ial steed, higher, higher, higher,
above the mountain peaks, above the clouds, and almost out of sight of
the solid earth. But still the earth-born monster kept its hold, and
was borne upward, along with the creature of light and air.
Bellerophon, meanwhile turning about, found himself face to face with
the ugly grimness of the Chimaera's visage, and could only avoid being
scorched to death, or bitten right in twain, by holding up his shield.
Over the upper edge of the shield, he looked sternly into the savage
eyes of the monster.

But the Chimaera was so mad and wild with pain, that it did not guard
itself so well as might else have been the case. Perhaps, after all,
the best way to fight a Chimaera is by getting as close to it as you
can. In its efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy,
the creature left its own breast quite exposed; and perceiving this,
Bellerophon thrust his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart.
Immediately the snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its hold
of Pegasus, and fell from that vast height downward; while the fire
within its bosom, instead of being put out, burned fiercer than ever,
and quickly began to consume the dead carcase. Thus it fell out of the
sky, all a-flame, and (it being nightfall before it reached the earth)
was mistaken for a shooting star or a comet. But at early sunrise, some
cottager's were going to their day's labour, and saw, to their
astonishment, that several acres of ground were strewn with black ashes.
In the middle of a field there was a heap of whitened bones, a great
deal higher than a haystack. Nothing else was ever seen of the dreadful
Chimaera!

And when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed
Pegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.

"Back now, my beloved steed!" said he. "Back to the Fountain of
Pirene!"

Pegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and
reached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old
man leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and
the pretty maiden filling her pitcher.

"I remember now," quoth the old man, "I saw this winged horse once
before, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in those
days."

"I own a cart-horse worth three of him!" said the country fellow. "If
this pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his
wings!"

But the poor maiden said nothing, for she had