“Then， Madam，” said the Prince， “you shall see us die fighting around you， and you must commend yourself to the Lion. Now， good Puddleglum.”
The Marsh.wiggle slipped off into the shadow as quickly as a cat. The others， for a sickening minute or so， went forward at a walk. Then suddenly from behind them there broke out a series of blood.curdling screams， mixed with the familiar voice of Puddleglum， saying， “Now then！ Don‘t cry out before you’re hurt， or you will be hurt， see？ Anyone would think it was a pig being killed.”
“That wa s good hunting，” exclaimed the Prince， immediately turning Coalblack and coming back to the corner of the house. “Eustace，” he said， “of your courtesy， take Coalblack‘s head.” Then he dismounted， and all three gazed in silence while Puddleglum pulled his catch out into the light. It was a most miserable little gnome， only about three feet long. It had a sort of ridge， like a cock’s comb （only hard）， on the top of its head， little pink eyes， and a mouth and chin so large and round that its face looked like that of a pigmy hippopotamus. If they had not been in such a tight place， they would have burst into laughter at the sight of it.