Alice in Wonderland · The Original Story · 3 Hour Sleep Story to Fall Asleep

Welcome to The Sleeping Almanac.
Before the lamp is lit, one small thing. If these stories carry you to sleep, subscribe now, while your eyes are still open, and tomorrow night's tale will be waiting for you. A like helps other tired souls find this room. That is all. Let's light the lamp together now.
The lamp is lit again.
The same small flame as last night, in the same quiet room at the edge of the world.
The storyteller is already here. She was here before you arrived. She will stay until you sleep.
There is a chair for you. There is a blanket. The night outside is doing all of its slow, dark work, and none of it is yours to carry until morning.
The storyteller opens the old book, and turns past the tales already told, to a page that waits for tonight.
Tonight, she says softly, we follow a white rabbit with pink eyes down a hole in an English riverbank, into the dream a girl named Alice dreamed on a golden afternoon, where a bottle says drink me, a cake says eat me, and a cat can leave its smile hanging in the air like the last of the daylight.
And there is no hurry at all as she begins.
Settle in, now. Let the chair hold you. Let the blanket be heavy in the good way, the way a summer afternoon is heavy on a meadow.
You could not have chosen a safer story for tonight, and here is why, whispered before we even begin. The whole of this tale takes place inside a nap. A girl falls asleep on a riverbank with her head in her sister's lap, and everything that follows, every rabbit and queen and cup of tea, happens in the warm country behind her closed eyes. So however strange it grows, remember that it is only ever a sleeping child dreaming in the sun, and let it teach you its one great lesson, which is how to fall, slowly and comfortably, asleep.
You do not have to watch. You do not have to follow the logic, and in this tale especially, the logic would rather you didn't. You do not have to remember any of it in the morning.
If you drift, the story will go on without you, quietly, and it will not mind at all. Drifting is not leaving. In this tale, of all tales, drifting is how you arrive.
The flame leans, and settles.
We begin.
Chapter One.

A Golden Afternoon, and a White Rabbit with a Watch.
Long ago, on a summer afternoon in England, a river was doing its very best to put the whole world to sleep.
It was the kind of afternoon that seems to have been poured rather than made, slow and gold and thick as honey coming off a spoon. The bees had given up ambition and were merely visiting. Somewhere across the water a wood pigeon said the same soft thing over and over, as if it were rocking the whole countryside in its voice.
And on the bank of that river, in the shade, sat two sisters.
The elder was reading. The younger, whose name was Alice, was getting very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do. Once or twice she had peeped into her sister's book, but it had no pictures or conversations in it. And what is the use of a book, thought Alice, without pictures or conversations?
So she was considering, as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid, whether the pleasure of making a daisy chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies. Her eyes had begun to go soft at the edges, the way eyes do.
And that was when the White Rabbit ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that. A rabbit in a meadow is furniture. Nor did Alice think it much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, oh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late. It all seemed quite natural at the time, which is the first sign of being inside a dream.
But when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet. For she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat pocket or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit hole under the hedge.
In another moment, down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again. That is the whole of Alice.
The rabbit hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think of stopping before she was falling down what seemed to be a very deep well.
Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her. It was the gentlest fall in all of storybooks, less like falling and more like sinking through warm water.
It was too dark to see what she was coming to, but the sides of the well were filled with cupboards and bookshelves, with maps and pictures hung upon pegs, as if the whole inside of the earth were somebody's well kept study.
She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed. It was labelled orange marmalade, but to her great disappointment it was empty. She did not like to drop the jar, for fear of hurting somebody underneath, so she managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it. Even falling down a well, this child thinks of the people below, and a dream dreamed by such a person will hold no real harm in it anywhere.
Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end?
I wonder how many miles I have fallen by this time, Alice said aloud. I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see, that would be four thousand miles down, I think. But then I wonder what latitude or longitude I've got to?
Alice had no idea what latitude was, or longitude either, but she thought they were nice grand words to say. Latitude. Longitude.
Presently she began again. I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth! How funny it will seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think. Please, ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia? And she tried to curtsey as she spoke. Fancy curtseying as you're falling through the air!
Down, down, down. Dinah will miss me very much tonight, I should think. Dinah was the cat, fond of Alice beyond all reason. I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk. Dinah, my dear, I wish you were down here with me. There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?
And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, even inside her own dream, and she went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, do cats eat bats, do cats eat bats, and sometimes, do bats eat cats, for as she could not answer either question, it did not much matter. She had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, now, Dinah, tell me the truth, did you ever eat a bat, when suddenly, thump, thump, down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.
Alice was not a bit hurt, not one bruise, not one scratch, and she jumped up in a moment. Before her lay another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. Away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!
She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen. She found herself in a long, low hall, lit by a row of lamps hanging from the roof, a warm row of small flames very like the one burning beside you now.
And there we will let her stand a moment, in the lamplight, while the story takes its first slow breath.
Chapter Two.

The Little Golden Key.
There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked. Alice walked all the way down one side and up the other, trying every one, and then walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.
Suddenly she came upon a little table, all made of solid glass, with nothing on it except a tiny golden key. But alas, either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, for it would not open any of the doors. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted.
Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat hole. She knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander among those bright flowers and cool fountains. She could smell the roses from where she knelt. But she could not even get her head through the doorway. And even if my head would go through, thought poor Alice, it would be of very little use without my shoulders.
Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope, she said. I think I could, if I only knew how to begin.
For, you see, so many out of the way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible. Which is the correct frame of mind for this country, and for falling asleep in.
There seemed no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping to find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes. This time she found a little bottle on it, which certainly was not here before, said Alice, and round its neck a paper label, with the words drink me beautifully printed in large letters.
It was all very well to say drink me, but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. No, I'll look first, she said, and see whether it's marked poison or not. For she had read several nice little histories about children who came to grief because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them. And Alice remembered. The bottle was not marked poison anywhere, so she ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, for it had a sort of mixed flavour of cherry tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast, she very soon finished it off.
What a curious feeling, said Alice. I must be shutting up like a telescope.
And so it was indeed. She was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened, for she was now the right size for the little door and the lovely garden. For it might end, you know, said Alice to herself, in my going out altogether, like a candle.
But alas for poor Alice, when she got to the door, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back for it, she found she could not possibly reach it. She could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery, and at last the poor little thing sat down and cried.
Come, there's no use in crying like that, said Alice to herself, rather sharply. I advise you to leave off this minute. She generally gave herself very good advice, though she very seldom followed it, and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. But there's hardly enough of me left, thought poor Alice, to make one respectable person.
Soon her eye fell on a little glass box lying under the table. She opened it, and found a very small cake, on which the words eat me were beautifully marked in currants. Well, I'll eat it, said Alice, and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key, and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door. So either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens.
She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, which way, which way, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size. This is of course what generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice was so used to out of the way things by now, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.
So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.
Curiouser and curiouser, cried Alice. She was so much surprised that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English. Now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was. Goodbye, feet!
