CHAPTER NINE WHAT LUCY SAW（第2/5页）

“Oh，Trees，Trees，Trees，”said Lucy (though she had not been intending to speak at all)．“Oh，Trees，wake，wake，wake．Don’t you remember it？ Don’t you remember me？ Dryads and Hamadryads，come out，come to me．”

Though there was not a breath of wind they all stirred about her．The rustling noise of the leaves was almost like words．The nightingale stopped singing as if to listen to it．Lucy felt that at any moment she would begin to understand what the trees were trying to say．But the moment did not come．The rustling died away．The nightingale resumed its song．Even in the moonlight the wood looked more ordinary again．Yet Lucy had the feeling (as you sometimes have when you are trying to remember a name or a date and almost get it，but it vanishes before you really do) that she had just missed something: as if she had spoken to the trees a split second too soon or a split second too late，or used all the right words except one，or put in one word that was just wrong．

Quite suddenly she began to feel tired．She went back to the bivouac，snuggled down between Susan and Peter，and was asleep in a few minutes．

It was a cold and cheerless waking for them all next morning，with a grey twilight in the wood (for the sun had not yet risen) and everything damp and dirty．

“Apples，heigh-ho，”said Trumpkin with a rueful grin．“I must say you ancient kings and queens don’t overfeed your courtiers！”

They stood up and shook themselves and looked about．The trees were thick and they could see no more than a few yards in any direction．

“I suppose your Majesties know the way all right？”said the Dwarf.

“I don’t，”said Susan．“I’ve never seen these woods in my life before．In fact I thought all along that we ought to have gone by the river．”

“Then I think you might have said so at the time，”answered Peter，with pardonable sharpness．

“Oh，don’t take any notice of her，”said Edmund．“She always is a wet blanket．You’ve got that pocket compass of yours，Peter，haven’t you？ Well，then，we’re as right as rain.We’ve only got to keep on going north west—cross that little river，the what-do-you-call-it？—the Rush—”

“I know，”said Peter．“The one that joins the big river at the Fords of Beruna，or Beruna’s Bridge，as theD．L．F．calls it．”

“That’s right．Cross it and strike uphill，and we’ll be at the Stone Table (Aslan’s How，I mean) by eight or nine o’clock．I hope King Caspian will give us a good breakfast！”

“I hope you’re right，”said Susan．“I can’t remember all that at all．”

“That’s the worst of girls，”said Edmund to Peter and the Dwarf．“They never carry a map in their heads．”

“That’s because our heads have something inside them，”said Lucy.

At first things seemed to be going pretty well．They even thought they had struck an old path; but if you know anything about woods，you will know that one is always finding imaginary paths．They disappear after about five minutes and then you think you have found another (and hope it is not another but more of the same one) and it also disappears，and after you have been well lured out of your right direction you realize that none of them were pats at all．The boys and the Dwarf，however，were used to woods and were not taken in for more than a few seconds．

They had plodded on for about half an hour (three of them very stiff from yesterday’s rowing) when Trumpkin suddenly whispered，“Stop．”They all stopped．“there’s something following us，”he said in a low voice．“Or rather，something keeping up with us: over there on the left．”They all stood still，listening and staring till their ears and eyes ached．“You and I’d better each have an arrow on the string，”said Susan to Trumpkin．The Dwarf nodded，and when both bows were ready for action the party went on again．