Rob’s eyes sparkled. “‘Twere indeed worth shooting for, uncle mine,” he said. “I should dearly love to let arrow fly alongside another man. And a place among the Foresters is what I have long desired. Will you let me try?” “To be sure,” rejoined his uncle. “Well I know that your good mother would have had me make a clerk of you; but well I see that the greenwood is where you will pass your days. So, here’s luck to you in the bout!” And the huge tankard came a third time into play. The young man thanked his uncle for his good wishes, and set about making preparations for the journey. He traveled lightly; but his yew bow must needs have a new string, and his cloth-yard arrows must be of the straightest and soundest. One fine morning, a few days after, Rob might have been seen passing by way of Lockesley through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham town. Briskly walked he and gaily, for his hopes were high and never an enemy had he in the wide world. But ‘twas the very last morning in all his life when he was to lack an enemy! For, as he went his way through Sherwood, whistling a blithe tune, he came suddenly upon a group of Foresters, making merry beneath the spreading branches of an oak-tree. They had a huge meat pie before them and were washing down prodigious slices of it with nut brown ale. One glance at the leader and Rob knew at once that he had found an enemy. ‘Twas the man who had usurped his father’s place as Head Forester, and who had roughly turned his mother out in the snow. But never a word said he for good or bad, and would have passed on his way, had not this man, clearing his throat with a huge gulp, bellowed out: “By my troth, here is a pretty little archer! Where go you, my lad, with that tupenny bow and toy arrows? Belike he would shoot at Nottingham Fair! Ho! Ho!” A roar of laughter greeted this sally. Rob flushed, for he was mightily proud of his shooting. “My bow is as good as yours,” he retorted, “and my shafts will carry as straight and as far. So I’ll not take lessons of any of ye.” They laughed again loudly at this, and the leader said with frown: “Show us some of your skill, and if you can hit the mark here’s twenty silver pennies for you. But if you hit it not you are in for a sound drubbing for your pertness.” “Pick your own target,” quoth Rob in a fine rage. “I’ll lay my head against that purse that I can hit it.” “It shall be as you say,” retorted the Forester angrily, “your head for your sauciness that you hit not my target.” Now at a little rise in the wood a herd of deer came grazing by, distant full fivescore yards. They were King’s deer, but at that distance seemed safe from any harm. The Head Forester pointed to them. “If your young arm could speed a shaft for half that distance, I’d shoot with you.” “Done!” cried Rob. “My head against twenty pennies I’ll cause yon fine fellow in the lead of them to breathe his last.”