For when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off. Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I'm sure I shan't be able. But I must be kind to them, thought Alice, or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go. I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.
And how odd the directions will look, she thought. To Alice's Right Foot, Esquire, Hearthrug, near the Fender, with Alice's love. Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking.
Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall. She was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.
Poor Alice. It was as much as she could do, lying on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye. To get through was more hopeless than ever. She sat down and began to cry again, and being nine feet tall, she cried on a rather grand scale, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, said Alice presently, a great girl like you, to go on crying in this way. Stop this moment, I tell you.
After a time she heard a pattering of feet, and hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other, muttering to himself as he came, oh, the Duchess, the Duchess, oh, won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting.
When the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, if you please, sir.
The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and scurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.
Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself as she talked. Dear, dear, how queer everything is today. I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, who in the world am I?
Ah, that's the great puzzle, she said.
And it is, said the storyteller, turning the page. But you, under your blanket, need not solve it tonight. You are the one being told a story, which is all anyone needs to be, at this hour.
Chapter Three.

The Pool of Tears and the Caucus Race.
As she fanned herself, Alice began going through all the children she knew of her own age, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.
I'm sure I'm not Ada, she said, for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all. And I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh, she knows such a very little. Besides, she's she, and I'm I, and, oh dear, how puzzling it all is. I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is, oh dear, I shall never get to twenty at that rate.
However, the multiplication table doesn't signify, said Alice. Let's try geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome, no, that's all wrong, I'm certain. I must have been changed for Mabel. I'll try and say How doth the little. And she crossed her hands on her lap, as if saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but the words came all different.
How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail, and pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale. How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spreads his claws, and welcomes little fishes in, with gently smiling jaws.
I'm certain those are not the right words, said poor Alice. And she was right, they were not, the proper poem being about a busy little bee, but the dream had rewritten it, as dreams will.
As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid gloves while she was talking. I must be growing small again, she thought. The cause was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.
That was a narrow escape, said Alice. And now for the garden. She ran with all speed back to the little door. But alas, it was shut again, and the little golden key lay on the glass table as before.
As she said this her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash, she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, and in that case I can go back by railway, she said to herself. For Alice had been to the seaside once, and had concluded that the whole English coast was bathing machines, wooden spades, lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.
However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high. I wish I hadn't cried so much, said Alice, as she swam about. Everything is queer today. But nobody sinks in that pool. It holds its swimmers up the way sleep holds a sleeper.
Just then she heard something splashing about a little way off. At first she thought it must be a walrus or a hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and made out that it was only a mouse, that had slipped in like herself.
Everything is so out of the way down here, thought Alice, that very likely this mouse can talk. So she began, O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse. For she remembered having seen in her brother's Latin grammar, a mouse, of a mouse, to a mouse, a mouse, O mouse.
The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to wink one little eye, but said nothing.
Perhaps it doesn't understand English, thought Alice. I daresay it's a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror. So she began again. Où est ma chatte? Which was the first sentence in her French lesson book, and means, where is my cat.
The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. Oh, I beg your pardon, cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings. I quite forgot you didn't like cats.
Not like cats, cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. Would you like cats if you were me?
Well, perhaps not, said Alice in a soothing tone. Don't be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah. I think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She's such a capital one for catching, oh, I beg your pardon, cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and certainly really offended. We won't talk about her any more, if you'd rather not.
We indeed, cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. As if I would talk on such a subject. Our family always hated cats. Nasty, low, vulgar things. Don't let me hear the name again.
I won't indeed, said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject. Are you, are you fond, of, of dogs? The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly. There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you. It'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner, and it belongs to a farmer, who says it's so useful, and he says it kills all the, oh dear, cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, I'm afraid I've offended it again.
For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.
So she called softly after it, Mouse dear, do come back again, and we won't talk about cats or dogs either, if you don't like them. The Mouse turned round and swam slowly back to her, quite pale, and said, in a low trembling voice, let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.
It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it, a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.
They were a queer looking party that assembled on the bank, draggled feathers, clinging fur, all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable. The first question of course was how to get dry again, and it soon seemed quite natural to Alice to be talking familiarly with them.
At last the Mouse, who seemed a person of authority among them, called out, sit down, all of you, and listen to me. I'll soon make you dry enough. They all sat down at once, in a large ring, the Mouse in the middle.
Ahem, said the Mouse with an important air. Are you all ready? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please. William the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted to by the English, and even Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it advisable.
Found what, said the Duck.
Found it, the Mouse replied rather crossly. Of course you know what it means.
I know what it means well enough, when I find a thing, said the Duck. It's generally a frog, or a worm. The question is, what did the archbishop find? But the Mouse did not notice, and hurried on with its history, which was every bit as dry as promised, and dried nobody.
At last the Dodo stood up, a large, solemn bird with the manner of a chairman, and said, I move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies.
Speak English, said the Eaglet. I don't know the meaning of half those long words, and, what's more, I don't believe you do either. And the Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile.
What I was going to say, said the Dodo, with dignity, was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus race.
What is a Caucus race, said Alice, for the Dodo had paused as if somebody ought to speak, and no one else seemed inclined to.
Why, said the Dodo, the best way to explain it is to do it.
First it marked out a race course, in a sort of circle. The exact shape doesn't matter, it said. Then the whole party were placed along the course, here and there. There was no one, two, three, and away. They began running when they liked, and left off when they liked, so it was not easy to know when the race was over. However, when they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out, the race is over. And they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, but who has won?
This question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of thought, and it sat a long time with one finger pressed upon its forehead, the position in which you usually see Shakespeare in pictures. At last it said, everybody has won, and all must have prizes.
But who is to give the prizes, quite a chorus of voices asked.
Why, she, of course, said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one finger. And the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a confused way, prizes, prizes.
Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, small hard sweets, which luckily the salt water had not got into. She handed them round as prizes, and there was exactly one apiece, all round.
But she must have a prize herself, you know, said the Mouse.
Of course, the Dodo replied very gravely. What else have you got in your pocket, he went on, turning to Alice.
Only a thimble, said Alice sadly.
Hand it over here, said the Dodo.
Then they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo solemnly presented the thimble, saying, we beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble. And when it had finished, they all cheered.
Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh, so she simply bowed, and took the thimble, looking as solemn as she could. A race with no start and no finish, where everybody wins, and your prize is a thing you already had. It is most afternoons, if you think about it.
When the comfits were eaten, they all sat down again in a ring, and begged the Mouse for something more.
You promised to tell me your history, you know, said Alice, and why it is you hate C and D, she added in a whisper, half afraid that it would be offended again.
Mine is a long and a sad tale, said the Mouse, turning to Alice, and sighing.
It is a long tail, certainly, said Alice, looking down with wonder at the Mouse's tail, but why do you call it sad?
And she kept on puzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her idea of the tale was something twisted and winding, like the tail itself. In the old book the story is printed just that way, wriggling down the page in a long curving line, and many a child has fallen asleep over it, which may be exactly what the man who wrote it intended.
You are not attending, said the Mouse to Alice severely, in the middle of its tale. What are you thinking of?
