Edmund, who was becoming a nastier person every minute, thought that he had scored a 
great success, and went on at once to say, "There she goes again. What's the matter with 
her? That's the worst of young kids, they always-"
    
    "Look here," said Peter, turning on him savagely, "shut up! You've been perfectly 
beastly to Lu ever since she started this nonsense about the wardrobe, and now you go 
playing games with her about it and setting her off again. I believe you did it simply 
out of spite."
    
    "But it's all nonsense," said Edmund, very taken aback.
    
    "Of course it's all nonsense," said Peter, "that's just the point. Lu was perfectly 
all right when we left home, but since we've been down here she seems to be either going 
queer in the head or else turning into a most frightful liar. But whichever it is, what 
good do you think you'll do by jeering and nagging at her one day and encouraging her the 
next?"
    
    "I thought-I thought," said Edmund; but he couldn't think of anything to say.
    
    "You didn't think anything at all," said Peter; "it's just spite. You've always liked 
being beastly to anyone smaller than yourself; we've seen that at school before now."
    
    "Do stop it," said Susan; "it won't make things any better having a row between you 
two. Let's go and find Lucy."
    
    It was not surprising that when they found Lucy, a good deal later, everyone could 
see that she had been crying. Nothing they could say to her made any difference. She 
stuck to her story and said:
    
    "I don't care what you think, and I don't care what you say. You can tell the 
Professor or you can write to Mother or you can do anything you like. I know I've met a 
Faun in there and-I wish I'd stayed there and you are all beasts, beasts."
    
    It was an unpleasant evening. Lucy was miserable and Edmund was beginning to feel 
that his plan wasn't working as well as he had expected. The two older ones were really 
beginning to think that Lucy was out of her mind. They stood in the passage talking about 
it in whispers long after she had gone to bed.
    
    The result was the next morning they decided that they really would go and tell the 
whole thing to the Professor. "He'll write to Father if he thinks there is really 
something wrong with Lu," said Peter; "it's getting beyond us." So they went and knocked 
at the study door, and the Professor said "Come in," and got up and found chairs for them 
and said he was quite at their disposal. Then he sat listening to them with the tips of 
his fingers pressed together and never interrupting, till they had finished the whole 
story. After that he said nothing for quite a long time. Then he cleared his throat and 
said the last thing either of them expected:
    
    "How do you know," he asked, "that your sister's story is not true?"
    
    "Oh, but-" began Susan, and then stopped. Anyone could see from the old man's face 
that he was perfectly serious. Then Susan pulled herself together and said, "But Edmund 
said they had only been pretending."
    
    "That is a point," said the Professor, "which certainly deserves consideration; very 
careful consideration. For instance-if you will excuse me for asking the question-does 
your experience lead you to regard your brother or your sister as the more reliable? I 
mean, which is the more truthful?"
    
    "That's just the funny thing about it, sir," said Peter. "Up till now, I'd have said 
Lucy every time."
    
    "And what do you think, my dear?" said the Professor, turning to Susan.
    
    "Well," said Susan, "in general, I'd say the same as Peter, but this couldn't be 
true-all this about the wood and the Faun."
    
    "That is more than I know," said the Professor, "and a charge of lying against 
someone whom you have always found truthful is a very serious thing; a very serious thing 
indeed."
    
    "We were afraid it mightn't even be lying," said Susan; "we thought there might be 
something wrong with Lucy."
    
    "Madness, you mean?" said the Professor quite coolly. "Oh, you can make your minds 
easy about that. One has only to look at her and talk to her to see that she is not mad."
    
    "But then," said Susan, and stopped. She had never dreamed that a grown-up would talk 
like the Professor and didn't know what to think.
    
    "Logic!" said the Professor half to himself. "Why don't they teach logic at these 
schools? There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she 
is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn't tell lies and it is obvious 
that she is not mad For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must 
assume that she is telling the truth."
    
    Susan looked at him very hard and was quite sure from the expression on his face that 
he was no making fun of them.
    
    "But how could it be true, sir?" said Peter.
    
    "Why do you say that?" asked the Professor.
    
    "Well, for one thing," said Peter, "if it was true why doesn't everyone find this 
country every time they go to the wardrobe? I mean, there was nothing there when we 
looked; even Lucy didn't pretend the was."
    
    "What has that to do with it?" said the Professor.
    
    "Well, sir, if things are real, they're there all the time."