One hot morning—­it was the 12th of July—­he was starting for his work when an indescribable hubbub sounded up the road, and presently came by the whole rabble of Gantick with cow-horns and instruments of percussion, and in their midst the famous dragon—­all green, with fiery, painted eyes, and a long tongue of red flannel.  Behind it the prisoners were escorted—­a pale woman or two with dazed, terrified eyes, an old man suspected of egg-stealing, a cow addicted to trespass, and so on.

The Mayor was not chosen yet, this ceremony being deferred by rule till the crowd reached Dragon’s Moor.  But drawing near the cottage door and catching sight of the half-witted man with his foot on the threshold, a village wit called out and proposed that they should take “the Mounster” (as he was called) along with them for Mayor.

It hit the mob’s humour, and they cheered.  The Mounster’s mother, standing in the doorway, went white as if painted.

“Man in the lump’s a hateful animal,” she said to herself, hoarsely.  “Come indoors, Jonathan, an’ let ’em go by.”

“Come an’ rule over us,” the crowd invited him, and a gleam of proud delight woke in his silly face.

“The heat—­his head won’t stand it.”  The woman looked up at the cloudless sky.  “For God’s sake take your fun elsewhere!” she cried.

The women who were led to judgment looked at her stupidly.  They too suffered, without understanding, the heavy sport of men.  At last one said—­

“Old woman, let him come.  We’ll have more mercy from a mazed man.”

“Sister, you’ve been loose, they tell me,” answered the old woman, “an’ must eat the bitter fruit o’t.  But my son’s an innocent.  Jonathan, they’ll look for you at the works.”

“There’s prouder work for me ’pon Dragon’s Moor,” the Mounster decided, with smiling eyes.  “Come along, mother, an’ see me exalted.”

The crowd bore him off at their head, and the din broke out again.  The new Mayor strutted among them with lifted chin and a radiant face.  He thought it glorious.  His mother ran into the cottage, fetched a bottle and followed after the dusty tail of the procession.  Once, as they were passing a running stream, she halted and filled the bottle carefully, emptying it again and again until the film outside the glass was to her liking.  Then she followed again, and came to Dragon’s Moor.

They sat the Mayor on a mound, took off his hat, placed a crown on his head and a broomstick in his hand, and brought him the cases to try.

The first was a grey mare, possessed (they alleged) with a devil.  Her skin hung like a sack on her bones.

“‘Tis Eli Thoms’ mare.  What’s to be done to cure her?” they asked.

“Let Eli Thoms buy a comb, an’ comb his mare’s tail while she eats her feed.  So Eli’ll know if ’tis the devil or no that steals oats from his manger.”

They applauded his wisdom and brought forward the woman who had pleaded just now with his mother.