I beg your pardon, said Alice very humbly. You had got to the fifth bend, I think?
I had not, cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.
A knot, said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking anxiously about her. Oh, do let me help to undo it.
I shall do nothing of the sort, said the Mouse, getting up and walking away. You insult me by talking such nonsense.
I didn't mean it, pleaded poor Alice. But you're so easily offended, you know.
The Mouse only growled in reply.
Please come back and finish your story, Alice called after it. And the others all joined in chorus, yes, please do. But the Mouse only shook its head impatiently, walked a little quicker, and was soon out of sight.
What a pity it wouldn't stay, sighed the Lory. I wish I had our Dinah here, said Alice aloud, addressing nobody in particular. She'd soon fetch it back.
And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question, said the Lory.
Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet. Dinah's our cat. And she's such a capital one for catching mice, you can't think. And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds. Why, she'll eat a little bird as soon as look at it.
This speech caused a remarkable sensation. An old Magpie began wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking, I really must be getting home, the night air doesn't suit my throat. And a Canary called to its children in a trembling voice, come away, my dears, it's high time you were all in bed. On various pretexts they all moved off, and Alice was soon left alone.
I wish I hadn't mentioned Dinah, she said to herself in a melancholy tone. Nobody seems to like her down here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world.
But in a little while she heard a pattering of footsteps, and looked up eagerly, half hoping the Mouse had changed its mind, and was coming back to finish its story.
It was not the Mouse. It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something.
Chapter Four.

The Rabbit Sends in Little Bill.
The White Rabbit came trotting along, muttering to itself, the Duchess, the Duchess, oh my dear paws, oh my fur and whiskers. She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets. Which she would not, and could not, and never did. Such words, in that country, were spoken the way we say I'll be in hot water, by people who have never been boiled. Where can I have dropped them, I wonder?
Alice guessed in a moment that it was looking for the fan and the white kid gloves, and she very good naturedly began hunting for them, but they were nowhere to be seen. Everything had changed since her swim in the pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the little door, had vanished completely, the way rooms do change behind you in dreams.
Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, and called out to her in an angry tone, why, Mary Ann, what are you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan. Quick, now. And Alice was so surprised that she ran off at once in the direction it pointed, without even trying to explain the mistake.
He took me for his housemaid, she said to herself as she ran. How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am. But I'd better take him his fan and gloves. Presently she came upon a neat little house, with a bright brass plate on the door, and the name W. Rabbit engraved upon it. She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann. How queer it seems, she thought, to be going messages for a rabbit. I suppose Dinah'll be sending me on messages next.
Upstairs she found a tidy little room, and on the table in the window, as she had hoped, a fan and two or three pairs of tiny white kid gloves. She took up the fan and a pair of the gloves, and was just going to leave, when her eye fell upon a little bottle near the looking glass. There was no label this time with the words drink me, but nevertheless she uncorked it and put it to her lips. I know something interesting is sure to happen, she said to herself, whenever I eat or drink anything, so I'll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing.
It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected. Before she had drunk half the bottle, her head was pressing against the ceiling, and she had to stoop to save her neck. That's quite enough, she said, I hope I shan't grow any more. I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much.
Alas, it was too late to wish that. She went on growing, and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor. In another minute there was not even room for this, and at last she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself, now I can do no more, whatever happens. What will become of me?
It was much pleasanter at home, thought poor Alice, when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. And yet, when I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one. There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought. And when I grow up, I'll write one. But I'm grown up now, she added in a sorrowful tone. At least there's no room to grow up any more here.
And so she went on, taking first one side of the argument and then the other, a girl filling a whole house, arguing gently with herself in the dark, perfectly safe the entire time.
After a few minutes she heard a voice outside. Mary Ann, Mary Ann, said the voice. Fetch me my gloves this moment. Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now a thousand times its size.
Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it. But as the door opened inwards, and Alice's elbow was pressed hard against it, the attempt failed. Alice heard it say to itself, then I'll go round and get in at the window.
That you won't, thought Alice, and after waiting till she fancied she heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it had fallen into a cucumber frame. And a cucumber frame, as falls go, is one of the kindest places in England to land, and the Rabbit came to no harm beyond a bruise to its dignity.
Next came an angry voice, the Rabbit's. Pat, Pat, where are you? And then a voice she had never heard before, sure then I'm here, digging for apples, yer honour. Digging for apples, indeed, said the Rabbit angrily. Come and help me out of this. Now tell me, Pat, what's that in the window?
Sure, it's an arm, yer honour. And he pronounced it arrum.
An arm, you goose. Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole window.
Sure, it does, yer honour, but it's an arm for all that. Well, it's got no business there, at any rate. Go and take it away.
There was a long silence, and then whispers. At last she made another snatch in the air, and this time there were two little shrieks, and more broken glass.
At last came a rumbling of little cartwheels, and a good many voices all talking together. Where's the other ladder? Bill's got the other. Will the roof bear? Mind that loose slate. Heads below. Who's to go down the chimney? Nay, I shan't, you do it. That I won't then. Bill's to go down.
Oh, so Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he, said Alice to herself. They seem to put everything upon Bill. I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal. This fireplace is narrow, to be sure, but I think I can kick a little.
She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till she heard a little animal scratching and scrambling close above her. Then, saying to herself, this is Bill, she gave one sharp little kick, and waited to see what would happen next.
The first thing she heard was a general chorus of, there goes Bill. He went up the chimney and out at the top like a cork out of a bottle, sailing in a high, surprised, and entirely harmless arc against the evening sky, and the crowd below caught him, which is what crowds are for. Then a little feeble, squeaking voice. That's Bill, thought Alice. All I know is, something comes at me like a jack in the box, and up I goes like a skyrocket.
And they propped him up against a daisy, and fanned him with dock leaves, and Bill the Lizard, for that is who he was, lay looking at the sky with the happy bewilderment of a creature who has flown once, briefly, without ever asking to. He will cross our path again before the night is done.
We must burn the house down, said the Rabbit's voice, in the way of persons who say enormous things they have no intention of doing. And Alice called out as loud as she could, if you do, I'll set Dinah at you. There was a dead silence instantly, the name of Dinah being worth a whole fire brigade, and no match was ever struck.
After a minute or two they began moving about again, and Alice heard the Rabbit say, a barrowful will do, to begin with.
A barrowful of what, thought Alice. But she had not long to doubt, for the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the window, and some tapped her, very lightly, on the face. Then she noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her head. If I eat one of these cakes, she thought, it's sure to make some change in my size. And as it can't possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller.
So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get through the door, she ran out of the house, past quite a crowd of little animals and birds, with poor little Bill in the middle, being held up by two guinea pigs, who were giving it something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Alice, but she ran off as hard as she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.
The first thing I've got to do, said Alice to herself, is to grow to my right size again. And the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. It sounded an excellent plan. The only difficulty was, she had not the smallest idea how to set about it. And while she was peering about among the trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a hurry.
