“What were they going to drown you for？” asked Peter.
“Oh， I‘m a dangerous criminal， I am，” said the Dwarf cheerfully. “But that’s a long story. Meantime， I was wondering if perhaps you were going to ask me to breakfast？ You‘ve no idea what an appetite it gives one， being executed.”
“There’s only apples，” said Lucy dolefully.
“Better than nothing， but not so good as fresh fish，” said the Dwarf. “It looks as if I‘ll have to ask you to breakfast instead. I saw some fishing tackle in that boat. And anyway， we must take her round to the other side of the island. We don’t want anyone from the mainland coming down and seeing her.”
“I ought to have thought of that myself，” said Peter.
The four children and the Dwarf went down to the water‘s edge， pushed off the boat with some difficulty， and scrambled aboard. TheDwarf at once took charge. The oars were of course too big for him to use， so Peter rowed and the Dwarf steered them north along the channel and presently eastward round the tip of the island. From here the children could see right up the river， and all the bays and headlands of the coast beyond it. They thought they could recognize bits of it， but the woods， which had grown up since their time， made everything look very different.
When they had come round into open sea on the east of the island， the Dwarf took to fishing. They had an excellent catch of pavenders， a beautiful rainbow-coloured fish which they all remembered eating in Cair Paravel in the old days. When they had caught enough they ran the boat up into a little creek and moored her to a tree. The Dwarf， who was a most capable person （and， indeed， though one meets bad Dwarfs， I never heard of a Dwarf who was a fool）， cut the fish open，cleaned them， and said：
“Now， what we want next is some firewood.” “We’ve got some up at the castle，” said Edmund.
The Dwarf gave a low whistle. “Beards and bedsteads！” he said. “So there really is a castle， after all？”
“It‘s only a ruin，” said Lucy.
The Dwarf stared round at all four of them with a very curious expression on his face. “And who on earth-？” he began， but then broke off and said， “No matter. Breakfast first. But one thing before we go on. Can you lay your hand on your hearts and tell me I’m really alive？ Are you sure I wasn‘t drowned and we’re not all ghosts together？”
When they had all reassured him， the next question was how to carry the fish. They had nothing to string them on and no basket. They had to use Edmund‘s hat in the end because no one else had a hat. He would have made much more fuss about this if he had not by now been so ravenously hungry.
At first the Dwarf did not seem very comfortable in the castle. He kept looking round and sniffing and saying， “H’m. Looks a bit spooky after all. Smells like ghosts， too.” But he cheered up when it came to lighting the fire and showing them how to roast the fresh pavendersin the embers. Eating hot fish with no forks， and one pocket knife between five people， is a messy business and there were several burnt fingers before the meal was ended； but， as it was now nine o‘clock and they had been up since five， nobody minded the burns so much as you might have expected. When everyone had finished off with a drink from the well and an apple or so， the Dwarf produced a pipe about the size of his own arm， filled it， lit it， blew a great cloud of fragrant smoke， and said， “Now.”
“You tell us your story first，” said Peter. “And then we’ll tell you ours.” “Well，” said the Dwarf， “as you‘ve saved my life it is only fair you should have your own way. But I hardly know where to begin. First ofall I’m a messenger of King Caspian‘s.” “Who’s he？” asked four voices all at once.
“Caspian the Tenth， King of Narnia， and long may he reign！” answered the Dwarf. “That is to say， he ought to be King of Narnia and we hope he will be. At present he is only King of us Old Narnians-”
“What do you mean by old Narnians， please？” asked Lucy.
“Why， that‘s us，” said the Dwarf. “We’re a kind of rebellion， I suppose.”
“I see，” said Peter.“ And Caspian is the chief Old Narnian.”
“Well， in a manner of speaking，” said the Dwarf， scratching his head. “But he‘s really a New Narnian himself， a Telmarine， if you follow me.”
“I don’t，” said Edmund.
“It‘s worse than the Wars of the Roses，” said Lucy.
“Oh dear，” said the Dwarf. “I’m doing this very badly. Look here： I think I‘ll have to go right back to the beginning and tell you how Caspian grew up in his uncle’s court and how he comes to be on our side at all. But it‘ll be a long story.”
“All the better，” said Lucy. “We love stories.”