CHAPTER FIFTEEN ASLAN MAKES A DOOR IN THE AIR

AT the sight of Aslan the cheeks of the Telmarine soldiers became the colour of cold gravy，their knees knocked together，and many fell on their faces．They had not believed in lions and this made their fear greater．Even the Red Dwarfs，who knew that he came as a friend，stood with open mouths and could not speak．Some of the Black Dwarfs，who had been of Nikabrik’s party，began to edge away．But all the Talking Beasts surged round the Lion，with purrs and grunts and squeaks and whinneys of delight，fawning on him with their tails，rubbing against him，touching him reverently with their noses and going to and fro under his body and between his legs．If you have ever seen a little cat loving a big dog whom it knows and trusts，you will have a pretty good picture of their behaviour．Then Peter，leading Caspian，forced his way through the crowd of animals.

“This is Caspian，Sir，”he said．And Caspian knelt and kissed the Lion’s paw．

“Welcome，Prince，”said Aslan．“Do you feel yourself sufficient to take up the Kingship of Narnia？”

“I—I don’t think I do，Sir，”said Caspian．“I’m only a kid．”

“Good，”said Aslan．“If you had felt yourself sufficient，it would have been a proof that you were not．Therefore，under us and under the High King，you shall be King of Narnia，Lord of Cair Paravel，and Emperor of the Lone Islands．You and your heirs while your race lasts．And your coronation—but what have we here？”For at that moment a curious little procession was approaching—eleven Mice，six of whom carried between them something on a litter made of branches，but the litter was no bigger than a large atlas．No one has ever seen mice more woebegone than these．They were plastered with mud—some with blood too—and their ears were down and their whiskers drooped and their tails dragged in the grass，and their leader piped on his slender pipe a melancholy tune．On the litter lay what seemed little better than a damp heap of fur; all that was left of Reepicheep．He was still breathing，but more dead than alive，gashed with innumerable wounds，one paw crushed，and，where his tail had been，a bandaged stump．

“Now，Lucy，”said Aslan．

Lucy had her diamond bottle out in a moment．Though only a drop was needed on each of Reepicheep’s wounds，the wounds were so many that there was a long and anxious silence before she had finished and the Master Mouse sprang from the litter．His hand went at once to his sword hilt，with the other he twirled his whiskers．He bowed．

“Hail，Aslan！”came his shrill voice．“I have the honour—”But then he suddenly stopped．

The fact was that he still had no tail—whether that Lucy had forgotten it or that her cordial，though it could heal wounds，could not make things grow again．Reepicheep became aware of his loss as he made his bow; perhaps it altered something in his balance．He looked over his right shoulder．Failing to see his tail，he strained his neck further till he had to turn his shoulders and his whole body followed．But by that time his hind-quarters had turned too and were out of sight．Then he strained his neck looking over his shoulder again，with the same result．Only after he had turned completely round three times did he realize the dreadful truth．

“I am confounded，”said Reepicheep to Aslan．“I am completely out of countenance．I must crave your indulgence for appearing in this unseemly fashion．”

“It becomes you very well，Small One，”said Aslan．

“All the same，”replied Reepicheep，“if anything could be done…Perhaps her Majesty？”and here he bowed to Lucy．

“But what do you want with a tail？”asked Aslan．

“Sir，”said the Mouse，“I can eat and sleep and die for my King without one．But a tail is the honour and glory of a Mouse．”

“I have sometimes wondered，friend，”said Aslan，“whether you do not think too much about your honour．”