The banners hung from the roof， and each course came in with trumpeters and kettledrums. There were soups that would make your mouth water to think of， and the lovely fishes called pavenders， and venison and peacock and pies， and ices and jellies and fruit and nuts， and all manner of wines and fruit drinks. Even Eustace cheered up and admitted that it was “something like”. And when all the serious eating and drinking was over， a blind poet came forward and struck up the grand old tale of Prince Cor and Aravis and the horse Bree， which is called The Horse and his Boy and tells of an adventure that happened in Narnia and Calormen and the lands between， in the golden Age when Peter was High King in Cair Paravel. （I haven‘t time to tell it now， though it is well worth hearing.）When they were dragging themselves upstairs to bed， yawning their heads off， Jill said， “I bet we sleep well， tonight”； for it had been a full day. Which just shows how little anyone knows what is going to happen to them next.
A Parliament Of Owls
