SNAP-DRAGONS—A TALE OF CHRISTMAS EVE
By Juliana Horatia Ewing
Once upon a time there lived a certain family of the name of Skratdj.
(It has a Russian or Polish look, and yet they most certainly lived in
England.) They were remarkable for the following peculiarity: They
seldom seriously quarrelled, but they never agreed about anything. It
is hard to say whether it were more painful for their friends to hear
them constantly contradicting each other, or gratifying to discover
that it "meant nothing," and was "only their way."
It began with the father and mother. They were a worthy couple, and
really attached to each other. They had a habit of contradicting each
other's statements, and opposing each other's opinions, which, though
mutually understood and allowed for in private, was most trying to the
bystanders in public. If one related an anecdote, the other would
break in with half a dozen corrections of trivial details of no
interest or importance to any one, the speakers included. For
instance: Suppose the two dining in a strange house, and Mrs. Skratdj
seated by the host, and contributing to the small talk of the
"Oh, yes. Very changeable weather indeed. It looked quite promising
yesterday morning in the town, but it began to rain at noon."
"A quarter-past eleven, my dear," Mr. Skratdj's voice would be heard
to say from several chairs down, in the corrective tones of a husband
and father; "and really, my dear, so far from being a promising
morning, I must say it looked about as threatening as it well could.
Your memory is not always accurate in small matters, my love."
But Mrs. Skratdj had not been a wife and a mother for fifteen years,
to be snuffed out at one snap of the marital snuffers. As Mr. Skratdj
leaned forward in his chair, she leaned forward in hers, and defended
herself across the intervening couples.
"Why, my dear Mr. Skratdj, you said yourself the weather had not been
so promising for a week."
"What I said, my dear, pardon me, was that the barometer was higher
than it had been for a week. But, as you might have observed if these
details were in your line, my love, which they are not, the rise was
extraordinarily rapid, and there is no surer sign of unsettled
weather. But Mrs. Skratdj is apt to forget these unimportant trifles,"
he added, with a comprehensive smile round the dinner-table; "her
thoughts are very properly absorbed by the more important domestic
questions of the nursery."
"Now I think that's rather unfair on Mr. Skratdj's part," Mrs. Skratdj
would chirp, with a smile quite as affable and as general as her
husband's. "I'm sure he's quite as forgetful and inaccurate as I
am. And I don't think my memory is at all a bad one."
"You forgot the dinner-hour when we were going out to dine last week,
nevertheless," said Mr. Skratdj.
"And you couldn't help me when I asked you," was the sprightly retort.
"And I'm sure it's not like you to forget anything about dinner, my
"The letter was addressed to you," said Mr. Skratdj.
"I sent it to you by Jemima," said Mrs. Skratdj.
"I didn't read it," said Mr. Skratdj.
"Well, you burnt it," said Mrs. Skratdj; "and, as I always say,
there's nothing more foolish than burning a letter of invitation
before the day, for one is certain to forget."
"I've no doubt you always do say it," Mr. Skratdj remarked, with a
smile, "but I certainly never remember to have heard the observation
from your lips, my love."
"Whose memory's in fault there?" asked Mrs. Skratdj, triumphantly; and
as at this point the ladies rose, Mrs. Skratdj had the last word.
Indeed, as may be gathered from this conversation, Mrs. Skratdj was
quite able to defend herself. When she was yet a bride, and young and
timid, she used to collapse when Mr. Skratdj contradicted her
statements, and set her stories straight in public. Then she hardly
ever opened her lips without disappearing under the domestic
extinguisher. But in the course of fifteen years she had learned that
Mr. Skratdj's bark was a great deal worse than his bite. (If, indeed,
he had a bite at all.) Thus snubs that made other people's ears
tingle, had no effect whatever on the lady to whom they were
addressed, for she knew exactly what they were worth, and had by this
time become fairly adept at snapping in return. In the days when she
succumbed she was occasionally unhappy, but now she and her husband
understood each other, and, having agreed to differ, they,
unfortunately, agreed also to differ in public.
Indeed, it was the bystanders who had the worst of it on these
occasions. To the worthy couple themselves the habit had become second
nature, and in no way affected the friendly tenor of their domestic
relations. They would interfere with each other's conversation,
contradicting assertions, and disputing conclusions for a whole
evening; and then, when all the world and his wife thought that these
ceaseless sparks of bickering must blaze up into a flaming quarrel as
soon as they were alone, they would bowl amicably home in a cab,
criticizing the friends who were commenting upon them, and as little
agreed about the events of the evening as about the details of any
other events whatever.
