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Previously...

“Don’t you worry, laddie. It’ll be alright…aye? Alright!” She turned around briefly and tossled his hair before turning her attention once again to the road ahead.

“Aye…you’ll be alright.” She began to sing softly,

Be thou my speech, be thou my understanding.
Be thou with me, be I with thee
Be thou my father, be I thy girl.
Mayst thou be mine, may I be thine.

She changed the wording only slightly, with the word girl sounding like “gael.” She laughed softly, feeling completely justified since she wasn’t a son. Jill recognized the hymn and began to sing along, but Lesley just back of the seat and began to cry. Jill patted him on the back, but continued to sing along with Mrs. Macready.

Be thou my battle-shield, be thou my sword.
Be thou my dignity, be thou my delight.

She continued to rub the boy’s back, smiling while singing new words to the hymn,

Don't you worry, Lesley, dear,
Yes, it’s going to be alright.

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A bit later...

"Now mind you especially today, the Professor is in town for only a few days, as he's moved to an apartment in London. We'll be right fine, won't we?" Mrs. Macready said as she pulled the cart up to the front of the huge house. A castle was more like it, as the children noted later.

"Begging your pardon, mum, but I don't understand why I'm here; not that I'm complaining and all. I thought they weren't evacuating children, least wise that's what my mother told me at the railway station."

"They're still sending...orphans... to the countryside to willing families and homes." She mouthed 'orphans' silently while Lesley's attention was drawn to feeding the horse an apple.

"Many of the children are being sent to Canada and even Yanks are taking some as well. Even though you're not...I guess your mother thought it would be safer for the time being? I hear that the war should be over by the end of the year." She smiled at that. Her son Angus was a pilot in the RAF, and she had received the first of his letters from the Stalag where he was imprisoned. She hoped the wretched conflict would be over soon, for all of their sakes.

"Either way, you're welcome here, and I suppose the Professor might even put in an appearance during supper to greet you two. Hurry on into the house. Spit-spot."

Lesley continued to pet the horse until he heard,

"Come now, young laddie, remember...obey right away?" He nodded and kissed the horse on its cheek before walking over to the cart to retrieve his duffel full of clothes.

"Is that all you have, laddie?" He looked down at his shoes and nodded his head. She stooped down, holding the hem of her skirt as she knelt. Taking the boy's chin in her hand, she smiled and said softly,

"I think my boy Angus might have some things of his that he wore when he was your age. And there might be a football, as well. Let's just go see about that, aye?" The boy's glum expression brightened a bit as he lifted his head and nodded politely. Truth be told, if she had said she had a daughter and that he'd be required to wear her hand-me-downs, he wouldn't have argued a bit. But I'm getting ahead of myself....

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The Professor took supper in his room without coming out to greet Jill and Lesley, leaving the children to dine with Mrs. Macready. The strains of Beethoven’s 7th Symphony, First Movement emanated from the radio by the fireplace, the glow of its dial matching the dying embers of the burning wood. The shades were drawn, but with only light of the small lamp by the large reading chair, they needn’t have bothered. And bombs and guns were almost a myth save for the destruction detailed on the front page of the Times; and sadly, in the heart of the small boy who lay on the rug in front of the hearth, reading Oliver Twist. Jill sat in the chair next to him, reading Phantasies, by George MacDonald.

Mrs. Macready, who normally retreated to her own quarters after supper, sat in a large wingback chair across from Jill. Her knitting sat in her lap, unstarted as she stared blankly at a piece of paper in her hand.

“We can always play inside if it’s like this tomorrow,”

Jill said as she pointed with her hand in a broad gesture toward the heavily curtained windows, which did nothing to quiet the sound of the thunderstorm outside. She looked down at Lesley, who shuddered at every thunderclap. Even the crecendo of the symphony courtesy of the BBC did nothing to deaden the sound, and the boy looked terrified.

“It’s okay, Les…the storm is miles off, we’ve nothing to worry about.” Even as she finished her sentence a very loud clap echoed loudly, causing the boy the cover his ears with his hands. Memories had interrupted Dickens with a vengeance, and they had nothing to do with downpours or thunder. Mrs. Macready continued to sit quietly, as if in deep thought, even with the increasing volume of the storm. If the room had been brighter lit, or if the children had stood next to her, they would have seen that her eyes were filled with tears.

“Les…It’s really alright....."

Just as she said that, another clap sounded loudly, followed by the brightest of lights seemed to squeeze through the small break in the curtains, flooding the room with light for only a moment. The sound of the thunderclap felt like nothing Jill had ever heard, and she was right, because only Deep Magic can make such an awesome noise. The light dimmed, but only a bit, leaving the room bathed in a soft glow, which was accompanied by the sound of…..a song thrush?

Jill stood up, and realized they were no longer in the shelter of the parlor in the midst of a storm, but in a field surrounded on three sides by larches and beeches, and by a small pond just next to a knoll leading up to more larches. She looked behind her and saw that the reading chair had become a large rock. Lesley had rolled over and had sat up, looking somewhat dazed. Or at least she thought it was Lesley, but instead of the little boy in the shorts and shirt, a little girl of the same age as him sat in his place, not on a turkish rug, but on green clover. She wore a green plaid jumper over a white blouse, and her hair, black and shiny, was almost shoulder length, pulled back by two tortoise-shell barettes.

“Who are you, little girl? What has become of my friend?” Jill said, but having had her own adventures at another time, she was almost not surprised. The little girl looked up at her and cocked her head to one side, her expression that of puzzlement.

