The last dragon
a perfectly healthy, perfectly normal, full-sized dragon into a modern
house that was built for perfectly normal people, you’ll have no idea
of the difficulty. Let me tell you it took strategy! It was push and
pull and grunt and squeal with all the children bracing their legs
and straining their backs, and the dragon puffing and holding in his
waist-line and letting it out, and crying: “Oh, dear me, dear, dear
me, this will never, never do! No, never, never do!” every two or
three seconds. If Grandma hadn’t been there to superintend it is very
doubtful whether the children would have manœuvered him into the house,
but she was full of helpful suggestions, and the dragon’s glittering
tail was half way up the hall stairs by the time Mrs. Baxter had driven
her bright blue automobile around to the garage.
However, and unfortunately, half way up the stairs was not in the
nursery and under Peter’s bed as Johnathan had planned. It was indeed
far from that. The dragon’s head was in the nursery and his shoulders
and part of his back, but that distressingly long tail of his was
certainly a problem. “Couldn’t you curl it around you like a cat?”
Grandma suggested.
“Under the present cramped circumstances that’s impossible,” the dragon
told her, a helpless tear in each eye.
“Seems to me,” said Johnathan, pondering, “that I read some place where
dragons could turn themselves into any size they wished.”
Janet Jane clapped her hands, gleefully. “Yes, I read that too. It’s in
my red fairy book. Can’t you turn yourself into a little green worm,
Mr. Dragon, just for the time being?”
“I’m sorry but I can’t do that either. I’ve lost the formula.”
“Gracious! Can’t you possibly remember it?” Grandma urged, frantically.
“No. I always had a remarkably poor memory. It was a very complicated
formula and there was a magic verse tacked onto it that was extremely
difficult. When I was little I got many a spanking from my stern father
for not remembering it.”
“There’s a magic verse in my red fairy book,” said Janet Jane. “Maybe
that will help? It begins:
Blue, blue earth,
And black, black sky,
Pink, pink frog
That cannot fly.”
The dragon shook his head and said mournfully: “That doesn’t help me a
bit, I’m sorry to say. It has to be your own particular magic verse,
like your own particular porridge bowl or your own particular napkin
ring, before it does any good. Well, I suppose I’d better withdraw
and go back to the cave. It’s no good staying here and getting all you
children into trouble.” And the dragon sighed so deeply that all the
curtains in the nursery were blown out of the windows and one of the
fat feather pillows flew off Peter’s little bed.
The children sent up a cry of disapproval that was interrupted by the
voice of Mrs. Baxter who had just entered the house through the French
doors on the side porch. “What are you children doing in doors?” called
up Mrs. Baxter. “I thought I told you to play in the meadow until
luncheon?”
“We--we--” began Johnathan, but Grandma silenced him. “Let _me_ attend
to this, Johnathan,” she said, and started down stairs, stepping
daintily so as not to tread on the dragon’s tail. She had hoped to meet
Mrs. Baxter in the living room and prevent her from coming into the
hall, but she was too late. At the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Baxter
was standing gazing in horror at the long green tail.
“What _is_ that ugly thing?” she demanded.
“Be calm, Kate, be calm,” said Grandma, “it’s only a dragon.”
“A dragon? For heaven’s sake, where did it come from?”
“Peter found it.”
“Found it? How could he find a dragon?”
“Very easily--easier than finding a pocket-book,” said Grandma.
“Oh, isn’t it terrible? Where are the children? Has it eaten any of
them yet? I’ll run and phone for the police and the fire department.”
Grandma stopped her before she could get to the telephone. “Don’t be
nonsensical, Kate!” she snapped, standing on her tiptoes. “The children
are perfectly safe. It’s an adorable dragon.”
“Adorable? Who ever heard of an adorable dragon?” cried Mrs. Baxter.
“Why, that long green tail was perfectly hideous. What is it doing
upstairs?”
“The children were trying to hide it in the nursery, and I was helping
them,” replied Grandma, her head wagging proudly.
“Are you insane, Grandma Baxter? Helping the children to hide a dragon
in the nursery! It was bad enough when you bought them that vicious
nanny goat.”
“That nanny goat wasn’t vicious,” returned Grandma with dignity. “It
butted no one but the butcher’s boy and he deserved it because he hit
the perfectly innocent beast with a sling-shot.”
Grandma had no sooner spoken than a sharp shriek came from upstairs,
followed by frightened sobs. It was Susan Oliver doing just the wrong
thing at the wrong time, as usual. It seemed that in trying to wriggle
further upstairs, the dragon had accidentally flipped Susan with one of
his fin-like scales, not hurting her a bit, but frightening her into
tears. Quite naturally, Mrs. Baxter believed that the dragon was doing
harm to the children, and she ran to the foot of the stairs and called,
“Children! Come down here at once! All of you!”
Susan Oliver stopped crying, and there was silence and a pause. Mrs.
Baxter called again: “Children! Do you hear me? Come down at once!”
What was her surprise to see them all come sliding down on the dragon’s
back and off his tail, just as if he were a nice, shiny bannister, the
exciting kind, long and smooth with a curve in it. First came Peter in
his armor, and then Johnathan in his kingly robes, and then Janet Jane
in the pink wrapper, and then Billy Rose in his rusty armor, and then
Kath in her green train, and then Mary in the circus rider’s costume,
and then Polly in her mother’s riding habit. Susan Oliver was the only
one who did not take the slide. She was too busy crying and missed an
experience that the other children talked about for ages afterwards.
