“Hurrah!” cheered the household once more.
“Oh, Lord!” said the Dragon, but nobody heard him.
“Indeed!” observed Sir Godfrey. “And now we’ll chain him in my bear-pit till morning, and at noon he shall be burned alive by the blazing fagots. Let us get some sleep now.”
The cloud of slimly-clad domestics departed with slow steps, and many a look of fear cast backward at the captured monster.
“This Dragon, sir,” said Geoffrey, wondering at his own voice, “will die of thirst in that pit. Bethink you how deep is his habit of drinking.”
“Ha! I have often bethought me,” retorted Sir Godfrey, rolling his eyes over the empty barrels. “But here! I am a man of some heart, I hope.”
He seized up a bucket and ran to the hogshead containing his daughter’s native cowslip wine.
“There!” he observed when the bucket was pretty well filled. “Put that in to moisten his last hours.”
Then the Baron led the way round the Manor to the court-yard where the bear-pit was. His daughter kept pace with him not easily, for the excellent gentleman desired to be a decent distance away from the Dragon, whom young Geoffrey dragged along in the rear.