“Mr Tumnus！” bawled Lucy in his ear， shaking him. “Do stop. Stop it at once！ You ought to be ashamed of yourself， a great big Faun like you. What on earth are you crying about？”
“Oh.oh.oh！” sobbed Mr Tumnus. “I’m crying because I‘m such a bad Faun.”
“I don’t think you‘re a bad Faun at all，” said Lucy. “I think you are a very good Faun. You are the nicest Faun I’ve ever met.”
“Oh.oh.you wouldn‘t say that if you knew，” replied Mr Tumnus between his sobs. “No， I’m a bad Faun. I don‘t suppose there ever was a worse Faun since the beginning of the world.”
“But what have you done？” asked Lucy.
“My old father， now，” said Mr Tumnus； “that’s his picture over the mantelpiece. He would never have done a thing like this.”
“A thing like what？” said Lucy.
“Like what I‘ve done，” said the Faun. “Taken service under the White Witch. That’s what I am. I‘m in the pay of the White Witch.”
“The White Witch？ Who is she？”
“Why， it is she who has got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she who makes it always winter. Always winter and never Christmas； think of that！”
“How awful！” said Lucy. “But what does she pay you for？”
