"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 to-night. 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 its 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 carol-time 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.
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