ii.
5
,,
.1 .
'3.
9.
I
i
I
i

J...

t n<i.'. ‘ . .. 4 ~
-' -U>vr."' «- Yr ~'_ Ware-«'2' v .n -'-<v < .

. v.‘
,,.-.,.._-...... _.

 

 

 

I‘._-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was plain that the boy‘s morals had been
neglected; but he was certainly very candid.

‘ And on have been on board four days?”

“Idont know; I didn’t count the days. I
stayed in the store-room till I had eaten my
biscuit all up, and then I had to come out.”

“ When did you come out 1!” asked Mr. Fetter-
bone.

“Just when I went aloft; I had only come .

out of the store-room when I heard the man say
he didn’t like to go on the main-royal yard, and
I went u for him,” replied the waif, glancing
around im with an uneasy and rather sad
look, as though a gloomy thought had suddenly
come to his mind.
“What made you do this thing for Bagley?
Did 'ou know him ?” inquired the mate.
“ never saw him before in my life.
on what I did it for: I did it because I hoped
e would give me part of his grub at eight bells,
if he had more than he wanted," Sill( Pink, as

lence of the man whom he had perhaps saved
from a fall to the deck, or into the water.
“ You had some biscuit, you said?”

T the

i to call me Pink.
I that’s about all.”
he glanced forward to the galley, as though he I
wished the time had come to test the benevo—

1 ed to Captain Milford.

youth quietly to the point he wished to
reac .
“Tm too poor to have any other,” laughed the
war .
“No other name? Are you sure of it?” con-
tinued the captain, with an encouragin smile.
“I suppose you are the old man of t e ship,

and you have given me lots toeat: I mean to .

tell you the truth, for I don’t think you will
beat me for it.
time, I know, but I will do so this time.”

“ I shall not beat you; and I will not let any-
body else liurt you.“ added Captain Milford.
“ You act like a very strange boy, and I want
to know more about you."

" I will tell you all I know about myself: and

, that‘s not much,” said the boy, fishing for some- .
I‘ll tell .

thing in the depths of his trowseis pocket. “ I
don‘t know what in ' name is, but people used
remember so much, and

“ W'here were you burn?”

“ I don’t know, sir. I suppose my name is on
this card,” replied Pink pulling out a dirty and
crumpled piece of pasteboard, which he tender-
“ Somebody read it to

“One biscuit for four days, if it was four 1 me‘once: but I forget what it is now. Can you

da '5." ,

‘5‘ 00d heaven!” exclaimed the captain
had a softer heart than the mate. “Tell the
doctor to give him something at once. \Vhat-
ever he is, and whatever he has done, nobody
shall go huii y on the American Continent.”

“Shall I ave something to eat?” cried the
boy eagerly, as his bright eyes suddenly lighted

p“You shall, my lad, and have all you want,”
replied the humane captain. “ But couldn’t you
manage to wash your face and hands a little
before you have your dinner? I don't believe
you could find your mouth with all that dirt on
your face.”

“ It’s so long since I did anything with my
mouth that I almost forget where it is,” replied
the waif. “ But I will 'ump overboard if you
will only give me somet ing to eat.”

The mate took him to the galley.

CHAPTER II.
A F 'r E R D i N N E a

MR. Farmnnonr: procured a bucket of warm
water from the galley, with some soap, for the
use of Pink, and then stood by while the boy
scrubbed his face, hands and arms. The effect
of the operation was immense, for when the
waif had wiped his face he looked like another
being. His countenance was sin larly pleas-
in , not to say winning; and per ape some of
this expression had found its way t rough the
dirt, and had its effect on the minds of the cap-
tain and the mate. As a rule a stowaway does
not obtain much favor from the officers of a
ship; he is regarded as one who is stealing pas-
sa ; and they treat him as the would any
0t er thief. Pink was certainly aring better
than this class of passengers usually do. No
doubt his smartness and skill in going aloft and
furling the royal rather leased the mate, who,
thou h his heart was bar , liked a good seaman.

“ ou look like a new man ” said the mate,
when the boy had finished was ing and wiping.

“ I feel like one.” replied the waif.

“ Now, Julius Caesar, give him all he can ea ”
continued Mr. Fetterbone, taming to the cook,
who is “the doctor” on board ship.

