“No good，” grunted Scrubb. Jill lost no time in turning and leading the way back. When they returned to the place where Jill had first fallen in， the Marsh-wiggle with his long arms had no difficulty in pulling them out.
But it was dreadful to be out on top again. Down in those narrow slits of trenches， their ears had almost begun to thaw. They had been able to see clearly and breathe easily and hear each other speak without shouting. It was absolute misery to come back into the withering coldness. And it did seem hard when Puddleglum chose that moment for saying：
“Are you still sure of those signs， Pole？ What’s the one we ought to be after， now？”
“Oh， come on！ Bother the signs，” said Pole. “Something about someone mentioning Aslan‘s name， I think. But I’m jolly well not going to give a recitation here.”
As you see， she had got the order wrong. That was because she had given up saying the signs over every night. She still really knew them， if she troubled to think： but she was no longer so “pat” in her lesson as to be sure of reeling them off in the right order at a moment‘s noticeand without thinking. Puddleglum’s question annoyed her because， deep down inside her， she was already annoyed with herself for not knowing the Lion‘s lesson quite so well as she felt she ought to have known it. This annoyance， added to the misery of being very cold and tired， made her say， “Bother the signs”. She didn’t perhaps quite mean it.
“Oh， that was next， was it？” said Puddleglum. “Now I wonder， are you right？ Got ‘em mixed， I shouldn’t wonder. It seems to me， this hill， this flat place we‘re on， is worth stopping to have a look at. Have you noticed-”
“Oh Lor！” said Scrubb. “Is this a time for stopping to admire theview？ For goodness’ sake let‘s get on.”
“Oh， look， look， look，” cried Jill and pointed. Everyone turned， and everyone saw. Some way off to the north， and a good deal higher up than the tableland on which they stood， a line of lights had appeared. This time， even more obviously than when the travellers had seen them the night before， they were windows： smaller windows that made one think deliciously of bedrooms， and larger windows that made one think of great halls with fires roaring on the hearth and hot soup or juicy sirloins smoking on the table.
“Harfang！” exclaimed Scrubb.
“That’s all very well，” said Puddleglum. “But what I was saying was-”
“Oh， shut up，” said Jill crossly. “We haven‘t a moment to lose. Don’tyou remember what the Lady said about their locking up so early？ We must get there in time， we must， we must. We‘ll die if we’re shut out on a night like this.”
“Well， it isn‘t exactly a night， not yet，” began Puddleglum； but the two children both said， “Come on，” and began stumbling forward on the slippery tableland as quickly as their legs would carry them. The Marsh-wiggle followed them： still talking， but now that they were forcing their way into the wind again， they could not have heard him even if they had wanted to. And they didn’t want. They were thinking of baths and beds and hot drinks； and the idea of coming to Harfangtoo late and being shut out was almost unbearable.
In spite of their haste， it took them a long time to cross the flat top of that hill. And even when they had crossed it， there were still several ledges to climb down on the far side. But at last they reached the bottom and could see what Harfang was like.
It stood on a high crag， and in spite of its many towers was more a huge house than a castle. Obviously， the Gentle Giants feared no attack. There were windows in the outside wall quite close to the ground-a thing no one would have in a serious fortress. There were even odd little doors here and there， so that it would be quite easy to get in and out of the castle without going through the courtyard. This raised the spirits of Jill and Scrubb. It made the whole place look morefriendly and less forbidding.
At first the height and steepness of the crag frightened them， but presently they noticed that there was an easier way up on the left and that the road wound up towards it. It was a terrible climb， after the journey they had already had， and Jill nearly gave up. Scrubb and Puddleglum had to help her for the last hundred yards. But in the end they stood before the castle gate. The portcullis was up and the gate open.
However tired you are， it takes some nerve to walk up to a giant‘s front door. In spite of all his previous warnings against Harfang， it was Puddleglum who showed most courage.
“Steady pace， now，” he said. “Don’t look frightened， whatever you do. We‘ve done the silliest thing in the world by coming at all： but now that we are here， we’d best put a bold face on it.”
With these words he strode forward into the gateway， stood still under the arch where the echo would help his voice， and called out as loud as he could.
“Ho！ Porter！ Guests who seek lodging.”
And while he was waiting for something to happen， he took off his hat and knocked off the heavy mass of snow which had gathered on its wide brim.
“I say，” whispered Scrubb to Jill. “He may be a wet blanket， but he has plenty of pluck-and cheek.”
A door opened， letting out a delicious glow of firelight， and the Porter appeared. Jill bit her lips for fear she should scream. He was not a perfectly enormous giant； that is to say， he was rather taller than an apple tree but nothing like so tall as a telegraph pole. He had bristly red hair， a leather jerkin with metal plates fastened all over it so as to make a kind of mail shirt， bare knees （very hairy indeed） and things like puttees on his legs. He stooped down and goggled at Puddleglum.
“And what sort of creature do you call yourself ？” he said.
Jill took her courage in both hands. “Please，” she said， shouting up at the giant. “The Lady of the Green Kirtle salutes the King of the Gentle Giants， and has sent us two Southern children and this Marsh- wiggle （his name‘s Puddleglum） to your Autumn Feast. -If it’s quite convenient， of course，” she added.
“O-ho！” said the Porter. “That‘s quite a different story. Come in， little people， come in. You’d best come into the lodge while I‘m sending word to his Majesty.” He looked at the children with curiosity. “Blue faces，” he said. “I didn’t know they were that colour. Don‘t care about it myself. But I dare say you look quite nice to one another. Beetles fancy other beetles， they do say.”
“Our faces are only blue with cold，” said Jill. “We’re not this colourreally.”