"It"s the sad truth," the dragon went on, settling down between his paws and evidently delighted to have found a listener at last: "and I fancy that"s really how I came to be here. You see all the other fellows were so active and _earnest_ and all that sort of thing--always rampaging, and skirmishing, and scouring the desert sands, and pacing the margin of the sea, and chasing knights all over the place, and devouring damsels, and going on generally--whereas I liked to get my meals regular and then to prop my back against a bit of rock and snooze a bit, and wake up and think of things going on and how they kept going on just the same, you know! So when it happened I got fairly caught."
"When _what_ happened, please?" asked the Boy.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RELUCTANT DRAGON
"_"What"s your mind always occupied about?" asked the Boy. "That"s what I want to know."_"]
"That"s just what I don"t precisely know," said the dragon. "I suppose the earth sneezed, or shook itself, or the bottom dropped out of something. Anyhow there was a shake and a roar and a general stramash, and I found myself miles away underground and wedged in as tight as tight. Well, thank goodness, my wants are few, and at any rate I had peace and quietness and wasn"t always being asked to come along and _do_ something. And I"ve got such an active mind--always occupied, I a.s.sure you! But time went on, and there was a certain sameness about the life, and at last I began to think it would be fun to work my way upstairs and see what you other fellows were doing. So I scratched and burrowed, and worked this way and that way and at last I came out through this cave here. And I like the country, and the view, and the people--what I"ve seen of "em--and on the whole I feel inclined to settle down here."
"What"s your mind always occupied about?" asked the Boy. "That"s what I want to know."
The dragon coloured slightly and looked away. Presently he said bashfully:
"Did you ever--just for fun--try to make up poetry--verses, you know?"
""Course I have," said the Boy. "Heaps of it. And some of it"s quite good, I feel sure, only there"s no one here cares about it. Mother"s very kind and all that, when I read it to her, and so"s father for that matter. But somehow they don"t seem to--"
"Exactly," cried the dragon; "my own case exactly. They don"t seem to, and you can"t argue with "em about it. Now you"ve got culture, you have, I could tell it on you at once, and I should just like your candid opinion about some little things I threw off lightly, when I was down there. I"m awfully pleased to have met you, and I"m hoping the other neighbours will be equally agreeable. There was a very nice old gentleman up here only last night, but he didn"t seem to want to intrude."
"That was my father," said the Boy, "and he _is_ a nice old gentleman, and I"ll introduce you some day if you like."
"Can"t you two come up here and dine or something to-morrow?" asked the dragon, eagerly. "Only, of course, if you"ve got nothing better to do,"
he added politely.
"Thanks awfully," said the Boy, "but we don"t go out anywhere without my mother, and, to tell you the truth, I"m afraid she mightn"t quite approve of you. You see there"s no getting over the hard fact that you"re a dragon, is there? And when you talk of settling down, and the neighbours, and so on, I can"t help feeling that you don"t quite realise your position. You"re an enemy of the human race, you see!"
"Haven"t got an enemy in the world," said the dragon, cheerfully. "Too lazy to make "em, to begin with. And if I _do_ read other fellows my poetry, I"m always ready to listen to theirs!"
"Oh, dear!" cried the Boy, "I wish you"d try and grasp the situation properly. When the other people find you out, they"ll come after you with spears and swords and all sorts of things. You"ll have to be exterminated, according to their way of looking at it! You"re a scourge, and a pest, and a baneful monster!"
"Not a word of truth in it," said the dragon, wagging his head solemnly. "Character"ll bear the strictest investigation. And now, there"s a little sonnet-thing I was working on when you appeared on the scene--"
"Oh, if you _won"t_ be sensible," cried the Boy, getting up, "I"m going off home. No, I can"t stop for sonnets; my mother"s sitting up. I"ll look you up to-morrow, sometime or other, and do for goodness" sake try and realise that you"re a pestilential scourge, or you"ll find yourself in a most awful fix. Good-night!"
The Boy found it an easy matter to set the mind of his parents at ease about his new friend. They had always left that branch to him, and they took his word without a murmur. The shepherd was formally introduced and many compliments and kind inquiries were exchanged. His wife, however, though expressing her willingness to do anything she could,--to mend things, or set the cave to rights, or cook a little something when the dragon had been poring over sonnets and forgotten his meals, as male things _will_ do,--could not be brought to recognise him formally. The fact that he was a dragon and "they didn"t know who he was" seemed to count for everything with her. She made no objection, however, to her little son spending his evenings with the dragon quietly, so long as he was home by nine o"clock: and many a pleasant night they had, sitting on the sward, while the dragon told stories of old, old times, when dragons were quite plentiful and the world was a livelier place than it is now, and life was full of thrills and jumps and surprises.
