Mary as surety for four hundred pounds
loaned me. I cannot pay him, and the time is near its end. I have lost
hope, good sir, and am on my way to the sea, to take ship for the Holy
Land. Pardon my tears, I leave a wife and children."
"Where are your friends?" asked Robin.
"Where are the last year's leaves of your trees?" asked the knight.
"They were fair enough while the summer sun shone; they dropped from me
when the winter of trouble came."
"Can you not borrow the sum?" asked Robin. "Not a groat," answered the
knight. "I have no more credit than a beggar."
"Mayhap not with the usurers," said Robin. "But the greenwood is not
quite bare, and your face, Sir Knight, is your pledge of faith. Go to my
treasury, Little John, and see if it will not yield four hundred
pounds."
"I can promise you that, and more if need be," answered the woodman.
"But our worthy knight is poorly clad, and we have rich cloths to spare,
I wot. Shall we not add a livery to his purse?"
"As you will, good fellow, and forget not a horse, for our guest's mount
is of the sorriest."
The knight's sorrow gave way to hope as he saw the eagerness, of the
generous woodmen. Little John's count of the money added ample
interest; the cloths were measured with a bow-stick for a yard, and a
palfrey was added to the courser, to bear their welcome gifts.
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