The Giant Horse of Oz by Ruth Plumly Thompson

On the same evening Philador and Akbad flew off from the Ozure Isles, / the Good Witch of the North sat quietly before her fire, spinning / silver from straw. From time to time Agnes, her pet dragon, would toss / a log on the blaze and set it glowing with her fiery breath. The cat / with two tails purred drowsily in the chimney corner and nothing could / have been cozier than this little room in the good witch's hut. And / Tattypoo was content. Ruling over the north Country, settling disputes / between its small kingdoms, and advising the Gillikens about everything / from birthday parties to preserves, filled her time most pleasantly. / The door of the good witch's hut was never bolted and no one, coming / for help or advice, had ever been turned away. So though her skin was / drawn and wrinkled and her hair white as snow, and the little hut / plainly, even poorly furnished, Tattypoo was perfectly happy.

But Agnes, the amiable dragon, was not. Agnes longed for grandeur and / style and felt that the ruler of all the Gillikens should wear a crown / or live in a castle. Agnes, while not exactly conceited, felt that her / own beauty was utterly wasted in this little hut. She longed to flash / her silver scales and switch her tail at the fine courts of Oz. But / Tattypoo was neither vain nor ambitious and only chuckled when Agnes / complained of the poorness of their dwelling, the plainness of the food / and the lack of servants to wait upon them. She had lived so long in / the purple forest on the Gilliken mountain side that she had grown to / love every tree and tumbling brook and even the witch's little cottage.