The girl startled at the weaver’s voice and then even more so by his appearance when she turned around. To her he must have looked like a giant with his broad shoulders, long legs, and a dark black beard that reached to his waist.

"Do not fear," The weaver spoke in a soft and gentle voice. Once the girl saw his friendly smile and heard his kind voice her fear eased.

"I used to play that game when I was a young boy myself, but my sister was always better at it than me. Why aren’t you out there with your friends?"

"Oh, I would love to play, but..." Her voice lowered, "I can’t run fast enough."

"I see." The weaver lowered himself to sit on a large rock next to the girl. For a few moments they both watched the game and then the weaver rose to his feet.

"Tell me girl, do you really want to play the game with the others? If I could help you in some way would you play harder than any of the others?"

"If you can help me, I will play harder than anyone ever did before," the girl answered.

"Well then, come over here," The weaver instructed walking over to his donkey. He took a large pair of scissors from his belt and then reached into the large sack on top of the donkey. From the sack, he pulled the end of a bright red ribbon. He took the scissors and cut off a piece of the ribbon.

"Turn around," The weaver instructed, and he tied the ribbon around her hair.

"There, you will be the best player there is."

The girl reached back and felt the ribbon, "Is this a magic ribbon? Will it make me run fast?"

"Well, now, that remains to be seen. My sister couldn’t out run me, but no one could catch her. Now go on and give it a try."

The girl fingered the ribbon and then started running out to where the game was in play. The weaver laughed and then continued down the village street.

Three young boys stood next to an apple cart in the busy market place. The merchant was talking to an old lady about the price of his apples, so he didn’t notice when two of the boys stuffed apples in their pockets and then ran. The third boy remained behind looking around nervously. He picked up a big red apple, started to put it in his pocket, put it back, and then picked it up again. He almost had the apple hidden in his shirt when he felt The weaver’s big hand on his shoulder.

"Sir," the weaver addressed the merchant who turned when he heard The weaver’s voice, "I’ll have one of these fine looking apples for myself, and one for the boy here too."

He handed the man a coin and before the boy could say anything, The weaver led him over to his donkey, his firm hand never leaving the boy’s shoulder.

"Now, young fellow, let’s sit here and enjoy this fine fruit." The weaver took a big bite and motioned for the lad to sit.

"Doesn’t an honest apple taste better than one that is stolen?" The weaver asked between bites.

For a moment the boy just sat with his head hung in shame, then the words seemed to rush forth. "I have never stolen anything before, and I wouldn’t have tried this time but....."

"But what? What could make you want to take something from someone that was not yours? Did you not think that the merchant feeds his family, provides for their needs, from the sale of these apples? Were you hungry? You do not look as though you have missed many meals."

The boy sat silent, thinking of the questions that this stranger had asked him. What was the most amazing to him was that The weaver had not raised his voice, or threatened him. His questions had been sincere and that most of all caused the boy to think before answering.

"I have plenty of food at home. It is just a game the other boys play, to see if they can get away with it. They said the merchant wouldn’t miss just a few apples."

"I see, but would they feel the same if the merchant came to their house in the night and took something that belonged them? I think not, do you?"

"No, I know it was wrong, but you don’t understand. If I don’t do what the others want then they will not let me hang around with them."

"And who makes these rules? Do all the other boys enjoy being thieves? Do they want to do things that they know are wrong?"

"No, many of them are like me, but....."

"Well, then, I think I can help with this little problem," The weaver stood quickly and pulled his scissors from his belt. Reaching into the bag on top of his things he pulled out a long piece of the red ribbon inside.

"Come here."

The boy obeyed, and the weaver quickly looped the ribbon around the boys waist.

"Now, you wear this belt when you are with the other boys and I think you will find things a little different. The one who wears this belt is always the leader. You will be the one to make the rules, and since you know the difference between right and wrong I know you will be a good leader."

The boy stared open mouthed at the ribbon around his waist.

"Is this a magic belt?"

"Hmmm, well that remains to be seen. Let us just say it can be. Now go and find your friends."

The boy started running across the square and then stopped, turning back to The weaver, "Thanks for the belt..... and the apple."

The weaver waved to the boy and then moved on through the center of the village. He had not gone very far when he stopped once again. There in a small clearing, at the center of a grove of trees, a boy did battle with an invisible foe. The weaver watched as the youngster parried with his wooden sword, and then lunged. His movement was rather jerky and the lad found himself face down in the dirt. When he had shaken the dust from his eyes the lad was startled to see two rather large feet there before him. He felt a strong hand on the back of his coat, and then he was lifted to his feet. Even though he was a tall boy for fourteen he still had to look up to see the weaver’s smiling face.

"I do not think you will be slaying many dragons that way, my good fellow. Never put weight on your front foot when you lunge. Push with the back foot and let the other one just kind of slide." The weaver offered.

When he saw the puzzled look on the boy’s face he leaned down and picked the sword off the ground. In the weaver’s hand it looked more like a dagger. "Let me show you what I mean."

The boy was stunned at how fast and gracefully one the size of the weaver could move. The weaver arm flashed as he fought the same invisible foe that the lad had battled. He finished with a perfectly executed lunge. "There, I believe that does the Black Knight in." "Wow," The boy took the sword offered him from the weaver, "How did you learn to do that?

Did you used to be a Knight of the King?"

The weaver threw his head back and laughed, "A Knight of the King! Me, a Knight! No, lad. I don’t think I would much care for all that armor and such, but I have known a few famous Knights over the years. Is that what you are doing here? Practicing to be a Knight?"

The boy turned red and kicked the dirt with a foot. "No, I know I could never be a real Knight. I sure would like to win the a prize in the tournament tomorrow though. This is the first year I am old enough to enter."

