In his hand he carried his stout oaken staff, and at his side hung his bugle horn.

As thus he walked up a forest path, whistling, down another path came the Tinker, muttering to himself and shaking his head like an angry bull; and so, at a sudden bend, they met sharply face to face.

Each stood still for a time, and then Robin spoke: "Halloa, my sweet bird," said he, laughing merrily, "how likest thou thine ale?
Wilt not sing to me another song ?" The Tinker said nothing at first but stood looking at Robin with a grim face.

"Now," quoth he at last, "I am right glad I have met thee, and if I do not rattle thy bones within thy hide this day, I give thee leave to put thy foot upon my neck." "With all my heart," cried merry Robin.

"Rattle my bones, an thou canst." So saying, he gripped his staff and threw himself upon his guard.