But there was to be no return to normal for the Water Bird, which was damaged beyond repair. Oscar Wyatt went to his new investor to ask for money to rebuild it, but she turned him down flat. She? Yes, indeed. The investor who had taken Mr. Baum’s place, believe it or not, was Lady Longford. It was one thing, she said, to invest in a going project that had every chance of success. It was quite another to invest in an aeroplane that had to be rebuilt after every storm.

If you’re surprised to learn that it was Lady Longford who promised money for the hydroplane—in spite of the way all the villagers felt about it—perhaps you might recall some of her earlier actions. When she heard that Miss Potter wanted to buy Castle Farm, she tried to buy it first, and it was only with Mr. Heelis’ help that Miss Potter was able to get it. It was also Lady Longford who insisted on closing the footpath across Applebeck Orchard, which caused the villagers no end of grief before it was reopened. So even though she sometimes changes her mind and makes things right again, her ladyship’s first impulse is always to cause somebody some sort of trouble.

With Lady Longford out of the picture and Mr. Baum no longer able to provide funds, nothing more was heard about the hydroplane for some time. This did not make Winston Churchill happy, of course, but the First Lord of the Admiralty had other fish to fry and other aeroplanes to look at, and before long he had found one that he liked even better than the Bird. He did not, however, end his association with Oscar Wyatt, who was assigned to teach him to fly. Churchill’s wife, Clementine, was much alarmed about this and tried to make him stop. He refused. She prevailed, however, when his teacher flew an aeroplane into the ground and killed himself, which was the end of Oscar Wyatt.

The destruction of the Water Bird might have been mourned by the men who were directly involved with it, but it was a great cause for rejoicing among the denizens of the Land Between the Lakes. They could now do their work with the great silence of the moors and fells ringing in their ears, and with nothing but the soft bleating of sheep and the sweet calls of the birds to keep them company. The men of the village could stop plotting ways to destroy the enterprise, Miss Potter could work in her garden without irritation, Henry Stubbs could pilot his newly-repaired ferry without fear of frightened animals causing the ramshackle boat to turn turtle, and the birds, sheep, badgers, and owls could go about their business without fear of being eaten by a large mechanical monster.

Other people went back to their business, too. Caroline Longford said goodbye to her grandmother and returned to her classes at the Royal Academy, where she continued to excel. Of course, her young heart was broken, for she truly loved Jeremy, or thought she did, which (as Jeremy says) amounts to the same thing. But Caroline was not quite ready to love anybody but herself, and needed a few more years of growing up before she began to think seriously of a husband and children, since these require that a wife and mother allow them to be real people and not just figments of her rich imagination.

Mrs. Lythecoe went forward with her wedding plans with a much happier heart, now that she knew that there wouldn’t be any more ugly letters put through her mail slot. She could also look forward to saying a cordial goodbye to “dear, dear Mrs. Thompson,” who had served Vicar Sackett so long and faithfully and who was going home to care for her mother. She even began to think that it might be nice to give Mrs. Thompson a proper farewell tea—as long as Mrs. Belcher baked the scones.

Jeremy and Deirdre were going forward with their wedding plans, too, although poor Mrs. Sutton had already begun to be sorry that she allowed Deirdre to marry. Who was going to help her care for the ninth little Sutton, who was going to make his or her appearance at about the time Deirdre moved into Slatestone Cottage? However, everyone in the village wished the young people all the happiness in the world, not least because they all agreed that Jeremy was the very best teacher that Sawrey School had ever had and they hoped he would stay in that position forever.

And eventually, even poor Mr. Baum recovered from his injuries. One morning he woke up and demanded coffee and The Times, just as Dr. Butters had said. The next day he was sitting up in a chair beside his bed, with his broken leg propped on a cushion. As soon as he could, he returned to Lakeshore Manor, with one of Dimity’s housemaids to cook for him and make him comfortable. He couldn’t afford any more than that, for he had invested almost all of his fortune in the aeroplane and wasn’t going to get a shilling out of it. In my opinion, he was the biggest loser of the lot, although he rather asked for it, allowing Oscar Wyatt to talk him into putting all his money into an aeroplane.

As to how Mr. Baum came to tumble down from the top of Oat Cake Crag, the answer was exceedingly simple. He had gone up there to spy on the aeroplane hangar on the other side of the lake. He dropped his telescope, tried to retrieve it before it went over the edge, missed his footing, and fell. There had been no foul play, and no one else—not Oscar Wyatt nor Paddy Pratt nor any other person—had been there with him. The fall that had nearly killed him was entirely accidental.

It was a good thing that the dragon did not aspire to fame and fortune in return for destroying the Water Bird, for he didn’t get either. He had done the daring deed at night, in the middle of a tremendous storm, and no one knew that he was responsible. None of the Big Folk, that is. The animals knew about it, though. They learned about it from the Professor, who was only too glad to tell the tale to anyone who would listen—emphasizing, of course, his own role in the night’s events and embroidering them just a little. Bosworth Badger wrote the whole story down in the History, and it came to be a favorite tale for telling around The Brockery fire and at Briar Bank on a chilly winter’s night.

In fact, the owl was so inspired by his participation in the adventure that he decided to use it as the basis for his own motto and emblem, which (as perhaps you will remember) had been suggested to him by Bosworth and Parsley. The Professor rather liked the dragon’s family motto, Alta pete (Aim at high things), but since that one was taken, he searched through dictionaries and old documents and found another he liked just as much: Alis aspicit astra, “Flying, he looks to the stars.” Since the owl was both learned in astronomical studies and a superb flier, it seemed to him to fit perfectly. For his emblem, he took his friends’ advice: an owl on a branch, a scroll in one claw, a telescope in the other, and a laurel wreath on his head, with the moon, a few stars, and a dragon—yes, a dragon—in the background. He asked Fritz to paint it for him in rich shades of red, blue, and gold, and when it was done, he mounted it proudly above his door.

But the dragon did earn something very important from his night’s heroic efforts. He had Bosworth copy the passage recorded in the History and took it with him when he flew to the next meeting of the Grand Assembly of Dragons. When it came time for him to make his report, he simply submitted the paragraphs from the History, signed and accompanied by a certificate of authenticity by Bosworth. The Clerk of Dragons read the paragraphs aloud to the Assembly, who listened, spellbound, to the entire account. When it was concluded, the Grandest Dragon arose and pronounced that Thorvaald the Remarkable, son of the magnificent Thunnor, son of the splendid Snurrt, son of the celebrated Sniggle, had now been released from his assignment to the census and promoted to second lieutenant in the Dragon Corp.

Which leaves Beatrix, Will, and the Potters, doesn’t it?

I don’t suppose it will come as any surprise that the letter that Beatrix received from her parents was scorching. But since it said all the things that the Potters had been saying for quite a few years, it was all old news to Beatrix. While she didn’t exactly dismiss their objections, she and Will read every sentence aloud together, laughing a little at the vehemence, which really sounded rather silly.

And then they kissed and promised each other not to be dispirited by her parents’ opposition, but to love each other and be faithful and true, and live patiently apart until the day when they could at last live together, happily ever after.