Kisington Town - Abbie Farwell Brown

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the Philistine with a child's toy, so you may perhaps conquer this Philistine with a story-book. Go to the savage King yonder, with a flag of truce; and if you can win his ear, beg to read him this, which is of an importance. If you read as well as I have heard you do ere now, I think he will pause in his work of destruction, at least until the story's end."

      Harold took the book, wondering. "I will try my best, sir," he promised simply.

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      A committee of the First Citizens led Harold to the city gate. He wished to say good-bye to his mother, and to Richard and Robert; but there was no time. Presently a watchman raised a white flag above the wall. Thereafter the noise of the besiegers ceased.

      "A truce, ho!"

      "What message from the besieged?"

      "One comes to parley with your King."

      "Let him come forth, under the flag of truce. He will be safe."

      Bearing the white flag in one hand and the gorgeous book in the other, Harold stepped outside the gate. The foreign soldiers stared to see so young a messenger, and some of them would have laughed. But Harold held up his head proudly and showed them that he was not afraid, nor was he to be laughed at.

      "I am the messenger. Pray bring me to the King," he said with dignity.

      A guard of fierce-looking soldiers took him in charge and marched him across the trampled sward, between the ranks of the army, until they came to a little hillock. And there Harold found himself standing in front of a huge man with bristling red hair and beard, having a mighty arm bound with iron. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. He sat upon the hillock as if it were a throne, and held a wicked-looking sword across his great knees, frowning terribly.

      "Well, who are you, and what do you want with me?" growled the Red King. "A queer envoy this! A mere boy!"

      "The City Fathers have sent me to read you something, please Your Majesty," said Harold, trying to look brave, though his knees were quaking at the awful appearance of the War-Lord.

      "Is it a war message?" asked Red Rex, eyeing the red-and-gold book suspiciously.

      "You must hear and judge," answered Harold.

      "Very well," grumbled the Red King. "But waste no time. Begin and have done as quickly as may be."

      Harold began to read from the red-and-gold book; but he had not gone far when Red Rex interrupted him.

      "Why, it is a tale!" he roared. "Thunder and lightning! Do they think this is a child's party? Go home with your story-book to your nursery and leave me to deal with your city in warrior fashion."

      "I come from no nursery!" protested Harold, squaring his shoulders. "I am no molly-coddle. No boy can beat me at any game. I am instructed to read you this, and I must do so, unless you break the truce and do me harm."

      "Who ever heard the like of this!" thundered Red Rex. "Here am I making real war, and this boy interrupts me to read a tale! What a waste of time! I read nothing, boy. War dispatches are all I have taste for. Does this concern war?"

      "It has everything to do with this war," said Harold truthfully. "It is very important, and they say I read rather well."

      "When did you learn to read rather well?" questioned the Red King sulkily. "I never learned to read well, myself, and I am thrice your age. I never have had time. At your years I was already a soldier. Fighting was the only sport I cared for. Reading is girls' business."

      "A lot of good things are girls' business, and boys' business, too," said Harold loyally. "But please hear me read about the fight, Your Majesty."

      "About a fight;--it is a long time since I heard a story about a fight, written in ink," said the Red King musingly. "But I have myself seen many fights, written in red blood."

      "This is a story different from any you ever read," said Harold. "It is a story no one ever heard read before, outside Kisington. Will Your Majesty permit that I begin?"

      Red Rex hummed and hawed, hesitated and frowned. But he was a curious King, as well as a savage one, and his curiosity triumphed. "What ho!" he shouted to his guard at last. "Let there be a truce until I give word to resume the fighting. I have that which claims my attention. Boy, I will hear the story. Plant the flag of truce upon this hillock and sit down here at my feet. Now!" He unfastened his belt and sword, took off his heavy helmet and made himself comfortable, while his men lolled about in the grass near by. Harold seated himself at the feet of the Red King, as he was bidden; and opening the red-and-gold book began to read in his best manner the story of The Dragon of Hushby.

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      Long, long ago, in the days when even stranger things befell than we see nowadays, travelers brought news to the little town of Kisington-by-the-Sea. They said that the terrible Dragon of Hushby had wakened again from his fifty years' nap; had crept out of his cave in the mountain, and was terrifying the country as he had done in the grandfathers' times. Already he had destroyed ten horses; had eaten one hundred head of cattle, six fair maidens, and twelve plump little children. Besides which he had killed three brave men who had dared to fight with him. But now no one ventured near the cave where the dreadful creature lived, and the land was filled with horror for which there seemed to be no hope of relief.

      [Harold, seated on the grass, is reading to Red Rex, whose armed troops can be seen behind him.] [Illustration: HAROLD BEGAN TO READ FROM THE RED-AND-GOLD BOOK]

      Moreover, so the travelers said, the King proclaimed that whoever should put an end to the terror of Hushby might ask of his sovereign whatever reward he chose, even the hand of the King's daughter. Now when this news came to Kisington there was great excitement. For Hushby Town was not far distant from the market-place of Kisington. People gathered in groups talking in whispers of the Dragon, and looking fearfully out of the corners of their eyes as they spoke. Who could tell when the creature might wander in their direction, as the Chronicles recorded that he had done once, long ago, when he had destroyed the daughter of him who was Lord Mayor at that time? Kisington had special reasons, you see, for longing to hear that a hero had conquered the Dragon.

      Of all the people in Kisington who heard the news, the one most excited thereby was a lad named Arthur. He did not look like a hero, for he was short, and small, and ugly. For this reason no one had ever thought him especially brave. Most people expect heroes to be great, big men. Arthur was held to be of little account in Kisington. But though he was a little fellow, he had a great heart. All his life he had loved tales of bravery and adventure, and he longed to be a. hero. Besides, he thought it would be a. fine thing to marry the King's daughter, who, like all princesses, must be very beautiful.

      Arthur lived by himself in a castle which had once belonged to his uncle. Now that uncle had been an Amateur Magician; that is, he was always doing things with flaring fires and queer bottles, messes of strange liquids and horrid smells,--hoping to learn how to turn old iron into gold, or to discover some other useful secret. No one ever heard, however, of his accomplishing anything; until one day, with a Bang! he blew himself up.` And every one heard of that. His will gave all his Amateur-Magical stuff to Arthur--all his forges and bellows and bulbs and bottles, the syrups and nasty smells. But Arthur cared nothing at all about Amateur Magic, and scarcely ever went into the desolate tower in one wing of the castle, where his uncle's laboratory was gathering dust.

      But after news came about the Dragon of Hushby, things were different. An idea had come into Arthur's head. "Oh, dear!" he said to himself. "If

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