"What may be
thy name, good fellow?" said Robin, next, turning to the Tanner.
"Men do call me Arthur a Bland," spoke up the Tanner boldly, "and now
what may be thy name?"
"Ha, Arthur a Bland!" quoth Robin, "I have heard thy name before, good
fellow. Thou didst break the crown of a friend of mine at the fair at
Ely last October. The folk there call him Jock o' Nottingham; we call
him Will Scathelock. This poor fellow whom thou hast so belabored is
counted the best hand at the quarterstaff in all merry England. His
name is Little John, and mine Robin Hood."
"How!" cried the Tanner, "art thou indeed the great Robin Hood, and is
this the famous Little John? Marry, had I known who thou art, I would
never have been so bold as to lift my hand against thee. Let me help
thee to thy feet, good Master Little John, and let me brush the dust
from off thy coat."
"Nay," quoth Little John testily, at the same time rising carefully, as
though his bones had been made of glass, "I can help myself, good
fellow, without thy aid; and let me tell thee, had it not been for that
vile cowskin cap of thine, it would have been ill for thee this day.
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