An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, feebly stretching out one paw to touch her. Poor little thing, said Alice, in a coaxing tone, though to her, at that size, it was roughly the size of a cottage, and it meant nothing in the world but play, and that was exactly the danger. She held out a little bit of stick, and the puppy rushed at it with a yelp of delight, while Alice dodged behind a great thistle, feeling it was very like a game of play with a cart horse. At last the puppy sat down a good way off, panting, with its great eyes half shut, and Alice ran till its bark sounded quite faint in the distance, a small happy thunder falling asleep behind her.
And yet what a dear little puppy it was, said Alice, as she leant against a buttercup to rest herself. I should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if I'd only been the right size. Oh dear, I'd nearly forgotten that I've got to grow up again. I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other, but the great question is, what?
The great question certainly was, what. Alice looked all round at the flowers and the grass, but saw nothing that looked like the right thing. There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as herself, and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well see what was on the top of it.
She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue caterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else.
Chapter Five.

Advice from a Caterpillar.
The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence, a very comfortable silence, made mostly of blue smoke and afternoon. At last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
Who are you, said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening. Alice replied, rather shyly, I, I hardly know, sir, just at present. At least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.
What do you mean by that, said the Caterpillar sternly. Explain yourself.
I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir, said Alice, because I'm not myself, you see.
I don't see, said the Caterpillar.
I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly, Alice replied very politely, for I can't understand it myself. And being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.
It isn't, said the Caterpillar.
Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet, said Alice. But when you have to turn into a chrysalis, you will some day, and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?
Not a bit, said the Caterpillar.
Well, all I know is, said Alice, it would feel very queer to me.
You, said the Caterpillar contemptuously. Who are you?
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, I think you ought to tell me who you are, first.
Why, said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question. And as Alice could not think of any good reason, and the Caterpillar seemed in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.
Come back, the Caterpillar called after her. I've something important to say. This sounded promising, certainly. Alice turned and came back again.
Keep your temper, said the Caterpillar.
Is that all, said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.
No, said the Caterpillar.
Alice thought she might as well wait. For some minutes the Caterpillar puffed away without speaking, and the blue smoke went up in slow rings that widened, and thinned, and became part of the sky. But at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, so you think you're changed, do you?
I'm afraid I am, sir, said Alice. I can't remember things as I used, and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together.
Can't remember what things, said the Caterpillar.
Well, I've tried to say How doth the little busy bee, but it all came different, Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.
Repeat You are old, Father William, said the Caterpillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began.
You are old, Father William, the young man said, and your hair has become very white. And yet you incessantly stand on your head. Do you think, at your age, it is right?
In my youth, Father William replied to his son, I feared it might injure the brain. But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, why, I do it again and again.
You are old, said the youth, as I mentioned before, and have grown most uncommonly fat. Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door. Pray, what is the reason of that?
In my youth, said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, I kept all my limbs very supple by the use of this ointment, one shilling the box. Allow me to sell you a couple.
There was a good deal more of it, and the old gentleman losing patience entirely at the end, as old gentlemen in poems will. Alice finished, and folded her hands again, and waited.
That is not said right, said the Caterpillar.
Not quite right, I'm afraid, said Alice timidly. Some of the words have got altered.
It is wrong from beginning to end, said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.
And yet, between us, the wrong version is the better poem, and children have been asking for it, on purpose, for a hundred years and more. Dreams are good editors.
The Caterpillar was the first to speak. What size do you want to be, it asked.
Oh, I'm not particular as to size, Alice hastily replied. Only one doesn't like changing so often, you know.
I don't know, said the Caterpillar.
Alice said nothing. She had never been so much contradicted in all her life, and she felt she was losing her temper, and remembered, just in time, the one piece of advice she had been given, and kept it.
Are you content now, said the Caterpillar.
Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind, said Alice. Three inches is such a wretched height to be.
It is a very good height indeed, said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke. It was exactly three inches high.
But I'm not used to it, pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone.
You'll get used to it in time, said the Caterpillar, and put the hookah back into its mouth, and smoked.
This time Alice waited patiently. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away into the grass, remarking as it went, one side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.
One side of what? The other side of what, thought Alice to herself.
Of the mushroom, said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud, and in another moment it was out of sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom, trying to make out which were the two sides of it, a very difficult question, as it was perfectly round. At last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.
And now which is which, she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right hand bit to try the effect. The next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin. It had struck her foot.
She was a good deal frightened by this sudden change, but there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly, and her chin was pressed so closely against her foot that it was all she could do to open her mouth and swallow a morsel of the left hand bit.
Come, my head's free at last, said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found. All she could see, looking down, was an immense length of neck, rising like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves far below, which were nothing but the tops of the trees she had been wandering under. Her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent, and she had just curved it down into a graceful zigzag among the leaves when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry. A large pigeon had flown into her face, and was fluttering about her indignantly.
Serpent, screamed the Pigeon.
I'm not a serpent, said Alice indignantly. Let me alone.
Serpent, I say again, repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges. But those serpents. There's no pleasing them. As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs, but I must be on the look out for serpents night and day. Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks. And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky. Ugh, Serpent.
But I'm not a serpent, I tell you, said Alice. I'm a, I'm a.
Well, what are you, said the Pigeon. I can see you're trying to invent something.
I, I'm a little girl, said Alice, rather doubtfully, remembering the number of changes she had gone through that day.
A likely story indeed, said the Pigeon, in a tone of the deepest contempt. I've seen a good many little girls in my time, but never one with such a neck as that. No, no. You're a serpent, and I suppose you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg.
I have tasted eggs, certainly, said Alice, who was a very truthful child. But little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.
I don't believe it, said the Pigeon. But if they do, why then they're a kind of serpent, that's all I can say.
This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, and the Pigeon added, you're looking for eggs, I know that well enough. And what does it matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?
It matters a good deal to me, said Alice hastily. But I'm not looking for eggs. And if I was, I shouldn't want yours. I don't like them raw.
Well, be off, then, said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. And settle it did, deeply and gratefully, and far below Alice heard the small contented sound of a pigeon beginning, at last, after three long weeks, to sleep.
Then she remembered the pieces of mushroom still in her hands, and set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had brought herself down to her usual height. It felt quite strange at first, but she got used to it in a few minutes, as the Caterpillar had promised. Come, there's half my plan done now, she said to herself. The next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden. How is that to be done, I wonder?
As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. Whoever lives there, thought Alice, it'll never do to come upon them this size. Why, I should frighten them out of their wits. So she nibbled at the right hand bit again, and did not go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.
Chapter Six.

Pepper, a Pig, and a Grin Without a Cat.
For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the wood. She considered him to be a footman because he was in livery. Otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a fish. He rapped loudly at the door, and it was opened by another footman in livery, with a round face and large eyes like a frog. Both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled all over their heads.
She crept a little way out of the wood to listen.
The Fish Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter, nearly as large as himself, and handed it to the other, saying solemnly, for the Duchess. An invitation from the Queen to play croquet. The Frog Footman repeated, in the same solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little, from the Queen. An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.
Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.
Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood for fear of their hearing her. When she next peeped out, the Fish Footman was gone, and the other sat on the ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.
Alice went up to the door, and knocked.
There's no sort of use in knocking, said the Footman, and that for two reasons. First, because I'm on the same side of the door as you are. Secondly, because they're making such a noise inside, no one could possibly hear you. And certainly there was a most extraordinary noise going on within, a constant howling and sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish had been broken to pieces.
Please, then, said Alice, how am I to get in?
There might be some sense in your knocking, the Footman went on without attending to her, if we had the door between us. For instance, if you were inside, you might knock, and I could let you out, you know. How am I to get in, she repeated, aloud.
I shall sit here, the Footman remarked, till tomorrow.
At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came skimming out, straight at the Footman's head. It just grazed his nose, and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him. It grazed, you notice, and did not strike, for nothing thrown in that kitchen ever once hit anybody.
Or next day, maybe, the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly as if nothing had happened.
How am I to get in, asked Alice again, in a louder tone.
Are you to get in at all, said the Footman. That's the first question, you know.
It's really dreadful, Alice muttered to herself, the way all the creatures argue. It's enough to drive one crazy.
But what am I to do, said Alice.
Anything you like, said the Footman, and began whistling.
Oh, there's no use in talking to him, said Alice desperately. He's perfectly idiotic. And she opened the door and went in.
The door led right into a large kitchen, full of smoke from one end to the other. The Duchess was sitting on a three legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby. The cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.
There's certainly too much pepper in that soup, Alice said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess sneezed occasionally, and the baby sneezed and howled alternately without a pause. The only things in the kitchen that did not sneeze were the cook, and a large cat sitting on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.
Please would you tell me, said Alice, a little timidly, why your cat grins like that?
It's a Cheshire cat, said the Duchess, and that's why.
I didn't know that cats could grin, said Alice.
They all can, said the Duchess, and most of 'em do.
I don't know of any that do, Alice said very politely.
You don't know much, said the Duchess, and that's a fact.
Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark. While she was trying to fix on another subject, the cook took the cauldron off the fire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby. The fire irons came first, then a shower of saucepans, plates, and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of them, even when they went past her, and the baby was howling so much already that it was impossible to say whether anything came near it or not, though nothing did, and nothing ever could.
Oh, please mind what you're doing, cried Alice, in an agony of alarm.
If everybody minded their own business, the Duchess said in a hoarse growl, the world would go round a deal faster than it does.
Which would not be an advantage, said Alice, very glad of a chance to show off a little of her knowledge. Just think of what work it would make with the day and night. You see the earth takes twenty four hours to turn round on its axis.
Talking of axes, said the Duchess, chop off her head.
Alice glanced anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant to take the hint. But the cook was busily stirring the soup, and no one else so much as looked up, and the words simply fell on the floor and lay there, meaning nothing. You will hear a great deal of beheading spoken of before this night is out, so let it be said once, and packed under your pillow. In the whole history of that dream country, no head was ever removed from anybody. The loud people there said such words the way other people slam drawers.
So Alice went on, rather relieved. Twenty four hours, I think. Or is it twelve? I.
Oh, don't bother me, said the Duchess. I never could abide figures. And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a sort of lullaby, all backwards, a song that scolded where other songs soothe, the kind an aunt sings when pretending to be a bear, and not one word of it was meant, and the baby howled and sneezed along, and the cook joined in at the chorus.
Here, you may nurse it a bit, if you like, the Duchess said to Alice, flinging the baby at her, though flinging is the dream's word for it, and Alice caught the little thing as easily as a cushion. I must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen, said the Duchess, and she hurried out of the room. The cook threw a frying pan after her as she went, but it just missed her, as everything in that kitchen just missed everybody, always.
Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, for it was a queer shaped little creature, holding out its arms and legs in all directions. Just like a starfish, thought Alice. The proper way of nursing it, she found, was to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right ear and left foot, to prevent its undoing itself, and so she carried it out into the open air. If I don't take this child away with me, thought Alice, they're sure to make nothing of it in a day or two.
The little thing grunted in reply. Don't grunt, said Alice. That's not at all a proper way of expressing yourself. It grunted again, and Alice looked anxiously into its face. It had a very turn up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose, and its eyes were getting extremely small for a baby. Perhaps it was only sobbing, she thought, and looked for tears. There were no tears. If you're going to turn into a pig, my dear, said Alice, seriously, I'll have nothing more to do with you. Mind now. And just as she was thinking, what am I to do with this creature when I get it home, it grunted again, so violently, that she looked down in some alarm. This time there could be no mistake about it. It was neither more nor less than a pig, and it would be quite absurd to carry it further.
So she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to see it trot away quietly into the wood, a small pink person entirely pleased with how things had turned out, off to a life of acorns and warm mud and no more pepper, ever. If it had grown up, said Alice to herself, it would have made a dreadfully ugly child. But it makes rather a handsome pig, I think. And she was just thinking over other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, when she was startled by the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good natured, she thought. Still it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so it ought to be treated with respect.
Cheshire Puss, she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name. However, it only grinned a little wider. Come, it's pleased so far, thought Alice, and she went on. Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
That depends a good deal on where you want to get to, said the Cat.
I don't much care where, said Alice.
Then it doesn't matter which way you go, said the Cat.
So long as I get somewhere, Alice added as an explanation.
Oh, you're sure to do that, said the Cat, if you only walk long enough.
Alice felt that this could not be denied, and neither can you. You are sure to get somewhere tonight, if you only breathe long enough.
So she tried another question. What sort of people live about here?
In that direction, the Cat said, waving its right paw, lives a Hatter. And in that direction, waving the other paw, lives a March Hare. Visit either you like. They're both mad.
But I don't want to go among mad people, Alice remarked.
Oh, you can't help that, said the Cat. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
How do you know I'm mad, said Alice.
You must be, said the Cat, or you wouldn't have come here.
Alice didn't think that proved it at all. However, she went on. And how do you know that you're mad?
To begin with, said the Cat, a dog's not mad. You grant that?
I suppose so, said Alice.
Well, then, the Cat went on, you see a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad.
I call it purring, not growling, said Alice.
Call it what you like, said the Cat. Do you play croquet with the Queen today?
I should like it very much, said Alice, but I haven't been invited yet.
You'll see me there, said the Cat, and vanished.
Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to queer things. While she was looking at the place where it had been, it suddenly appeared again.
By the by, what became of the baby, said the Cat. I'd nearly forgotten to ask.
It turned into a pig, Alice quietly said, just as if it had come back in a natural way.
I thought it would, said the Cat, and vanished again.
Alice waited a little, but it did not appear, and she walked on toward the March Hare's. I've seen hatters before, she said to herself. The March Hare will be much the most interesting, and perhaps as this is May it won't be raving mad. At least not so mad as it was in March. As she said this, she looked up, and there was the Cat again, sitting on a branch of a tree.
Did you say pig, or fig, said the Cat.
