had escaped from parental control and now sprawled and rolled
about on the grass, regardless of the shrill threats and warnings
discharged at them by their anxious mothers behind.

The Boy had secured a good front place, well up towards the cave,
and was feeling as anxious as a stage-manager on a first night.
Could the dragon be depended upon? He might change his mind and
vote the whole performance rot; or else, seeing that the affair
had been so hastily planned, without even a rehearsal, he might
be too nervous to show up. The Boy looked narrowly at the cave,
but it showed no sign of life or occupation. Could the
dragon have made a moon-light flitting?

The higher portions of the ground were now black with sightseers,
and presently a sound of cheering and a waving of handkerchiefs
told that something was visible to them which the Boy, far up
towards the dragon-end of the line as he was, could not yet see.
A minute more and St. George's red plumes topped the hill, as the
Saint rode slowly forth on the great level space which stretched
up to the grim mouth of the cave. Very gallant and beautiful he
looked, on his tall war-horse, his golden armour glancing in the
sun, his great spear held erect, the little white pennon,
crimson-crossed, fluttering at its point. He drew rein and
remained motionless. The lines of spectators began to give back
a little, nervously; and even the boys in front stopped pulling
hair and cuffing each other, and leaned forward expectant.

"Now then, dragon!" muttered the Boy impatiently, fidgeting where
he sat. He need not have distressed himself, had he only known.
The dramatic possibilities of the thing had tickled the dragon