—and looking whence came this sound, the Duke sat up and his wonder grew; for by light of a fire that glowed in a blackened fissure of rock he beheld himself couched on a bed of bracken within a roomy cave. Beside the fire leaned a mighty, iron-shod club, and beyond this, curled up like a dog, snored Lobkyn Lollo, the Dwarf. Hereupon Jocelyn reached out and shook Lob to wakefulness, who grunted sleepily, rubbed his eyes drowsily and yawned mightily:

“Ha, Lob!” growled a sleepy voice. “Now, as I'm a tanner, here's a-many I's! By Saint Crispin, meseemeth thou'rt all I's—for as thou fought I fought, or thought I fought, forsooth!”

“Hold there!” cried the Tanner. “I slew one or two, Lob, and Robin likewise. Thou'rt a lusty fighter, but what o' me and Robin—ha, what o' we?”

“Why, as to that,” quoth the Tanner, “'tis but you says so! As to me I think what I will, and I do think—”

But here Lobkyn started up and seized the great club; quoth he:

“Not I!” answered Will.

“Methought I heard an owl hoot,” said Jocelyn.

“Aye,” nodded Lobkyn:

Hereupon the Dwarf laid finger to lip and uttered an owl-cry so dismal, so tremulous and withal so true to nature that it was wonder to hear. Instantly, from the dimness beyond the cavern-mouth, the cry was repeated, and presently was heard a panting and 'plaining, a snuffling and a shuffling, and into the light of the fire hobbled the old Witch. Beholding Jocelyn sitting cross-legged on his couch of fern, she paused and, leaning on her crooked stick, viewed him with her wise, old eyes.

“Aha, Motley!” she croaked. “Oho, thou flaunting jackanapes, didst peril thy foolish flesh for me that am poor and old and feeble, and cursed by all for witchcraft! So have I with my potions ministered to thee in thy sickness, and behold thou'rt alive, hale and strong again. Give me thy hand! Aha, here's cool, unfevered blood! Show me thy tongue. Oho! Aha! A little sup o' my black decoction—roots gathered at full o' moon—a little sup and shall be thyself by to-morrow's dawn. But—as for thee, thou good-for-naught, thou wicked elf—aha! would'st dare leave thy poor old grannam weak and 'fenceless? Give me thy rogue-ear!” Obediently, the mighty Dwarf arose and sighfully suffered the old woman to grasp him by the ear and to tweak and wring and twist it as she would.

“What dost thou here i' the wild-wood, thou imp, thou poppet o' plagues, thou naughty wap-de-staldees?”

To which Lobkyn, writhing and watering at the eyes, answered thus:

“An outlaw, naughty one!” screeched the Witch, tweaking ear the harder. “Dare ye tell me so, elf?”

“Without thee, thou piece o' naughtiness?” screamed the old woman. “Now will I lay my stick about thee—hold still, Rogue!”

Saying which, she proceeded to belabour the poor Dwarf with her knotted stick, clutching him fast by his ear the while. Thus she be-thwacked him soundly until he roared for mercy.

“Why, how now—how now?” cried a merry voice, and Robin strode into the firelight. “Gentle Witch, sweet dame,” quoth he, “what do ye with poor Lob?”

“Thwack him shrewdly!”

“Which is, Witch, that which none but witch the like o' thee might do, for lustier fighter and mightier dwarf never was. Thus, but for thy witch-like witcheries, the which, Witch, witch do prove thee, but for this and the power and potency of thy spells, now might he crack out thy life 'twixt finger and thumb—”

“Ha, forest-rogue, 'tis a bad brat, a very naughty elf would run off into the wild to be rogue like thee—an outlaw, forsooth!”

“Forsooth, Witch,” laughed Robin, “outlaw is he in very truth, in sooth and by my troth! Outlaw is Lob, banned by Church and Council of Ten, and so proclaimed i' the market square of Canalise this very morn by sound o' trumpet and—”

“How? How?” cried the old woman, wringing her trembling hands. “My Lobkyn outlawed? My babe, my lovely brat, my pretty bantling, woe and alas! My dear ugly one an outlaw?”

“Aye, marry is he, Witch, outlaw proclaimed, acclaimed, announced, pronounced and denounced; as such described, ascribed and proscribed by Master Gregory Bax, the port-reeve, for the late slaying and maiming of divers of the city guard. So outlaw is Lobkyn, his life henceforth forfeit even as mine.”

“My Lobkyn an hairy outlaw i' the wild-wood! Out alas! And what of his poor old grannam? What o' me—?”

“Content thee, sweet hag, since thou'rt outlawed along with him and, as witch, doomed to die unpleasantly by fire and flame and faggot, if thou'rt caught.”

“Alack! Wala-wa! Woe 's me!” groaned the Witch, cracking her finger-bones. “And all this by reason o' the Fool yonder.”

“Why, the Fool is dubbed outlaw likewise, Witch,” quoth Robin. “Outlaw is he along o' thee and Tanner Will.”

“And all by reason that this Fool must needs peril our lives for sake of rogue-outlaw, of forest-robber, of knavish woodland-lurker—”

“Hight Robin!” laughed Robin, leaning on his long bow-stave. “Now, this brave Fool having saved Robin his life, Witch, the which, Witch, was good thing for Robin, our Fool next saved thee, Witch, which was nought to Robin, in the which, Witch, Robin did not joy; for thou, old Witch, being witch, art therefore full o' witcheries which be apt to be-devil a man and fright his reason, for the which reason, being reasonable man, I reason, for this reason, that, so reasoning, I love thee not. But thou art old, Witch, which is good reason to reasonably reason thou art wise, Witch, and, being wise, I on this wise would seek counsel of thy wisdom, Witch. Imprimis, then—”

“Hold!” commanded the Witch; “here's a whirl o' windy wind! Hast more of such-like, forester?”

