Fenn, G. Manville, 1831-1909 / 2008-07-04 00:00:00
"
"No, no, don't," cried Little John. "You go on growing till you're
a six-footer, and then you stop. All that grows after that's waste
o' good stuff, and gets in your way. Big uns like me are always
knocking their heads against something."
"But how am I to know when I'm six feet high?" said Robin.
"Oh! I'll tell you, I'll keep measuring you, my lad."
"And how am I to stop growing?"
Little John took off his cap and scratched his head, as he wrinkled
up his big, good-humored face.
"Well, I don't quite know," he said; "but there's plenty o' time
yet, and we shall see. Might put a big stone in your hat; or keep
you in a very dry place; or tie your shoulders down to your
waist--no, that wouldn't do."
"Why?" said Robin promptly.
"Because it wouldn't stop your legs growing, and it's boys' legs
that grow the most when they're young. I say, though, what's
become of all those arrows I made you?"
"Shot them away."
"And only two left. You mustn't waste arrows like that. Why
didn't you look for them after you shot?"
"I did," cried Robin, "but they will hide themselves so. They
creep right under the grass and among the weeds so that you can't
find them again.
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