CHAPTER SIX THE WILD WASTE LANDS OF THE NORTH

AT about nine o’clock next morning three lonely figures might have been seen picking their way across the Shribble by the shoals and stepping-stones. It was a shallow，noisy stream，and even Jill was not wet above her knees when they reached the northern bank. About fifty yards ahead，the land rose up to the beginning of the moor，everywhere steeply，and often in cliffs.

“I suppose that’s our way ！”said Scrubb，pointing left and west to where a stream flowed down from the moor through a shallow gorge. But the Marsh-wiggle shook his head.

“The giants mainly live along the side of that gorge,”he said. “You might say the gorge was like a street to them. We’ll do better straight ahead，even though it’s a bit steep.”

They found a place where they could scramble up，and in about ten minutes stood panting at the top. They cast a longing look back at the valley-land of Narnia and then turned their faces to the North. The vast，lonely moor stretched on and up as far as they could see. On their left was rockier ground. Jill thought that must be the edge of the giants’ gorge and did not much care about looking in that direction. They set out.

It was good，springy ground for walking，and a day of pale winter sunlight. As they got deeper into the moor，the loneliness increased：one could hear peewits and see an occasional hawk. When they halted in the middle of the morning for a rest and a drink in a little hollow by a stream，Jill was beginning to feel that she might enjoy adventures after all，and said so.

“We haven’t had any yet,”said the Marsh-wiggle.

Walks after the first halt—like school mornings after break or railway journeys after changing trains—never go on as they were before. When they set out again，Jill noticed that the rocky edge of the gorge had drawn nearer. And the rocks were less flat，more upright，than they had been. In fact they were like little towers of rock. And what funny shapes they were ！

“I do believe,”thought Jill，“that all the stories about giants might have come from those funny rocks. If you were coming along here when it was half dark，you could easily think those piles of rock were giants. Look at that one，now ！ You could almost imagine that the lump on top was a head. It would be rather too big for the body，but it would do well enough for an ugly giant. And all that bushy stuff—I suppose it’s heather and birds’ nests， really—would do quite well for hair and beard. And the things sticking out on each side are quite like ears. They’d be horribly big，but then I dare say giants would have big ears，like elephants.

And—o-o-o-h ！—”

Her blood froze. The thing moved. It was a real giant. There was no mistaking it；she had seen it turn its head. She had caught a glimpse of the great，stupid，puffcheeked face. All the things were giants，not rocks. There were forty or fifty of them，all in a row；obviously standing with their feet on the bottom of the gorge and their elbows resting on the edge of the gorge，just as men might stand leaning on a wall-lazy men，on a fine morning after breakfast.

“Keep straight on,”whispered Puddleglum，who had noticed them too. “Don’t look at them. And whatever you do，don’t run. They’d be after us in a moment.”

So they kept on，pretending not to have seen the giants. It was like walking past the gate of a house where there is a fierce dog， only far worse. There were dozens and dozens of these giants. They didn’t look angry—or kind—or interested at all. There was no sign that they had seen the travellers.

Then—whizz-whizz-whizz—some heavy object came hurtling through the air，and with a crash a big boulder fell about twenty paces ahead of them. And then—thud ！—another fell twenty feet behind.

“Are they aiming at us ？”asked Scrubb.

“No,”said Puddleglum. “We’d be a good deal safer if they were. They’re trying to hit that—that cairn over there to the right. They won’t hit it，you know. It’s safe enough；they’re such very bad shots. They play cock-shies most fine mornings. About the only game they’re clever enough to understand.”