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“WAKE up，Digory，wake up，Fledge，”came the voice of Polly．“It has turned into a toffee tree．And it’s the loveliest morning．”
The low early sunshine was streaming through the wood and the grass was grey with dew and the cobwebs were like silver．Just beside them was a little，very dar—kwooded tree，about the size of an apple tree．The leaves were whitish and rather papery，like the herb called honesty，and it was loaded with little brown fruits that looked rather like dates．
“Hurrah ！”said Digory．“But I’m going to have a dip first．”He rushed through a flowering thicket or two down to the river’s edge． Have you ever bathed in a mountain river that is running in shallow cataracts over red and blue and yellow stones with the sun on it ？ It is as good as the sea：in some ways almost better．Of course，he had to dress again without drying but it was well worth it．When he came back，Polly went down and had her bathe；at least she said that was what she’d been doing，but we know she was no
