The king looked on it and frowned.

"Why are you not breathing fire and brimstone?" he demanded, angrily.

"Why, I was caught out in a gale the other night," returned the
Dragon, rubbing the back of its ear with its left front paw, as it
paused and looked at the king, "and the wind put out my fire."

"Then why didn't you light it again?" asked Terribus, turning on
the keepers.

"We--we were out of matches, your Majesty!" stammered the trembling
Gray Men.

"So--ho!" yelled the king, and was about to order the keepers
beheaded; but just then Nerle pulled out his match-box, lit one of the
matches, and held it in front of the Dragon's mouth. Instantly the
creature's breath caught fire; and it began to breathe flames a yard
in length.

"That's better," sighed the Dragon, contentedly. "I hope your Majesty
is now satisfied."

"No,--I am not satisfied!" declared King Terribus. "Why do you not
lash your tail?"

"Ah, I can't do that!" replied the Dragon. "It's all stiffened up
with rheumatism from the dampness of my cave. It hurts too much to
lash it."