The gloomiest of all was Giant Wimbleweather. He knew it was all his fault. He sat in silence shedding big tears which collected on the end of his nose and then fell off with a huge splash on the whole bivouac of the Mice， who had just been beginning to get warm and drowsy. They all jumped up， shaking the water out of their ears and wringing their little blankets， and asked the Giant in shrill but forcible voices whether he thought they weren‘t wet enough without this sort of thing. And then other people woke up and told the Mice they had been enrolled as scouts and not as a concert party， and asked why they couldn’t keep quiet. And Wimbleweather tiptoed away to find some place where he could be miserable in peace and stepped on somebody‘s tail and somebody （they said afterwards it was a fox） bit him. And so everyone was out of temper.
But in the secret and magical chamber at the heart of the How， King Caspian， with Cornelius and the Badger and Nikabrik and Trumpkin， were at council. Thick pillars of ancient workmanship supported the roof. In the centre was the Stone itself-a stone table，split right down the centre， and covered with what had once been writing of some kind： but ages of wind and rain and snow had almost worn them away in old times when the Stone Table had stood on the hilltop， and the Mound had not yet been built above it. They were not using the Table nor sitting round it： it was too magic a thing for any common use. They sat on logs a little way from it， and between them was a rough wooden table， on which stood a rude clay lamp lighting up their pale faces and throwing big shadows on the walls.
“If your Majesty is ever to use the Horn，” said Trufflehunter， “I think the time has now come.” Caspian had of course told them of his treasure several days ago.
“We are certainly in great need，” answered Caspian. “But it is hard to be sure we are at our greatest. Supposing there came an even worse need and we had already used it？”
“By that argument，” said Nikabrik， “your Majesty will never use it until it is too late.”
“I agree with that，” said Doctor Cornelius.
“And what do you think， Trumpkin？” asked Caspian.
“Oh， as for me，” said the Red Dwarf， who had been listening with complete indifference， “your Majesty knows I think the Horn-and that bit of broken stone over there-and your great King Peter-and your Lion Aslan-are all eggs in moonshine. It’s all one to me when your Majesty blows the Horn. All I insist on is that the army is told nothing about it. There‘s no good raising hopes of magical help which （as I think） are sure to be disappointed.”
“Then in the name of Aslan we will wind Queen Susan’s Horn，” said Caspian.
“There is one thing， Sire，” said Doctor Cornelius， “that should perhaps be done first. We do not know what form the help will take. It might call Aslan himself from oversea. But I think it is more likely to call Peter the High King and his mighty consorts down from the high past. But in either case， I do not think we can be sure that the help will come to this very spot-”
“You never said a truer word，” put in Trumpkin.
“I think，” went on the learned man， “that they-or he-will come back to one or other of the Ancient Places of Narnia. This， where we now sit， is the most ancient and most deeply magical of all， and here， I think， the answer is likeliest to come. But there are two others. One Lantern Waste， up-river， west of Beaversdam， where the Royal Children first appeared in Narnia， as the records tell. The other is down at the river-mouth， where their castle of Cair Paravel once stood. And if Aslan himself comes， that would be the best place for meeting him too， for every story says that he is the son of the great Emperor-over-the-Sea， and over the sea he will pass. I should like very much to send messengers to both places， to Lantern Waste and the river-mouth， to receive them-or him-or it.”
“Just as I thought，” muttered Trumpkin. “The first result of all thisfoolery is not to bring us help but to lose us two fighters.”
“Who would you think of sending， Doctor Cornelius？” asked Caspian. “Squirrels are best for getting through enemy country withoutbeing caught，” said Trufflehunter.
“All our squirrels （and we haven‘t many），” said Nikabrik， “are rather flighty. The only one I’d trust on a job like that would be Pattertwig.”
“Let it be Pattertwig， then，” said King Caspian. “And who for our other messenger？ I know you‘d go， Trufflehunter， but you haven’t the speed. Nor you， Doctor Cornelius.”
“I won‘t go，” said Nikabrik. “With all these Humans and beasts about， there must be a Dwarf here to see that the Dwarfs are fairly treated.”
“Thimbles and thunderstorms！” cried Trumpkin in a rage. “Is that how you speak to the King？ Send me， Sire， I’ll go.”
“But I thought you didn‘t believe in the Horn， Trumpkin，” said Caspian.
“No more I do， your Majesty. But what’s that got to do with it？ I might as well die on a wild goose chase as die here. You are my King. I know the difference between giving advice and taking orders. You‘ve had my advice， and now it’s the time for orders.”
“I will never forget this， Trumpkin，” said Caspian. “Send for Pattertwig， one of you. And when shall I blow the Horn？”
“I would wait for sunrise， your Majesty，” said Doctor Cornelius. “That sometimes has an effect in operations of White Magic.”
A few minutes later Pattertwig arrived and had his task explained to him. As he was， like many squirrels， full of courage and dash and energy and excitement and mischief （not to say conceit）， he no sooner heard it than he was eager to be off. It was arranged that he should run for Lantern Waste while Trumpkin made the shorter journey to the river-mouth. After a hasty meal they both set off with the fervent thanks and good wishes of the King， the Badger， and Cornelius.
中文阅读
他们与潘恩相遇的地方就是舞蹈草坪。卡斯宾和他的朋友们在那里一直待到了开大会的那天夜晚。对于卡斯宾来说，露天而眠，渴了喝井里的水，饿了吃坚果和野果，这些都是全新的经历。以前，他住在城堡中挂着壁毯的房间里，床上铺的是绫罗绸缎，吃饭用的是金银碗碟，有成群的奴婢供他使唤。可是他从来都没有像现在这么开心，没有像现在睡得这么香甜，食物也从来没有像现在这样香甜可口。他开始变得坚强起来，脸上显示出了国王的气度。