I said pig, replied Alice. And I wish you wouldn't keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly. You make one quite giddy.
All right, said the Cat. And this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
Well, I've often seen a cat without a grin, thought Alice. But a grin without a cat. It's the most curious thing I ever saw in all my life.
And there it hung, in the warm air over the branch, a wide white crescent with nothing attached to it, like the first sliver of the moon come early. Then it thinned, and softened, and became nothing at all, or became the afternoon. You may borrow that exit tonight. Leave your day the way the cat left the tree, a piece at a time, keeping only, for as long as you like, the smile.
She had not gone much further before she came in sight of the house of the March Hare. She thought it must be the right house, because the chimneys were shaped like ears, and the roof was thatched with fur. It was so large a house that she did not like to go nearer till she had nibbled more mushroom, and raised herself to about two feet high. Even then she walked up rather timidly, saying to herself, suppose it should be raving mad after all. I almost wish I'd gone to see the Hatter instead.
Chapter Seven.

The Maddest Tea Party in All the World.
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it. A Dormouse sat between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head.
Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse, thought Alice. Only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.
And let us pause on the Dormouse, the patron creature of this room, mostly tail and mostly asleep, the soundest sleeper in written literature. Regard him, all night, as an instruction.
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner. No room, no room, they cried out when they saw Alice coming.
There's plenty of room, said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large armchair at one end of the table.
Have some wine, the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. I don't see any wine, she remarked.
There isn't any, said the March Hare.
Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it, said Alice angrily.
It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited, said the March Hare.
I didn't know it was your table, said Alice. It's laid for a great many more than three.
Your hair wants cutting, said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
You should learn not to make personal remarks, Alice said with some severity. It's very rude.
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this, but all he said was, why is a raven like a writing desk?
Come, we shall have some fun now, thought Alice. I'm glad they've begun asking riddles. I believe I can guess that, she added aloud.
Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it, said the March Hare.
Exactly so, said Alice.
Then you should say what you mean, the March Hare went on.
I do, Alice hastily replied. At least, at least I mean what I say. That's the same thing, you know.
Not the same thing a bit, said the Hatter. You might just as well say that I see what I eat is the same thing as I eat what I see.
You might just as well say, added the March Hare, that I like what I get is the same thing as I get what I like.
You might just as well say, added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, that I breathe when I sleep is the same thing as I sleep when I breathe.
It is the same thing with you, said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing desks, which wasn't much.
And here is the truth about that riddle. It has no answer. The man who wrote it admitted, years later, that when he first asked it, it had no answer at all. Which makes it, of all riddles, the only one safe to fall asleep on.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. What day of the month is it, he said, turning to Alice. He had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it now and then, and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said, the fourth.
Two days wrong, sighed the Hatter. I told you butter wouldn't suit the works, he added, with an angry look at the March Hare.
It was the best butter, the March Hare meekly replied.
Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well, the Hatter grumbled. You shouldn't have put it in with the bread knife.
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily. Then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again, but could think of nothing better to say than his first remark. It was the best butter, you know.
What a funny watch, Alice remarked. It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is.
Why should it, muttered the Hatter. Does your watch tell you what year it is?
Of course not, Alice replied very readily. But that's because it stays the same year for such a long time together.
Which is just the case with mine, said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark seemed to have no meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English.
The Dormouse is asleep again, said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose. The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its eyes, of course, of course. Just what I was going to remark myself.
Have you guessed the riddle yet, the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
No, I give it up, Alice replied. What's the answer?
I haven't the slightest idea, said the Hatter.
Nor I, said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. I think you might do something better with the time, she said, than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.
If you knew Time as well as I do, said the Hatter, you wouldn't talk about wasting it. It's him.
I don't know what you mean, said Alice.
Of course you don't, the Hatter said contemptuously. I daresay you never even spoke to Time.
Perhaps not, Alice cautiously replied. But I know I have to beat time when I learn music.
Ah, that accounts for it, said the Hatter. He won't stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock. Suppose it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons. You'd only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling. Half past one, time for dinner.
I only wish it was, the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.
Is that the way you manage, Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. Not I, he replied. We quarrelled last March, just before he went mad, you know, pointing with his teaspoon at the March Hare. It was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing, Twinkle, twinkle, little bat, how I wonder what you're at. Up above the world you fly, like a tea tray in the sky.
Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.
Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse, said the Hatter, when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, he's murdering the time. Off with his head.
How dreadfully savage, exclaimed Alice.
And nothing whatever came of it, of course, no more than ever came of anything the Queen shouted. But ever since that, the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, Time won't do a thing I ask. It's always six o'clock now.
A bright idea came into Alice's head. Is that the reason so many tea things are put out here?
Yes, that's it, said the Hatter with a sigh. It's always teatime, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles.
Then you keep moving round, I suppose, said Alice.
Exactly so, said the Hatter, as the things get used up.
But what happens when you come to the beginning again, Alice ventured to ask.
Suppose we change the subject, the March Hare interrupted, yawning. I'm getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.
I'm afraid I don't know one, said Alice, rather alarmed at the proposal.
Then the Dormouse shall, they both cried. Wake up, Dormouse. And they pinched it on both sides at once.
The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. I wasn't asleep, he said in a hoarse, feeble voice. I heard every word you fellows were saying.
Tell us a story, said the March Hare. Yes, please do, pleaded Alice. And be quick about it, added the Hatter, or you'll be asleep again before it's done.
Once upon a time there were three little sisters, the Dormouse began in a great hurry. And their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie. And they lived at the bottom of a well.
What did they live on, said Alice, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.
They lived on treacle, said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or two.
They couldn't have done that, you know, Alice gently remarked. They'd have been ill.
So they were, said the Dormouse. Very ill.
Alice tried to fancy what such an extraordinary way of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much. But why did they live at the bottom of a well?
Take some more tea, the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
I've had nothing yet, Alice replied in an offended tone, so I can't take more.
You mean you can't take less, said the Hatter. It's very easy to take more than nothing.
Nobody asked your opinion, said Alice.
Who's making personal remarks now, the Hatter asked triumphantly.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this, so she took some tea and bread and butter, and repeated her question. Why did they live at the bottom of a well?
The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said, it was a treacle well.
There's no such thing, Alice was beginning very angrily, but the Hatter and the March Hare went sh, sh, and the Dormouse sulkily remarked, if you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story for yourself.
No, please go on, Alice said very humbly. I won't interrupt again. I daresay there may be one.
One, indeed, said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he consented to go on. And so these three little sisters, they were learning to draw, you know.
What did they draw, said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.
Treacle, said the Dormouse, without considering at all.
I want a clean cup, interrupted the Hatter. Let's all move one place on.
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him. The March Hare moved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change, and Alice was a good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk jug into its plate.
But I don't understand, Alice began very cautiously. Where did they draw the treacle from?
You can draw water out of a water well, said the Hatter, so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle well, eh, stupid?
But they were in the well, Alice said to the Dormouse.
Of course they were, said the Dormouse. Well in.
This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it.