“ Yes, sari” re lied the emperor of the galley,
opening his mouth from ear to ear, for he had a.
heart within his black bosom, and nothing suit-
ed him better than to feed a hungry man, unless
it was to feed ahungry boy.

The stowaway showed as much delight as a

niel when he frisks around his master about
' nor-time. Julius had a great kid of salt beef
on the alley, from which he cut of! a piece that
would have made a meal for half a dozen under
ordinar circumstances and at it into a tin
an, w ereon he il an a undance of ship
read. This was t e daily bill of fare of the
crew of the vessel.

“ Dar, little teller, stow away what’s in dar,
and den I gib you heap ob plum dud,” said the
doctor, as he handed the pan to the boy.

“Plum dufl! Shall I have plum duff!” ex-
claimed the waif.

“Yes, sar; hab all do plum duff you can eat
when you done out what’s in de pan," grinned
the negro.

It looked like a safe promise, for it did not
seem possible that the ho could eat all the beef
and bread in the pan. 'nk took the dish, and
seated himself in the lee-soup rs, his bright
eyes glowing all the time with elight. He did
not eat like a pig, but like a hungry b0 who
has some natural refinement about im. . tof
the cabin, on board shi , the don’t use knives
and forks, and Pink hel his ef in one hand,
and a great cake of ship-bread in the other, tear-
in them one at a time with his teeth.

e mate and some of the other idlers on deck
stood watching him, and there is a pleasure in
seeing a bun y person eat. It was simply im-
possible for t e boy to eat all the beef and bread
the cook had given him; if the flesh was willing,
the stomach was not big enough. But Julius
Caesar did not hold him to the letter of the
promise, for before he had half finished the con-
tents of the pan he placed beside him another
dish containing a bend allowance of plum duff,
which is a sort of flour pudding, With raisins
stirred into it. It is a luxury to sailors, and
Pink seemed to know all about it. The hungry
boy began to lose his interest in the business
when the duff was hroughtto him,and he aban-
doned the beef and bread for the pudding. He
ate all the pan contained of this, and then car-
ried the dish to the galley.

“ Hab some more sar ’ queried the cook.

“ No, sir; I neverhad so much toeat in a week

 

as I have had tovday,” answered Pink. “I feel
good now.” .
“ Stop a bit; hab piece pie from de cap’n’s

table,” said Julius Caesar, with one of his most
e ressive grins.

t did not seem possible that the waif could
eat any more; but be consumed the piece of ie.
If he did not feel like a water-logged vesse , it
was because there was more room inside of him
than there appeared to be. While the men were

at dinner, another squall came up, and it be- I

came necessary to take in sail a in. Pink ran
aloft as though he was not ta ing the extra
load he had eaten v ith him, and went out on the
top-gallant yard with the sailors, doing his full
share of the work, for what he lacked in strength
he made up in agility and quickness. He was a

marvel of nimbleness, and a monkey could not 1
More than this, he;
knew every rope in the ship, and could oley '

have outstripped him.

any order without a question. His mind was
as active as his body, and the sea slang did not
bother him a i it.

After the storm had passed over, the mate

sent for the stowaway, and in the presence of the '
captain began to uestion him in regard to his 3

coming on icard. ink told the same story as
before, and the captain declared his belief that
the boy spoke the truth.

“ I know I do," protested Pink, with his win-

ning smile. “ No man on this vessel helped me,
or knew that I was on board. I did all my own
business.”

“But who are you. my lad?” asked the cap—

tain, who had taken the business of the inter- ,

view out of the mouth of Mr. Fetterl-one.

“I am Pink," replied the boy, and his face
was so honest that (‘aptaiu Milford could not
believe he meant to he saucy.

“But what’s your other name!” asked the
captain, very gently. for he saw he had a curi-
ous case to deal with, and he intended to lend

who ’

 

read writing, sir?”

“I can, when it is plainly written,” lau bed
the captain puttin on his glasses, and 100 ing
at the car . “‘T is boy’s name is Pinkerton
Dykes.’ I suppose that is your name.”

‘ ‘ Pink is short for Pinkerton,” added the mate.

