m dragon, that is. And
the rest of the time she thought about Foxe's Book of Martyrs and what a
heroine she now had the chance to be.

'You want me to kill it?' she asked.

'Oh no! To tame it,' said the Crow.

'We've tried all sorts of means--long whips, like people tame horses
with, and red-hot bars, such as lion-tamers use--and it's all been
perfectly useless; and there the dragon lives, and will live till some
one can tame him and get him to follow them like a tame fawn, and eat
out of their hand.'

'What does the dragon _like_ to eat?' Elsie asked.

'_Crows_,' replied the other in an uncomfortable whisper. 'At least
_I've_ never known it eat anything else!'

'Am I to try to tame it _now_?' Elsie asked.

'Oh dear no,' said the Crow. 'We'll have a banquet in your honour, and
you shall have tea with the Princess.'

'How do you know who is a princess and who's not, if you're all crows?'
Elsie cried.

'How do you know one human being from another?' the Crow replied.
'Besides ... Come on to the Palace.'

It led her along the terrace, and down some marble steps to a small
arched door. 'The tradesmen's entrance,' it explained. 'Excuse it--the
courtiers are crowding in by the front door.' Then through long
corridors and passages they went, and at last into the throne-room. Many
crows stood about in respectful attitudes. On the golden throne, leaning
a gloomy head upon the first joint of his right wing, the Sovereign of
Crownowland was musing dejectedly. A little girl of about Elsie's age
sat on the steps of the throne nursing a handsome doll.

'Who is the little girl?' Elsie asked.

'_Curtsey!_ That's the Princess,' the Prime Minister Crow whispered; and
Elsie made the best curtsey she could think of in such a hurry. 'She
wasn't wicked enough to be turned into a crow, or poor enough to be
turned into a pigeon, so she remains a dear little girl, just as she
always was.'

The Princess dropped her doll and ran down the steps of the throne to
meet Elsie.

'You dear!' she said. 'You've come to play with me, haven't you? All
the little girls I used to play with have turned into crows, and their
beaks are _so_ awkward at doll's tea-parties, and wings are no good to
nurse dollies with. Let's have a doll's tea-party _now_, shall we?'

'May we?' Elsie looked at the Crow King, who nodded his head hopelessly.
So, hand in hand, they went.

I wonder whether you have ever had the run of a perfectly beautiful
palace an