It seemed to Lucy only the next minute （though really it was hoursand hours later） when she woke up feeling a little cold and dreadfully stiff and thinking how she would like a hot bath. Then she felt a set of long whiskers tickling her cheek and saw the cold daylight coming in through the mouth of the cave. But immediately after that she was very wide awake indeed， and so was everyone else. In fact they were all sitting up with their mouths and eyes wide open listening to a sound which was the very sound they’d all been thinking of （and sometimes imagining they heard） during their walk last night. It was a sound of jingling bells.
Mr Beaver was out of the cave like a flash the moment he heard it. Perhaps you think， as Lucy thought for a moment， that this was a very silly thing to do？ But it was really a very sensible one. He knew he could scramble to the top of the bank among bushes and brambles without being seen； and he wanted above all things to see which way the Witch‘s sledge went. The others all sat in the cave waiting and wondering. They waited nearly five minutes. Then they heard something that frightened them very much. They heard voices. “Oh，” thought Lucy， “he’s been seen. She‘s caught him！” Great was their surprise when a little later， they heard Mr Beaver’s voice calling to them from just outside the cave.
“It‘s all right，” he was shouting. “Come out， Mrs Beaver. Come out， Sons and Daughters of Adam. It’s all right！ It isn‘t Her！” This was bad grammar of course， but that is how beavers talk when they are excited； I mean， in Narnia-in our world they usually don’t talk at all.
So Mrs Beaver and the children came bundling out of the cave， allblinking in the daylight， and with earth all over them， and looking very frowsty and unbrushed and uncombed and with the sleep in their eyes. “Come on！” cried Mr Beaver， who was almost dancing with delight. “Come and see！ This is a nasty knock for the Witch！ It looks as if herpower is already crumbling.”
“What do you mean， Mr Beaver？” panted Peter as they all scrambled up the steep bank of the valley together.
“Didn‘t I tell you，” answered Mr Beaver， “that she’d made it always winter and never Christmas？ Didn‘t I tell you？ Well， just come and see！”
And then they were all at the top and did see.
It was a sledge， and it was reindeer with bells on their harness. But they were far bigger than the Witch’s reindeer， and they were not white but brown. And on the sledge sat a person whom everyone knew the moment they set eyes on him. He was a huge man in a bright red robe （bright as hollyberries） with a hood that had fur inside it and a great white beard， that fell like a foamy waterfall over his chest. Everyone knew him because， though you see people of his sort only in Narnia， you see pictures of them and hear them talked about even in our world-the world on this side of the wardrobe door. But when you really see them in Narnia it is rather different. Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn‘t find it quite like that. He was so big， and so glad， and so real， that they all became quite still. They felt very glad， but also solemn.
“I’ve come at last，” said he. “She has kept me out for a long time， but I have got in at last. Aslan is on the move. The Witch‘s magic is weakening.”
And Lucy felt running through her that deep shiver of gladness which you only get if you are being solemn and still.
“And now，” said Father Christmas， “for your presents. There is a new and better sewing machine for you， Mrs Beaver. I will drop it in your house as I pass.”
“If you please， sir，” said Mrs Beaver， making a curtsey. “It’s locked up.”
“Locks and bolts make no difference to me，” said Father Christmas. “And as for you， Mr Beaver， when you get home you will find your dam finished and mended and all the leaks stopped and a new sluice-gate fitted.”
Mr Beaver was so pleased that he opened his mouth very wide and then found he couldn‘t say anything at all.
“Peter， Adam’s Son，” said Father Christmas. “Here， sir，” said Peter.
“These are your presents，” was the answer， “and they are tools， not toys. The time to use them is perhaps near at hand. Bear them well.” With these words he handed to Peter a shield and a sword. The shield was the colour of silver and across it there ramped a red lion， as bright as a ripe strawberry at the moment when you pick it. The hilt of the sword was of gold and it had a sheath and a sword belt and everything it needed， and it was just the right size and weight for Peter to use. Peter was silent and solemn as he received these gifts， for he felt they were a very serious kind of present.
“Susan， Eve‘s Daughter，” said Father Christmas. “These are for you，” and he handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows and a little ivory horn. “You must use the bow only in great need，” he said， “for I do not mean you to fight in the battle. It does not easily miss. And when you put this horn to your lips and blow it， then， wherever you are， I think help of some kind will come to you.”
Last of all he said， “Lucy， Eve’s Daughter，” and Lucy came forward. He gave her a little bottle of what looked like glass （but people said afterwards that it was made of diamond） and a small dagger. “In this bottle，” he said， “there is cordial made of the juice of one of the fire- flowers that grow in the mountains of the sun. If you or any of your friends is hurt， a few drops of this will restore them. And the dagger is to defend yourse at great need. For you also are not to be in battle.”
“Why， sir？” said Lucy. “I think-I don‘t know-but I think I could be brave enough.”
