The last dragon
down to the ground and bowed very low to the king. Then they went to
the saplings and untied their horses and mounted them. The fiery steeds
leaped up and down and nearly threw the knights off, and the grass of
the meadow was torn up by whirling feet.
“Quiet with ye horses and on with ye fight!” finally commanded the
king and at once, just as if they understood, the horses calmed down,
and the knights drew apart, lifting their swords to wait for the final
signal from King Arthur.
King Arthur stood up; raised his hand; held it steady for a breathless
moment; then let it drop quickly to his side. The public showed renewed
interest. The blond and chubby knight, Sir Launcelot, made the first
dash for his opponent. The wooden swords clashed and the furious battle
was on.
CHAPTER II
PETER ENTERS THE WOODLOT
Although the opponents were so unevenly matched, the fight was an
exciting one and not a bit one-sided. Small Peter fought with tiger
ferocity and a definite show of assurance, for it had been arranged
before hand that Sir Launcelot should win. Galahad had won the Saturday
before.
With a sturdy lunge of his wooden sword, Peter unhorsed Billy Rose who
executed a trick fall and lay on his back, legs and arms in the air
like some huge beetle turned over on its shell. Peter was on him in a
moment; drove home the sword; pulled it out and wiped away the gore on
his sky-blue cape.
Billy Rose did a spectacular death scene consisting of many kicks and
contortions, adding much to the pleasure of the court and the public.
It was a very long death scene, many minutes elapsing before Sir
Galahad was quiet enough for the victorious Sir Launcelot to put his
foot on the corpse and raise his sword to the king in salute.
“Go ye now into the forest and find ye dragon that eats every week a
maiden from our smiling village!” commanded the great king Arthur, and
Sir Launcelot bowed and stalked away toward the thick foliage of the
woodlot.
It was strange and terrifying that at the moment the chubby Peter
reached the first maple, the one that breaks from the group and runs
out into the meadow, a cloud, very black and heavy, passed over the
sun, swimming up out of nowhere in an otherwise clear blue sky. A wind
sighed through the maple leaves and whispered about something all
through the thimble berry thicket. The meadow darkened. Peter’s hand
tightened on his sword. He looked straight before him; then looked
back. The court and the public and his rival, Sir Galahad, and the
two dogs seemed to be miles and miles away--shadowy, blurred figures.
Peter felt all alone in the big world and very small. What chance would
he have against that lion he had heard roaring in the thicket that
fearful evening? Oh, but he had his sword. Didn’t he always want to do
noble deeds? Didn’t he envy Johnathan because Johnathan was a Boy Scout
and did a good deed every day? To kill a lion would be a good deed,
wouldn’t it, that is if the lion were aching to eat somebody, right at
that moment. Of course, if the lion were minding his own business, that
would be different. Again Peter looked forward; again looked back.
King Arthur pointed with his scepter and like a voice in a dream came
his command: “Pause not, Sir Launcelot! Go kill ye dragon!”
“All right, King,” replied Peter in a tiny, trembly voice, and advanced
a few more steps.
He passed the maple; passed the second maple; passed the third. He was
in the woodlot now, almost hidden from his companions. How very still
it was. The wind had finished whispering to the thimble berry thicket
and had frisked away. Not a leaf stirred any place. Far off, Peter
could hear the dripping of the spring. He thought of the black cave and
of what Johnathan had told him about the strange something around the
first bend. He paused, hearing his heart beating.
To give himself courage, he spoke aloud, addressing himself in that
well-known lisp: “Go on, Peter Baxter. Don’t be scared. Don’t you know
that there’s no more dwagons? In the whole, whole world there’s not a
dwagon any place. They’re all dead.”
But even as he spoke he doubted the truth of his words. If there were
pixies there could be dragons. Why _should_ all the dragons be dead?
People went on living and dragons were dead. To small Peter, dragons
seemed much more important than people. Yes, somehow, somewhere dragons
lived, and there was no reason to doubt that a dragon might live in the
shadowy woodlot along with the lion and the pixies.
Peter’s feet ventured down the twisting path that would eventually
arrive at the spring, and found himself safely past the thimble berry
thicket. That was a relief. Nothing had broken the silence save the
barking of Jerry, the airedale, and that was a comforting sound. Still,
he wondered why Jerry and Nap had not followed him. They usually did.
That was strange!
Now, here was the spring and the drippy, over-hanging shelf of stones
and black earth, all sewn together with tiny root-threads, and right
beyond the shelf was the entrance of the cave! Small Peter planted his
stocky legs before the black hole; gulped once or twice; mustered up
all his courage and spoke in a squeaking lisp that was meant to be a
rumbling growl. “Come forth, Dwagon!” His wooden sword was clutched
tightly in his little hand. Nothing happened so Peter repeated his
command: “Come forth, Dwagon!”
Still nothing happened and becoming more bold, Peter stepped closer to
the cave’s mouth; thrust his sword into the hole and rumbling it at
last, cried for the third time, “Come forth, Dwagon!”
A long-drawn hissing sound answered him. He fell back. The hissing
sound died. What was the matter with him? His imagination was doing
strange things. He hadn’t really heard a hissing sound. He hadn’t
really heard anything.
Well, he had done his duty. He had called three times and nothing had
happened. He would return to the court and tell his story to the king.