To slide down a real dragon’s back is something that doesn’t happen to
every one, let me tell you.
The children landed together in a heap on the floor at Mrs. Baxter’s
feet, and instantly they untangled themselves and the three little
Baxter’s encircled their mother and began to plead: “Oh, please don’t
be cross with him, Mother!” “Please let us keep him, Mother!” “Please
don’t send him away, Mother!” “He’s beautiful, Mother!” “We love him,
Mother!”
Billy Rose drew apart with Kath and Polly and Mary, ready any moment
to say: “Let _me_ take him, Mrs. Baxter. _My_ mother won’t mind.”
And this was quite true. Billy’s mother allowed him to do quite as
he pleased and consequently he was always getting into trouble. Even
practical people find themselves in trouble if they are permitted to do
exactly as they please. Now isn’t that so?
“Children, be quiet!” Mrs. Baxter commanded. “It’s nonsense to think
that you could keep a big monster like that in our house. Why, we
couldn’t even go upstairs without stepping on him. Besides, he may be
gentle now but no dragon could live around children for any length of
time without desiring to eat one of them for his breakfast.”
“No, Mother, he only eats grass,” piped Peter.
“Hush, Peter. And another thing, you know how your father feels about
pets in the house. If he objects to dogs and cats, what would he say
about a great big dragon? No, my dears, your dragon has to go!”
CHAPTER V
GOODBYE, DRAGON
Now you really can’t blame Mrs. Baxter, if you look at her side of
it. To her dragons were vicious, ugly beasts and she just didn’t have
imagination enough to see one of them smile. She was a very, very fond
mother and wanted to protect her children from all harm, which is not
at all unusual for very, very fond mothers from tiny humming-bird
mothers clear up to mothers like yours and mine. Maybe Mrs. Baxter gave
all her own share of imagination to the children when they were born
and had none left for herself, and maybe it was because when she was a
little girl she had been taught to fear dragons.
At any rate, there was no help for it now, and so out the dragon had
to go. He backed out sheepishly, because there wasn’t room for him to
turn around and depart with dignity. When his drooping head passed
Mrs. Baxter’s skirts, he raised his big blue eyes and looked at her so
sweetly, but Mrs. Baxter, poor Mrs. Baxter, could only see his ugly,
ugly nose and his big white teeth. That was really too bad because she
might have relented had she seen that sad, sad smile all quivery with
threatening tears.
“Goodbye, children!” the dragon called, lingering on the gravel walk.
“Goodbye, dear, dear dragon,” they replied in a gulpy chorus.
And now he was going away from them, dragging his green tail slowly,
looking back longingly over his shoulder.
“It’s an outrage to send that poor beast away like this,” stormed
Grandma, wagging a finger in Mrs. Baxter’s face. “Don’t you know that
he’s all alone in the world?”
“He hasn’t a single friend!” half-sobbed Johnathan.
“Thank heavens he hasn’t,” said Mother Baxter. “Suppose there were lots
of them, all trying to hide in children’s nurseries?”
“Maybe there are,” said Grandma, the strangest expression in her eyes.
“Maybe there are, who knows?”
The dragon’s tail was just disappearing around the corner of the front
porch when Mr. Baxter, the tall, nice-looking father of Johnathan,
Janet Jane and Peter, drove up in his own automobile, having just come
from the city. When he saw the group standing in the doorway, strangely
agitated, he rushed up to Mrs. Baxter and demanded to know what had
happened. He thought it couldn’t be anything less than robbers or a
fire, from the expressions on all their faces.
“Don’t get excited, James!” Grandma said sternly, before Mrs. Baxter
could speak. “Kate has just sent a dragon away.”
“A _what_ away?”
“A dragon.”
Mr. Baxter threw back his head and burst into loud laughter. “A dragon?
What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I _knew_ you wouldn’t understand,” snapped Grandma, irritated.
“He’s going around the house, this very minute, back to the woodlot,
poor thing!” Janet cried. “Go and look for him, Daddy. He’s the
sweetest, the dearest, the--”
Peter and Johnathan had swooped down upon their father. “Yes, yes,
Dad!” they both shouted--“Come and see how nice he looks!” And they
pulled him over to the end of the veranda and pointed out the dragon,
who was slowly dragging himself toward the rose garden.
“See, there he is!” Johnathan said. “I wish he’d turn around.”
“Oh, dwagon! Dwagon! Turn around!” called Peter, and the dragon turned,
but his face was still very, very sad, and his checks were drenched
with tears.
“Smile nice, Dragon,” instructed Johnathan--“smile nice for Daddy.”
The dragon hesitated a moment; blinked fiercely; sniffed so loudly that
Peter and Johnathan could hear him plainly, and then forced a smile. It
was a weak, watery smile and quickly vanished.
“You children are talking the greatest lot of nonsense I’ve
ever listened to,” said their father. “Where _did_ you get such
imaginations?”
“It’s not imagination, Daddy,” protested Johnathan. “The dragon’s
standing right there by the red rose bush. Can’t you see him, honest?”
His big eyes were searching his father’s face.
“No, and _you_ can’t either. What is this, April fool? Come on, let’s
stop this joking and go into luncheon. This is Daddy’s Saturday
afternoon off and we’re going to take a long auto ride up to Sulphur
Springs and the Indian Rocks.”
Now, you really must feel sorry because Daddy Baxter could not see the
dragon. Once he could see dragons and pixies and everything else that’s
delicious and exciting, but the crystal key that opens the door to
that magic world had been lost somewhere along the twisting road that