Yes; the bystanders certainly had the worst of it. Those who were near
wished themselves anywhere else, especially when appealed to. Those
who were at a distance did not mind so much. A domestic squabble at a
certain distance is interesting, like an engagement viewed from a
point beyond the range of guns. In such a position one may some day be
placed oneself! Moreover, it gives a touch of excitement to a dull
evening to be able to say sotto voce to one's neighbor, "Do listen!
The Skratdjs are at it again!" Their unmarried friends thought a
terrible abyss of tyranny and aggravation must lie beneath it all, and
blessed their stars that they were still single and able to tell a
tale their own way. The married ones had more idea of how it really
was, and wished in the name of common sense and good taste that
Skratdj and his wife would not make fools of themselves.
So it went on, however; and so, I suppose, it goes on still, for not
many bad habits are cured in middle age.
On certain questions of comparative speaking their views were never
identical. Such as the temperature being hot or cold, things being
light or dark, the apple-tarts being sweet or sour. So one day Mr.
Skratdj came into the room, rubbing his hands, and planting himself at
the fire with "Bitterly cold it is to-day, to be sure."
"Why, my dear William," said Mrs. Skratdj, "I'm sure you must have got
a cold; I feel a fire quite oppressive myself."
"You were wishing you'd a sealskin jacket yesterday, when it wasn't
half as cold as it is to-day," said Mr. Skratdj.
"My dear William! Why, the children were shivering the whole day, and
the wind was in the north."
"Due east, Mrs. Skratdj."
"I know by the smoke," said Mrs. Skratdj, softly, but decidedly.
"I fancy I can tell an east wind when I feel it," said Mr. Skratdj,
jocosely, to the company.
"I told Jemima to look at the weathercock," murmured Mrs. Skratdj.
"I don't care a fig for Jemima," said her husband.
On another occasion Mrs. Skratdj and a lady friend were conversing.
* * * "We met him at the Smith's—a gentlemanlike, agreeable man,
about forty," said Mrs. Skratdj, in reference to some matter
interesting to both ladies.
"Not a day over thirty-five," said Mr. Skratdj, from behind his
"Why, my dear William, his hair's gray," said Mrs. Skratdj.
"Plenty of men are gray at thirty," said Mr. Skratdj. "I knew a man
who was gray at twenty-five."
"Well, forty or thirty-five, it doesn't much matter," said Mrs.
Skratdj, about to resume her narration.
"Five years matters a good deal to most people at thirty-five," said
Mr. Skratdj, as he walked towards the door. "They would make a
remarkable difference to me, I know;" and with a jocular air Mr.
Skratdj departed, and Mrs. Skratdj had the rest of the anecdote her
* * * * *
The Spirit of Contradiction finds a place in most nurseries, though to
a very varying degree in different ones. Children snap and snarl by
nature, like young puppies; and most of us can remember taking part in
some such spirited dialogues as the following:
"I'll tell mamma."
"I don't care if you do."
It is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers of
juvenile contention, and to enforce that slowly learned lesson, that
in this world one must often "pass over" and "put up with" things in
other people, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is a
kindness, and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do things
in their own way occasionally.
But even if Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all this
to their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not have
come with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped and
snarled between themselves as much or more than their children in the
The two elders were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Between
these, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged from
morning to night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and both
were in constant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by them
to the highest pitch.
It began at breakfast, if not sooner.
"You've taken my chair."
"It's not your chair."
"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place."
"How do you know it was in your place?"
"Never mind. I do know."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"Suppose I say it was in my place."
"You can't, for it wasn't."
"I can, if I like."
"Well, was it?"
"I sha'n't tell you."
"Ah! that shows it wasn't."
"No, it doesn't."
"Yes, it does." Etc., etc., etc.
The direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject of
difference of opinion.
"Let's go on the Common to-day, nurse?"
"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common."
"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long."
"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down Gipsey
Lane. We never go down Gipsey Lane."
"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to see
"I don't care. I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get papa to
say we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you."
"That's very sneaking; but I don't care."
"Papa! papa! Polly's called me a sneak."
"No, I didn't, papa."
"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you to say you'd run
faster than me, and get papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane."
