"Therearethetrees,"saidtheBeaver."Theyrealwayslistening.Mostofthemareonourside,buttherearetreesthatwouldbetrayustoher;youknowwhoImean,"anditsheadseveraltimes.

    "Ifitestotalkingaboutsides,"saidEdmund,"howdoweknowyoureafriend?”

    "Notmeaningtoberude,MrBeaver,"addedPeter,"butyousee,werestrangers.”

    "Quiteright,quiteright,"saidtheBeaver."Hereismytoken."Withthesewordsithelduptothemalittlewhiteobject.Theyalllookedatitinsurprise,tillsuddenlyLucysaid,"Oh,ofcourse.Itsmyhandkerchief-theoneIgavetopoorMrTumnus.”

    "Thatsright,"saidtheBeaver."Poorfellow,hegotwindofthearrestbeforeitactuallyhappenedandhahisovertome.HesaidthatifanythinghappeohimImustmeetyouhereandtakeyouonto-"HeretheBeaversvoikintosilenditgave

    owoverymysteriousnods.Thensignallingtothechildrentostandasclosearounditastheypossiblycould,sothattheirfaceswereactuallytickledbyitswhiskers,itaddedinalowwhisper-"TheysayAslanisonthemove-perhapshasalreadylanded.”

    Andnowaverycuriousthinghappened.hechildrenknewwhoAslanwasanymorethanyoudo;butthemomenttheBeaverhadspokenthesewordseveryoquitedifferent.Perhapsithassometimeshappeoyouihatsomeonesayssomethingwhichyoudontuandbutinthedreamitfeelsasifithadsomeenormousmeaniheraterrifyingonewhichturnsthewholedreamintoanightmareorelsealovelymeaningtoolovelytoputintowords,whichmakesthedreamsobeautifulthatyourememberitallyourlifeandarealwayswishingyoucouldgetintothatdre