aly originally, you know. Our skins are
the color of the Bay of Naples. We live on dried grapes and ardent
spirits. We have glorious fun in the mountain sometimes. Oh! what
snapping, and scratching, and tearing! Delicious! There are times when
the squabbling becomes too great, and Mother Mountain won't stand it,
and spits us all out, and throws cinders after us. But this is only at
times. We had a charming meeting last year. So many human beings, and
how they _can_ snap! It was a choice party. So very select. We always
have plenty of saucy children, and servants. Husbands and wives too,
and quite as many of the former as the latter, if not more. But
besides these, we had two vestry-men, a country postmaster, who
devoted his talents to insulting the public instead of to learning the
postal regulations, three cabmen and two 'fares,' two young shop-girls
from a Berlin wool shop in a town where there was no competition, four
commercial travellers, six landladies, six Old Bailey lawyers, several
widows from almshouses, seven single gentlemen and nine cats, who
swore at everything; a dozen sulphur-colored screaming cockatoos; a
lot of street children from a town; a pack of mongrel curs from the
colonies, who snapped at the human beings' heels, and five elderly
ladies in their Sunday bonnets with Prayer-books, who had been
fighting for good seats in church."

"Dear me!" said Harry.

"If you can find nothing sharper to say than 'Dear me,'" said the
Dragon, "you will fare badly, I can tell you. Why, I thought you'd a
sharp tongue, but it's not forked yet, I see. Here they are, however.
Off with you! And if you value your curls--Snap!"

And before Harry could reply, the Snap-Dragons came on on their third
round, and as they passed they swept Harry with them.

He shuddered as he looked at his companions. They were as transparent
as shrimps, but of this lovely cerulean blue. And as they leaped they
barked--"Howf! Howf!"--like barking Gnus; and when they leaped Harry
had to leap with them. Besides barking, they snapped and wrangled
with each other; and in this Harry must join also.

"Pleasant, isn't it?" said one of the blue Dragons.

"Not at all," snapped Harry.

"That's your bad taste," snapped the blue Dragon.

"No, it's not!" snapped Harry.

"Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing."

"Oh, please don't!" shrieked Harry, forgetting himself. On which the
Dragon clawed a handful of hair out of his h