“ But where did you get this card?" asked the
captain, much interested in the boy.

“ I don’t know where I got it; I can’t remem-
ber now.”

“ That’s very strange.”

“ That‘s what the all say.”

“But don't you now anything about your-
self?” asked the captain, begimiing to think the
waif was trying to deceive him.

“I can’t remember more than three years
back.”

“ Nothing at all?”

“ No, sir; not a thing.”

“Tell that to the marines!" exclaimed Mr.
Fetterbone. “I don’t believe a boy could for-
get all back of three years.”

“Don’t you interfere, Fetterbone,” said the
captain. “ You tern t him to tell us lies.”

“ That’s what he’s en doing all along.”

“Keep still, if you please. Now, Pink, can
you remember what took Lpillace within three

ears?" continued Captain ' ford, in his gent-
est tones.

He was one of these pious shipmasters oftener
met with forty years ago than at the present
time. Mr. Fetterbone was not pious, and the
mate’s swearin at the men was one of the
sorest trials of t e good “ old man.”

“I can remember all that took lace within
three ears,” replied Pink, who y this time
really oved the master of the American Con-
tinent.

“ Can on read and write, Pink?”

“Can I read and write! Of course I can’t!
How should I know how to read and write?”
laughed the waif, at the ridiculous question.
“ But I used to know how.”

“ Forgot how, I suppose,” sneered the mate.

b “That’s just it,” answered Pink. “ I forgot
ow.

“That’s it! The young whelp is gulling you,
and making fun for himself at 'our e rise,
Captain Mi ford,” said Mr. Fetter .one, With in-
tense disgust. “ I knew he wasa little rascal
the moment I set eyes on him.”

“ Hold your tongue, mate! If you don’t keep
still, I’ll take the b0 into the cabin and talk to
him alone,” repli the master, in his mild
way.

The mate had an utter contenrpt for the
tleness and piety of the comman

en-

er of the s i '
but he knew that when the “ old man ” 
himself, he meant all he said. The captain had

a will of his own; and it was a fact that he
could manage the most obdurate sailor on
board, when the mate’fie‘polig of kicking and
cursing had utterly fa' . Mr. Fettcrbone
was silent, for his curiosity was excited, and he
wanted to hear what the boy had to say for
himself.

“ How do you know on ever learned to read
and write if you have orgotten all your knowl-
edge?” asked the captain.

“Because I have heard the people tell all
at out me,” answered Pink, with a look that in-
dicated his confidenca in what he said if not
his right to be believed. “They said i could
read and write alittle before I was hurt.”

“ What people were these i”

“The circus people. I heard the ringmaster
tell the clown about me one day when they
were dressed and waiting for the performance

to be u.

“ Tfien you were in a, circus, were out”

“Yes, 611‘; and I used to Le in the t rec-horse
act, and stand on the head of the great Ameri-
can rider when he straddled the three horses.”

“And it was an American circus?”

“They called it the Great American Circus.
One day, the great American rider, I heard the
ring-master  fell off his horses while I was
standing on his head: end I struck the ground
on the top of my head. I believe they said it
cracked my skull; and that’s the reason I could
not remember anything that happened before
the fall.”

The mate listened to the sto
wide open, he was so interestc .

CHAPTER III.
THE MALAY PIRATES.

“I HAVE heard of just such cases, where a
man’s memory was all knocked out of him by a
fall,” said Captain Milford, when be fully un—
derstood the matter. “ But you heard the ring-
master tell the clown all about you; don’t you
remember what he said?”

“ He only told about the fall, and said I had
been in the circus since I was a little child,”
answered Pink. “ 1 know everything that hap-
pened since I got well.”

“Where was the circus when you had the
fall?”

“I don’t know; but I think it was not in
Australia. Ihave had the notion for the last
three years, and I don’t know where I got it,
that I belong in America, and I wanted to go
there.”

“I’Vhere is the circus now?”

“ I don’t know; I never heard anything about
itafterl left it.”

with his mouth

 

“ And you left it right after you were hurt 3" ,
[ the sailors killed two of the natives."

“No, sir: not till a year after. I got well.

and performed again.

came down. I used to like to hear the
shout and cla their hands when I did this: but
I didn’t like t ie lickiiigs I got."

