"I haven't eaten anything in eleven years." "Eleven years is nothing," remarked another Dragon, sleepily opening and closing his eyes; "I haven't feasted for eighty-seven years, and I dare not get hungry for a dozen or so years to come.

Children who eat between meals should be broken of the habit." "All I had, eleven years ago, was a rhinoceros, and that's not a full meal at all," grumbled the young one.

"And, before that, I had waited sixty-two years to be fed; so it's no wonder I'm hungry." "How old are you now ?" asked Woot, forgetting his own dangerous position in his interest in the conversation.
"Why, I'm--I'm--How old am I, Father ?" asked the little Dragon.
"Goodness gracious! what a child to ask questions.

Do you want to keep me thinking all the time?
Don't you know that thinking is very bad for Dragons ?" returned the big one, impatiently.
"How old am I, Father ?" persisted the small Dragon.
"About six hundred and thirty, I believe.

Ask your mother." "No; don't!" said an old Dragon in the background; "haven't I enough worries, what with being wakened in the middle of a nap, without being obliged to keep track of my children's ages ?" "You've been fast asleep for over sixty years, Mother," said the child Dragon.