Betty could scarcely sit still in the train which was carrying her towards Mansfield, from sheer excitement at the anticipation of actually seeing the haunts of Robin Hood. Ever since Mrs. Pitt had mentioned that town as the gateway of the Sherwood Forest of Betty's dreams, the name had seemed an enchanted one to her. As they had come only the comparatively short journey from Leeds, they arrived at Mansfield in the middle of the morning, and being Friday, the public square presented its usual busy scenes of market-day. Vendors were shouting their wares, long-suffering babies who had been unwillingly brought along were crying, women were loudly chattering in shrill voices, and a poor little dog, who in some mysterious way was being made to play a part in a Punch and Judy Show, was yelping piteously. "Well," began Betty, who could think of only Robin Hood--her dear hero, whose story was about to be made even more vivid to her--"perhaps this is the very market where he came when he had bought out the butcher's stock of meat and was selling it for kisses to the lasses of the town. Oh, do you suppose it is the same place?" "Why, no!" interrupted John, in the decisive tones which he always used when confident of his superior knowledge. "'Nottingham Town' was where Robin Hood and his whole gang of fellows always went!" "Yes, that was really more associated with the famous outlaw than Mansfield. You'll see Nottingham this afternoon, or, at any rate, to-morrow. Now, come this way to the Swan Hotel. While you girls unpack, I'll see that some horses are harnessed so that we can soon set off to the forest." Mrs. Pitt then led the way from the market-square toward the inn of which she had spoken. Before the carriage was ready, the young people had thoroughly explored this remarkable old house. Perhaps the most notable thing about it is the spiral staircase of solid oak, which is three hundred years old; but the entire building is filled with little passages and unexpected, remote nooks and corners, which, like the quaint bedrooms, are crowded with curios, old pictures, and superb antique furniture. Betty declared she had never seen such a "darling old four-poster" as the one which stood in her room, the favorite Number Nine for which all visitors clamor. Altogether, they considered it a most delightful place, and Betty thought that without too great a stretch of the imagination, she could even think of Robin Hood or Little John there. The hostess hastened to prepare a delicious, early lunch especially for the party, and having partaken of it, they went at once to the open carriage which was drawn up in the odd little inn-yard. John, as usual, claimed the seat beside the driver, the others settled themselves, and they started off. No sooner had they reached the open country than Betty's pent-up spirits overflowed entirely.