But beside this there was something about the lines on the stranger's face, and his thin cruel mouth, and the hard glare of his eyes, that made one's flesh creep to look upon.
"Who art thou, rascal ?" said he at last, in a loud, harsh voice.
"Tut, tut," quoth merry Robin, "speak not so sourly, brother.

Hast thou fed upon vinegar and nettles this morning that thy speech is so stinging ?" "An thou likest not my words," said the other fiercely, "thou hadst best be jogging, for I tell thee plainly, my deeds match them." "Nay, but I do like thy words, thou sweet, pretty thing," quoth Robin, squatting down upon the grass in front of the other.

"Moreover, I tell thee thy speech is witty and gamesome as any I ever heard in all my life." The other said not a word, but he glared upon Robin with a wicked and baleful look, such as a fierce dog bestows upon a man ere it springs at his throat.

Robin returned the gaze with one of wide-eyed innocence, not a shadow of a smile twinkling in his eyes or twitching at the corners of his mouth.

So they sat staring at one another for a long time, until the stranger broke the silence suddenly.