“What? What girl, Jill…it’s just me…Lesley.”

The little girl stood up, and looked Jill almost in the eye, a bit shorter than her. Jill looked back, and standing in front of her was a girl who appeared as if she could be Lesley’s twin, save for the jumper and long hair. She had the same forlorn look on her face as the boy; a look of pain that went far beyond just being away from the familiarity of home. Now it was Jill’s turn to cock her head.

“Lesley? Lesley, it is you…or someone…like you? “ Jill half-smiled before uttering a soft laugh, followed by,

“I believe you ought have a look at yourself in a mirror, Les, but just your clothes should tell you something.” She continued to laugh softly, which caused the …child before her to inspect..his…her clothing.

“What’s this? What happened…What have you done?” The girl seemed only a bit angry, and her expression was one more of amusement and wonder than disappointment. She looked over her shoulder, as if the apposing view would reveal trousers or the shorts she wore only minutes before. Instead, the view revealed what she had already just seen; a green plaid jumper coming to just below her knees, with her feet adorned in brown shoes with straps and knee socks. She put her hand to her face, brushing away a few strands of her black hair that had managed to escape the barette.

“Jill…what’s going on?” The girl said with the same voice as that of the boy who had only a while ago been reading about thieves and orphans on a rug in a huge house in England. Whereever they were now, it wasn’t anywhere near where they had been.

“Listen, Les…Lesley,” Jill said, feeling that it was quite right to address the girl by her full name.

“I don’t know what has happened, but….here…take a look.” She pointed to the pond. The girl stood motionless and Jill grabbed her hand and led her to water’s edge.

“Go on, Lesley…take a look at…the new you.” She chuckled, and felt guilty until she noticed the girl staring down at her reflection. Instead of disappoinment, the girl’s face grew brighter than she had noticed since their arrival. She turned and smiled at Jill and said,

“I’m a girl,” sighing softly as if it were the truest, most reasonable words she had ever uttered.

“Well, there’s no mistaking that.” Jill laughed again, this time a little louder and with a lot less caution. Whatever had taken place not only seemed not to upset the girl; it rather pleased her.

“What happened? Where are we? Where is Mrs. Macready and the castle? What’s going on?” The girl was almost out of breath from the staccatto of the questions, but her face continued to display a broad smile.

“Well? I suppose we should look at this logically, like I’ve heard the Professor always is saying.” She felt clever and smiled with a nod, as if she had won a math challenge or an essay contest.

“First…I don’t know what happened other than that you’re a girl. We know that’s something brand new.” She paused, thinking to her self,

“She doesn’t mind it one bit…that’s …odd.” She continued.

“Second I’ll get to last. Third, Mrs. Macready and the castle are likely still in England, where we left them, because they’re not here, and we are. Third, I’ve got an idea what’s going on…at least a bit, but I haven’t got that sorted out.” She took a deep breath, anticipating the understandable question.

The girl looked at her and then around at the beautiful countryside. She noticed that two fawn had come down from the top of the knoll and were drinking at the far side of the pond. She bit her lip and scrunched her face, trying ever so hard to think of an answer to her own question. Failing that, she turned again to Jill.

“Where on earth are we?” Jill stood with her hands on her hips feeling all the world like the most clever girl anyone could ever meet and said,

“Well, that’s just it….we’re not on earth.” She laughed softly as the girl tilted her head again in puzzlement.

Before Jill could speak again, the girl stepped back a bit, nearly tripping over a rock, but catching her balance just in time to see Jill jump from fright as her face felt something moist brush her cheek. She turned to see a very handsome sorrel with the most gorgeous eyes you may ever see in a lifetime. He stepped closer and nuzzled her cheek again before making a noise that sounded like a cross between a whinny and a laugh.

“Weeeeeeeehhhhhhhelllo…..Daughters of Eve….Wwweeeeellcome!”

“Jill…just where are we….what’s going on?” Jill looked back at the girl and smiled knowingly and was going to answer her question before the sorrel spoke again.

“Whhhhhyyyyyyyy…you’re in NNNeeeearrrrnia.”

“What did he say…wait…” the sudden realization hit the girl like a ton of bricks, as if finding out that she was a girl instead of a boy wouldn’t have gotten her attention.

“He….he talked…he’s a horse….and he talked.” The girl stuck her face out and raised an eyebrow, wondering why Jill was so calm. Jill smiled politely at the sorrel before turning back to the girl.

“Yes…he’s a talking horse.” She said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world, but then they were finding out that they weren’t in a normal world were they?

“Yes I am ddauuugter of Eeeeeeeve….Welcome to Narrrneeeeeia…I’m ssooreeee…Hmrhmph… hmmmph….” He shook his head from side to side, as if he were trying to dislodge something in his throat.

That’s better…I’m always so much more horsey in the morning.”

“Hhhhorseeee?” Now it was the girl’s opportunity to be horsey. She looked at the sorrel in amazement until he uttered finally, this time distinctly and with authority,

“By the Lion’s Mane, I am pleased to make your acquaintances and welcome you both to Narnia!”

Next: The Lion's Mane

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Be Thou My Vision (Irish: Bá­ Thusa 'mo Sháºile) is a traditional Christian hymn, which can be traced to Ireland but is now sung in English-speaking churches around the world. (Wikipedia)

Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92
Movement No. 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9wcQDuOuhY