“ What did tlzey use to whip you for?" asked
the benevolent captain. full of sympathy.

“To make me do things: ICOUI( ii‘t turn the '

double sunimcrset till I had been whippedtw en-
ty times for not doing it. If I fell off the horse
I was riding at rehearsal. the ring—master used
to lick me for that. They \\ ould 1 eq- {1'}. ing to
make me do some new thing: and if I couldn’t
do it, they \\ hipped llll‘. But I had plenty to
eat and drink." added Pink, with ii look of satis-
faction.

“ “‘as the circus in Australia all this time?"

“ Itul.ad bcin there some time, when I ran

av.

“ “'0”. what have you been doing the last
two ycai's.’u

“ “'thi I left, the company was showing in
Bathnrst. I took to thehills. and did not come
out till the Show people had gone.

I don't tell the truth all the l

to be thorough]

 

 

 

I use to ride, ard turn .1
summersetsz I c uld whirl over twice before I ‘
teople '
. what a terrible thing it was to take human life.

Then I _

cruised about the country. and was almost
starved all the time. I used to beg for some-
thing to eat at the houses; but the people said I
was a. vagabond, and not many of them would
give me an thing. I tried to
one would et me have a job. I tried to find an-
other circus company, aud get something to eat
without any lickings. .
of a house since I left the circus. I lived in the
hills most of the time, for the policemen follow-
ed me in the large towns.”

“ You had a hard time of it.”

“ I bet I did. I believed the reat American
Circus came from America, and wanted to get
there. I went to Sydney, and stowed myself

I away in a whale-ship. I was away a year and a

half in her, and the officers used to lick me with
a rope’s end, and treat me like a dog. They

3 made me do duty, and I learned to be a sailor.
The second mate was the only man that was
. kind to me: and he had to be savage before the

captain and mate, or they would jaw him. He

. had been to college, and went a-whaling for his

health. He used to talk to me a great deal, for
I was in his watch. I learned all I know of
him. He liked to teach me; and if we had met
any time but in the n' ht he would have taught
me to read. I leame to talk of him. He said
I should 0 to school when we got to America.

I should ave run away from the vessel if I had.

not hoped to get to America. But the ship

. went back to Sydney, where the captain drove

me out: and I ost my chance."

“ Who was the second mate of the Whaler?”

“His name was Charles Bodfield. I staid
about S 'dnev half a year more: and when I
found is ship was ing to America, I took

ge in her,” said 'nk with alaugh at the
me lar way it had been one.

“gilt this ship ma ' not 0 to America for two
wears,” a ded t e captain. We are
bound to amarang, where we shall com lete
our cargo, and then sail for Liverpool. rom
there we 0 where our cargo may take us; but
it ma be ew York.” -

“ I ave heard of that place; the ring—master
used to ak about it. Mr. Bodfield used to
talk abou New Bodford and Boston."

“New York is the biggest city in America;
and very likely we may go there from Liver-

] .‘l

or three

“ You will let me stay in the ship won’t you
captain?” asked the b0 , when he had finished
his story; and he looke up into the command-
er's face with a smile that would have had its
effect upon a harder heart than Captain Milford
carried in his bosom.

“I can’t do anything
throw you overboard,’
the American Continent.

“ You won’t do that, I know,” responded Pink,
cheerfully. .

Ca ' Milford did not throw the waif over-
board : on the contrary he treated him as gently
and kindly as though h

else with on, unless I
laughed t e master of

e had ‘d his passage.
He took him into the cabin, much to the disglust
of the mate, though not till he had caused im
washed, and provided him
with a suit of ecent clothes, cut down from
some of the garments found on board. Pink was
active, and when there was anything to do he
did it. He went aloft when the light sails were
to be furled or set. He assisted the steward in
the cabin, the cook in the galley, and was will-
in to do anything about the vessel.

ptain Milford was an American citizen,

and to him it was almost a crime not to be able

to read and write; and as all his time was not

occupied, he used much of the day in teaching
the waif to read. Pink was an a t scholar, an

his knowledge seemed to come
stead of being gained for the first time.
the time the American Con
Flores Sea, south of the island of 'Cclebes, the

ck to him in-
So, by
throat reached the

could read the Bible and the few books on

mm, though the ship had been but thirty~five

days on the voyage. He had made some pro-

gress toward learning to write, when evenfin‘tfo

to be posed over, interrupted ' ’5
education. .

