Three different households raising three different children, each of whom expected to be "in trouble," witnessed three unique outcomes to the day's events.

...

Marian returned to the grounds surrounding Knighton Hall, waited until the coast was clear, then darted into the house and up the stairs to her room before any of her father's servants had a chance to see her. Or so she believed.

The old cook Henrietta had spied her, but just shook her head and chuckled under her breath. "Out on an adventure with Master Robin, were you?" Henrietta muttered to herself as her strong hands kneeded dough. "The robin and the wren! Well, His Lordship the Sheriff can't keep you caged up any more than the birds who fly free in the forest! And right now, you're sure to be cleaning yourself up, so that you'll look fresh as a daisy when next anybody sees you. Good for you, Lassie! And it's certain I am you had a glorious time with your Robin!"

Marian was indeed washing off the forest grime, brushing her hair until it shone, and redressing herself in her gown. In very little time, no one who laid eyes on her would ever guess she had been anywhere but in her room, a most proper and pretty young lady.

But Marian was sad. The wounded pigeon had actually died in her hands, as she was carrying it to Locksley.

Being a child of her time, she'd witnessed Death before, in animals and in people. But she'd never held something that had died, right in her own two hands. She felt responsible somehow, as if she had failed the bird, and she was angry at the Princess for having so carelessly shot it.

Aiming for an apple, and she hit a bird? How ridiculous! That princess didn't deserve to hold a bow! She didn't deserve to hold anything, or anybody, related to a bow, either! She ought to just go home to whatever castle her royal family chose to live in, and stay away from this shire! And take that nasty, horrible Prince John with her!

The poor bird! It had seemed to grow colder in her hands, and stiller, and then, had just shuddered and died! It was horrible. When Marian had felt its life slip away, she simply stopped walking. At first, Much hadn't understood.

"What's wrong?" he'd asked. "Why are you stopping? You don't have a pebble in your boot, do you? Nasty things, pebbles. They're so small, yet they can hurt so much! I hate pebbles! I hate them! Do you need me to wait while you take off your boot? I can hold the bird, if you'd like."

"It's dead," Marian said, in a small voice.

"Dead? What do you mean, dead?"

"Dead," she repeated, choking back a sob.

Much shuddered. "Dead, in your hands? That is revolting! Well, not really revolting, after all, Marian. I mean, my mother was going to have to kill it anyway, and bake it into a pie, so you could look upon it as if you did my mother a favor, and saved her a step. I must say, some pigeon pie will be tasty, after some of the things I've eaten lately! Just think! Real meat! My mouth is watering! You wouldn't want to stay and have dinner with us, would you, Marian? I mean, it's not really a very big bird, and there are three of us already, and...are you alright? You don't look alright!"

"I'm fine. I'm just sad."

"Sad. Yes. Well, life's sad, Marian, so I've been told. That's why you have to look for the good in things. There's always something good! That's what my mother always says." A terrible thought struck Much. "I hope my father lets me eat some of the pie! I forgot, I'll be in trouble when I get home! Oh, dear! Oh, no! What should I do? I couldn't hide out at your house, by any chance, could I?"

"Sorry. But I have a feeling you won't be in trouble for long."

"Well, I hope you're right! And I hope you won't be, either. Don't feel bad about the bird, Marian. I really am hungry, you know, and we haven't been eating too well lately."

"Tell Robin! He'll help you!"

"I can't. He does so much already."

Remembering the silver in Much's satchel, Marian smiled through her tears. "I think you'll be eating well for a long time, Much," she told him. "I guess we'd better take the bird to your mother now."

"I'll take it. You hurry home. Good luck with your father."

Safely back in her room, clean and fresh again, Marian didn't care anymore that she was in trouble. She couldn't shake off her sorrow over feeling the poor little animal die in her hands.

She could hear her father's footsteps on the stairs, and prepared herself to face him. But the moment she saw his face, after he opened her door, she burst into tears.

Sir Edward's heart melted. Taking her upon his lap, he held her close and soothed her. "I see you're sorry for what you did. Well, no more punishment for you, Marian. You are free to come and go as you please. But you mustn't touch a royal personage, no matter what they may say or do. By all means, you must remember your station. Now, come to dinner. If my nose serves me, I believe Henrietta has made pigeon pie."

At that, Marian broke out into fresh tears.

...

At the small cottage adjoining the mill, Much anxiously sought his mother, and placed the dead pigeon in her hands.

Much made a face as he wiped his hands on the legs of his trousers. "Yuck!" he drawled out. "I hate dead things!"

"What's this then? You been shooting birds with Master Robin?" his mother asked.

"No. Not me. The princess. Well, she wasn't meaning to shoot birds! She meant to shoot apples! But this is what she hit, and well, here you are. Robin said we should have pigeon pie."

"Pigeon pie! I could stand for a bit of meat! You go wash your hands, then go see your father. Did you bring home the pennies for the flour?"

"They're in my satchel. At least, I hope they are. I'm pretty sure Robin or Marian put them back, after they stole them from me. I hope so!"

"What are you blathering about? Ah, just leave it. When your father comes in, he can count it."

The miller's voice from the doorway replied, "I'll count it now. For all the time it took you collecting it, there ought to be more than pennies in that bag!"

The miller was only joking, but when he opened the satchel and viewed the money, his jaw dropped open.

"Where did you...? Where did all this come from?" he asked, amazed.

Much grew nervous. Had he not collected enough? Or worse still, had some of the pennies dropped out, when he'd been up in the tree, hiding from Friar Tuck? It was God's punishment on him, surely, for mocking a friar! He knew it! He knew God wouldn't let Robin's act go unpunished!

But Much's father was smiling now, smiling in a way Much seldom witnessed.

"You're the best son a man could ever have!" he cried out, lifting Much onto his shoulders.

"What's our boy done?" the miller's wife asked.

"He's lived up to his name! He's brought home 'much!' Much more than we were expecting! Take a look, goodwife, at all this silver!"

Much's eyes bulged at the glittering coins. He'd had no idea how it had gotten there! It must have been fairies in the forest who changed his pennies into silver coins, or else...

Much wondered. Hmm...there was only one boy he knew who could seem to work fairy magic! He laughed out loud, as he and his parents celebrated their amazing good fortune.

...

At Locksley, the boy who could work fairy magic needed some of it now for himself. But things weren't going so well for young Robin of Locksley.