y 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 passed 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 passed
into the principal 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 ear.

"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,"