Rose was carolling gaily:

Ruth joined at the last line.

“I never can remember the other verse,” she said, as Rose too fell silent. “It is always the first verse that’s easy, isn’t it?”

And then began the airiest, fairiest singing ever a child listened to. Have you ever seen the spiderwebs stretched across the grass-blades in the early morning, all ashine with tiniest dew-drops? Well, if they were turned into music, they would probably sound like the singing Rose and Ruth heard:

“Oh, Fairy, Fairy Honeysqueak,” they breathed, when the miraculous loveliness of it ended.

“That was right, wasn’t it, every word?” asked the fairy briskly.

“Think of your knowing Shakespeare’s song.”

“Why shouldn’t I? He loved fairies, and did a great deal to make us known. He is a prime favourite with us all.”

“How wonderful. Did he ever see any of you?”

“Probably. I never met him myself, however. I was rather new then, and not going about a great deal. I’d recently come from the moon; you know many of us come from there; and I hadn’t quite got the hang of things here yet. But talking about greenwood trees, why don’t you girls let me take you to visit Maid Marian? She lives in Sherwood Forest, and you’ll probably meet Robin Hood, and may see some of the real greenwood life. You know, after all, there’s nothing else quite as good, or so we fairies think.”

Nothing could seem better than such an invitation, and Rose and Ruth were delighted.

“What luck, my singing that song! But I wish we could hear you sing some more, Fairy Honeysqueak.”

Honeysqueak laughed. “You absurd child, I haven’t any real voice at all. My companions make fun of me every time I try to train any young Hylas or grass-hopper for the spring music. But I’m a good teacher, voice or no voice, they have to admit that. But let’s be running along, dears, Marian is expecting you.”

They reached their two hands towards the voice the Fairy had been maligning, felt her own slip into their clasp, then that tiny sinking feeling and little shock... and there they were!

They found themselves seated on a wooden bench, their backs up against the wall of a house, in front of them what looked like a public square, crowded with a merry throng in the picturesque garments of stage folk. The upper story of the house against which their bench was placed projected so as to make a pleasant shade, and between the moving throng they caught glimpses of a green on which games seemed to be in progress, while a group near them to the right was collected in front of a punch and judy show, the squeaky voices of the actors sounding funnily distinct above the general commotion.

“I’m so glad you could get here for the Fair,” said a young girl who was seated beside Rose, “and how fortunate we are to have so brave a day for it. Have you ever seen the wrestlers and the single stick exercises?” She bent nearer and whispered:

“It is almost certain that bold Robin and some of his merry outlaws will come for a trial with these village gabies—and then we shall see what we shall see.”

A bonny-looking girl she was, with a fair English skin and pale gold hair worn in heavy plaits that reached below her waist. She was dressed in a rose-coloured bodice and overskirt, prettily draped over a flowered petticoat, and her shoes had high red heels. She wore no hat, but the sun seemed to have no effect on her fairness. Her eyes were almost black, a strange contrast, and were laughing and mischievous in expression.

“So you are Maid Marian?” Rose stated, rather than asked. Ruth was lost in the puppet show, having got up to go a little closer, and Rose could see her grinning broadly at the witticisms Punch was uttering.

“See your sister, quite taken with the show,” returned Marian. “They are funny little creatures, to be sure. But let us push our way nearer the common, and so get a look at the lads there.”

They rose and, gathering in Ruth, who didn’t want to leave the mimic drama till Maid Marian whispered that Robin might arrive at any minute, and once he did they would never be able to get within sight of the contestants, they shoved and wriggled through the jolly holiday crowd until they found themselves in the front row of observers.

It was a gay sight. Two stakes, from which fluttered many coloured streamers, were set up at either end of a broad stretch of greensward. On this several young men were engaged in trials of strength. Just opposite the girls a handsome young fellow, tall and active, lithe as a cat, was exchanging rapid blows with a shorter, thickset man, who was none the less extremely agile. Their weapons were stout staves, and the way they went at each other was most thrilling. Shouts greeted their efforts, and from the applause and laughter when either man got in a good stroke, it was easy to see that both had plenty of friends.

Not far distant two other lads were wrestling, struggling on the ground, breathing heavily as they tugged and strove together. There were others besides these, but too far off to engage the girls’ attention.