"Lad, I am thinking you are selling yourself short. The tournament is there for anyone to win if they try hard enough. As far as being a Knight, well they were all boys like yourself at one time. True, you are needing a little help, but I think I can offer a little of that myself."

With that the weaver strode over to his donkey, pulled a length of ribbon from the bag, and snipped it off. "This is a special banner, wear it tied to your arm as you go into the tournament. Try your hardest and I think you will be surprised at how well you will do."

The boy took the ribbon and frowned, "This banner must have magic powers if it can help even me win the tournament, but I do not think that I can wear it. If my friends saw me with a red banner tied on my arm they would think me a sissy and they would laugh."

The weaver did not accept the offered ribbon the boy held out to him, but rather stepped back with a look of surprise on his face. "I am glad that Sir Garfield, Royal Knight of the King, is not here with us. He would not take kindly to being called a sissy by yourself or your friends. Just last year I gave him a piece of this cloth. He wears it in every tournament and he hasn’t lost one yet. But, of course I can understand that you might fear what your friends might say." The boy instantly drew the ribbon to his breast as The weaver reached for it. "Sir Garfield! You know Sir Garfield? Why he is the greatest knight that ever lived. Tie this on me just the way the he does. Just wait until everyone hears that Sir Garfield and I wear the same colors." The weaver took the ribbon and secured it to the boys arm and then showed him some moves with the sword. As he prepared to leave he reminded the boy, "Remember to wear the banner with pride, and most important, try you best to win." "How can I not win. The magic in this banner will make me as strong as Sir Garfield himself." As the lad spoke he lunged forward just as The weaver had shown him. Unlike before, the boy’s movement was quick and easy, his front foot just touching the ground as he moved forward. The weaver smiled and then waved good-by, for he had traveled far and was in need of rest. On the edge of the village he found a place to stay and after unloading his donkey he made a bed, using the bag of ribbon for a pillow. He resting for two whole days, and then was ready to continue his journeys. After paying his bill and loading up his donkey, the weaver walked slowly through the village. It was a beautiful day and he was in no great hurry. The weaver had reached the edge of the village when he heard the sound of running feet behind him. As he turned, the weaver saw three youngsters hurrying to catch him. He saw that they were the same three he had talked with when he had arrived in the village. The first to reach him was the girl that had wanted to play ball. "Sir, please, I need your help!" "And how may I help you? I believe that I have done that once already." "Yes, and the magic ribbon that you gave me worked wonderfully. All the others want me to be on their team. I need another ribbon for mine is gone. One of the boys cut his leg and I used the ribbon to cover the wound. On his way home the ribbon came loose and now it is lost. Please can I have another?"

"I could give you another piece of ribbon, but it would be of no use to you. You already know you can play the game better than most. This may come as great surprise, but there was no magic in the ribbon. The magic was inside you all the time. All you had to do is let it come out. No, I think that I had better save the ribbon for someone that needs it."

"Sir."

"My fine young apple boy, have you lost your belt? I see you no longer wear it. Have you come to me for another?"

"Yes, I need another magic belt. When my friends saw the belt they all wanted it. One of the bigger boys tried to take it from me, but he ran away when I told him he would have to fight me for it. The other boys saw that he was just a bully, and when I told them it was wrong to take something that did not belong to you they agreed. Now we have a rule that to hang around with the group everyone must try to help anyone that they see in need."

"I would say that is a very admirable rule indeed, but that does not explain where your belt might be."

"Right after we made the rule an old man came by. As he passed his walking stick broke and he almost fell to the ground. Before I thought about it I had taken the magic belt and tied it around the break so that the old man could make it home. Now he had a new walking stick and my belt is gone. Can I please have another?"

"Hmmmm," The weaver rubbed his chin as he stared at the boy before him.

"It would seem that you do deserve another, but I don’t think you need one. The other boys did not follow your lead because you wore a red belt around your waist. They chose you for their leader because you showed them that good is better than bad. They understand now that a bully is usually a coward and that doing what is right gives more pleasure than doing wrong. No, it was not a magic belt that changed things, you changed them."

The weaver turned his attention to the tall would-be knight who stood behind the other two youths.

"And you noble knight, what has become of your banner? And how did the tournament go?" "The tournament was everything I thought it would be, and more. I won every match until the last."

"I see, and what happened then? Do you feel that the banner let you down? Have you come to tell me that you threw it away?"

"No! The magic was very powerful! I did all the things you showed me amd what I learned from watching the others. As I waited for the last match I learned that the fellow preparing to fight another for the chance to fight me was in great need of the purse. His father was very ill and he needed the gold for food. I gave him the banner to wear, and he won his fight."

"And did he return the banner to you before you fought him?"

"He made the effort, but I refused. I told him that he had more need of it than me, for there would be other tournaments he could enter."

"And did he beat you because he wore the banner?"

"No, I could have beaten him. He was a good swordsman, but I am better. I could not beat him and then give him the gold because he would not have accepted it. I told the judge I was to tired to fight again and they gave him the victory by forfeit."

"But you had trained very hard for the competition, did it not hurt to see another in the circle of victory? No, you need not answer. I am aware that you found something more important than victory. You will win many tournaments. Not because you wear the same colors as Sir Garfield, but because you now understand winning doesn’t always mean being in the victory circle. Do you still feel that you need another banner, even though you know it holds no real magic?"

"No."

"Good, then, for I have many more pieces of ribbon to share with others. I must go now. There are other villages just like this I must visit."

The weaver started down the path that lead to the next village. When he had gone but a short way he turned and spoke once more to his three young friends.