"So do I," said the Cockatrice. "But perhaps, when my tail gets free, I shall feel better."
One morning he said to Beppo: "I do really begin to feel my tail. It is somewhere away down the hill yonder. Go and look out for me, and tell me if you can see it moving."
So Beppo went to the mouth of the cave, and looked out towards the city, over all the rocks and ridges and goat-pastures and slopes of vine that lay between.
Suddenly, as he looked, the steeple of the cathedral tottered, and down fell its weathercock and two of its pinnacles, and half the chimneys of the town snapped off their tops. All that distance away Beppo could hear the terrified screams of the inhabitants as they ran out of their houses in terror.
"I've done it!" cried the Cockatrice, from within the cave.
"But you mustn't do that!" exclaimed Beppo in horror.
"Mustn't do what?" inquired the Cockatrice.
"You mustn't wag your tail! You don't know what you are doing!"
"Oh, master!" wailed the Cockatrice; "mayn't I? For the first time this thousand years I have felt young again."
Beppo was pale and trembling with agitation over the fearful effects of that first tail-wagging. "You mustn't feel young!" said he.