When somebody had gone off to fetch Wat, Robin said, ‘You had better talk to him yourself.’
They brought the poor old man, smiling, confused, hideous and very dirty, and stood him before Robin.
‘Go on,’ said Robin.
The Wart did not know quite how to put it, but he said, ‘I say, Wat, would you like to come home with me, please, just for a little?’
‘AhnaNanaWarraBaaBaa,’ said Wat, pulling his forelock, smiling, bowing and gently waving his arms in various directions.
‘Come with me?’
‘WanaNanaWanawana.’
‘Dinner?’ asked the Wart in desperation.
‘R!’ cried the poor creature affirmatively, and his eyes glowed with pleasure at the prospect of being given something to eat.
‘That way,’ said the Wart, pointing in the direction which he knew by the sun to be that of his guardian’s castle. ‘Dinner. Come with. I take.’
‘Measter,’ said Wat, suddenly remembering one word, the word which he had always been accustomed to offer to the great people who made him a present of food, his only livelihood. It was decided.
‘Well,’ said Robin, ‘it has been a good adventure and I am sorry you are going. I hope I shall see you again.’
‘Come any time,’ said Marian, ‘if you are feeling bored. You only have to follow the glades. And you, Wart, be careful of that collar bone for a few days.’
‘I will send some men with you to the edge of the chase,’ said Robin. ‘After that you must go by yourselves. I expect the Dog Boy can carry the griffin’s head.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Kay.
‘Good-bye,’ said Robin.
‘Good-bye,’ said Wart.
‘Good-bye,’ said Marian, smiling.
‘Good-bye,’ cried all the outlaws, waving their bows.
And Kay and the Wart and the Dog Boy and Wat and Cavall and their escort set off on the long track home.
They had an immense reception. The return on the previous day of all the hounds, except Cavall and the Dog Boy, and in the evening the failure to return of Kay and Wart, had set the household in an uproar. Their nurse had gone into hysterics. Hob had stayed out till midnight scouring the purlieus of the forest – the cooks had burned the joint for dinner – and the sergeant-at-arms had polished all the armour twice and sharpened all the swords and axes to a razor blade in case of invasion. At last somebody had thought of consulting Merlyn, whom they had found in the middle of his third nap. The magician, for the sake of peace and quietness to go on with his rest, had used his insight to tell Sir Ector exactly what the boys were doing, where they were, and when they might be expected back. He had prophesied their return to the minute.
So, when the small procession of returning warriors came within sight of the drawbridge, they were greeted by the whole household. Sir Ector was standing in the middle with a thick walking-stick with which he proposed to whack them for going out of bounds and causing so much trouble; the nurse had insisted on bringing out a banner which used to be put up when Sir Ector came home for the holidays, as a small boy, and this said Welcome Home; Hob had forgotten about his beloved hawks and was standing on one side, shading his eagle eyes to get the first view; the cooks and all the kitchen staff were banging pots and pans, singing ‘Will Ye No Come Back Again?’ or some such music, out of tune; the kitchen cat was yowling; the hounds had escaped from the kennel because there was nobody to look after them, and were preparing to chase the kitchen cat; the sergeant-at-arms was blowing out his chest with pleasure so far that he looked as if he might burst at any moment, and was commanding everybody in an important voice to get ready to cheer when he said, ‘One, Two!’
‘One, Two!’ cried the sergeant.
‘Huzza!’ cried everybody obediently, including Sir Ector.
‘Look what I have got,’ shouted Kay. ‘I have shot a griffin and the Wart has been wounded.’
‘Yow-yow-yow!’ barked all the hounds, and poured over the Dog Boy, licking his face, scratching his chest, sniffing him all over to see what he had been up to, and looking hopefully at the griffin’s head which the Dog Boy held high in the air so that they could not eat it.
‘Bless my soul!’ exclaimed Sir Ector.
‘Alas, the poor Phillip Sparrow,’ cried the nurse, dropping her banner. ‘Pity his poor arm all to-brast in a green sling, God bless us!’
‘It is all right,’ said the Wart. ‘Ah, don’t catch hold of me. It hurts.’
‘May I have it stuffed?’ asked Kay.
‘Well, I be dommed,’ said Hob. ‘Be’nt thick wold chappie our Wat, that erst run lunatical?’
‘My dear, dear boys,’ said Sir Ector. ‘I am so glad to see you back.’
‘Wold chuckle-head,’ exclaimed the nurse triumphantly. ‘Where be the girt cudgel now?’
‘Hem!’ said Sir Ector. ‘How dare you go out of bounds and put us all to this anxiety?’
‘It is a real griffin,’ said Kay, who knew there was nothing to be afraid of. ‘I shot dozens of them. Wart broke his collar bone. We rescued the Dog Boy and Wat.’
‘That comes of teaching the young Hidea ’ow to shoot,’ said the sergeant proudly.
Sir Ector kissed both boys and commanded the griffin to be displayed before him.
‘Well!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a monster! We’ll have him stuffed in the dinin’ hall. What did you say his measurements were?’
‘Eighty-two inches from ear to ear. Robin said it might be a record.’
‘We shall have to get it chronicled.’
‘It is rather a good one, isn’t it?’ remarked Kay with studied calm.
‘I shall have it set up by Sir Rowland Ward,’ Sir Ector went on in high delight, ‘with a little ivory card with KAY’S FIRST GRIFFIN on it in black letters, and the date.’
‘Arrah, leave thy childishness,’ exclaimed the nurse. ‘Now, Master Art, my innocence, be off with thee to thy bed upon the instant. And thou, Sir Ector, let thee think shame to be playing with monsters’ heads like a godwit when the poor child stays upon the point of death. Now, sergeant, leave puffing of thy chest. Stir, man, and take horse to Cardoyle for the chirurgeon.’
She waved her apron at the sergeant, who collapsed his chest and retreated like a shoo’d chicken.
‘It is all right,’ said the Wart, ‘I tell you. It is only a broken collar bone, and Robin set it for me last night. It does not hurt a bit.’
‘Leave the boy, nurse,’ commanded Sir Ector, taking sides with the men against the women, anxious to re-establish his superiority after the matter of the cudgel. ‘Merlyn will see to him if he needs it, no doubt. Who is this Robin?’
‘Robin Wood,’ cried the boys together.
‘Never heard of him.’
‘You call him Robin Hood,’ explained Kay in a superior tone. ‘But it is Wood really, like the Wood that he is the spirit of.’
‘Well, well, well, so you’ve been foragin’ with that rascal! Come in to breakfast, boys, and tell me all about him.’
‘We have had breakfast,’ said the Wart, ‘hours ago. May I please take Wat with me to see Merlyn?’
‘Why, it’s the old man who went wild and started rootin’ in the forest. Wherever did you get hold of him?’
‘The Good People had