“And then, so quickly that no one (unless they knew, as Peter did) could quite see how it happened, Edmund flashed his sword round with a peculiar twist, the Dwarf’s sword flew out of his grip, and Trumpkin was wringing his empty hand as you do after a “sting” from a cricket-bat.
“Not hurt, I hope, my dear little friend?” said Edmund, panting a little and returning his own sword to its sheath.
“I see the point,” said Trumpkin drily. “You know a trick I never learned.”
“That’s quite true,” put in Peter. “The best swordsman in the world may be disarmed by a trick that’s new to him. I think it’s only fair to give Trumpkin a chance at something else. Will you have a shooting match with my sister? There are no tricks in archery, you know.”
“Ah, you’re jokers, you are,” said the Dwarf. “I begin to see. As if I didn’t know how she can shoot, after what happened this morning. All the same, I’ll have a try.” He spoke gruffly, but his eyes brightened, for he was a famous bowman among his own people.
All five of them came out into the courtyard.
“What’s to be the target?” asked Peter.
“I think that apple hanging over the wall on the branch there would do,” said Susan.
“That’ll do nicely, lass,” said Trumpkin. “You mean the yellow one near the middle of the arch?”
“No, not that,” said Susan. “The red one up above--over the battlement.”
The Dwarf’s face fell. “Looks more like a cherry than an apple,” he muttered, but he said nothing out loud.”