The bird will bate at first…but leave the bird to work things out for herself. “NO! NO! THAT’S NOT how a shepherd wears his cloak, Scarlet,” Marian scolded gently. The five of them were gathered by the oak at the roadside. They were dressed in gray clothes of rough-woven fabrics. She adjusted the cloak around Scarlet’s shoulders, then turned to help Robin. Her fingers had worked nimbly with Scarlet’s cloak, but now she suddenly seemed all thumbs. She could see some dark reddish hairs curling from the neckline of his tunic. “If you didn’t have a mustache,” he whispered, “I might kiss you!” Her hands began to tremble. She was trying to knot the ties of his cloak but made a mess of it. Did he notice? Was she blushing? To cover her acute discomfort she spoke testily. “Don’t be a fool! It’s not a time for jokes.” “You mean that mustache is real?” She gave up on attempting to fix the cloak and stood back and looked at him. Trying to sound as cold as possible but fighting a smile, she pointed at the shepherd’s crook he held.