On the deck of the shipweretwo'brass twelve-
poundcr guns which the ous captain had ob-
tained at S ey, with a undaut ammunition
for them. n the cabin was a full supply of
muskets, boarding-pikes and cutlasses. ou h
Captain Milford was a man of peace in the big -
est sense of the words, he was not in favor of
being unresistingly murdered, and having his
shi plundered and bumed by the treacherous
Magay pirates, whom the United States navy
was compelled to chastise about the time of
which we write. Our men-of-war destroyed
one of their towns, and severely punished the
wretches for their crimes.

“ Keep a sharp look-out for proas, Fetterbone,”

' said the captain. one afternoon, as the ship came

up with the land in beating to the westward.
“ I am told the sea about here is full of Malay
pirates, and we have very little wind.”

“ The beggars!” growled the mate. “ I should
rather like to see some of them, for I think we
could lick all of them that can stand up this side
of sundown."

“ I don’t want to see any of them, for I’m not
fond of fighting. They are not such chickens as
you take them to be: and if a good big proa
comes out here, she will 've us our hands full
to get away from her. only hope, if we see
any of them, we shall have a better breeze than
we have now.”

“I think we can take care of ourselves. We
have half a dozen man—of—war’s men in the crew,
who know how to handle the guns; and one shot
will blow their proas out of the water.”

“If we meet any of the miscreants I shall
fight as lon as there is anything left of us; but
I would ragier not see any of them,” observed
the captain, as he entered the cabin where his
supra: was waiting for him.

“ you think we shall have a fight captain i”
asked the waif, as the master seated himself at
thel‘table; and the boy‘s eyes glowed as he
s 'e.

“I hope not; I don’t know,” answered Cap-
tain Milford.

“ You hope not!” exclaimed the waif, as
though this was not the reply he had expected.
“ Now I should think you would like it.”

“ Like to fight and kill people?”

“But these people are nothing but savages.
In South “'alcs, nobody used to make anything
of killin them. I think it is fun to be in a
fi ht. 'e had a row at one of the islands
w ere we went in after water, while I was in the
whale ship: I knocked a man over myself, and

The pious shipmaster did not like this talk on
the part of his pupil, and he gave him a long
moral lecture on the sin of fighting, telling him

Perhaps the lesson might have been longer if
Mr. Fetterbonc had not come into the cabin to
say that two large. roas were moving out from
the land. and were caded toward the ship.

“ I was afraid of it, and I have felt it in my
bones that we should have trouble in these seas,”
said the master, solemnly.

"Shall we clear the ship for action? that‘s the
question now; and I dont think we have any
time for psalm-singing.” added the mate sharply.

“ How far off are the prors?” asked the cap-
fair, yci'y ,uietly, and without noticing the slur
in the won s and tones of the mate.

“ Not more than two miles. I should say,”
:uiswm‘cd Mr. Fetterbone impatiently. “ Shall
we get thiups ready for them? That’s what I
wont to know now."

“You are excited. Mr. Fetterbone,” replied I

the captain. with a smile.
“ Excited! Isn‘t it enough to make a man ex-

find work; but no ;

I haven’t seen the inside ,

cited? Here are two of those bloody proas mak-
in for us, and we are not doing anything to
he p ourselves!” exclaimed the mate, with some-
v thin like fur in his manner.

“ on’t go fore the crew in that frame of
‘ mind, Fetterbone. If a man is roing into bat-

> tle. he ought to be cool and col ected,” added j
the captain, who was as composed as before the i

r news was brought to him. “I will go on deck
‘ myself; and I advise you to be calm if you in-
3 tend to do anything, etterbone.”

Captain Milford rose from the table, put on
his hat, and left the cabin, followed by the
mate.
brackets, and went on deck. The crew under—
stood the situation perfectly, and there was no
little excitement among the men. Certainly
the course of the mate was not calculated to
cheer and encourage them. i

“ What shall we do!” asked the boatswain,
touching his cap to his commander.

