“There isn’t room in the world for a Cockatrice to feel young nowadays,” answered Beppo gravely.
“But, dear little master and benefactor,” cried the Cockatrice, “what did you wake me up for?”
“I don’t know,” replied Beppo, terribly perplexed. “I wouldn’t have done it had I known where your tail was.”
“Where is it?” inquired the Cockatrice, with great interest. “It’s right underneath the city where I mean to be king,” said Beppo; “and if you move it the city will come down; and then I shall have nothing to be king of.”
“Very well,” said the Cockatrice sadly; “I will wait!”
“Wait for what?” thought Beppo. “Waiting won’t do any good.” And he began to think what he must do. “You lie quite still!” said he to the Cockatrice. “Go to sleep, and I will still look after you.”
“Oh, little master,” said the Cockatrice, “but it is difficult to go to sleep when the delicious trouble of spring is in one’s tail! How long does this city of yours mean to stay there? I am so alive that I find it hard to shut an eye!”
“I will let the fires that keep you warm go down for a bit,” said Beppo, “and you mustn’t eat so much grass; then you will feel better, and your tail will be less of an anxiety.”
And presently, when Beppo had let the fires which warmed him get low, and had let time go by without bringing him any fresh fodder, the Cockatrice dozed off into an uneasy, prehistoric slumber.
Then Beppo, weeping bitterly over his treachery to the poor beast which had trusted him, raked open the fires and stamped out the embers; and, leaving the poor Cockatrice to get cold, ran down the hill as fast as he could to the city he had saved—the city of which he meant to be king.