After they had traveled some distance, the day being warm and the road
dusty, Robin Hood waxed thirsty; so, there being a fountain of water as
cold as ice, just behind the hedgerow, they crossed the stile and came
to where the water bubbled up from beneath a mossy stone. Here,
kneeling and making cups of the palms of their hands, they drank their
fill, and then, the spot being cool and shady, they stretched their
limbs and rested them for a space.
In front of them, over beyond the hedge, the dusty road stretched away
across the plain; behind them the meadow lands and bright green fields
of tender young corn lay broadly in the sun, and overhead spread the
shade of the cool, rustling leaves of the beechen tree. Pleasantly to
their nostrils came the tender fragrance of the purple violets and wild
thyme that grew within the dewy moisture of the edge of the little
fountain, and pleasantly came the soft gurgle of the water. All was so
pleasant and so full of the gentle joy of the bright Maytime, that for a
long time no one of the three cared to speak, but each lay on his back,
gazing up through the trembling leaves of the trees to the bright sky
overhead.
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