“Keep cool; that’s all at present,” replied the
captain, as be adjusted his 5112158 and brought it
to bear on the proas, whi were coming out
from behind a point of land on which was quite
a high mountain.

The men as well as the mate knew that the '
captain was a pious man, for he had often read
the Bible and prayed before them, though he
did not com
trations. T ose who did attend ound that the
mate was down upon them for doing so; for he ‘

dancing in a church. Very likely the mate and
the men thought that, as the captain was a ‘
pious man, he would not fight, even to save his
shi from capture.
ha yet to learn their mistake.

The “ old man” looked the proas over at his
leisure. and did not seem to be in a hurr to get
ready for the reception of the pirates— or such
the were, be bad the possibth of a doubt;
andy it was wel known that at t is time they
attacked every thing that came along, without
regard to flag or nationality.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

 

TIME AND LOVE.

BY VIOLET FAKE.

 

Yea, sit we down in the old folks‘ chair
And watch we the little ones crow and clamber;
We have woven yew garlands for sunn hair,
And put out the lig to in the bridal c amber;
And hand in hand, and with dimming e on
Wait we, and watch in the dusk toget er.
Oh love. my love of the summer weather,
Heart of my heart who wort once so fair!
No more 0 toilin , no more of spinning,
No more heart-hes rigs, no more sugu'lse;
For the end is foreseen from the fit begin-

nl .
The castle igall'n ere its turrets riso-
Ah, love, my love, it is sad to be wise!

But Time, our master, stands winged and hoary,
And seeming to smile as be when; his blade;
While Love is whisp’ring the same old etc
And 80 seems shrinking and half atrial;
For of one the measure of youth is made,
And the measure of pleasure, the measure of glory
is meted out to a human lot:
And so on to the end (and the end draws nearer),
When our souls ma be freer, our senses clearer
(’Tis an old-wor d creed which is nigh forgot),
When the eyes of the sleepers may waken in wonder
And the hearts may be joined that were riven asunder,
And Time and love shall be merged—in what?

Robin Hood, 

THE OUTLAWED EARL;

 

 

 

 

 

01‘.
m MERRY IE! 01' In GREENWOOD.

A Tale of the Days of the Lion Heart.

 

BY PROF. STEWART GILDERSLEEVE.

 

CHAPTER XII.
WHERE IS rm: KING?

Ov'i' in the midst of the dark forest of Barnes-
dale, which ran into Sherwood at the other side
of the fen, sat Robin Hood and a group of his
men, that night, discussing the fate of the cap-
tives. Maid Marian, once more in the page’s
dress in which she had fled to the greenwood,
sat near them and listened to the conversation,
while Friar Tuck, at a little distance off, sat at
the foot of a tree, gloomily eying the ground.
As for the has of Allan-a-dale, it lay idly on
the turf beside its master.

“ I see not what is to be done, ca tain,” quoth
Much the Miller, scratching his ead. “ ’Tis
plain we cannot storm Nottingham, and they
are safe inside the castle walls long ere this.”

“ But still I say that my brave men must be
saved, if I have to do it myself,” answered
Robin Hood, firmly. “Which of you will
volunteer to carry a letter from me to King
Richard?”

“ To Kinngichard, quotha!” echoed George-a-
Green. “ by, captain, none know where the
good Kin Richar is now. We know that he
was in alestine, warring with Saladin, a
twelvemonth past, but none have heard of him
since the day when he put to sea from Jafl'a,
save that his ship sailed into the port of Venice,
and that he was not on board.”

“Nevertheless,” responded Robin Hood, “ I
would find a messen er, to take from me a let-
ter to King Rich , in whatever land he be.
Who will go?”

“That will I, master,” suddenly spoke out
Allan-a—dale, a slender, fair-haired young man,
who looked out of place among the rough out-
laws, but who was famous for his skill on the
harp, and for the readiness with which he made
verses as a minstrel.

Robin Hood turned doubtfully toward him.

