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 pavenders in 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.”