indicated that he would be.
It was the first time I had ever seen him, and for a moment I could hardly bring myself to believe that he was really Peaceable Sherwood at all. He looked so different from anything I had imagined. He was very slender and extremely young — even younger than I was — with blue eyes and a gentle, curiously calm expression. He stood leaning against a ledge of the rock with an air of careless elegance, as if it were the back of a drawing-room chair, and gazing dreamily down at the dissolving colors in the sunlit water.
Then a twig snapped under my foot as I took an incautious step forward, and I saw him look up.
"That you, Timothy?" he said, without so much as turning his head. He had a lazy, rather drawling voice, and spoke as if it were almost too great an effort to bother.
I came out from under the shelter of the pines, and stood squarely across the only place where it was possible to clamber down from the rock. "It isn't Timothy," I answered.
Peaceable Sherwood stiffened and for an instant seemed to become absolutely still. But when he spoke again his voice sounded only mildly surprised, like a gentleman receiving an unexpected visit from some casual acquaintance.
"Colonel Grahame, I believe?" he inquired courteously. "Won't you come up? Be careful of your riding boots — that rock's slippery. I sometimes think that if I belonged to this country, I would much prefer moccasins and a hunting shirt for work in the woods. As it is, I have to live night and day in this confoundedly uncomfortable uniform to prevent the public from hanging me as a spy when you catch me. Do come up."
Rather taken aback by all this cordiality, I went scrambling across the rocks to him, with a wary eye out for some possible trap or ambush. Peaceable Sherwood merely laughed and shook his head.
"No, I didn't bring anyone with me," he assured me. "There are times when I find the company of even very superior outlaws like my own a little tedious. I fancy all those endless ballads about Robin Hood and his merry men under the greenwood shaws must have been written by virtuous citizens who never even went out of the house. They should have seen old Timothy sitting under a maple tree and eating trout with his fingers. By the way, I hope that nothing is amiss with old Timothy? He had a rather important engagement to meet me here with some other lads in an hour or so."
"We didn't capture him, if that's what you mean," I told him. "He's probably still just trying to find out where you are. I took that scrap of Drummond tartan off the tree, and kicked apart your landscape map in the clearing."
For some mysterious reason, we seemed to be talking together as easily as if we had known one another all our lives.
Peaceable nodded. "So you noticed the Drummond tartan?" he said a little ruefully. "I should have remembered your name was Grahame before I went ruining my auld mither's plaid in that shocking manner. I daresay you were raised on that sort of thing from the cradle, so to speak. Still, I feel the idea was basically a sound one, and that child's playground with the little landscapes has really been useful to me for a long time. Now I suppose I'll have to think of something else."
"That will be quite unnecessary," I said firmly. "You are coming with me."
Peaceable Sherwood did not seem startled or alarmed in the least. The look he gave me was simply one of polite question.
"Am I?" he said. "Now just how are you proposing to go about that, I wonder?" He sounded as if he were only vaguely interested in the problem. "I observe that you are not carrying a pistol, and this rock is really quite unsuited to swordplay. Surely you don't mean to overcome me with your bare hands? I detest wrestling matches."
"That's regrettable," I answered politely, and reached for him.
It was like taking hold of a flash of lightning. Peaceable Sherwood met my attack with one crashing blow that shuddered up my whole arm and almost sent me off
It was the first time I had ever seen him, and for a moment I could hardly bring myself to believe that he was really Peaceable Sherwood at all. He looked so different from anything I had imagined. He was very slender and extremely young — even younger than I was — with blue eyes and a gentle, curiously calm expression. He stood leaning against a ledge of the rock with an air of careless elegance, as if it were the back of a drawing-room chair, and gazing dreamily down at the dissolving colors in the sunlit water.
Then a twig snapped under my foot as I took an incautious step forward, and I saw him look up.
"That you, Timothy?" he said, without so much as turning his head. He had a lazy, rather drawling voice, and spoke as if it were almost too great an effort to bother.
I came out from under the shelter of the pines, and stood squarely across the only place where it was possible to clamber down from the rock. "It isn't Timothy," I answered.
Peaceable Sherwood stiffened and for an instant seemed to become absolutely still. But when he spoke again his voice sounded only mildly surprised, like a gentleman receiving an unexpected visit from some casual acquaintance.
"Colonel Grahame, I believe?" he inquired courteously. "Won't you come up? Be careful of your riding boots — that rock's slippery. I sometimes think that if I belonged to this country, I would much prefer moccasins and a hunting shirt for work in the woods. As it is, I have to live night and day in this confoundedly uncomfortable uniform to prevent the public from hanging me as a spy when you catch me. Do come up."
Rather taken aback by all this cordiality, I went scrambling across the rocks to him, with a wary eye out for some possible trap or ambush. Peaceable Sherwood merely laughed and shook his head.
"No, I didn't bring anyone with me," he assured me. "There are times when I find the company of even very superior outlaws like my own a little tedious. I fancy all those endless ballads about Robin Hood and his merry men under the greenwood shaws must have been written by virtuous citizens who never even went out of the house. They should have seen old Timothy sitting under a maple tree and eating trout with his fingers. By the way, I hope that nothing is amiss with old Timothy? He had a rather important engagement to meet me here with some other lads in an hour or so."
"We didn't capture him, if that's what you mean," I told him. "He's probably still just trying to find out where you are. I took that scrap of Drummond tartan off the tree, and kicked apart your landscape map in the clearing."
For some mysterious reason, we seemed to be talking together as easily as if we had known one another all our lives.
Peaceable nodded. "So you noticed the Drummond tartan?" he said a little ruefully. "I should have remembered your name was Grahame before I went ruining my auld mither's plaid in that shocking manner. I daresay you were raised on that sort of thing from the cradle, so to speak. Still, I feel the idea was basically a sound one, and that child's playground with the little landscapes has really been useful to me for a long time. Now I suppose I'll have to think of something else."
"That will be quite unnecessary," I said firmly. "You are coming with me."
Peaceable Sherwood did not seem startled or alarmed in the least. The look he gave me was simply one of polite question.
"Am I?" he said. "Now just how are you proposing to go about that, I wonder?" He sounded as if he were only vaguely interested in the problem. "I observe that you are not carrying a pistol, and this rock is really quite unsuited to swordplay. Surely you don't mean to overcome me with your bare hands? I detest wrestling matches."
"That's regrettable," I answered politely, and reached for him.
It was like taking hold of a flash of lightning. Peaceable Sherwood met my attack with one crashing blow that shuddered up my whole arm and almost sent me off