They were learning to draw, the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy. And they drew all manner of things, everything that begins with an M.
Why with an M, said Alice.
Why not, said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a doze. But on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with a little shriek, and went on. Such as mouse traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness. You know you say things are much of a muchness. Did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?
Really, now you ask me, said Alice, very much confused, I don't think.
Then you shouldn't talk, said the Hatter.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear. She got up in great disgust, and walked off. The Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping they would call after her. The last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.
And before you worry on his behalf, a teapot, to a dormouse, is very nearly a bedroom, round, and snug, and still warm, and he was asleep before the lid was on, dreaming of treacle.
At any rate I'll never go there again, said Alice, as she picked her way through the wood. It's the stupidest tea party I ever was at in all my life.
Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it. That's very curious, she thought. But everything's curious today. And in she went. Once more she found herself in the long hall, close to the little glass table. Now, I'll manage better this time, she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, first of all things, and unlocking the garden door. Then she nibbled the mushroom from her pocket till she was about a foot high, and walked down the little passage.
And then, at long last, after all the growing and the shrinking, she found herself in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower beds and the cool fountains. The air smelled of hundreds and hundreds of roses, and somewhere across the lawns there was music of a stately, unhurried kind, played for people who are in no rush to be anywhere. She had reached the loveliest place in the whole dream, by patience, and smallness, and remembering her key. The roses, you will notice, are white ones, just here by the entrance.
And three gardeners are painting them red.
Chapter Eight.

Painting the Roses Red.
A large rose tree stood near the entrance of the garden. The roses growing on it were white, but three gardeners were at it, busily painting them red, each with a pot of paint and a dripping brush, working with the particular haste of people doing a foolish thing thoroughly.
Alice went nearer to watch them, and here is the first thing she noticed, for it explains everything that follows. They were not men. They were playing cards. Living playing cards, flat and oblong, about her own height, with their hands and feet at the corners. These three were the Two, the Five, and the Seven of Spades, and the whole court and army and royal family of that garden were the rest of the pack, everyone in it exactly as dangerous as a hand of whist.
Look out now, Five, said one of the gardeners. Don't go splashing paint over me like that.
I couldn't help it, said Five, in a sulky tone. Seven jogged my elbow.
On which Seven looked up and said, that's right, Five. Always lay the blame on others.
You'd better not talk, said Five. I heard the Queen say only yesterday you deserved to be beheaded. And I'll tell you what for. It was for bringing the cook tulip roots instead of onions.
Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun, well, of all the unjust things, when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, and he checked himself suddenly. The others looked round also, and all of them bowed low.
Would you tell me, said Alice, a little timidly, why you are painting those roses?
Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began in a low voice, why, the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose tree, and we put a white one in by mistake. And if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off. So you see, Miss, we're doing our best, afore she comes, to.
At this moment Five, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out, the Queen, the Queen, and the three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces. There was a sound of many footsteps, and Alice looked round, eager to see her.
First came ten soldiers carrying clubs, oblong and flat like the gardeners. Next the ten courtiers, ornamented with diamonds. Then the ten royal children, jumping merrily along hand in hand, ornamented with hearts. Next the guests, mostly kings and queens, and among them the White Rabbit. Then the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King's crown on a crimson velvet cushion. And last of all, the King and Queen of Hearts.
Alice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on her face like the gardeners, but she could not remember ever having heard of such a rule at processions. And besides, what would be the use of a procession, thought she, if people had all to lie down upon their faces, so that they couldn't see it? So she stood where she was.
When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and looked at her, and the Queen said severely, who is this? She said it to the Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply.
Idiot, said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently, and turning to Alice, she went on, what's your name, child?
My name is Alice, so please your Majesty, said Alice very politely. But she added, to herself, why, they're only a pack of cards, after all. I needn't be afraid of them. Which is the wisest thought any child ever had in any dream.
And who are these, said the Queen, pointing to the three gardeners lying round the rose tree. For as they were lying on their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, soldiers, courtiers, or three of her own children.
How should I know, said Alice, surprised at her own courage. It's no business of mine.
The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her like a wild beast, screamed, off with her head. Off.
Nonsense, said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was silent. One small girl had said nonsense, and the storm simply stopped, because the word was true, and everyone knew it, the Queen included.
The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said, consider, my dear. She is only a child.
The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave, turn them over.
The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.
Get up, said the Queen, in a shrill, loud voice, and the three gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to everybody in sight.
Leave off that, screamed the Queen. You make me giddy. And then, turning to the rose tree, she went on, what have you been doing here?
May it please your Majesty, said Two, in a very humble tone, going down on one knee, we were trying.
I see, said the Queen, who had meanwhile been examining the roses. Off with their heads. And the procession moved on, three of the soldiers remaining behind to take charge of the unfortunate gardeners, who ran to Alice for protection.
You shan't be beheaded, said Alice, and she put them into a large flower pot that stood near. The three soldiers wandered about for a minute or two, looking for them, and then quietly marched off after the rest.
Are their heads off, shouted the Queen.
Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty, the soldiers shouted in reply.
That's right, shouted the Queen. Can you play croquet?
The soldiers were silent, and looked at Alice, as the question was evidently meant for her.
Yes, shouted Alice.
Come on, then, roared the Queen, and Alice joined the procession, wondering what would happen next. So the whole affair ended in a flower pot, and in three minutes it was forgotten, which was the usual life span of the Queen's thunder.
It's, it's a very fine day, said a timid voice at her side. She was walking by the White Rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her face.
Very, said Alice. Where's the Duchess?
Hush, hush, said the Rabbit in a low, hurried tone, and it whispered, she's under sentence of execution. She boxed the Queen's ears. Alice gave a little scream of laughter. Oh, hush, the Rabbit whispered in a frightened tone. The Queen will hear you.
Get to your places, shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder, and people began running about in all directions, tumbling up against each other. However, they got settled down in a minute or two, and the game began. As for the Duchess and her sentence, you will see her again before long, entirely whole, and fonder of morals than ever.
Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet ground in her life. It was all ridges and furrows. The balls were live hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers had to double themselves up, on their hands and feet, to make the arches.
The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo. Just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out, and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it would twist itself round and look up in her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not help bursting out laughing. And when she had got its head down again, it was very provoking to find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away. Besides, the doubled up soldiers were always getting up and walking off, and Alice soon concluded that it was a very difficult game indeed.
The players all played at once without waiting for turns, quarrelling all the while, and fighting for the hedgehogs. In a very short time the Queen was in a furious passion, stamping about and shouting off with his head, or off with her head, about once in a minute, and the garden absorbed each shout the way a lawn absorbs a watering can, and grew, if anything, slightly greener.
Alice began to feel very uneasy, all the same. She had not yet had any dispute with the Queen, but she knew it might happen any minute. And then, thought she, what would become of me? They're dreadfully fond of beheading people here. The great wonder is, that there's anyone left alive. And there she answered her own question without noticing. Everyone was always left alive.
