His golden locks were tangled, his clothes were all awry, and everything
about him betokened sorrow and woe. Over his head, from the branches of
the osier, hung a beautiful harp of polished wood inlaid with gold and
silver in fantastic devices. Beside him lay a stout ashen bow and half a
score of fair, smooth arrows.
"Halloa!" shouted Will Stutely, when they had come out from the forest
into the little open spot. "Who art thou, fellow, that liest there
killing all the green grass with salt water?"
Hearing the voice, the stranger sprang to his feet and; snatching up his
bow and fitting a shaft, held himself in readiness for whatever ill
might befall him.
"Truly," said one of the yeomen, when they had seen the young stranger's
face, "I do know that lad right well. He is a certain minstrel that I
have seen hereabouts more than once. It was only a week ago I saw him
skipping across the hill like a yearling doe. A fine sight he was then,
with a flower at his ear and a cock's plume stuck in his cap; but now,
methinks, our cockerel is shorn of his gay feathers.
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