It threw up its snout and uttered a devastating howl, and Philip felt with a thrill of horror that, clockwork or no clockwork, the brute was alive, and desperately dangerous.
And now it had perceived that it was bound. With great heavings and throes, with snortings and bellowings, with scratchings and tearings of its great claws and lashings of its terrible tail, it writhed and fought to be free, and the light of thousands of fireworks illuminated the gigantic struggle.
Then what Philip had known would happen, did happen. The great wall held fast, the rope held fast, the dragon held fast. It was the key that gave way. With an echoing grinding rusty sound like a goods train shunting on a siding, the key was drawn from the keyhole in the dragon’s side and left still fast to its rope like an anchor to a cable.
Left. For now that happened which Philip had not foreseen. He had forgotten that before it fell asleep the dragon had partly wound itself up. And its struggles had not used up all the winding. There was go in the dragon yet. And with a yell of fury it set off across the plain, wriggling its green rattling length towards—the Princess.
And now there was no time to think whether one was afraid or not. Philip went down those tower stairs more quickly than he had ever gone downstairs in his life, and he was not bad at stairs even at ordinary times.
He put his sword over his shoulder as you do a gun, and ran. Like the dragon he made straight for the Princess. And now it was a race between him and the dragon. Philip ran and ran. His heart thumped, his feet had that leaden feeling that comes in nightmares. He felt as if he were dying.
Keep on, keep on, faster, faster, you mustn’t stop. Ah! that’s better. He has got his second wind. He is going faster. And the dragon, or is it fancy? is going not quite so fast.
How he did it Philip never knew. But with a last spurt he reached the pillar where the Princess stood bound. And the dragon was twenty yards away, coming on and on and on.
Philip stood quite still, recovering his breath. And more and more slowly, but with no sign of stopping, the dragon came on. Behind him, where the pillar was, Philip heard someone crying softly.
Then the dragon was quite near. Philip took three steps forward, took aim with his sword, shut his eyes and hit as hard as he could. Then something hard and heavy knocked him over, and for a time he knew no more.
When he came to himself again, Mr. Noah was giving him something nasty to drink out of a medicine glass, Mr. Perrin was patting him on the back, all the people were shouting like mad, and more fireworks than ever were being let off. Beside him lay the dragon, lifeless and still.
“Oh!” said Philip, “did I really do it?”
“You did indeed,” said Mr. Noah; “however you may succeed with the other deeds, you are the hero of this one. And now, if you feel well enough, prepare to receive the reward of Valour and Chivalry.”
“Oh!” said Philip, brightening, “I didn’t know there was to be a reward.”
“Only the usual one,” said Mr. Noah. “The Princess, you know.”
Philip became aware that a figure in a white veil was standing quite near him; round its feet lay lengths of cut rope.
“The Princess is yours,” said Mr. Noah, with generous affability.
“But I don’t want her,” said Philip, adding by an afterthought, “thank you.”
“You should have thought of that before,” said Mr. Noah. “You can’t go doing deeds of valour, you know, and then shirking the reward. Take her. She is yours.”
“Anyone who likes may have her,” said Philip desperately. “If she’s mine, I can give her away, can’t I? You must see yourself I can’t be bothered with princesses if I’ve got all those other deeds to do.”
“That’s not my affair,” said Mr. Noah. “Perhaps you might arrange to board her out while you’re doing your deeds. But at present she is waiting for you to take her by the hand and raise her veil.”
“Must I?” said Philip miserably. “Well, here goes.”
He took a small cold hand in one of his and with the other lifted, very gingerly, a corner of the veil. The other hand of the Princess drew back the veil, and the Dragon-Slayer and the Princess were face to face.
“Why!” cried Philip, between relief and disgust, “it’s only Lucy!”
V
On the Carpet
The Princess was just Lucy.
“It’s too bad,” said Philip. “I do think.” Then he stopped short and just looked cross.
“The Princess and the Champion will now have their teas,” said Mr. Noah. “Right about face, everybody, please, and quick march.”
Philip and Lucy found themselves marching side by side through the night made yellow with continuous fireworks.
You must picture them marching across a great plain of grass where many coloured flowers grew. You see a good many of Philip’s buildings had been made on the drawing-room carpet at home, which was green with pink and blue and yellow and white flowers. And this carpet had turned into grass and growing flowers, following that strange law which caused things to change into other things, like themselves, but larger and really belonging to a living world.
No one spoke. Philip said nothing because he was in a bad temper. And if you are in a bad temper, nothing is a good thing to say. To circumvent a dragon and then kill it, and to have such an adventure end in tea with Lucy, was too much. And he had other reasons for silence too. And Lucy was silent because she had so much to say that she didn’t know where to begin; and besides, she could feel how cross Philip was. The crowd did not talk because it was
