Tom flung off his jacket and trousers, turned a suspender into a belt, raked away some brush behind the rotten log, disclosing a rude bow and arrow, a lath sword and a tin trumpet, and in a moment had seized these things and bounded away, barelegged, with fluttering shirt.

He presently halted under a great elm, blew an answering blast, and then began to tiptoe and look warily out, this way and that.

He said cautiously--to an imaginary company: "Hold, my merry men! Keep hid till I blow." Now appeared Joe Harper, as airily clad and elaborately armed as Tom.
Tom called: "Hold! Who comes here into Sherwood Forest without my pass ?" "Guy of Guisborne wants no man's pass.

Who art thou that--that--" "Dares to hold such language," said Tom, prompting--for they talked "by the book," from memory.
"Who art thou that dares to hold such language ?" "I, indeed! I am Robin Hood, as thy caitiff carcase soon shall know." "Then art thou indeed that famous outlaw?
Right gladly will I dispute with thee the passes of the merry wood.

Have at thee!" They took their lath swords, dumped their other traps on the ground, struck a fencing attitude, foot to foot, and began a grave, careful combat, "two up and two down." Presently Tom said: "Now, if you've got the hang, go it lively!" So they "went it lively," panting and perspiring with the work.