What the Boy had feared, however, soon came to pa.s.s. The most modest and retiring dragon in the world, if he"s as big as four cart-horses and covered with blue scales, cannot keep altogether out of the public view.
And so in the village tavern of nights the fact that a real live dragon sat brooding in the cave on the Downs was naturally a subject for talk.
Though the villagers were extremely frightened, they were rather proud as well. It was a distinction to have a dragon of your own, and it was felt to be a feather in the cap of the village. Still, all were agreed that this sort of thing couldn"t be allowed to go on. The dreadful beast must be exterminated, the country-side must be freed from this pest, this terror, this destroying scourge. The fact that not even a hen-roost was the worse for the dragon"s arrival wasn"t allowed to have anything to do with it. He was a dragon, and he couldn"t deny it, and if he didn"t choose to behave as such that was his own lookout. But in spite of much valiant talk no hero was found willing to take sword and spear and free the suffering village and win deathless fame; and each night"s heated discussion always ended in nothing. Meanwhile the dragon, a happy Bohemian, lolled on the turf, enjoyed the sunsets, told antediluvian anecdotes to the Boy, and polished his old verses while meditating on fresh ones.
One day the Boy, on walking in to the village, found everything wearing a festal appearance which was not to be accounted for in the calendar.
Carpets and gay-colored stuffs were hung out of the windows, the church-bells clamoured noisily, the little street was flower-strewn, and the whole population jostled each other along either side of it, chattering, shoving, and ordering each other to stand back. The Boy saw a friend of his own age in the crowd and hailed him.
"What"s up?" he cried. "Is it the players, or bears, or a circus, or what?"
"It"s all right," his friend hailed back. "He"s a-coming."
"_Who"s_ a-coming?" demanded the Boy, thrusting into the throng.
"Why, St. George, of course," replied his friend. "He"s heard tell of our dragon, and he"s comin" on purpose to slay the deadly beast, and free us from his horrid yoke. O my! won"t there be a jolly fight!"
Here was news indeed! The Boy felt that he ought to make quite sure for himself, and he wriggled himself in between the legs of his good-natured elders, abusing them all the time for their unmannerly habit of shoving.
Once in the front rank, he breathlessly awaited the arrival.
Presently from the far-away end of the line came the sound of cheering.
Next, the measured tramp of a great war-horse made his heart beat quicker, and then he found himself cheering with the rest, as, amidst welcoming shouts, shrill cries of women, uplifting of babies and waving of handkerchiefs, St. George paced slowly up the street. The Boy"s heart stood still and he breathed with sobs, the beauty and the grace of the hero were so far beyond anything he had yet seen. His fluted armour was inlaid with gold, his plumed helmet hung at his saddle-bow, and his thick fair hair framed a face gracious and gentle beyond expression till you caught the sternness in his eyes. He drew rein in front of the little inn, and the villagers crowded round with greetings and thanks and voluble statements of their wrongs and grievances and oppressions.
The Boy heard the grave gentle voice of the Saint, a.s.suring them that all would be well now, and that he would stand by them and see them righted and free them from their foe; then he dismounted and pa.s.sed through the doorway and the crowd poured in after him. But the Boy made off up the hill as fast as he could lay his legs to the ground.
"It"s all up, dragon!" he shouted as soon as he was within sight of the beast. "He"s coming! He"s here now! You"ll have to pull yourself together and _do_ something at last!"
The dragon was licking his scales and rubbing them with a bit of house-flannel the Boy"s mother had lent him, till he shone like a great turquoise.
"Don"t be _violent_, Boy," he said without looking round. "Sit down and get your breath, and try and remember that the noun governs the verb, and then perhaps you"ll be good enough to tell me _who"s_ coming?"
"That"s right, take it coolly," said the Boy. "Hope you"ll be half as cool when I"ve got through with my news. It"s only St. George who"s coming, that"s all; he rode into the village half-an-hour ago. Of course you can lick him--a great big fellow like you! But I thought I"d warn you, "cos he"s sure to be round early, and he"s got the longest, wickedest-looking spear you ever did see!" And the Boy got up and began to jump round in sheer delight at the prospect of the battle.
"O deary, deary me," moaned the dragon; "this is too awful. I won"t see him, and that"s flat. I don"t want to know the fellow at all. I"m sure he"s not nice. You must tell him to go away at once, please. Say he can write if he likes, but I can"t give him an interview. I"m not seeing anybody at present."
"Now dragon, dragon," said the Boy, imploringly, "don"t be perverse and wrongheaded. You"ve _got_ to fight him some time or other, you know, "cos he"s St. George and you"re the dragon. Better get it over, and then we can go on with the sonnets. And you ought to consider other people a little, too. If it"s been dull up here for you, think how dull it"s been for me!"
