“Nay, good Little John,” quoth Robin gently, for he liked ill to have such a jest told of him. “Why should we speak of this little matter? Prythee, let us keep this day’s doings among ourselves.”
“With all my heart,” quoth Little John. “But, good master, I thought that thou didst love a merry story, because thou hast so often made a jest about a certain increase of fatness on my joints, of flesh gathered by my abiding with the Sheriff of—”
“Nay, good Little John,” said Robin hastily, “I do bethink me I have said full enough on that score.”
“It is well,” quoth Little John, “for in truth I myself have tired of it somewhat. But now I bethink me, thou didst also seem minded to make a jest of the rain that threatened last night; so—”
“Nay, then,” said Robin Hood testily, “I was mistaken. I remember me now it did seem to threaten rain.”