The Dragon of Wantley Part 2

"But I may not be here to taste it," said Elaine.

"Bless the child!" said Mistletoe. "And where else would you be on Christmas-day but in your own house?"

"Perhaps far away. Who knows?"

"You haven't gone and seen a young man and told him----"

"A young man, indeed!" said Elaine, with a toss of her head. "There's not a young man in England I would tell anything save to go about his business."

Miss Elaine had never seen any young men except when they came to dine on Sir G.o.dfrey's invitation; and his manner on those occasions so awed them that they always sat on the edge of their chairs, and said, "No, thank you," when the Baron said, "Have some more capon?" Then the Baron would snort, "Nonsense! Popham, bring me Master Percival's plate," upon which Master Percival invariably simpered, and said that really he did believe he _would_ take another slice. After these dinners, Miss Elaine retired to her own part of the house; and that was all she ever saw of young men, whom she very naturally deemed a cla.s.s to be despised as silly and wholly lacking in self-a.s.sertion.

"Then where in the name of good saints are you going to be?" Mistletoe went on.

"Why," said Elaine, slowly (and here she looked very slyly at the old Governess, and then quickly appeared to be considering the lace on her dress), "why, of course, papa would not permit me to sacrifice myself for one dragon or twenty dragons."

"What!" screamed Mistletoe, all in a flurry (for she was a fool).

"What?"

"Of course, I know papa would say that," said Miss Elaine, demure as possible.

"Oh, mercy me!" squeaked Mistletoe; "we are undone!"

"To be sure, I might agree with papa," said the artful thing, knowing well enough she was on the right track.

"Oo--oo!" went the Governess, burying her nose in the household cookery-book and rocking from side to side.

"But then I might not agree with papa, you know. I might think,--might think----" Miss Elaine stopped at what she might think, for really she hadn't the slightest idea what to say next.

"You have no right to think,--no right at all!" burst out Mistletoe.

"And you sha'n't be allowed to think. I'll tell Sir G.o.dfrey at once, and he'll forbid you. Oh, dear! oh, dear! just before Christmas Eve, too! The only night in the year! She has no time to change her mind; and she'll be eaten up if she goes, I know she will. What villain told you of this, child? Let me know, and he shall be punished at once."

"I shall not tell you that," said Elaine.

"Then everybody will be suspected," moaned Mistletoe. "Everybody. The whole household. And we shall all be thrown to the Dragon. Oh, dear!

was there ever such a state of things?" The Governess betook herself to weeping and wringing her hands, and Elaine stood watching her and wondering how in the world she could find out more. She knew now just enough to keep her from eating or sleeping until she knew everything.

"I don't agree with papa, at all," she said, during a lull in the tears. This was the only remark she could think of.

"He'll lock you up, and feed you on bread and water till you do--oo--oo!" sobbed Mistletoe; "and by that time we shall all be ea--ea--eaten up!"

"But I'll talk to papa, and make him change his mind."

"He won't. Do you think you're going to make him care more about a lot of sheep and cows than he does about his only daughter? Doesn't he pay the people for everything the Dragon eats up? Who would pay him for you, when you were eaten up?"

"How do you know that I should be eaten up?" asked Miss Elaine.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! and how could you stop it? What could a girl do alone against a dragon in the middle of the night?"

"But on Christmas Eve?" suggested the young lady. "There might be something different about that. He might feel better, you know, on Christmas Eve."

"Do you suppose a wicked, ravenous dragon with a heathen tail is going to care whether it is Christmas Eve or not? He'd have you for his Christmas dinner, and that's all the notice he would take of the day.

And then perhaps he wouldn't leave the country, after all. How can you be sure he would go away, just because that odious, vulgar legend says so? Who would rely on a dragon? And so there you would be gone, and he would be here, and everything!"