“Ho-ho! well struck, Tom,” roared a fat man beside Rose, as one of the two who were having the bout at single sticks delivered a resounding thwack on his opponent’s leather cap. “Nay, but the boy is a wonder. He’ll win, I’ll wager my best calf on it. Saw ye that now... lay on, Tom; ye’ll have him on his knees to you.”

Tom was the shorter of the two young men, and though he had got in a good blow or two, it did not look as though he had the best of his adversary. That young man fought on with a smile, dodging and springing about, and presently he came down hard on Tom’s cap, so hard that the young fellow reeled.

“Where’s your Tom now!” shouted another man, thumping the fat gentleman on the back. “And the calf? Will ye wager the calf now!” A chorus of laughs and shouts greeted this inquiry, but the fat man was no whit disturbed.

“It wouldn’t be easy for thee to wager a calf, Ned, unless it were one of those you carry about with you,” he retorted.

At this moment there was a disturbance at the further end of the common. Men crowded thither, surging across the grass and being pushed back again. And then three men clad in Lincoln green, with long bows in their hands, broke through the fringe of people and strode out into the open.

Marian gripped the arms of her two friends.

“’Tis Robin Hood himself,” she whispered. “The one in the centre, with the long feather in his cap. The two with him I know not.”

A group of men surrounded the three new arrivals, apparently discussing something of interest, for there was much waving of arms and loud speech. Presently a burst of laughter broke from the onlookers, and the group drew away, leaving Robin and his companions alone.

“A match, a match!” yelled the crowd, enthusiastically.

“What are they so excited about?” asked Ruth of Maid Marian.

“They want a shooting match with the long bow and broad arrow, but the sheriff and his assistants are loath to grant it, since they know Robin is sure to win, and the sheriff hath a son whom he would fain see carry away the fine prize offered.”

“But if they don’t hold the match he couldn’t win it, either, could he?”

“Once Robin has gone, thinking there is to be no match, the shooting would soon begin,” laughed Marian. “But Robin will not go... not he.”

To be sure, what with the expostulations of the crowd and the fact that Robin and his men sat themselves down on the grass composedly to wait, the sheriff yielded.

“Since ye wish it,” he called, “the match will be held. Listen to the rules, and see ye mark them well.”

Joyous cheering answered him.

“Oh, what fun,” exclaimed Rose. “Let’s get where we can see him.”

But they were already in an excellent position, thanks to Marian. The rest of the contestants busy on the common had all cleared off, including the two young men who had belaboured each other so diligently with sticks. They were now chatting together, while they pulled on their leather jerkins, in the most amicable manner, while the fat man looked on with a goodnatured grin.

Several men were employed setting up the target at one end of the field, others were drawing a white line on the grass at the opposite end. The spectators arranged themselves in two long lines, those in front sitting or reclining on the grass, and every one in the merriest of spirits.

It was an unforgettable sight, that many-coloured, picturesque throng of men and women and children, all so eagerly interested. Little family parties sat together, half-grown boys raced in and out, somehow getting through the close-packed rows, older men pressed together, discussing distances and records. At the end near the white line Robin Hood and his men lounged, chatting, leaning on their long bows, observed by every one. Several others with bows began to collect near them, one whom the Maid pointed out as the sheriff’s son. He was a jolly-looking lad of about eighteen, with a shock of red hair.

“He can shoot well,” she told the two girls, “and were it not for Robin might win the prize. You can see it there, a bow of the finest yew, mounted in silver, as is the quiver with its twelve fine arrows.”

She indicated a pavilion near them, where the bow with several other prizes was displayed. And now the first to shoot stepped into position.

He was a stout, middle-aged man, and wasted no time in preliminaries, but fitting an arrow to his string, he drew it to the head and let go. It grazed the target, sinking into the large shield that had been erected behind it.

Others stepped up, some doing worse, some better. Then the sheriff’s son took his turn. He carefully adjusted his arrow, waited an instant, and let fly.

A cheer went up. The arrow was within two rings of the center.

“Almost a bull’s-eye, Will,” shouted two or three, encouragingly, and the youngster smiled as he stepped back.

Robin now took the archer’s place. Drawing his arrow to its head, he seemed to let it go carelessly. For an instant it looked as though it had missed the target entirely. Ruth and Rose felt their hearts sink, for they wanted bold Robin to win. But Maid Marian was laughing.

