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r own world,”said Scrubb，“and sent us into this to find Prince Rilian.”
“What is a lion ？”asked the Witch.
“Oh，hang it all ！”said Scrubb. “Don’t you know ？ How can we describe it to her ？ Have you ever seen a cat ？”
“Surely,”said the Queen. “I love cats.”
“Well，a lion is a little bit—only a little bit，mind you—like a huge cat—with a mane. At least，it’s not like a horse’s mane， you know，it’s more like a judge’s wig. And it’s yellow. And terrifically strong.”
The Witch shook her head. “I see,”she said，“that we should do no better with your lion，as you call it，than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps，and so you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the sun. You’ve seen cats，and now you want a bigger and better cat，and it’s to be called a lion. Well，’tis a pretty make-believe，though，to say truth，it would suit you all better if you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world，t
