The pleasure （quite new to him） of being liked and， still more， of liking other people， was what kept Eustace from despair. For it was very dreary being a dragon. He shuddered whenever he caught sight of his own reflection as he flew over a mountain lake. He hated the huge batlike wings， the saw.edged ridge on his back， and the cruel， curved claws. He was almost afraid to be alone with himself and yet he was ashamed to be with the others. On the evenings when he was not being used as a hot.water bottle he would slink away from the camp and lie curled up like a snake between the wood and the water. On such occasions， greatly to his surprise， Reepicheep was his most constant comforter. The noble Mouse would creep away from the merry circle at the camp fire and sit down by the dragon’s head， well to the windward to be out of the way of his smoky breath. There he would explain that what had happened to Eustace was a striking illustration of the turn of Fortune‘s wheel， and that if he had Eustace at his own house in Narnia （it was really a hole not a house and the dragon’s head， let alone his body， would not have fitted in） he could show him more than a hundred examples of emperors， kings， dukes， knights， poets， lovers， astronomers， philosophers， and magicians， who had fallen from prosperity into the most distressing circumstances， and of whom many had recovered and lived happily ever afterwards. It did not， perhaps， seem so very comforting at the time， but it was kindly meant and Eustace never forgot it.
