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Updated: June 15, 2025
I printed, in my best imitation of engraved text, "Mr. and Mrs. Swan and the Misses Cygnet, At Home, In the Moat, Bishop's Palace. Ring for Refreshments. Swan's kind invitation for seven-thirty, and thanked Sir Lionel Pendragon for obtaining it. I have put this away with my treasures, of course. I was at the place appointed before the time, and she didn't keep me waiting.
Uther Pendragon was one of the kings who ruled in Britain so long ago that many marvelous legends have sprung up about him and his more famous son, Arthur. They lived in the days when magicians and witches were believed to be common, and the stories of the time are filled with deeds of magic and with miraculous events.
The king was charmed with the idea. When I noticed that, it gave me a valuable notion. I thought I saw my way out of an old and stubborn difficulty at last. You see, the royalties of the Pendragon stock were a long-lived race and very fruitful. Whenever a child was born to any of these and it was pretty often there was wild joy in the nation's mouth, and piteous sorrow in the nation's heart.
"The Pendragon Hotel" astonished him by its stone pillars, its glimpse of a wonderful, cool, softly carpeted hall, its official in gold buttons who stood solemnly magnificent on the steps, the admiration of several small boys who looked up into his face with wide-open eyes. Harry remembered the old "Pendragon Hotel," a dirty, unmethodical place, with beds that were never clean.
And mother, it's easy to see that the creature has some talent as a detective, because he guessed at once why I'd been saving those dances. "It's no good keeping anything up your sleeve for Pendragon," said he, in his perky way, as if he were on an equality with the ex-Lieutenant-Governor of East Bengal. "He won't ask you to dance.
Ygaerne went to chamber, and caused a bed to be made for him, the kingly bed was all overspread with a pall. The king viewed it well, and went to his bed; and Ygaerne lay down by Uther Pendragon, Now weened Ygaerne full truly, that it were Gorlois; through never any kind of thing knew she Uther the king.
So the babe, Arthur Pendragon, bound in a cloth of gold, was taken by two knights and two ladies to the postern gate of the castle and delivered unto Merlin, disguised as a poor man, and by him was carried forth to Sir Ector, whose wife nourished him as her own child. Then within two years King Uther fell sick of a great malady.
No, Pendragon was doing its best to forget its ancient superstitions, and even seemed to regard the "House of the Flutes" a little resentfully because of its reminder of a time when men scaled the rocks and stormed the walls, and fell back dying and cursing into their ships riding at anchor in the little bay.
Againe the same Boetius writeth, that the same victorie chanced in the daies of Vter Pendragon.
But just at that moment Pendragon and the butcher's boy went clumping past, and the sound of their feet and their hoarse cries echoed loudly in the narrow lane. The gardener had received his answer; and he looked down into Harry's face with an obnoxious smile. "A thief!" he said. "Upon my word, and a very good thing you must make of it; for I see you dressed like a gentleman from top to toe.
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