"Then you did call him sneaking," said Mr. Skratdj. "And you're a very
naughty, ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome,
Polly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept in
order. Go where your brother wishes at once."
For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient,
if possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly.
In families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm,
there comes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall,
because they will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domestic
authority, like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on the
But Mr. Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry.
"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eating
the two magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday," said Master
Harry, on one occasion.
Your tongue shall be slit,
And every dog in the town shall have a little bit,'"
quoted his sister.
"Ah! You've called me a telltale. Now I'll go and tell papa. You got
into a fine scrape for calling me names the other day."
"Go, then! I don't care."
"You wouldn't like me to go, I know."
"You daren't. That's what it is."
"Then why don't you?"
"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it."
Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry
started. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr. Skratdj had
especially announced that morning that he did not wish to be
disturbed, and though he was a favorite, Harry had no desire to invade
the dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and
said, with a magnanimous air, "I don't want to get you into a scrape,
Polly. If you'll beg my pardon I won't go."
"I'm sure I sha'n't," said Polly, who was equally well informed as to
the position of affairs at headquarters. "Go, if you dare."
"I won't if you want me not," said Harry, discreetly waiving the
question of apologies.
"But I'd rather you went," said the obdurate Polly. "You're always
telling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid."
So Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, and
was meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, when
Polly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tongue
goaded him on.
"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go."
"I dare," said Harry; and at last he went.
As he turned the handle of the door, Mr. Skratdj turned round.
"Please, papa—" Harry began.
"Get away with you!" cried Mr. Skratdj. "Didn't I tell you I was not
to be disturbed this morning? What an extraor—"
But Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately.
Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and an
air of apparent satisfaction, saying:
"You're to give me the bricks, please."
"Who says so?"
"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?"
"I don't know, and I don't care."
"I've been to papa. There!"
"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?"
"I've told you."
"No, you've not."
"I sha'n't tell you any more."
"Then I'll go to papa and ask."
"Go by all means."
"I won't if you'll tell me truly."
"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare," said Harry,
only too glad to have the tables turned.
Polly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to cover
her retreat in a similar manner.
"Ah! you didn't tell."
"I don't believe you asked papa."
"Don't you? Very well!"
"Well, did you?"
"Never mind." Etc., etc., etc.
Meanwhile Mr. Skratdj scolded Mrs. Skratdj for not keeping the
children in better order. And Mrs. Skratdj said it was quite
impossible to do so when Mr. Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, and
weakened her (Mrs. Skratdj's) authority by constant interference.
Difference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as it
so often does to domestic broils.
"Boys never will do what they're asked," Polly would complain.
"Girls ask such unreasonable things," was Harry's retort.
"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask."
"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got to do what men tell
them, whether it's reasonable or not."
"No, they've not!" said Polly. "At least, that's only husbands and
"All women are inferior animals," said Harry.
"Try ordering mamma to do what you want, and see!" said Polly.
"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey," said Harry,
falling back on the general principle. "And when I get a wife, I'll
take care I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey your
husband when you get one."
"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like."
"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to be
"I'm sure I don't know why," said Polly; "they must have had enough of
men if they have brothers."
And so they went on, ad infinitum, with ceaseless arguments
that proved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream of
contradiction that just fell short of downright quarreling.
Indeed, there was a kind of snapping even less near to a dispute than
in the cases just mentioned. The little Skratdjs, like some other
children, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever to
hear little boys and girls snap each other up with smart sayings, and
old and rather vulgar play upon words, such as:
"I'll give you a Christmas box. Which ear will you have it on?"
"I won't stand it."
"Pray take a chair."
"You shall have it to-morrow."
"To-morrow never comes."
And so if a visitor kindly began to talk to one of the children,
another was sure to draw near and "take up" all the first child's
answers, with smart comments and catches that sounded as silly as they
were tiresome and impertinent.
And ill-mannered as this was, Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj never put a stop to
it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they did themselves. But
they often said, "We can't think how it is the children are always
* * * * *
It is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household is
influenced by the heads of it. Mr. Skratdj was a very kind master, and
Mrs. Skratdj was a very kind mistress, and yet their servants lived in
a perpetual fever of irritability that fell just short of discontent.
They jostled each other on the back stairs, said harsh things in the
pantry, and kept up a perennial warfare on the subject of the duty of
the sexes with the general man servant. They gave warning on the
The very dog was infected by the snapping mania. He was not a brave
dog, he was not a vicious dog, and no high breeding sanctioned his
pretensions to arrogance. But, like his owners, he had contracted a
bad habit, a trick, which made him the pest of all timid visitors, and
indeed of all visitors whatsoever.
