dragon.' Tell us a real man-story; but be sure not to have the dragon hurt. We like it to end happily, Mama."
"Very well. Listen quietly, now. Don't rustle your wings nor flop your tails. Sammy! stop blowing flames into your sister's face, this moment!—or not a word shall you hear.
"There was once a most delightful land, full of bogs and moist-smelling marshes, of dark rocky caves, all damp and cold. The lakes were covered with beautiful green mold, no flowers grew in the fields—nothing but cool rushes, ferns, and mosses. In short, it was a land in which any dragon might be glad to crawl: no sunshine to shrink the scales or dry the wings, no bright glaring meadows to dazzle one's poor eyes. Why, even at mid-day one could slide comfortably about on the slippery, slimy banks and never catch a blink of a sunbeam on the water."
"Oh, how nice! Really and truly, Mama?" asked the small dragons, laughing with so much delight that the flames from their pretty scarlet throats lighted up the cave until Mr. Dragon stirred uneasily in his dreams; for he had fallen asleep.
