“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,” cried the Boy distressedly. “Oh dear, oh dear, how STUPID men are when they get an idea into their heads! I tell you he's a GOOD dragon, and a friend of mine, and tells me the most beautiful stories you ever heard, all about old times and when he was little. And he's been so kind to mother, and mother'd do anything for him. And father likes him too, though father doesn't hold with art and poetry much, and always falls asleep when the dragon starts talking about STYLE. But the fact is, nobody can help liking him when once they know him. He's so engaging and so trustful, and as simple as a child!” “Sit down, and draw your chair up,” said St. George. “I like a fellow who sticks up for his friends, and I'm sure the dragon has his good points, if he's got a friend like you. But that's not the question. All this evening I've been listening, with grief and anguish unspeakable, to tales of murder, theft, and wrong; rather too highly coloured, perhaps, not always quite convincing, but forming in the main a most serious roll of crime. History teaches us that the greatest rascals often possess all the domestic virtues; and I fear that your cultivated friend, in spite of the qualities which have won (and rightly) your regard, has got to be speedily exterminated.” “Oh, you've been taking in all the yarns those fellows have been telling you,” said the Boy impatiently. “Why, our villagers are the biggest story-tellers in all the country round. It's a known fact. You're a stranger in these parts, or else you'd have heard it already. All they want is a FIGHT. They're the most awful beggars for getting up fights--it's meat and drink to them. Dogs, bulls, dragons--anything so long as it's a fight. Why, they've got a poor innocent badger in the stable behind here, at this moment. They were going to have some fun with him to-day, but they're saving him up now till YOUR little affair's over. And I've no doubt they've been telling you what a hero you were, and how you were bound to win, in the cause of right and justice, and so on; but let me tell you, I came down the street just now, and they were betting six to four on the dragon freely!” “Six to four on the dragon!” murmured St. George sadly, resting his cheek on his hand. “This is an evil world, and sometimes I begin to think that all the wickedness in it is not entirely bottled up inside the dragons. And yet--may not this wily beast have misled you as to his real character, in order that your good report of him may serve as a cloak for his evil deeds? Nay, may there not be, at this very moment, some hapless Princess immured within yonder gloomy cavern?” The moment he had spoken, St. George was sorry for what he had said, the Boy looked so genuinely distressed.