The moment any one approached the house, on certain occasions when he
was spoken to, and often in no traceable connection with any cause at
all, Snap, the mongrel, would rush out, and bark in his little sharp
voice—"Yap! yap! yap!" If the visitor made a stand, he would bound
away sideways on his four little legs; but the moment the visitor went
on his way again, Snap was at his heels—"Yap! yap! yap!" He barked at
the milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw them
every day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never got
used to him. She said he "put her in mind of that there black dog in
the 'Pilgrim's Progress.'" He sat at the gate in summer, and yapped at
every vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on the high
road. He never but once had the chance of barking at burglars; and
then, though he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for they said,
"It's only Snap's way." The Skratdjs lost a silver teapot, a Stilton
cheese, and two electro christening mugs on this occasion; and Mr. and
Mrs. Skratdj dispute who it was who discouraged reliance on Snap's
warning to the present day.
One Christmas time, a certain hot-tempered gentleman came to visit the
Skratdjs,—a tall, sandy, energetic young man, who carried his own bag
from the railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed, after
the wont of bachelors; and you could see where the heel of a boot
distended the leather, and where the bottle of shaving-cream lay. As
he came up to the house, out came Snap as usual—"Yap! yap! yap!" Now
the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and had borne this greeting some
dozen of times from Snap, who for his part knew the visitor quite as
well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy. The
gentleman had good, sensible, well-behaved dogs of his own, and was
greatly disgusted with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless he spoke kindly to
him; and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate, could not help
stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no sooner did the
gentleman proceed on his way, than Snap flew at his heels in the usual
"Yap! Yap! Yap!"
On which the gentleman—being hot-tempered, and one of those people with
whom it is (as they say) a word and a blow, and the blow first—made
a dash at Snap, and Snap taking to his heels, the gentleman flung his
carpet-bag after him. The bottle of shaving-cream hit upon a stone and
was smashed. The heel of the boot caught Snap on the back and sent him
squealing to the kitchen. And he never barked at that gentleman again.
If the gentleman disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still less liked
the continual snapping of the Skratdj family themselves. He was an old
friend of Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj, however, and knew that they were
really happy together, and that it was only a bad habit which made
them constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to their
real affection for each other, and their perpetual disputing, that he
called them the "Snapping Turtles."
When the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner-table between his
host and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandy
hair, and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes: "Don't
flirt, my friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward."
And neither Mr. nor Mrs. Skratdj could help laughing.
With the little Skratdjs his measures were more vigorous. He was very
fond of children, and a good friend to them. He grudged no time or
trouble to help them in their games and projects, but he would not
tolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence. He was
much more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to smile
at the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads children
so often to "show off" before strangers. These civil acquaintances
only abuse both children and parents behind their backs, for the very
bad habits which they help to encourage.
The hot-tempered gentleman's treatment of his young friends was very
different. One day he was talking to Polly, and making some kind
inquiries about her lessons, to which she was replying in a quiet and
sensible fashion, when up came Master Harry, and began to display his
wit by comments on the conversation, and by snapping at and
contradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted; and the
usual snap-dialogue went on as usual.
"Then you like music?" said the hot-tempered gentleman.
"Yes, I like it very much," said Polly.
"Oh, do you?" Harry broke in. "Then what are you always crying over it
"I'm not always crying over it."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not. I only cry sometimes, when I stick fast."
"Your music must be very sticky, for you're always stuck fast."
"Hold your tongue!" said the hot-tempered gentleman.
With what he imagined to be a very waggish air, Harry put out his
tongue, and held it with his finger and thumb. It was unfortunate that
he had not time to draw it in again before the hot-tempered gentleman
gave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rather
sharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was bitten in
"It's no use speaking," said the hot-tempered gentleman,
driving his hands through his hair.
Children are like dogs: they are very good judges of their real
friends. Harry did not like the hot-tempered gentleman a bit the less
because he was obliged to respect and obey him; and all the children
welcomed him boisterously when he arrived that Christmas which we have
spoken of in connection with his attack on Snap.
