y back, and dropped into a
doze; and when he was sound asleep the Griffin took him up, and
carried him back to the town. He arrived just before daybreak, and
putting the young man gently on the grass in the little field where he
himself used to rest, the monster, without having been seen by any of
the people, flew back to his home.

When the Minor Canon made his appearance in the morning among the
citizens, the enthusiasm and cordiality with which he was received
were truly wonderful. He was taken to a house which had been occupied
by one of the vanished high officers of the place, and every one was
anxious to do all that could be done for his health and comfort. The
people crowded into the church when he held services, so that the
three old women who used to be his week-day congregation could not get
to the best seats, which they had always been in the habit of taking;
and the parents of the bad children determined to reform them at home,
in order that he might be spared the trouble of keeping up his former
school. The Minor Canon was appointed to the highest office of the old
church, and before he died, he became a bishop.

During the first years after his return from the dreadful wilds, the
people of the town looked up to him as a man to whom they were bound
to do honor and reverence; but they often, also, looked up to the sky
to see if there were any signs of the Griffin coming back. However, in
the course of time, they learned to honor and reverence their former
Minor Canon without the fear of being punished if they did not do so.

But they need never have been afraid of the Griffin. The autumnal
equinox day came round, and the monster ate nothing. If he could not
have the Minor Canon, he did not care for any thing. So, lying down,
with his eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin, he gradually
declined, and died. It was a good thing for some people of the town
that they did not know this.

If you should ever visit the old town, you would still see the little
griffins on the sides of the church; but the great stone griffin that
was over the door is gone.

NOTE: [1] Written in 1887. This story is used by permission of and
special arrangement with _Charles Scribner's Sons_, publishers.

BIOGRAPHY

Frank Richard Stockton, one of America's foremost story-tellers and
humorists, was born in Philadelphia in 1834. His father was a
Presbyterian minister who devoutly wished that his son might study
medicine. This