“Thou!” he said, in a tone of hesitation.
“Thou art not a strong man, Allan, and the
king is said to be in prison infar countries. How
wilt thou get to him?” v

“ A minstrel travels where he will, captain,”
replied Allan, confidently. “It needs none of
your brawny men of might to travel in far
countries, but one that can make himself wel- :
come in bower and hall. I will take thy letter;
and, what is more, I will find the king and ‘
bring him back to England. But all this will 1
not help Little John or Will Scarlet.” ,

“ As for them, ‘tis but a small job to get them

 

 

out,” observed Robin Hood, indiiferently: “ but I,
after they are out, we are still the same outlaws

as ever, unless King Richard be back to remove 1
the unjust sentence of John. Bethink thee, Allan, l
we were all boys together once, and played on i
the same reen. Richard and Geoffrey loved .
me, but Jo n was ever envious, because I could 1
throw him any time at a wrestle. If I could I
but see King Richard back once more, I should 1’
1 know that we were safe, and our foes confound- ;

i
l
i
1

91

E “ Then I will take the letter, master,” quoth 7
3 Allan-a-dale, simply. l
I “ And I will save our comrades,” quoth Maid i
1 Marian. just as quietly and simply. j
1 All the men stared at the slender girl. in her

l boy’s dress as she made this remark in the most %
lmatter-of- ct way in the world, and Robin
{ Hood said. half laughing:

5 “ W'hy, lady mine. what could thy lily fingers

I do against the men of Nottingham, and the
l  and bolts of Roger “'arman, the sher-
. i ? ,
| “ These bands can draw bolts from the inside, 3

At the door he took his glass from the ,

l
l
I
I
1 them to attend 11 n his minis- i
swore that a psalmsinging ship was worse than 
l
l
l
l

L soon as the door was opened.

as Loxley Castle knew, yestreen.” |eplied Ma-
rian, uietly. “ I have escaped from one cas-
tle. ethinks I can enter another."

Here Friar Tuck, who had been quite silent
during the discussion, suddenly looked up and
observed:

“The lady will do it, an she says she will."

“ Remember, friar, that we have no ladies in
the greenwood,“ responded the girl. “Maid
Marian I am, and y no other name am I
known till. Robin Hood‘s outlaer be re-
versed.” ‘

“ “'ell then. I say that if Maid Marian tries
to enter Nottingham Castle, she will do it,” re—
iterated the stout friar; “and what is more I
will stand by her an she will, and obey orders.
She gave us the bishop and prince today. and
had we but followed her advice, instead of

‘ braving the sheriff‘s posse With our feast, Little
: Johnwand our bold Scathelook might be here
, now.

“ Enou h of this ” answered Robin Hood wav-
ing his and. “ t boots not . to find fault.
Henceforth let us follow Maid Marian‘s advice,
for-she bath a wise head. Propound thy plan.
sweetheart.” ' A

“My plan is simple,” mid Marian, quietly.
“ Our friends will be taken out to-morrow,
about an hour before sunset, to be hung. We
must be there and rescue them. The people are
our friends and will help hide us.‘ In the early
morning let us be awa , Friar Tuck and I, to
the prison to confess t ese penitents and tell
them that hel is coming.”

“ But how 5 all we enter the town without the

: people knowing who we are?” objected Much
Those who held this opinion ‘

the Miller, a man of more brawn than wit.

“ Never trouble thy head on that score," an-
swered Robin Hood with a smile. “ Let wiser
heads do the planning, Miller. Be thine to obey
orders.”

“ And surely that’s easy enou h,” quoth
George-a-Green, sententiously. “ hou trun-
dlest a pretty staff, Miller but thou and I were
32:: meant for scholars. Icave that to Allan-a-

e.

The minstrel smiled as he said:

“ Fear not, brave hearts. What would be all
our craft and wit, if we had not your strong
arms to back us in our work? Let the captain
or_ his clerk get ready his letter to the king. I
Will see that it is taken safely after we have res-
cued our comrades. In the meantime I bid all
here good-night.”

So sa ing, Allan-a-dale picked up his cloak,
wrappc himself up and lay down with his feet
to the fire, an_ example not slow to he followed
by the others in turn. Only the outlawed earl,
Robin Hood himself remained till late into the
mght broodin over is schemes by the embers
of the fire, w ile Maid Marian slept as quietly
on the green turf at his feet, wrapped in cloaks,
as if she had never known the luxury of a castle
chamber.

