Another fantastic story from Fred M. White. The island of Tregarthen is a long green succulent piece from the mainland, about eight miles long and five wide. It is protected from the east and north by granite walls, rising a thousand feet up and dark, and its music is the Atlantic thunder and the cry of countless sea birds. Where is it? What matters it? Not so many leagues from Tintagel, for they tell tales of King Arthur, and there is a deep apple orchard in the heart of the island where Lancelot slew the dragon whose teeth were flaming swords.