"Now don't take on," said St. George. "I'll stand by you, and we'll _both_ see him home. Wake up, dragon!" he said sharply, shaking the beast by the elbow. The dragon looked up sleepily. "What a night, George!" he murmured; "what a--" "Now look here, dragon," said the Saint, firmly. "Here's this little fellow waiting to see you home, and you _know_ he ought to have been in bed these two hours, and what his mother'll say _I_ don't know, and anybody but a selfish pig would have _made_ him go to bed long ago--" "And he _shall_ go to bed!" cried the dragon, starting up. "Poor little chap, only fancy his being up at this hour! It's a shame, that's what it is, and I don't think, St. George, you've been very considerate--but come along at once, and don't let us have any more arguing or shilly-shallying. You give me hold of your hand, Boy--thank you, George, an arm up the hill is just what I wanted!" So they set off up the hill arm-in-arm, the Saint, the Dragon, and the Boy. The lights in the little village began to go out; but there were stars, and a late moon, as they climbed to the Downs together. And, as they turned the last corner and disappeared from view, snatches of an old song were borne back on the night-breeze. I can't be certain which of them was singing, but I _think_ it was the Dragon! "Here we are at your gate," said the man, abruptly, laying his hand on it. "Good-night. Cut along in sharp, or you'll catch it!" Could it really be our own gate? Yes, there it was, sure enough, with the familiar marks on its bottom bar made by our feet when we swung on it. "Oh, but wait a minute!" cried Charlotte. "I want to know a heap of things. Did the dragon really settle down? And did--" "There isn't any more of that story," said the man, kindly but firmly. "At least, not tonight. Now be off! Good-bye!" "Wonder if it's all true?" said Charlotte, as we hurried up the path. "Sounded dreadfully like nonsense, in parts!" "P'raps it's true for all that," I replied encouragingly. Charlotte bolted in like a rabbit, out of the cold and the dark; but I lingered a moment in the still, frosty air, for a backward glance at the silent white world without, ere I changed it for the land of firelight and cushions and laughter. It was the day for choir-practice, and caroltime was at hand, and a belated member was passing homewards down the road, singing as he went:-- "Then St. George: ee made rev'rence: in the stable so dim, Oo vanquished the dragon: so fearful and grim. So-o grim: and so-o fierce: that now may we say All peaceful is our wakin': on Chri-istmas Day!" The singer receded, the carol died away. But I wondered, with my hand on the door-latch, whether that was the song, or something like it, that the dragon sang as he toddled contentedly up the hill. [Illustration] A DEPARTURE