It was on the morning of Christmas Eve that the china punch-bowl was
broken. Mr. Skratdj had a warm dispute with Mrs. Skratdj as to whether
it had been kept in a safe place; after which both had a brisk
encounter with the housemaid, who did not know how it happened; and
she, flouncing down the back passage, kicked Snap, who forthwith flew
at the gardener as he was bringing in the horseradish for the beef;
who, stepping backwards, trod upon the cat; who spit and swore, and
went up the pump with her tail as big as a fox's brush.
To avoid this domestic scene, the hot-tempered gentleman withdrew to
the breakfast-room and took up a newspaper. By and by, Harry and Polly
came in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their own
affairs in a corner.
The hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top
of his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, "Harry, my
And Harry came up to him.
"Show me your tongue, Harry," said he.
"What for?" said Harry; "you're not a doctor."
"Do as I tell you," said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry saw
his hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. The
hot-tempered gentleman sighed. "Ah!" he said in depressed tones; "I
thought so!—Polly, come and let me look at yours."
Polly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But the
hot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head.
"What is it?" cried both the children, "What do you mean?" And they
seized the tips of their tongues in their fingers, to feel for
But the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room without
answering; passing his hands through his hair, and saying, "Ah! hum!"
and nodding with an air of grave foreboding.
Just as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his head
into the room. "Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growing
pointed?" he asked.
"No!" cried the children with alarm. "Are they?"
"If ever you find them becoming forked," said the gentleman in solemn
tones, "let me know."
With which he departed, gravely shaking his head.
In the afternoon the children attacked him again.
"Do tell us what's the matter with our tongues."
"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning," said
the hot-tempered gentleman.
"Well, we forgot," said Polly. "We don't mean anything, you know. But
never mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going
to happen to them?"
"I'm very much afraid," said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn,
measured tones, "that you are both of you—fast—going—to—the—"
"Dogs?" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.
"Dogs!" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his
hair. "Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unless
all dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No, my sad
fear is, that you are both of you—rapidly—going—to the
And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the
In the course of a few hours Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj recovered their
equanimity. The punch was brewed in a jug, and tasted quite as good as
usual. The evening was very lively. There were a Christmas tree, Yule
cakes, log, and candles, furmety, and snap-dragon after supper. When
the company were tired of the tree, and had gained an appetite by the
hard exercise of stretching to high branches, blowing out "dangerous"
tapers, and cutting ribbon and pack-threads in all directions, supper
came, with its welcome cakes, and furmety, and punch. And when furmety
somewhat palled upon the taste (and it must be admitted to boast more
sentiment than flavor as a Christmas dish), the Yule candles were
blown out and both the spirits and the palates of the party were
stimulated by the mysterious and pungent pleasures of snap-dragon.
Then, as the hot-tempered gentleman warmed his coat tails at the Yule
log, a grim smile stole over his features as he listened to the sounds
in the room. In the darkness the blue flames leaped and danced, the
raisins were snapped and snatched from hand to hand, scattering
fragments of flame hither and thither. The children shouted as the
fiery sweetmeats burnt away the mawkish taste of the furmety. Mr.
Skratdj cried that they were spoiling the carpet; Mrs. Skratdj
complained that he had spilled some brandy on her dress. Mr. Skratdj
retorted that she should not wear dresses so susceptible of damage in
the family circle. Mrs. Skratdj recalled an old speech of Mr. Skratdj
on the subject of wearing one's nice things for the benefit of one's
family and not reserving them for visitors. Mr. Skratdj remembered
that Mrs. Skratdj's excuse for buying that particular dress when she
did not need it, was her intention of keeping it for the next year.
The children disputed as to the credit for courage and the amount of
raisins due to each. Snap barked furiously at the flames; and the
maids hustled each other for good places in the doorway, and would not
have allowed the man servant to see at all, but he looked over their
"St! St! At it! At it!" chuckled the hot-tempered gentleman in
undertones. And when he said this, it seemed as if the voices of Mr.
and Mrs. Skratdj rose higher in matrimonial repartee, and the
children's squabbles became louder, and the dog yelped as if he were
mad, and the maids' contest was sharper; whilst the snap-dragon flames
leaped up and up, and blue fire flew about the room like foam.
At last the raisins were finished, the flames were all put out, and
the company withdrew to the drawing-room. Only Harry lingered.
"Come along, Harry," said the hot-tempered gentleman.
"Wait a minute," said Harry.
"You had better come," said the gentleman.
"Why?" said Harry.
