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ver learned to ride at all. The Centaurs were very polite in a grave，gracious，grown-up kind of way，and as they cantered through the Narnian woods they spoke，without turning their heads，telling the children about the properties of herbs and roots， the influences of the planets，the nine names of Aslan with their meanings，and things of that sort. But however sore and jolted the two humans were，they would now give anything to have that journey over again：to see those glades and slopes sparkling with last night’s snow，to be met by rabbits and squirrels and birds that wished you good morning，to breathe again the air of Narnia and hear the voices of the Narnian trees.
They came down to the river，flowing bright and blue in winter sunshine，far below the last bridge（which is at the snug， red-roofed little town of Beruna）and were ferried across in a flat barge by the ferryman；or rather，by the ferry-wiggle，for it is Marsh-wiggles who do most of the watery and fishy kinds of work in Narnia.
