chater ixteen the healg f har (第3/7页)

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“Why，Son of Adam，don’t you understand ？ A Centaur has a man-stomach and a horse-stomach. And of course both want breakfast. So first of all he has porridge and pavenders and kidneys and bacon and omelette and cold ham and toast and marmalade and coffee and beer. And after that he attends to the horse part of himself by grazing for an hour or so and finishing up with a hot mash，some oats，and a bag of sugar. That’s why it’s such a serious thing to ask a Centaur to stay for the weekend. A very serious thing indeed.”

At that moment there was a sound of horse-hoofs tapping on rock from the mouth of the cave，and the children looked up. The two Centaurs，one with a black and one with a golden beard flowing over their magnificent bare chests，stood waiting for them，bending their heads a little so as to look into the cave. Then the children became very polite and finished their breakfast very quickly. No one thinks a Centaur funny when he sees it. They are solemn，majestic people，full of ancient wisdom which they learn from the stars，not easily made either merry or angry；but their anger is terrible as a tidal wave when it comes.

“Good-bye，dear Puddleglum,”said Jill，going over to the Marsh-wiggle’s bed. “I’m sorry we called you a wet blanket.”

“So’m I,”said Eustace. “You’ve been the best friend in the world.”

“And I do hope we’ll meet again,”added Jill.

“Not much chance of that，I should say,”replied Puddleglum. “1 don’t reckon I’m very likely to see my old wigwam again， either. And that Prince—he’s a nice chap—but do you think he’s very strong ？ Constitution ruined with living underground，I shouldn’t wonder. Looks the sort that might go off any day.”

“Puddleglum ！”said Jill. “You’re a regular old humbug. You sound as doleful as a funeral and I believe you’re perfectly happy. And you talk as if you were afraid of everything，when you’re really as brave as—as a lion.”

“Now，speaking of funerals,”began Puddleglum，but Jill， who heard the Centaurs tapping with their hoofs behind her， surprised him very much by flinging her arms round his thin neck and kissing his muddy-looking face，while Eustace wrung his hand. Then they both rushed away to the Centaurs，and the Marsh-wiggle，sinking back on his bed，remarked to himself， “Well，I wouldn’t have dreamt of her doing that. Even though I am a good-looking chap.”

To ride on a Centaur is，no doubt，a great honour（and except Jill and Eustace，there is probably no one alive in the world today who has had it）but it is very uncomfortable. For no one who valued his life would suggest putting a saddle on a Centaur， and riding bare-back is no fun；especially if，like Eustace，you have never learned to ride at all. The Centaurs were very polite in a grave，gracious，grown-up kind of way，and as they cantered through the Narnian woods they spoke，without turning their heads，telling the children about the properties of herbs and roots， the influences of the planets，the nine names of Aslan with their meanings，and things of that sort. But however sore and jolted the two humans were，they would now give anything to have that journey over again：to see those glades and slopes sparkling with last night’s snow，to be met by rabbits and squirrels and birds that wished you good morning，to breathe again the air of Narnia and hear the voices of the Narnian trees.

They came down to the river，flowing bright and blue in winter sunshine，far below the last bridge（which is at the snug， red-roofed little town of Beruna）and were ferried across in a flat barge by the ferryman；or rather，by the ferry-wiggle，for it is Marsh-wiggles who do most of the watery and fishy kinds of work in Narnia. And when they had crossed they rode along the south bank of the river and presently came to Cair Paravel itself. And at the very moment of their arrival they saw that same bright ship which they had seen when they first set foot in Narnia，gliding up the river like a huge bird. All the court were once more assembled on the green between the castle and the quay to welcome King Caspian home again. Rilian，who had changed his black clothes and was now dressed in a scarlet cloak over silver mail，stood close to the water’s edge，bare-headed，to receive his father； and the Dwarf Trumpkin sat beside him in his little donkey-chair.