“He has split the other,” she cried. And “It’s a tie, it’s a tie,” came calls from the onlookers here and there.

All this while the three girls had been slowly drawing nearer and nearer to the end of the course where Robin and his men stood. As he stepped back, smiling, he caught sight of them, and instantly walked over.

“Greeting, sweet maid,” he said to Marian. She answered him smiling and blushing, and turning to Rose and Ruth, “These be friends of mine,” she said, “and of thine too, Sir.”

He bowed gallantly. “Come ye to the greenwood when this is over, and we will have a little feast of celebration; for I fear the sheriff’s red-headed boy will not carry off that bow. It has taken my eye, Marian.”

Marian whispered something, on the pretence of bending down to fasten her shoe-lace. To Rose it sounded as though she had said:

“The sheriff means to keep it... a messenger went this morning to Nottingham... you know what that may mean.”

Robin looked startled for a second. But another cheer from the crowd made him turn to the target. The sheriff’s son had shot again, and there stuck his arrow, not two inches from the centre of the bull’s-eye.

“Come on, Robin,” yelled several, “beat that an you can.”

Once again Robin shot, carelessly as before. And again the arrow split that of his opponent. There was a hush over the crowd, in the midst of which the sheriff’s son once more aimed at the target. This time his arrow found almost the very centre. Wild cheers went up, and many called to Robin to better that.

Once more he stood poised, his great bow bent. Then he let fly. The arrow sang through the air, and quivered in the centre of the target, close beside the other.

“I think,” said Robin, in a clear voice, “that when ye come to measure ye will find mine the closer by the fraction of an inch.” And as the crowd pressed about the target a wild shout told that he spoke truth.

“It’s Robin, bold Robin hath won,” they cried.

“You are a wizard, Sir,” said the sheriff’s son, gracefully enough. But his father frowned.

“Give me my prize,” quoth Robin, “for I and my men must be away.”

“Not so fast,” returned the sheriff. “There is much to be done first. If you cannot abide the proper time, you must even leave your prize behind.”

Murmurs from those near greeted this speech.

“Nay, nay, fair play,” they muttered. “Englishmen will not stand by to see what is fairly won denied to him who won it. Give Robin his prize, hear you. Your son is a great archer, but he lost this day...” with other such protests.

But nothing cared the sheriff for their growls. Two or three of his men were by, and these he set before the pavilion.

“Now on with the foot races, lads.”

Some of the villagers heeded him, and the runners grouped themselves ready for the word, while the older men cleared the track, shoving the spectators back into line with much racket of voice and commotion generally.

In the midst of all this Maid Marian whispered to Rose and Ruth, who were looking on at it all with great interest.

“Can you run?”

“Run? D’you want us to race?” both of them asked incredulously, staring at the young men who waited in a tense row.

Marian giggled, her black eyes snapping.

“I want you to help me get Robin Hood his lawful prize,” she continued, speaking low and hurriedly. “As soon as the race starts, when all are watching to see who wins, we must slip into the pavilion, grasp bow and arrows and quiver and make a dash for the edge of the forest yonder. You see Robin and his men are heading there now. They will be ready for us... will you do it?”

“Of course—won’t we, Ruth? Golly, I hope we make it.” And Rose felt her heart going faster as she looked at the strip of road and the rising slope that lay between the common and the forest. Robin and his men, apparently giving up any intention of claiming the prize, were walking slowly across the grass. The sheriff’s son was talking to his father, evidently far from pleased at his parent’s way of winning prizes for him, or so the girls judged by the expression of his face and his gestures, for he was too far off for his words to be heard.

With Marian to manoeuvre, the girls soon found themselves before the pavilion, and there they stood, looking in as though lost in admiration at the brave show inside. The men stationed at the entrance paid no attention to them. Seeing that Robin and his friends had gone, they lounged forward to get a better view of the approaching race. Marian slipped inside, followed close by Rose and her sister. A wild shouting behind told them the race was on. Instantly each grasped one of the coveted articles, Rose getting the arrows, which were stood beside the quiver to make the better showing, Ruth snatching that and Marian the bow. Lightly they turned, and saw only the broad backs of a row of spectators, all eagerly urging the runners on by name. They stepped out, circled the pavilion, and were about to start running toward the forest when the sheriff’s son stood before them.

