The flowers of the Enchanted Ground smelled sweet. They grew on both sides of the road. Branches shaded the strong sunlight, and the wind was as gentle as someone slowly waving a fan. When Chris entered, he thought this place was even more comfortable than the Delectable Mountains.
Before long, however, he began yawning. Hopeful kept rubbing his eyes too. Many broad, flat stones lay beside the road, looking perfect for a short rest. Chris touched one. Its cool surface made him reluctant to leave.
Hopeful stopped and took out the map. It warned that this place made travelers forget why they had set out. Once they fell asleep, they became less and less willing to wake. “Let’s rest at the lodging ahead,” he said.
“I’ll only close my eyes for a moment,” Chris answered. “I’ll hear you call.”
Hopeful handed him the waterskin and did not let him lie down. “We slept in the arbor, and we slept on the mountains. Of course we may rest when we need to. But we have to leave this place first.”
Chris stood, so sleepy that he felt a little cross. They agreed to take turns talking. If one stopped answering, the other would remind him to pause for water. They did not compete to see who could stay awake longer or treat tiredness as something shameful. They simply wanted to reach a place where they could sleep safely together.
Hopeful spoke first about why he had left the fair. Once, he had sold a cup with a crack, deliberately turning the crack inward. The old woman who bought it filled it with hot soup at home. The soup leaked onto the table, and the cup was useless. When she came to exchange it, Hopeful pretended he had never seen her.
“I was very good at talking then,” he said. “When I remember it now, I don’t want to call it cleverness anymore.”
Chris asked what had changed him. Hopeful said Faithful had first shown him that a person could protect himself without lying. Later, he had found the old woman, returned her money, and admitted hiding the crack on purpose. She had not forgiven him at once. But he could not take back his apology simply because she did not smile.
By the end of his story, Hopeful was so sleepy he could hardly stand straight. Chris quickly began talking about the cross and the scrolls. He paused when he came to Faithful, then told Hopeful about his sister: how she tucked a blanket around her cloth rabbit and believed rabbits got cold at night too.
Hopeful finally laughed aloud, and they walked a little farther. Chris took out the draft of his first letter and read the sentence admitting that he had broken the bowl. Suddenly he realized that if he slept here, the words after it—“I will come back”—would remain only on paper.
At last they saw a small courtyard with a fire burning inside. The host welcomed them, checked the road they had taken, and led them into an airy room. Chris still wanted to say something, but Hopeful had already fallen asleep against his chair.
When they lay down in real beds, the scent outside the window was faint. Chris heard his companion’s steady breathing and slowly closed his own eyes. This time, he knew the road would still be ahead when he woke.
