And still no one could make out what the white stuff was. Then the boat was lowered and it put off to iigate. Tho who remained on the Dawn Treader could e that the boat pushed right in amidst the whiteness. Then they could hear the voices of the party in the boat （clear across the still water） talking in a shrill and surprid way. Then there au while Rynelf in the bows of the boat took a sounding; and when, after that, the boat came rowing back there emed to be plenty of the white stuff inside her. Everyone crowded to the side to hear the news.
“Lilies, your Majesty！” shouted Rynelf, standing up in the bows.
“What did you say?” asked Caspian.
“Blooming lilies, your Majesty,” said Rynelf. “Same as in a pool or in a garden at home.”
“Look！” said Lucy, who was iern of the boat. She held up her wet arms full of white petals and broad flat leaves.
“What’s the depth, Rynelf?” asked Drinian.
“That’s the funny thing, Captain,” said Rynelf. “It’s still deep. Three and a half fathoms clear.”
“They ’t be real lilies—not what we call lilies,” said Eustace.
Probably they were not, but they were very like them. And when, after some sultation, the Dawn Treader turned bato the current and began to glide eastward through the Lily Lake or the Silver Sea （they tried both the names but it was the Silver Sea that stud is now on Caspian’s map） the stra part of their travels began. Very soon the open a which they were leaving was only a thin rim of blue on the western horizon. Whiteness, shot with fai color of gold, spread round them on every side, except just asterheir passage had thrust the lilies apart a an open lane of water that shone like dark green glass. To look at, this last a was very like the Arctid if their eyes had not by now grown as strong as eagles’the sun on all that whiteness—especially at early m when the sun was hugest—would have been unbearable. And every evening the same whiteness made the daylight last lohere emed o the lilies. Day after day from all tho miles and leagues of flowers there ro a smell which Lucy found it very hard to describe; sweet—yes, but not at all sleepy or overp, a fresh, wild, lonely smell that emed to get into your brain and make you feel that you could go up mountains at a run or wrestle with an elephant. She and Caspian said to one another, “I feel that I ’t stand much more of this, yet I don’t want it to stop.”