Now Grey Dick stretched himself, looked at the clout, looked at his bow,
and set a black-winged arrow on the string. Then he drew, it seemed but
lightly and carelessly, as though he thought the distance small. Away
flew the shaft, and sank into the red a good inch within the leftmost
arrow of Jack Green.
"Ah," said the onlookers, "a lucky shot indeed!"
Again he drew, and again the arrow sank into the red, a good inch within
the rightmost shot of Jack Green.
"Oh!" said the onlookers, "this man is an archer; but Jack's last he
cannot best, let the devil help him how he will."
"In the devil's name, then, be silent!" wheezed Grey Dick, with a flash
of his half-opened eye.
"Ay, be silent--be silent!" said the King. "We do not see such shooting
every day."
Now Dick set his foot apart and, arrow on string, thrice he lifted his
bow and thrice let it sink again, perhaps because he felt some breath
of wind stir the still air. A fourth time he lifted, and drew, not as he
had before, but straight to the ear, then loosed at once.
Away rushed the yard-long shaft, and folk noted that it scarcely seemed
to rise as arrows do, or at least not half so high. It rushed, it smote,
and there was silence, for none could see exactly what had happened.
Then he who stood near the target to mark ran forward, and screamed out:
"By God's name, he has shattered Jack Green's centre arrow, and shot
_clean through the clout!_"
Then from all sides rose the old archer cry, "_He, He! He, He!_" while
the young Prince threw his cap on high, and the King said:
"Would that there were more such men as this in England! Jack Green, it
seems that you are beaten.
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