Mistletoe's tears flowed afresh; but you see she had said all that Miss Elaine was so curious to know about, and the fatal secret was out.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ELAINE MAKETH AN VNEXPECTED REMARK]

The Quarter-Bell rang for dinner, and both the women hastened to their rooms to make ready; Mistletoe still boo-hooing and snuffling, and declaring that she had always said some wretched, abominable villain would tell her child about that horrid, ridiculous legend, that was a perfect falsehood, as anybody could see, and very likely invented by the Dragon himself, because no human being with any feelings at all would think of such a cruel, absurd idea; and if they ever did, they deserved to be eaten themselves; and she would not have it.

She said a great deal more that Elaine, in the next room, could not hear (though the door was open between), because the Governess put her fat old face under the cold water in the basin, and, though she went on talking just the same, it only produced an angry sort of bubbling, which conveyed very little notion of what she meant.

So they descended the stairway, Miss Elaine walking first, very straight and solemn; and that was the way she marched into the banquet-hall, where Sir G.o.dfrey waited.

"Papa," said she, "I think I'll meet the Dragon on Christmas Eve!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER III

Reueals the _Dragon_ in his Den

[Ill.u.s.tration: BROTHER HUBERT]

Around the sullen towers of Oyster-le-Main the snow was falling steadily. It was slowly banking up in the deep sills of the windows, and Hubert the Sacristan had given up sweeping the steps. Patches of it, that had collected on the top of the great bell as the slanting draughts blew it in through the belfry-window, slid down from time to time among the birds which had nestled for shelter in the beams below.

From the heavy main outer-gates, the country spread in a white unbroken sheet to the woods. Twice, perhaps, through the morning had wayfarers toiled by along the nearly-obliterated high-road.

"Good luck to the holy men!" each had said to himself as he looked at the chill and austere walls of the Monastery. "Good luck! and I hope that within there they be warmer than I am." Then I think it very likely that as he walked on, blowing the fingers of the hand that held his staff, he thought of his fireside and his wife, and blessed Providence for not making him pious enough to be a monk and a bachelor.

This is what was doing in the world outside. Now inside the stone walls of Oyster-le-Main, whose grim solidity spoke of narrow cells and of pious knees continually bent in prayer, not a monk paced the corridors, and not a step could be heard above or below in the staircase that wound up through the round towers. Silence was everywhere, save that from a remote quarter of the Monastery came a faint sound of music. Upon such a time as Christmas Eve, it might well be that carols in plenty would be sung or studied by the saintly men.

But this sounded like no carol. At times the humming murmur of the storm drowned the measure, whatever it was, and again it came along the dark, cold entries, clearer than before. Away in a long vaulted room, whose only approach was a pa.s.sage in the thickness of the walls, safe from the intrusion of the curious, a company is sitting round a cavernous chimney, where roars and crackles a great blazing heap of logs. Surely, for a monkish song, their melody is most odd; yet monks they are, for all are clothed in gray, like Father Anselm, and a rope round the waist of each. But what can possibly be in that huge silver rundlet into which they plunge their goblets so often? The song grows louder than ever.

We are the monks of Oyster-le-Main, Hooded and gowned as fools may see; Hooded and gowned though we monks be, Is that a reason we should abstain From cups of the gamesome Burgundie?

Though our garments make it plain That we are Monks of Oyster-le-Main, That is no reason we should abstain From cups of the gamesome Burgundie.

"I'm sweating hot," says one. "How for disrobing, brothers? No danger on such a day as this, foul luck to the snow!"

Which you see was coa.r.s.e and vulgar language for any one to be heard to use, and particularly so for a G.o.dly celibate. But the words were scarce said, when off fly those monks' hoods, and the waist-ropes rattle as they fall on the floor, and the gray gowns drop down and are kicked away.

Every man jack of them is in black armour, with a long sword buckled to his side.

"Long cheer to the Guild of Go-as-you-Please!" they shouted, hoa.r.s.ely, and dashed their drinking-horns on the board. Then filled them again.

"Give us a song, Hubert," said one. "The day's a dull one out in the world."