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The Reluctant Dragon

           

           “Here,I’mcomingalongwithyou,”saidthecircus-man.“Iwantanotherpipe,andawalk’lldomegood.Youneedn’ttalktomeunlessyoulike.”

           Ourspiritsrosetotheirwontedlevelagain.Thewayhadseemedsolong,theoutsideworldsodarkandeerie,afterthebrightwarmroomandthehighly-colouredbeast-book.ButawalkwitharealMan—why,thatwasatreatinitself!Wesetoffbriskly,theManinthemiddle.IlookedupathimandwonderedwhetherIshouldeverlivetosmokeabigpipewiththatcarelesssortofmajesty!ButCharlotte,whoseyoungmindwasnotsetontobaccoasapossiblegoal,madeherselfheardfromtheotherside.

           “Now,then,”shesaid,“tellusastory,please,won’tyou?”

           TheMansighedheavilyandlookedabouthim.“Iknewit,”hegroaned.“IKNEWIshouldhavetotellastory.Oh,whydidIleavemypleasantfireside?Well,IWILLtellyouastory.Onlyletmethinkaminute.”

           Sohethoughtaminute,andthenhetoldusthisstory.

           Longago—mighthavebeenhundredsofyearsago—inacottagehalf-waybetweenthisvillageandyondershoulderoftheDownsupthere,ashepherdlivedwithhiswifeandtheirlittleson.Nowtheshepherdspenthisdays—andatcertaintimesoftheyearhisnightstoo—uponthewideocean-bosomoftheDowns,withonlythesunandthestarsandthesheepforcompany,andthefriendlychatteringworldofmenandwomenfaroutofsightandhearing.

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Roboto Lora
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