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It was a cold and cheerless waking for them all next morning，with a grey twilight in the wood (for the sun had not yet risen) and everything damp and dirty．
“Apples，heigh-ho，”said Trumpkin with a rueful grin．“I must say you ancient kings and queens don’t overfeed your courtiers！”
They stood up and shook themselves and looked about．The trees were thick and they could see no more than a few yards in any direction．
“I suppose your Majesties know the way all right？”said the Dwarf.
“I don’t，”said Susan．“I’ve never seen these woods in my life before．In fact I thought all along that we ought to have gone by the river．”
“Then I think you might have said so at the time，”answered Peter，with pardonable sharpness．
“Oh，don’t take any notice of her，”said Edmund．“She always is a wet blanket．You’ve got that pocket compass of yours，Peter，haven’t you？ Well，then，we’re as right as rain.We’ve only got to keep on going north west—cross that little river，the what-do-you-call-it？—the Rush—”
“I know，”said Peter．“The one that joins the big river at the Fords of Beruna，or Beruna’s Bridge，as theD．L．F．calls it．”
“That’s right．Cross it and strike uphill，and we’ll be at the Stone Table (Aslan’s How，I mean) by eight or nine o’clock．I hope King Caspian will give us a good breakfast！”
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