The Silver Chair: Chapters 1–5

“You don’t know either,” said Jill indignantly.

For at the top of the shrubbery was a high stone wall and in that wall a door by which you could get out on to open moor.

At that moment a voice shouted from behind, a mean, spiteful little voice.

They were making a riotous noise, but it was much more like music—rather advanced music which you don’t quite take in at the first hearing—than birds’ songs ever are in our world.

But as they did not grow close together, and as there was no undergrowth, this did not prevent one from seeing a long way into the forest to left and right.

And as far as Jill’s eye could reach, it was all the same—level turf, darting birds with yellow, or dragonfly blue, or rainbow plumage, blue shadows, and emptiness.

She didn’t mind in the least standing on the edge of a precipice.

The first thing that she knew clearly was that she had alighted and was standing under a thicket of trees close by the river side, and there, only a few feet away from her, was Scrubb.

What made Scrubb look so dingy (and Jill too, if she could only have seen herself) was the splendor of their surroundings.

Through a cleft in those mountains which Jill had seen far inland as she approached the land, the sunset light was pouring over a level lawn.

On the near side was a quay of white marble and, moored to this, the ship: a tall ship with high forecastle and high poop, gilded and crimson, with a great flag at the mast-head, and many banners waving from the decks, and a row of shields, bright as silver, along the bulwarks.

On the near side was a quay of white marble and, moored to this, the ship: a tall ship with high forecastle and high poop, gilded and crimson, with a great flag at the mast-head, and many banners waving from the decks, and a row of shields, bright as silver, along the bulwarks.

On the near side was a quay of white marble and, moored to this, the ship: a tall ship with high forecastle and high poop, gilded and crimson, with a great flag at the mast-head, and many banners waving from the decks, and a row of shields, bright as silver, along the bulwarks.

There was a thin circlet of gold on his head.

He was as old as the King, but more hale and hearty, with very keen eyes.

He was as old as the King, but more hale and hearty, with very keen eyes.

Fauns, satyrs, centaurs: Jill could give a name to these, for she had seen pictures of them.

She brought Jill to a round room in one of the turrets, where there was a little bath sunk in the floor and a fire of sweet-smelling woods burning on the flat hearth and a lamp hanging by a silver chain from the vaulted roof.

“Seeing the King—Caspian—a doddering old man like that. It’s—it’s frightful.”

There were soups that would make your mouth water to think of, and the lovely fishes called pavenders, and venison and peacock and pies, and ices and jellies and fruit and nuts, and all manner of wines and fruit drinks.

It was rather fusty inside and, the moment she slipped off the Owl’s back, she knew (as one usually does somehow) that it was quite crowded.

The children began to see that the Narnians all felt about Trumpkin as people feel at school about some crusty teacher, whom everyone is a little afraid of and everyone makes fun of and nobody really dislikes.

They had many squires and ladies with them and all wore garlands of fresh leaves on their heads and horns at their sides; but they had no hounds with them, for they were maying, not hunting.

But they were busy in vain, for at the first glance of her face Rilian knew that no physic in the world would do her good.

It was uncanny to hear two voices in the dark air a little distance away; Scrubb and his owl were talking to one another.

Many wigwams like that in which they had passed the night could be seen dotted about, but all at a good distance from one another; for Marsh-wiggles are people who like privacy.

Except for the fringe of the forest several miles to the south and west of them, there was not a tree in sight.

His expression was solemn, his complexion muddy, and you could see at once that he took a serious view of life.

His expression was solemn, his complexion muddy, and you could see at once that he took a serious view of life.

Why, it’s not in reason that you should like our sort of victuals, though I’ve no doubt you’ll put a bold face on it. All the same, while I am a catching them, if you two could try to light the fire—no harm trying—!

“I suppose we can ford it, though,” said Scrubb.

Then she saw Scrubb’s face, which had turned rather green, and thought to herself, “I bet he’s in a worse funk than I am.”

They all say—I mean, the other wiggles all say—that I’m too flighty; don’t take life seriously enough.

And he rubbed his big frog-like hands together as if he were talking of going to a party or a pantomime.

There would have been a quarrel about this, but as soon as they started sparring the wiggle rubbed his hands and said, “Ah, there you are. I thought as much. That’s what usually happens on adventures.”