ir
bodies don't seem very big."

"Where are they?" enquired the girl.

"They are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. Oh,
Dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are! They're uglier
than the Gargoyles."

"Tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping
voice near by. "As a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking
creatures yourselves, and I'm sure mother has often told us we were the
loveliest and prettiest things in all the world."

Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound,
and the Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of
the little pockets in the rock.

"Why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed.

"No," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at
them so steadily; "you are wrong about that. We hope to grow to be
dragons some day, but just now we're only dragonettes."

"What's that?" asked Dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head,
the yawning mouth and the big eyes.

"Young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real
dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "The big dragons
are very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says
that some day we will all be very powerful and important."

"Where is your mother?" asked the Wizard, anxiously looking around.

"She has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. If she
has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or
perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger."

"Oh; are you hungry?" enquired Dorothy, drawing back.

"Very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws.

"And--and--do you eat people?"

"To be sure, when we can get them. But they've been very scarce for a
few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or
buffaloes," answered the creature, in a regretful tone.

"How old are you?" enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if
fascinated.

"Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that
you see here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were
sixty-six years old the day before yesterday."

"But that isn't young!" cried Dorothy, in amazement.

"No?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish."

"How old is your mother?" asked the girl.

"Mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of
her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. Sh