Gashed, bleeding, dying, he lay at the edge of the barnyard.
"The Thing has gone!" cried somebird.
"Eustace drove it away!"
"Look! See it slink off without making a sound! Its wing is broken!"
In truth the Monster, having laid low all the wheat in the field, was now retreating to its lair with steelly pinion bent up.
"He has saved us!"
They rushed to him and tried to bind up his wounds.
"Thanks," he said weakly.
Reverently, with tear-dimmed eyes they crowded about him, ministering.
"Thank you, good friends. But your cares are of no avail. My time has come."