Long before sunrise next day, a tall burl
monk and a little lay brother, who seem ,
from what one could see of his face under the
cow], to be only a mere child, walked out of
Sherwood Forest on the road to Nottingham,
while a large bed of yeomen left the forest on
the other side an advanced close to the gate of
Fountain Abbey, where the Bishop of Hereford
had sle  that night, on the eve of his departure
for his ishopric, and to recover from the fright
he had sustained in Sherwood Forest. As the
sun rose, Allan-a-dale, dressed as a begging
friar, knocked at the abbey wicket. I

 

CHAPTER XIII.
ran EXECUTION.

IT was about three hours past midday in Not-
tingham when Sheriff “'arman, who ad just
returned from inspecting the new gallows he
had erected in the morning for the accommo-
dation of the captive outlaws, was disturbed at
his dinner by the announcement that two friars
Wished access to the prisoners, to give them the
last rites of the church.

“ Let the dogs die unconfcssed," said War-
man, brutally. “ They have the prison chap-
lain, if they will. I want no strange friars
about my prisoners. Tell them to come in
here. ’Fore Heaven, I’ll answer them soon
enough.”

A few moments later, the burly big friar
and the little slim one who had left Sherwood
Forest that very morning, came into the room,
looking dusty and tired.

“ Well, my masters, what would ye?” asked
the sheriff, in a surly tone.

“ Admittance to shrive the unfortunate men
who are to die at sunset.” replied the small friar,
in‘svgveet soft torites.

‘ ou canno go in," snap “'arman.
“They have the prison cha Inimm they have
rejected him wit insult. t them die uncon-
fessed.”

.“But it is not the wont of English law to
kill body and soul together,” 11 ed the little
friar. ‘ Every criminal has a rig t to choose
his  master sheriff.”

“ at when 1 am the master,” retorted War-
man, with a coarse chuckle. “ I say you can-
not go in—so go md.” "

And he laughed loudly at his own small wit.

Here the tall friar suddenly advanced and
spoke for the first time.

/ “ And I say we can go in,” he growled out.
“ Look here. master sheriff, is this order good?”

As he spoke be displayed. right under the
sheriff’s nose. a 'ece of panchment, bearin the
Signature of Bis op Gilbert of Hereford, A hot
of Fountain Abbey, Canon of Durham, and a
dozen other titles, addresed to the Sheriff of
Nottingham. as follows:

“In the name of the Blessed St. Dunstan, admit
the bumm‘Brother Hilary, of the Bernardine 0r-
der, and Lay-Brother ' . probationer of the some
order, to shrive the out we of Benin Hood‘s bond.
condemned to die this evening.

“Gums 01" Hangman."

“ Well, sir sheriff, can we go in now 1’" asked
the httle friar. in a tone of triumph, when the
other had finished readin . .

“ I suppose so,” responded War-man, sullenly.
“Not that this is any compulsion in law, mas-
ter Cyril. if that be your name; but the bishop
is a friend of mine. Therefore go in, and make
all the praying you please.”

As he spoke, e turned sin to his meal, and
the two priests, nothing 0th. left the room,
escorted y one of the sheriff‘s men. who led
them to the door of the cell occupied by Little
John and Scathelock.

As they approached the door, they heard
sounds of boisterous revelry within. very much
unlike what might be expected of men con-
demned to die within three or four hours, and
the jailer grinned as he said:

“ I‘hey’re right merry fellows, father, but
you’ll l o: be able to bring them to confession.

rry, t.iey drove Father Ambrose. our chap-
lain, out this mornin with their ribald jests,
and would hear none 0 his reaching.”

:‘But by St. Dunstan. ’ll make them hear
mine,” growled the big friar, showin an enor-
mous fist, “or I’ll know the reason w y.
the door, friend jailer, and let us in.
come out they’ll be quiet enough I’ll warrant
you, or mine arm has forgot its cunning.”

The jailer stared . tfully at the big friar,
for there is something in size and strength that
always inspires a certain amount of awe. Then
he opened the door and admitted the two priests
to the prisoners, closing it hurriedly again. but
not in time to escape a great hunch of bread
which Little John sent skimming at his head as

There sat the two outlaws, free from their

 

 

 
 

 

‘ ____._