em and entered the gloomy wood,
and before he had gone far he saw coming towards him a terrible monster
in the form of a fiery snake.

On it came, breathing out flames of fire, and preparing to coil itself
around the brave knight, whom it would have crushed to death in its
fierce embrace.

But Saint Leonard drew his sword and prepared to engage in a deadly
struggle with the monster. For three long days and nights they fought,
until on the morning of the fourth day the evil beast lay wounded and
dying at the feet of the victorious knight.

With one stroke of his sword he severed the head of the snake from its
body, and then turned to retrace his steps towards the village he had
left.

The dying shrieks of the fiery snake had so terrified the other evil
inhabitants of the forest that they had all taken flight, most of them
in their great haste falling headlong into the ocean on the shores of
the great forest.

But the knight had been sorely wounded in the fray and blood-drops
marked his way through the trackless forest.

At length he reached the village and sank, exhausted and senseless, upon
the steps of the nearest cottage. The villagers thought he had returned
only to die, but after a time he opened his eyes, and in a few days he
was strong enough to tell his wondrous tale.

Then, indeed, the villagers were filled with astonishment, and a party
of them set off to see if the knight's story was true. To their great
surprise, when they reached the borders of the forest, there lay before
them a sunlit path strewn with pure white blossoms.

As they followed its winding course, they found that wherever the blood
of the wounded knight had fallen, lovely "Lilies of the Valley" had
sprang up. On and on they went, until they came to the spot where the
death-blow had been given.

The body of the hideous monster had disappeared, but all around, the
sweet, fragrant lilies grew in lovely clusters, and from their tiny
bells came sweet music, repeating to the astonished villagers the story
of the triumph of good over evil, love over hate, right over might.

A FAIR PRISONER

Fairy Tales from Flowerland
A FAIR PRISONER

"The sweetest flower
That decks the golden breast of May."
--_Langhorne._

SOME four or five hundred years ago there stood upon the banks of the
River Tweed, in Great Britain, a grand and stately castle.

It was enclosed by high walls, and its gates were guarded day and night
by soldie