Gasping, but clutching tight to their plunder, the girls halted, wavering like birds who tilt on a bough.

“So-ho?” exclaimed the red-headed youth. Then he grinned. “Brave wenches... hasten, I’ll not hinder ye,” he said, “but go to it, or the matter will go hard with you.”

Off they sped, flew across the road, and were lightly mounting the opposite slope when a yell behind told them they were discovered.

“Crikey,” panted out Rose, “what’ll they do?”

Do? They all came after with another mad yell. Glancing over their shoulders, the girls seemed to see the whole village leaping and plunging across the road. Ruth saw the sheriff’s son drag back one man by the arm and throw another to the grass, but the rest came on, though most seemed simply amused. The old sheriff, however, with four of his men, looked to be blazing with rage. His arms were going like windmills, and he roared like a lion, while he sailed along at top speed, well in front of everybody. With their heads over their shoulders, watching him, the girls hurried on.

And then, with the most remarkable unanimity, every soul suddenly stood still, and silence fell on them all. It was as though some magic spell had been spoken, turning the whole active, howling throng into statues. The sheriff stood stiffer than any one, with his mouth open after his last yell.

Instinctively the girls looked round.

And there, in a picturesque line, stood at least forty men dressed like Robin Hood, each with his bow drawn to his ear, and an arrow trembling on the string.

Maid Marian burst into a silver peal of laughter, and dropped into a walk. Rose and Ruth imitated her. They felt important, too, let me tell you, walking slowly up toward that stalwart row of men, carrying the prizes, while behind them the village stood transfixed.

Near the edge of the forest Robin and the two men who had been with him ran down to meet them, laughing heartily, and complimenting them on their bravery.

“Come to the greenwood life with us,” they said. “What have you maids, so bright and so brave, to do with those dull fellows there?” And Robin waved his hands with a scornful gesture of dismissal to the villagers. Then he set a small horn to his lips and blew a gay call. The sheriff, with an anxious eye over his shoulder, led back his crestfallen men, followed or preceded by the entire village, all of whom seemed just as eager to get back as a moment before they had been to come forward. All but the sheriff’s son, who had taken off his cap and waved a salute to the three maids in the most gallant manner imaginable.

“He’s nice, isn’t he, Rose?” remarked Ruth, waving back. “But what a horrid father he’s got.”

And then they plunged into the cool green forest with Robin Hood and his band and pretty Maid Marian.

The soft shadow closed about them, the men in their green suits, with scarlet feathers in their caps, pressed forward, laughing at the success of the plot. Robin walked beside Marian, admiring the captured bow. The leaves rustled, birds sang, a lovely smell of growing things filled the warm air.

Rose and Ruth walked proudly beside Robin’s two friends, who had relieved them of their share of the capture. And they told the girls gaily how Robin, knowing very well the slippery ways of the sheriff, had prepared his little surprise.

“It isn’t the first time he has fooled his honour the sheriff, nor will it be the last. But he could hardly have got what he won so neatly had it not been for you and Maid Marian. Many a laugh he’ll get out of it.”

They came presently, still talking over the adventure, to a lovely glade in the forest where fires were burning and venison roasting before them. Long tables were set out under the trees, loaded with huge pasties and flagons of mead and wine, with mighty loaves and baskets of fruits, and all most handsome with glittering silver plate.

Here they were seated close to Robin himself, who saw to it that their plates were heaped with the delicious food. What an appetite every one had, and how the talk ran gaily on, with anecdote and jest, and many a word of praise for the three girls who had foiled the sheriff so neatly.

“We are being heroines, my dear,” said Rose to Ruth, and Marian added, “isn’t it nice?”

Just then Robin stood up, lifting his silver cup high.

“A toast, my merry men all,” he cried, “a toast to the three prettiest, bravest, coolest young maids in all Sherwood Forest.”

The men all sprang to their feet, their eyes on the blushing trio, happy but shaking with shyness, and gave a great cheer, clinking their drinking horns:

“To the brave and fair and sweet,” they shouted.

And as the shout died down, the forest quivered, wavered, fell away....

And there was Rose’s canary, which had been sent for as a birthday present and had only come two days ago, singing his little head off, and Marmie’s voice calling to supper.