I glanced over at them, wishing they would come sit with me.

Well, not Perrault.

Suddenly, a little boy in a sweater and shorts climbed down from the stage, bowed, and handed me a bouquet. “Your Grace,” he lisped. I smiled and took the posy from him, lifting it to my nose. Violets, lavender, mint.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. He retreated, quick as a flash, and the curtain opened. A row of lanterns snaked to life before me, lighting a backdrop of greenery and papier-mâché stones.

A girl in a smock dress stood to one side of the stage, expression serious, curls tight around her face. “Once upon a time,” she intoned, “there was a fearless knight named Saint George.”

A small boy emerged from stage right, dressed in something shiny and gray, waving a stick. His shield was white, with a red cross quartering it, just like England’s flag. “I am Saint George!” he crowed. He lunged and jabbed with the stick, eliciting laughter from the audience, until the girl in the smock dress scowled at him.

“Stop it,” she hissed.

He stilled, propping one foot on a paper boulder.

She continued. “Saint George traveled all over England, from Devon to Durham.”

The little boy galloped across the stage, shielding his eyes from the imaginary sun. I stifled a laugh.

“But one day,” the girl announced, “while riding the cliffs on the Sussex coast, he came across a dragon.”

The boy dismounted his imaginary horse as a little girl shambled on from stage left. Blue ridges ran from her head down her back and her fabric-stuffed tail, and green fabric wings extended from her arms. At a nod and a glance from the narrator, the girl gave a roar and stomped nearer to Saint George.

“I eat a maiden every single day!” bellowed the girl-dragon, high-stepping toward center stage. “Will you stop me, Saint George?”

A crowd of children in drab clothes rushed in from the wings, acting—I guessed—as townspeople. “Only our princess is left, Saint George!” one boy cried mechanically, gesturing at a girl in a pink dress and conical hat. “Save her, oh please!”

Reluctantly, the boy–Saint George tossed down his sword. “This shield is magical, full of power.” He lifted the buckler, its bright red and white paint gleaming in the dim room. “I will hide us beneath it.”

The girl in the conical hat—the princess—shuffled forward, drawing near (but not too near) Saint George. “Me and my village?”

“Yes,” said Saint George, spreading his arms wide. “Come and take shelter.”

One by one, the villagers circled Saint George and the princess, surrounding them beneath the shield.

The dragon scowled, feigning confusion. “Where are you, you foolish villagers? I will find you!”

“You will not!” shouted Saint George. “I will hide us for as long as I must. Begone, foul worm!”