There was soon light enough for them to see one another’s faces. The Cabby and the two children had open mouths and shining eyes； they were drinking in the sound， and they looked as if it reminded them of something. Uncle Andrew‘s mouth was open too， but not open with joy. He looked more as if his chin had simply dropped away from the rest of his face. His shoulders were stopped and his knees shook. He was not liking the Voice. If he could have got away from it by creeping into a rat’s hole， he would have done so. But the Witch looked as if， in a way， she understood the music better than any of them. Her mouth was shut， her lips were pressed together， and her fists were clenched. Ever since the song began she had felt that this whole world was filled with a Magic different from hers and stronger. She hated it. She would have smashed that whole world， or all worlds， to pieces， if it would only stop the singing. The horse stood with its ears well forward， and twitching. Every now and then it snorted and stamped the ground. It no longer looked like a tired old cab.horse； you could now well believe that its father had been in battles.