“Some little, Witch, which I will now, Witch—”

“Nay, then, Robin-a-Green, suffer me to rest my old bones whiles thy mill clacks.” Hereupon the old Witch seated herself beside the fire, with bony knees up-drawn to bony chin. “Speak, outlaw Robin,” she croaked, blinking her red eyes, “and speak ye plain.”

“Why, then, wise Witch, look 'ee: since we be outlaws each and every, with all men's hands against us, with none to succour, and death watchful for us, 'tis plain, and very plain, we, for our harbourage and defence, must in the wild-wood bide—”

“Ho!” cried Lobkyn:

“Roar not, toad!” cried the Witch. “Say on—Rogue-Robin!”

“Why, mark me, good Witch, here's where buskin chafeth! Not long since I ruled i' the wild-wood, a very king, with ten-score lusty outlaw-rogues to do my will. To-day is there never an one, and for this reasonable reason—to wit, I am hanged, and, being hanged, am dead, and, being dead, am not, and thus Robin is nobody; and yet again, perceive me, Witch, being Robin, I am therefore somebody; thus is nobody somebody, and yet somebody that nobody will believe anybody. The which, Witch, is a parlous case, methinks, for here am I, somebody, nobody and Robin altogether and at the same time; therefore, Witch, o' thy witchful wisdom—who am I, what and which, Witch?”

Here the Witch blinked and mowed, and cracked her finger-bones one after another. Quoth she:

“For thy first, thou'rt thyself; for the second, a rogue; and for the third, a wind-bag. I would thy second might tie up thy first in thy third.”

“So should Robin choke Robin with Robin. But hark 'ee again, good, patient dame. It seemeth that Ranulph the executioner betaketh him at cock-crow to hang poor me; but, finding me not, made great outcry, insomuch that the city guard, such as mighty Lob and Will had left alive, sought counsel together; and taking one of their slain fellows, Ranulph hanged him in my stead, and there he hangeth now, above the city gate, his face so marred that he might be me or any other.”

“Ha, Robin—well?”

“This day, at sunset, came I unto the trysting-oak, and by blast of horn summoned me my outlaw company. They came apace and in great wonderment, for, seeing me, they fell to great awe and dread, thinking me dead, since many had seen my body a-dangle on the gallows; wherefore, seeing me manifestly alive, they took me for ghoulish ghost 'stead o' good flesh and blood, and fled from me amain. So, by reason of my dead body, that is no body o' mine, yet that nobody will believe is no body o' mine, they believe that this my body is yet no body, but a phantom; the which is out of reason; yet thus unreasonably do the rogues reason by reason of the body that hangeth in place of my body above the city gate. Wherefore I reason there is yet reason in their unreason, seeing this body was somebody, yet no body o' mine, but which nobody among them can swear to. Which, Witch, is a matter which none but wise witch may counsel me in. How say'st thou, Witch?”

But for a while the old Witch scowled on the fire, bony chin on bony knees, and dreamily cracked her finger-joints.

“Oho!” she cried suddenly. “Aha—a body that nobody's is, yet body that everybody knoweth for body o' thine—aha! So must nobody know that nobody's body is not thy body. Dost see my meaning, Robin-a-Green?”

“No whit, Witch! Thou growest involved, thy talk diffuse, abstruse and altogether beyond one so obtuse as simple Rob—”

“Then hark 'ee again, Addlepate! Everybodymust believe nobody's body thy body, so by dead body will I make thy live body of so great account to everybody that nobody henceforth shall doubt dead body made live body, by my witchcraft, and thou be feared, therefore, of everybody. Dost follow me now, numskull?”

“Aye, truly, mother! And truly 'tis a rare subtlety, a notable wile, and thou a right cunning witch and wise. But how wilt achieve this wonder?”

“Since dead thou art, I to life will bring thee. Oho, I will summon thee through fire and flame; aha, I will make thee more dreaded than heretofore; thy fame shall fill the wild-wood and beyond. Know'st thou the Haunted Wood, hard by Thraxby Waste?”

Now here Robin's merry smile languished, and he rubbed nose with dubious finger.

“Aye, I do,” quoth he sombrely; “an ill place and—demon-rid, they say—”

“Come ye there to-morrow at midnight.”

“Alone?” says Robin, starting.

“Alone!”

“Nay, good Witch, most gentle, potent dame, I—though phantom accounted, I love not phantoms, and Thraxby Waste—”

“Come ye there—at midnight!”

“Why, then, good Witch, an come I must, suffer that I bring the valiant Fool and mighty Lob—prithee, now!”

At this the old Witch scowled and mumbled and crackled her finger-bones louder than ever.

“Oho!” cried she at last, “thou great child, afraid-o'-the-dark, bring these an ye will—but none other!”

“Good mother, I thank thee!”

“Tchak!” cried the Witch, and, struggling to her feet, hobbled to Jocelyn and laid bony finger on wrist and brow, nodded, mumbled, and so, bent on her staff, hobbled away; but, reaching the cave-mouth, she paused, and smote stick to earth fiercely.

“To-morrow!” she croaked. “Midnight! Re—member!”