The Seven Dragons | Page 6

Dragon could not catch the Hippogriff. The red wings were
bigger than the white ones, but they were not so strong, and so the
white-winged horse flew away and away and away, with the Dragon
pursuing, till he reached the very middle of the Pebbly Waste.
Now, the Pebbly Waste is just like the parts of the seaside where there

is no sand--all round, loose, shifting stones, and there is no grass there
and no tree within a hundred miles of it.
Lionel jumped off the white horse's back in the very middle of the
Pebbly Waste, and he hurriedly unclasped the Book of Beasts and laid
it open on the pebbles. Then he clattered among the pebbles in his haste
to get back on to his white horse, and had just jumped on when up
came the Dragon. He was flying very feebly, and looking round
everywhere for a tree, for it was just on the stroke of twelve, the sun
was shining like a gold guinea in the blue sky, and there was not a tree
for a hundred miles.
The white-winged horse flew round and round the Dragon as he
writhed on the dry pebbles. He was getting very hot: indeed, parts of
him even had begun to smoke. He knew that he must certainly catch
fire in another minute unless he could get under a tree. He made a
snatch with his red claws at the King and Hippogriff, but he was too
feeble to reach them, and besides, be did not dare to over-exert himself
for fear he should get any hotter.
It was then that he saw the Book of Beasts lying on the pebbles, open at
the page with "The Dragon" written at the bottom. He looked and he
hesitated, and he looked again, and then, with one last squirm of rage,
the Dragon wriggled himself back into the picture, and sat down under
the palm tree, and the page was a little singed as he went in.
As soon as Lionel saw that the Dragon had really been obliged to go
and sit under his own palm tree because it was the only tree there, he
jumped off his horse and shut the book with a bang. "Oh, hurrah!" he
cried. "Now we really have done it."
And he clasped the book very tight with the turquoise and ruby clasps.
"Oh, my precious Hippogriff," he cried, "you are the bravest, dearest,
most beautiful-"
"Hush," whispered the Hippogriff, modestly. "Don't you see that we are
not alone?"

And indeed there was quite a crowd round them on the Pebbly Waste:
the Prime Minister and the Parliament and the Football Players and the
Orphanage and the Manticora and the Rocking-Horse, and indeed
everyone who had been eaten by the Dragon. You see, it was
impossible for the Dragon to take them into the book with him--it was a
tight fit even for one Dragon--so, of course, he had to leave them
outside!
They all got home somehow, and all lived happy ever after.
When the King asked the Manticora where he would like to live he
begged to be allowed to go back into the book. "I do not care for public
life," he said.
Of course he knew his way on to his own page, so there was no danger
of his opening the book at the wrong page and letting out a Dragon or
anything. So he got back into his picture, and has never come out since:
that is why you will never see a Manticora as long as you live, except
in a picture-book. And of course he left the pussies outside, because
there was no room for them in the book--and the milk-cans too.
Then the Rocking-Horse begged to be allowed to go and live on the
Hippogriff's page of the book. "I should like," he said, "to live
somewhere where Dragons can't get at me."
So the beautiful, white-winged Hippogriff showed him the way in, and
there he stayed till the King had him taken out for his
great-great-great-great-grandchildren to play with.
As for the Hippogriff, he accepted the position of the King's Own
Rocking-Horse--a situation left vacant by the retirement of the wooden
one. And the Blue Bird and the Butterfly sing and flutter among the
lilies and roses of the Palace garden to this very day.

II.
THE PURPLE STRANGER

THE Princess and the gardener's boy were playing in the back yard.
"What will you do when you grow up, Princess?" asked the gardener's
boy.
"I should like to marry you, Tom," said the Princess. "Would you
mind?"
"No," said the gardener's boy. "I shouldn't mind much. I'll marry you if
you like--if I have time."
For the gardener's boy meant, as soon as he was grownup, to