Chapter 9

What Peter didn't know was that this indignance was the beginning of the change. He couldn't feel it because it happened slowly, just as you can't feel yourself growing taller. But one day you can see over something you couldn't see over before, or reach something that used to be beyond reach and you know you've grown. This is what was happening to Peter, only he was in the earliest stages, the part where he couldn't see the difference yet. How he changed I'll leave for you to decide, as Edmund and Lucy did when they saw him again.

Polly arrived at the Professor's about a week after Peter. There had been a lot of talking and reminiscing and long sighs from Peter up until that point, and the Professor had borne all the melancholy well for a couple of days. Finally, though, he had to wire his old cheerful friend for reinforcements.

Polly banged through the door just before teatime, and the Professor was so startled that he dropped the box of sugar cubes he had been carrying to the table. Peter quickly stooped to clean them up. It is not easy to clean up sugar that has spilt everywhere, whether in cube form or no, and as a result Peter was still on his hands and knees when she came into the kitchen.

"So this is him, eh?" she said.

Peter looked up and found himself staring in the face of a woman who was quite as old as the Professor, but more substantial and merrier. There was something in her face he liked, though he couldn't decide whether it was her very red cheeks or her keen eyes. He rose to his feet but he didn't know what to say.

"Yes," the Professor said. "This is Peter."

"Hmph," she said, and it was not a very approving noise. She settled herself at the table. "I'll take some tea, Peter."

"There's no sugar," he replied rather dryly.

"Didn't say I took any."

Peter smiled in spite of himself.

He couldn't quite make up his mind if he liked her or not. She was merry and jolly and fun in a way that was not entirely unlike Lucy, but she could also be very brusque. He was not used to be so roughly handled; Susan was always gentle and Lucy always kind, and Edmund—both in Narnia and in England—was growing into the sort of man who counseled with reason rather than rough words. He could still be sarcastic, but not in quite the same way Polly could.

His first meeting with Polly could have told him a lot if he were paying attention, but Peter was in a particularly inattentive mood these days and so noticed little around him. She didn't get through until after supper when the fire was lit and Peter sat by the window writing to Lucy as he promised he would every night.

He paused mid-sentence because he was reminded of a similar time in Narnia when he had sent Lucy an epistle of good cheer when he himself was feeling rather glum. He didn't know anyone observed his introspection until Polly clicked her knitting needles and said decidedly. "I don't like that look on him, Diggory. He looks petulant, like a man pretending to be a boy."

This nettled Peter enough that he got up to take a walk in the night mist. He walked briskly, and every time he slacked his pace he thought of Polly's comment, and so he walked until the blood was flowing in his veins.

The next morning Peter was awake at nine, but he lay awake in his bed trying to sort everything out—Polly, Narnia, what he would do with another empty day in the country, what he might say to Lucy. As a result, he didn't come downstairs for breakfast until ten-thirty. Polly was already washing the dishes.

"Waited for you as long as we could," she explained, "but we were too hungry to wait any longer."

"It's fine," Peter said with a slightly forced smile. "I'll just have some toast."

"Well don't go expecting me to make it for you."

He forced the grin a little wider. "I wasn't."

Peter took another walk and had his toast outside. It was a restless sort of summer day. The sky was blue, but not a clear blue, and the air was sticky. The possibility of a storm hung in the air, but somehow he liked the rushing sound of the high summer wind in the leaves. He stayed outside again, watching the horses at pasture in the neighboring farm, wandering by a swift running stream. He wandered in some time after twelve but didn't think much of it; he and the Professor had no set mealtimes.

Polly did, however, and she was rather sharp-tongued about having kept the food waiting. She sent verbal jabs across the table all during the meal, but she left the final blow for the end of the meal. Peter got up and graciously cleared away the dishes. He knew better than to expect thanks from Polly, but he certainly did not expect her to say "What, and I suppose you want praise for playing the role of a scullery maid?" She snorted. "Hardly a great feat. Diggory, I really have a hard time believing that this is the High King Peter whose name was invoked in Narnia for hundreds of years as memory of a golden age."

She didn't turn at the clatter; she knew Peter had almost thrown the dishes into the sink. He was staring at her and getting very red in the face, but of course, she didn't turn around to see it. Peter thought of a good many things to say; so many, in fact, that they choked him and he wound up not saying anything at all, but stalking out of the house. This was probably for the best as he did not find it courteous, whether in Narnia or in England, to yell at a lady or an elder.