"My dear little man," said the dragon, solemnly, "just understand, once for all, that I can"t fight and I won"t fight. I"ve never fought in my life, and I"m not going to begin now, just to give you a Roman holiday.
In old days I always let the other fellows--the _earnest_ fellows--do all the fighting, and no doubt that"s why I have the pleasure of being here now."
"But if you don"t fight he"ll cut your head off!" gasped the Boy, miserable at the prospect of losing both his fight and his friend.
"Oh, I think not," said the dragon in his lazy way. "You"ll be able to arrange something. I"ve every confidence in you, you"re such a _manager_. Just run down, there"s a dear chap, and make it all right. I leave it entirely to you."
The Boy made his way back to the village in a state of great despondency. First of all, there wasn"t going to be any fight; next, his dear and honoured friend the dragon hadn"t shown up in quite such a heroic light as he would have liked; and lastly, whether the dragon was a hero at heart or not, it made no difference, for St. George would most undoubtedly cut his head off. "Arrange things indeed!" he said bitterly to himself. "The dragon treats the whole affair as if it was an invitation to tea and croquet."
The villagers were straggling homewards as he pa.s.sed up the street, all of them in the highest spirits, and gleefully discussing the splendid fight that was in store. The Boy pursued his way to the inn, and pa.s.sed into the princ.i.p.al chamber, where St. George now sat alone, musing over the chances of the fight, and the sad stories of rapine and of wrong that had so lately been poured into his sympathetic ears.
"May I come in, St. George?" said the Boy, politely, as he paused at the door. "I want to talk to you about this little matter of the dragon, if you"re not tired of it by this time."
"Yes, come in, Boy," said the Saint, kindly. "Another tale of misery and wrong, I fear me. Is it a kind parent, then, of whom the tyrant has bereft you? Or some tender sister or brother? Well, it shall soon be avenged."
"Nothing of the sort," said the Boy. "There"s a misunderstanding somewhere, and I want to put it right. The fact is, this is a _good_ dragon."
"Exactly," said St. George, smiling pleasantly, "I quite understand. A good _dragon_. Believe me, I do not in the least regret that he is an adversary worthy of my steel, and no feeble specimen of his noxious tribe."
"But he"s _not_ a noxious tribe," cried the Boy, distressedly. "Oh dear, oh dear, how _stupid_ men are when they get an idea into their heads! I tell you he"s a _good_ dragon, and a friend of mine, and tells me the most beautiful stories you ever heard, all about old times and when he was little. And he"s been so kind to mother, and mother"d do anything for him. And father likes him too, though father doesn"t hold with art and poetry much, and always falls asleep when the dragon starts talking about _style_. But the fact is, n.o.body can help liking him when once they know him. He"s so engaging and so trustful, and as simple as a child!"
"Sit down, and draw your chair up," said St. George. "I like a fellow who sticks up for his friends, and I"m sure the dragon has his good points, if he"s got a friend like you. But that"s not the question. All this evening I"ve been listening, with grief and anguish unspeakable, to tales of murder, theft, and wrong; rather too highly coloured, perhaps, not always quite convincing, but forming in the main a most serious roll of crime. History teaches us that the greatest rascals often possess all the domestic virtues; and I fear that your cultivated friend, in spite of the qualities which have won (and rightly) your regard, has got to be speedily exterminated."
"Oh, you"ve been taking in all the yarns those fellows have been telling you," said the Boy, impatiently. "Why, our villagers are the biggest story-tellers in all the country round. It"s a known fact. You"re a stranger in these parts, or else you"d have heard it already. All they want is a _fight_. They"re the most awful beggars for getting up fights--it"s meat and drink to them. Dogs, bulls, dragons--anything so long as it"s a fight. Why, they"ve got a poor innocent badger in the stable behind here, at this moment. They were going to have some fun with him to-day, but they"re saving him up now till _your_ little affair"s over. And I"ve no doubt they"ve been telling you what a hero you were, and how you were bound to win, in the cause of right and justice, and so on; but let me tell you, I came down the street just now, and they were betting six to four on the dragon freely!"
"Six to four on the dragon!" murmured St. George, sadly, resting his cheek on his hand. "This is an evil world, and sometimes I begin to think that all the wickedness in it is not entirely bottled up inside the dragons. And yet--may not this wily beast have misled you as to his real character, in order that your good report of him may serve as a cloak for his evil deeds? Nay, may there not be, at this very moment, some hapless Princess immured within yonder gloomy cavern?"
The moment he had spoken, St. George was sorry for what he had said, the Boy looked so genuinely distressed.