He had heard plenty of tales by this time of impoverished gentlemen, disbanded soldiers, falsely-accused persons of all sorts, who had been forced to fly to the freedom of the forest, and live as they could.

Since the days of bold Robin Hood there had always been outlaws of the better, as well as the worse, sort.

Tom had no wish to throw aside his code of morality and honour; but if men would not let him live as a peaceable citizen, they should suffer for it! To be cooped up in dusty streets amid hot brick walls during these long beautiful summer days, was a thing not to be endured.

Go he would and must; and if he could not find work for himself in the secret service, why not enter a secret service of another kind, and teach the authorities not to hound a man too far?
This was Tom's method of reasoning--evading the question of his own guilt by the excuse that he only took what was his by right.

It is easy to believe what one wishes to believe, and Tom had never found it hard to persuade himself that what he desired was the best course of action to pursue.
How cool and fresh the green glades of the forest would look in the glancing June sunbeams! A good horse beneath him, the free skies above, a trusty comrade at his side--what could be more pleasant?
Tom drew a deep breath and fell into musing thought.