He was turning to go, when there issued from the hole a deep, deep
sigh; then a yawn and then another deep, deep sigh. Before Peter even
had time to think, the deep, deep sigh ended in the most entrancing
little chuckle, and two fiery eyes blazed in the hole. A long green
nose was thrust slowly forth, followed by a broad and lazy smile. The
eyes came into the daylight. The fire faded out of them. They were a
soft, light blue, like the sky, and looked as if they had just opened
from a deep and dreamless sleep.
“Did you call me, little boy?” asked the dragon, as yards and yards of
him, bright green like the meadow grass, oozed from the cave.
“Y-yes-yes, sir, I did,” gasped Peter, “but--but I didn’t think--”
The dragon continued to smile, oh, so sweetly, and tears gathered
in his light blue eyes. “You didn’t think dragons lived any more,”
he sighed, stretching out his great gold claws like a sleepy cat,
“and you’re almost right, because I am the last dragon in all the
world”--and two big tears the size of cups of clear water, dropped to
the ground.
CHAPTER III
MR. DRAGON MEETS THE CHILDREN
“I wonder what’s keeping Peter so long in the woodlot?” wondered Janet
Jane, remembering the pixie in the pink sunbonnet.
“I don’t know,” said Johnathan, remembering the strange something he
had sensed behind the bend in the black cave.
“I bet he’s eating thimble berries,” guessed Billy Rose who was always
practical. “That’s no fair, you know.”
“I’m not going to play any more!” announced small Susan Oliver, tossing
her dark head and dropping the queen’s train. She was one of those
children who always cry and spoil the game just at the wrong moment.
“Let’s play something more exciting,” suggested Mary in the bare-back
rider’s costume. “How about circus?”
“No!” thundered Johnathan. “Wait till Sir Launcelot comes back. He’ll
tell us how he slew the dragon and that will be exciting enough.”
“I’m going right straight home,” wailed Susan Oliver, her face all
puckered up, just as though she had bitten into a crab apple.
“All _right_, if you go home, Susan Oliver, you won’t be Queen
Guinevere next Saturday!” began Janet Jane, when somebody shouted,
“Here comes Peter now!” And they all looked toward the woodlot.
There was Peter advancing with a very important stride, his sword
clasped firmly, a smile of triumph on his round, shining face. Nap, the
setter, and Jerry, the airedale, began to bark, their hair on end.
“Look! What’s that behind him?” cried Billy Rose.
“Where?”
“There!”
A gasp went up from all the children. “Why, it’s a--it’s a--”
“It’s a _real_ dragon!” squealed Janet Jane, and the rest of them took
it up--“A _real_ dragon! A _real_ dragon!”
Susan Oliver opened her mouth like a red O and began to scream. Nap and
Jerry fled, yelping. The group broke and began to run in all directions.
Peter stopped advancing and raised his sword over his curly head. “Hey,
Johnathan! Wait a minute! Wait a minute, Johnathan!”
Behind him, the last dragon chuckled. “Look at them running from me,
just like old times,” he said, with the slightest touch of pride in his
voice; and then in a tone tinged with melancholy, “If they only knew.”
On the edge of the meadow, the frightened children paused and looked
back, just to make sure they had really seen the dragon. They saw small
Peter sympathetically shake his blonde head and then reach over and pat
the dragon on his broad, green back.
Johnathan and Billy Rose were together near the willow clump, and
Johnathan said: “He looks like a very _nice_ dragon, don’t you think?”
“Yes, and very tame,” agreed Billy. “He’s smiling, I believe.”
“Peter’s patting him!”
“He can’t be very vicious.”
“He doesn’t seem to breathe fire,” observed the well-informed Johnathan.
Peter called again. “Hey, Johnathan! Don’t run away!”
“I’m going back,” said Johnathan, sticking out his chest. “Come on,
Billy.”
“Sure! Who’s afraid?”
The two boys started back across the meadow. The sun was bright again.
All the cowslips and Johnny-jump-ups were standing erect, and the
Jenny wrens were chirping in the maples. A cheerful little wind romped
through the green grass. There was no terror and no mystery. It was all
very clear and simple. There was just a dragon in the woodlot.
Peter and the last dragon met the children in the middle of the meadow.
As soon as Janet Jane saw Johnathan and Billy Rose start back, she
came too and that gave the others courage. Susan Oliver tiptoed up
last, ready to fly at a moment’s notice, her little dancing feet as
restless on the meadow grass as tufts of thistledown. They formed in
a new-moon crescent and stared at the curious dragon. Jerry sat down
very politely beside Nap, they didn’t even sniff, and stared with their
tongues sticking out.
“Mr. Dwagon,” introduced Peter, “this is Johnathan Baxter, my brother.
Johnathan, I want you to meet Mr. Dwagon, the last dwagon in the whole,
whole world.”
Again the dragon smiled. “Delighted to meet you, Johnathan,” he said.
“You’ve got Peter’s small nose, haven’t you, and there’s something
about your eyes that are alike, but why do you wear a crown?”
Johnathan blushed. “Oh, I was just playing King Arthur,” he apologized.
“Ah, King Arthur,” sighed the dragon, “there _was_ a king!”
“Oh, did _you_ know him?” exclaimed Johnathan.
“Very well indeed. Of course, he was a great enemy of my family, and I
was taught to hate him from my cradle, but”--And here he winked very
slowly, “deep down in my heart I really admired him.”
Janet Jane spoke breathlessly: “And, and did you know Queen Guinevere?”
“Oh, yes, and a very beautiful queen she was. I saw her once, dressed
in a bright red velvet gown with gold slippers on her little feet. Is