
"Faith, if that be all, keep it, in God's name; and I'll lend you more,
if you be in need. Go look, Little John; we take no stranger's word in
the greenwood."
John examined the knight's effects, and reported that he had told the
truth. Robin gazed curiously at his guest.
"I held you for a knight of high estate," he said. "A heedless
husbandman you must have been, a gambler or wassailer, to have brought
yourself to this sorry pass. An empty pocket and threadbare attire ill
befit a knight of your parts."
"You wrong me, Robin," said the knight, sadly. "Misfortune, not sin, has
beggared me. I have nothing left but my children and my wife; but it is
through no deed of my own. My son--my heir he should have been--slew a
knight of Lancashire and his squire. To save him from the law I have
made myself a beggar. Even my lands and house must go, for I have
pledged them to the abbot of St.
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