9

Mr. Tiger stepped forward to address the Pap-a-naggy with Betsy holding tight to his paw.

“On behalf of the people of the island left off the map of the world, I welcome you, the great Pap-a-naggy, to our shores,” he said. “We are honored that you have chosen us to look after your egg until it hatches. We will not let you down. We have never let you down. I am certain that this little sea dragon will be the golden apple of his parents’ eyes. I, my gutsy Gongalongs, Princess Albee, and all our island friends will remember this day forever.”

The Gongalongs threw their pointy hats into the air and the islanders cheered. “Hip, hip, hooray!”

The sea dragon didn’t seem to be carrying anything. Betsy wondered if he might have forgotten the egg, for, like everyone else, she imagined a sea dragon’s egg would be huge.

When the Pap-a-naggy opened his scaly talon, there lay an egg no bigger than a hen’s egg. The Pap-a-naggy seemed reluctant to place it on the golden cushion that the mayor held in his very shaky hands. Mr. Tiger gave Betsy a little nudge. She took the cushion from the mayor and bravely held it as still as still could be. Then the Pap-a-naggy put his egg on it and opened his other scaly talon to reveal a garland of silver apple blossoms that he solemnly presented to Princess Albee. As he watched Betsy carry the egg to the town hall, accompanied by the town’s brass band, the Pap-a-naggy let out the most terrible wail. Betsy was back at the harbor before you could say “shimmering shrimps.”

“I think he’s crying,” said Betsy.

“Yes,” said Mum. “It’s hard to leave someone you love.”

“Perhaps he shouldn’t leave it,” said Betsy. “Perhaps he should keep the little egg with him.”

“Unfortunately,” said Mum, “that would be the end of the egg, as they must hatch on land if they are ever going to survive in the sea.”

“Crumble cakes,” said Betsy.

Mum sighed. “Many things are the opposite of what they should be,” she said.

Dad, meanwhile, had put all five buckets of the Salty Sweet Seaweed ice cream into a wheelbarrow and pushed it as close to the sea dragon as he dared.

First the Pap-a-naggy sniffed it, then he put one of his talons in the bucket and licked it for a rather long time.

Suddenly he went from being an unhappy sea dragon to a delighted sea dragon and he began to speak in a language that only Mum understood. “He’s speaking Tangerine,” whispered Mum to Dad and Betsy. “It’s a language spoken mainly by sailors, but there are a few of us in the ocean who understand it.” She began to translate. “He is saying that . . . he has never tasted ice cream as wickedly wonderful as this . . . and that”—Mum laughed—“that the ice cream he had last time he was here tasted disgusting . . . far too salty! This, on the other talon, is perfection.”

Mum continued to giggle while Dad gave a little bow and said thank you to the Pap-a-naggy.

After the last morsel was gone and he had licked the buckets clean, the Pap-a-naggy—to everyone’s amazement—lifted Dad off his feet. Before you could say “sizzling sugar” he had given Dad a hug and put him back on the ground.

The islanders cheered and the brass band played, and the mighty Pap-a-naggy turned, swam out of the harbor, and, whistling a sea shanty, disappeared under the waves.