"There's nothing to stop for. The raisins are eaten, the brandy is
"No, it's not," said Harry.
"Well, almost. It would be better if it were quite out. Now come. It's
dangerous for a boy like you to be alone with the Snap-Dragons
"Fiddlesticks!" said Harry.
"Go your own way, then!" said the hot-tempered gentleman; and he
bounced out of the room, and Harry was left alone.
* * * * *
He crept up to the table, where one little pale blue flame flickered
in the snap-dragon dish.
"What a pity it should go out!" said Harry. At this moment the brandy
bottle on the sideboard caught his eye.
"Just a little more," murmured Harry to himself; and he uncorked the
bottle, and poured a little brandy on to the flame.
Now, of course, as soon as the brandy touched the fire, all the brandy
in the bottle blazed up at once, and the bottle split to pieces; and
it was very fortunate for Harry that he did not get seriously hurt. A
little of the hot brandy did get into his eyes, and made them smart,
so that he had to shut them for a few seconds.
But when he opened them again what a sight he saw! All over the room
the blue flames leaped and danced as they had leaped and danced in the
soup-plate with the raisins. And Harry saw that each successive flame
was the fold in the long body of a bright-blue Dragon, which moved
like the body of a snake. And the room was full of these Dragons. In
the face they were like the dragons one sees made of very old blue and
white china; and they had forked tongues like the tongues of serpents.
They were most beautiful in color, being sky-blue. Lobsters who have
just changed their coats are very handsome, but the violet and indigo
of a lobster's coat is nothing to the brilliant sky-blue of a
How they leaped about! They were forever leaping over each other like
seals at play. But if it was "play" at all with them, it was of a very
rough kind; for as they jumped, they snapped and barked at each other,
and their barking was like that of the barking Gnu in the Zoological
Gardens; and from time to time they tore the hair out of each other's
heads with their claws, and scattered it about the floor. And as it
dropped it was like the flecks of flame people shake from their
fingers when they are eating snap-dragon raisins.
Harry stood aghast.
"What fun!" said a voice close by him; and he saw that one of the
Dragons was lying near, and not joining in the game. He had lost one
of the forks of his tongue by accident, and could not bark for a
"I'm glad you think it funny," said Harry; "I don't."
"That's right. Snap away!" sneered the Dragon. "You're a perfect
treasure. They'll take you in with them the third round."
"Not those creatures?" cried Harry.
"Yes, those creatures. And if I hadn't lost my bark, I'd be the first
to lead you off," said the Dragon. "Oh, the game will exactly suit
"What is it, please?" Harry asked.
"You'd better not say 'please' to the others," said the Dragon, "if
you don't want to have all your hair pulled out. The game is this: You
have always to be jumping over somebody else, and you must either talk
or bark. If anybody speaks to you, you must snap in return. I need not
explain what snapping is. You know. If any one by accident gives
a civil answer, a clawful of hair is torn out of his head to stimulate
his brain. Nothing can be funnier."
"I dare say it suits you capitally," said Harry; "but I'm sure we
shouldn't like it. I mean men and women and children. It wouldn't do
for us at all."
"Wouldn't it?" said the Dragon. "You don't know how many human beings
dance with Dragons on Christmas Eve. If we are kept going in a house
till after midnight, we can pull people out of their beds, and take
them to dance in Vesuvius."
"Vesuvius!" cried Harry.
"Yes, Vesuvius. We come from Italy originally, you know. Our skins are
the color of the Bay of Naples. We live on dry grapes and ardent
spirits. We have glorious fun in the mountain sometimes. Oh! what
snapping, and scratching, and tearing! Delicious! There are times when
the squabbling becomes too great, and Mother Mountain won't stand it,
and spits us all out, and throws cinders after us. But this is only at
times. We had a charming meeting last year. So many human beings, and
how they can snap! It was a choice party. So very select. We always
have plenty of saucy children, and servants. Husbands and wives, too,
and quite as many of the former as the latter, if not more. But
besides these, we had two vestry-men, a country postmaster, who
devoted his talents to insulting the public instead of to learning the
postal regulations, three cabmen and two 'fares,' two young shop-girls
from a Berlin wool shop in a town where there was no competition, four
commercial travellers, six landladies, six Old Bailey lawyers, several
widows from almshouses, seven single gentlemen, and nine cats, who
swore at everything; a dozen sulphur-colored screaming cockatoos; a
lot of street children from a town; a pack of mongrel curs from the
colonies, who snapped at the human beings' heels, and five elderly
ladies in their Sunday bonnets, with prayer-books, who had been
fighting for good seats in church."
