DREAM DAYS
sad stories of rapine and of wrong that had so lately been poured into his sympathetic ears.
"May I come in, St. George?" said the Boy, politely, as he paused at the door. "I want to talk to you about this little matter of the dragon, if you're not tired of it by this time."
"Yes, come in. Boy," said the Saint, kindly. "Another tale of misery and wrong, I fear me. Is it a kind parent, then, of whom the tyrant has bereft you? Or some tender sister or brother? Well, it shall soon be avenged."
"Nothing of the sort," said the Boy. "There's a misunderstanding somewhere, and I want to put it right. The fact is, this is a good dragon."
"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
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