So they all huddled at the kitchen end， waiting and watching. The thought that the hunters might come back at any moment was terrible. And the giantess was fidgety. Whenever they thought she had really gone to sleep， she moved.
“I can‘t bear this，” thought Jill. To distract her mind， she began looking about her. Just in front of her was a clean wide table with two clean pie-dishes on it， and an open book. They were giant pie-dishes of course. Jill thought that she could lie down just comfortably in one of them. Then she climbed up on the bench beside the table to look at the book. She read：
MALLARD. This delicious bird can be cooked in a variety of ways.
“It’s a cookery book，” thought Jill without much interest， and glanced over her shoulder. The giantess‘s eyes were shut but she didn’t look as if she were properly asleep. Jill glanced back at the book. It was arranged alphabetically： and at the very next entry her heart seemed to stop beating； It ran-MAN. This elegant little biped has long been valued as a delicacy. It forms a traditional part of the Autumn Feast， and is served between the fish and the joint. Each Man-
but she could not bear to read any more. She turned round. The giantess had woken up and was having a fit of coughing. Jill nudged the other two and pointed to the book. They also mounted the bench and bentover the huge pages. Scrubb was still reading about how to cook Men when Puddleglum pointed to the next entry below it. It was like this：
MARSH-WIGGLE. Some authorities reject this animal altogether as unfit for giants‘ consumption because of its stringy consistency and muddy flavour. The flavour can， however， be greatly reduced if-
Jill touched his feet， and Scrubb’s， gently. All three looked back at the giantess. Her mouth was slightly open and from her nose there came a sound which at that moment was more welcome to them than any music； she snored. And now it was a question of tiptoe work， not daring to go too fast， hardly daring to breathe， out through the scullery （giant sculleries smell horrid）， out at last into the pale sunlight of a winter afternoon.
They were at the top of a rough little path which ran steeply down. And， thank heavens， on the right side of the castle； the City Ruinous was in sight. In a few minutes they were back on the broad， steep road which led down from the main gate of the castle. They were also in full view from every single window on that side. If it had been one， or two， or five windows there‘d be a reasonable chance that no one might be looking out. But there were nearer fifty than five. They now realized， too， that the road on which they were， and indeed all the ground between them and the City Ruinous， didn’t offer as much cover as would hide a fox； it was all coarse grass and pebbles and flat stones. To make matters worse， they were now in the clothes that the giants had provided for them the previous night： except Puddleglum， whom nothing would fit. Jill wore a vivid green robe， rather too long for her， and over that a scarlet mantle fringed with white fur. Scrubb had scarlet stockings， blue tunic and cloak， a gold-hilted sword， and a feathered bonnet.
“Nice bits of colour， you two are，” muttered Puddleglum. “Show upvery prettily on a winter day. The worst archer in the world couldn‘t miss either of you if you were in range. And talking of archers， we’ll be sorry not to have our own bows before long， I shouldn‘t wonder. Bit thin， too， those clothes of yours， are they？”
“Yes， I’m freezing already，” said Jill.
A few minutes ago when they had been in the kitchen， she had thought that if only they could once get out of the castle， their escape would be almost complete. She now realized that the most dangerous part of it was still to come.
“Steady， steady，” said Puddleglum. “Don‘t look back. Don’t walk too quickly. Whatever you do， don‘t run. Look as if we were just taking a stroll， and then， if anyone sees us， he might， just possibly， not bother. The moment we look like people running away， we’re done.”
The distance to the City Ruinous seemed longer than Jill would have believed possible. But bit by bit they were covering it. Then came a noise. The other two gasped. Jill， who didn‘t know what it was， said， “What’s that？”
“Hunting horn，” whispered Scrubb.
“But don‘t run even now，” said Puddleglum. “Not till I give the word.” This time Jill couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder. There， about half a mile away， was the hunt returning from behind them on the left. They walked on. Suddenly a great clamour of giant voices arose：
then shouts and hollas.
“They‘ve seen us. Run，” said Puddleglum.
Jill gathered up her long skirts-horrible things for running in-and ran. There was no mistaking the danger now. She could hear the music of the hounds. She could hear the King’s voice roaring out， “After them， after them， or we‘ll have no man-pies tomorrow.”
She was last of the three now， cumbered with her dress， slipping
on loose stones， her hair getting in her mouth， running-pains across her chest. The hounds were much nearer. Now she had to run uphill， up the stony slope which led to the lowest step of the giant stairway. She had no idea what they would do when they got there， or how they would be any better off even if they reached the top. But she didn’t think about that. She was like a hunted animal now； as long as the pack was after her， she must run till she dropped.
The Marsh-wiggle was ahead. As he came to the lowest step he stopped， looked a little to his right， and all of a sudden darted into a little hole or crevice at the bottom of it. His long legs， disappearing into it， looked very like those of a spider. Scrubb hesitated and thenvanished after him. Jill， breathless and reeling， came to the place about a minute later. It was an unattractive hole-a crack between the earth and the stone about three feet long and hardly more than a foot high. You had to fling yourself flat on your face and crawl in. You couldn‘t do it so very quickly either. She felt sure that a dog’s teeth would close on her heel before she had got inside.