sure for himself, and he wriggled himself in between the legs of
his good-natured elders, abusing them all the time for their
unmannerly habit of shoving. Once in the front rank, he
breathlessly awaited the arrival.

Presently from the far-away end of the line came the sound of
cheering. Next, the measured tramp of a great war-horse
made his heart beat quicker, and then he found himself cheering
with the rest, as, amidst welcoming shouts, shrill cries of
women, uplifting of babies and waving of handkerchiefs, St.
George paced slowly up the street. The Boy's heart stood still
and he breathed with sobs, the beauty and the grace of the hero
were so far beyond anything he had yet seen. His fluted armour
was inlaid with gold, his plumed helmet hung at his saddle-bow,
and his thick fair hair framed a face gracious and gentle beyond
expression till you caught the sternness in his eyes. He drew
rein in front of the little inn, and the villagers crowded round
with greetings and thanks and voluble statements of their wrongs
and grievances and oppressions. The Boy heard the grave gentle
voice of the Saint, assuring them that all would be well
now, and that he would stand by them and see them righted
and free them from their foe; then he dismounted and passed
through the doorway and the crowd poured in after him. But the
Boy made off up the hill as fast as he could lay his legs to the
ground.

"It's all up, dragon!" he shouted as soon as he was within sight
of the beast. "He's coming! He's here now! You'll have to pull
yourself together and DO something at last!"