"Dear me!" said Harry.
"If you can find nothing sharper to say than 'Dear me,'" said the
Dragon, "you will fare badly, I can tell you. Why, I thought you'd a
sharp tongue, but it's not forked yet, I see. Here they are, however.
Off with you! And if you value your curls—snap!"
And before Harry could reply, the Snap-Dragons came on their third
round, and as they passed they swept Harry with them.
He shuddered as he looked at his companions. They were as transparent
as shrimps, but of this lovely cerulean blue. And as they leaped they
barked—"Howf! Howf!"—like barking Gnus; and when they leaped Harry
had to leap with them. Besides barking, they snapped and wrangled with
each other; and in this Harry must join also.
"Pleasant, isn't it?" said one of the blue Dragons.
"Not at all," snapped Harry.
"That's your bad taste," snapped the blue Dragon.
"No, it's not!" snapped Harry.
"Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing."
"Oh, please don't!" shrieked Harry, forgetting himself. On which the
Dragon clawed a handful of hair out of his head, and Harry screamed,
and the blue Dragons barked and danced.
"That made your hair curl, didn't it?" asked another Dragon, leaping
"That's no business of yours," Harry snapped, as well as he could for
"It's more my pleasure than business," retorted the Dragon.
"Keep it to yourself, then," snapped Harry.
"I mean to share it with you, when I get hold of your hair," snapped
"Wait till you get the chance," Harry snapped, with desperate presence
"Do you know whom you're talking to?" roared the Dragon; and he opened
his mouth from ear to ear, and shot out his forked tongue in Harry's
face; and the boy was so frightened that he forgot to snap, and cried
"Oh, I beg your pardon, please don't!"
On which the blue Dragon clawed another handful of hair out of his
head, and all the Dragons barked as before.
How long the dreadful game went on Harry never exactly knew. Well
practised as he was in snapping in the nursery, he often failed to
think of a retort, and paid for his unreadiness by the loss of his
hair. Oh, how foolish and wearisome all this rudeness and snapping now
seemed to him! But on he had to go, wondering all the time how near it
was to twelve o'clock, and whether the Snap-Dragons would stay till
midnight and take him with them to Vesuvius.
At last, to his joy, it became evident that the brandy was coming to
an end. The Dragons moved slower, they could not leap so high, and at
last one after another they began to go out.
"Oh, if they only all of them get away before twelve!" thought poor
At last there was only one. He and Harry jumped about and snapped and
barked, and Harry was thinking with joy that he was the last, when the
clock in the hall gave that whirring sound which clocks do before they
strike, as if it were clearing its throat.
"Oh, please go!" screamed Harry, in despair.
The blue Dragon leaped up, and took such a clawful of hair out of the
boy's head, that it seemed as if part of the skin went, too. But that
leap was his last. He went out at once, vanishing before the first
stroke of twelve. And Harry was left on his face in the darkness.
When his friends found him there was blood on his forehead. Harry
thought it was where the Dragon had clawed him, but they said it was
a cut from a fragment of the broken brandy bottle. The Dragons had
disappeared as completely as the brandy.
Harry was cured of snapping. He had had quite enough of it for a
lifetime, and the catch contradictions of the household now made him
shudder. Polly had not had the benefit of his experiences, and yet she
In the first place, snapping, like other kinds of quarrelling,
requires two parties to it, and Harry would never be a party to
snapping any more. And when he gave civil and kind answers to Polly's
smart speeches, she felt ashamed of herself, and did not repeat them.
In the second place, she heard about the Snap-Dragons. Harry told all
about it to her and to the hot-tempered gentleman.
"Now do you think it's true?" Polly asked the hot-tempered gentleman.
"Hum! Ha!" said he, driving his hands through his hair. "You know I
warned you you were going to the Snap-Dragons."
* * * * *
Harry and Polly snubbed "the little ones" when they snapped, and
utterly discountenanced snapping in the nursery. The example and
admonitions of elder children are a powerful instrument of nursery
discipline, and before long there was not a "sharp tongue" among all
the little Skratdjs.
But I doubt if the parents ever were cured. I don't know if they heard
the story. Besides, bad habits are not easily cured when one is old.
I fear Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj have yet got to dance with the Dragons.