She was looking about for some way of escape, when she noticed a curious appearance in the air. After watching it a minute or two, she made it out to be a grin, and she said to herself, it's the Cheshire Cat. Now I shall have somebody to talk to.
How are you getting on, said the Cat, as soon as there was mouth enough for it to speak with.
Alice waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded. It's no use speaking to it, she thought, till its ears have come, or at least one of them. In another minute the whole head appeared, and Alice put down her flamingo, and began an account of the game, very glad of a listener. The Cat seemed to think there was enough of it now in sight, and no more of it appeared.
I don't think they play at all fairly, Alice began, in rather a complaining tone. And they all quarrel so dreadfully one can't hear oneself speak. And they don't seem to have any rules in particular. At least, if there are, nobody attends to them. And you've no idea how confusing it is, all the things being alive. There's the arch I've got to go through next, walking about at the other end of the ground. And I should have croqueted the Queen's hedgehog just now, only it ran away when it saw mine coming.
How do you like the Queen, said the Cat in a low voice.
Not at all, said Alice. She's so extremely. Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening. So she went on, likely to win, that it's hardly worth while finishing the game.
The Queen smiled and passed on.
Who are you talking to, said the King, coming up to Alice, and looking at the Cat's head with great curiosity.
It's a friend of mine, a Cheshire Cat, said Alice. Allow me to introduce it.
I don't like the look of it at all, said the King. However, it may kiss my hand if it likes.
I'd rather not, the Cat remarked.
Don't be impertinent, said the King, and don't look at me like that. He got behind Alice as he spoke.
A cat may look at a king, said Alice. I've read that in some book, but I don't remember where.
Well, it must be removed, said the King very decidedly, and he called the Queen, who was passing at the moment, my dear, I wish you would have this cat removed.
The Queen had only one way of settling difficulties, great or small. Off with his head, she said, without even looking round.
I'll fetch the executioner myself, said the King eagerly, and he hurried off.
Alice went back to see how the game was going on. Her hedgehog was engaged in a fight with another hedgehog, which seemed an excellent opportunity for croqueting one of them with the other. The only difficulty was, that her flamingo had gone across to the other side of the garden, trying in a helpless sort of way to fly up into a tree. By the time she had caught it, the fight was over, and both hedgehogs were out of sight. So she tucked it under her arm, and went back for a little more conversation with her friend.
When she got back to the Cheshire Cat, she was surprised to find quite a large crowd collected round it. A dispute was going on between the executioner, the King, and the Queen, who were all talking at once, while all the rest were quite silent, and looked very uncomfortable.
The moment Alice appeared, all three appealed to her to settle the question, though, as they all spoke at once, she found it very hard to make out what they said.
The executioner's argument was, that you couldn't cut off a head unless there was a body to cut it off from, that he had never had to do such a thing before, and wasn't going to begin at his time of life.
The King's argument was, that anything that had a head could be beheaded, and that you weren't to talk nonsense.
The Queen's argument was, that if something wasn't done about it in less than no time, she'd have everybody executed, all round. It was this last remark that made the whole party look so grave, though everybody had heard the same promise a hundred times before, and were all still in the best of health.
Alice could think of nothing else to say but, it belongs to the Duchess. You'd better ask her about it.
She's in prison, the Queen said to the executioner. Fetch her here. And the executioner went off like an arrow.
The Cat's head began fading the moment he was gone, and by the time he had come back with the Duchess, it had entirely disappeared. So the King and the executioner ran wildly up and down looking for it, while the rest went back to the game.
And that is how the great question of beheading a bodiless cat was settled, which is to say, not at all. It simply faded, smiling, into the warm air, the way, if you will let them, tonight's problems may too.
Chapter Nine.

The Mock Turtle's Story.
You can't think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing, said the Duchess, tucking her arm affectionately into Alice's, and they walked off together.
Alice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and thought that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so savage in the kitchen. When I'm a Duchess, she said to herself, I won't have any pepper in my kitchen at all. Maybe it's always pepper that makes people hot tempered, and vinegar that makes them sour, and barley sugar that makes children sweet. I only wish people knew that.
She had quite forgotten the Duchess, and was a little startled when she heard her voice close to her ear. You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can't tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit.
Perhaps it hasn't one, Alice ventured to remark.
Tut, tut, child, said the Duchess. Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it. And she squeezed up closer to Alice's side.
Alice did not much like her keeping so close, for the Duchess was exactly the right height to rest her chin on Alice's shoulder, and it was an uncomfortably sharp chin. But she did not like to be rude, so she bore it.
The game's going on rather better now, she said, by way of conversation.
'Tis so, said the Duchess. And the moral of that is, oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round.
Somebody said, Alice whispered, that it's done by everybody minding their own business.
Ah, well. It means much the same thing, said the Duchess, digging her sharp little chin into Alice's shoulder as she added, and the moral of that is, take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.
How fond she is of finding morals in things, Alice thought to herself. And that last one happens to be the motto of this room.
I daresay you're wondering why I don't put my arm round your waist, the Duchess said after a pause. The reason is, that I'm doubtful about the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?
He might bite, Alice cautiously replied, not at all anxious to have the experiment tried.
Very true, said the Duchess. Flamingoes and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is, birds of a feather flock together.
Only mustard isn't a bird, Alice remarked.
Right, as usual, said the Duchess. What a clear way you have of putting things.
It's a mineral, I think, said Alice.
Of course it is, said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to everything that Alice said. There's a large mustard mine near here. And the moral of that is, the more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.
Oh, I know, exclaimed Alice, who had not attended to this last remark. It's a vegetable. It doesn't look like one, but it is.
I quite agree with you, said the Duchess. And the moral of that is, be what you would seem to be, or, if you'd like it put more simply, never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.
I think I should understand that better, Alice said very politely, if I had it written down. But I can't quite follow it as you say it.
That's nothing to what I could say if I chose, the Duchess replied, in a pleased tone.
Pray don't trouble yourself to say it any longer than that, said Alice.
Oh, don't talk about trouble, said the Duchess. I make you a present of everything I've said as yet.
A cheap sort of present, thought Alice. I'm glad they don't give birthday presents like that.
Thinking again, the Duchess asked, with another dig of her sharp little chin.
I've a right to think, said Alice sharply, for she was beginning to feel a little worried.
Just about as much right, said the Duchess, as pigs have to fly. And the m.
But here, to Alice's great surprise, the Duchess's voice died away, even in the middle of her favourite word moral, and the arm that was linked into hers began to tremble. Alice looked up, and there stood the Queen, arms folded, frowning like a thunderstorm.
A fine day, your Majesty, the Duchess began in a low, weak voice.
Now, I give you fair warning, shouted the Queen, stamping on the ground as she spoke. Either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no time. Take your choice.
The Duchess took her choice, and was gone in a moment, head and all, at a comfortable trot, and you may be sure both parts of her arrived home together.
Let's go on with the game, the Queen said to Alice, and Alice was too much frightened to say a word, but slowly followed her back to the croquet ground.
The other guests had taken advantage of the Queen's absence to rest in the shade, but the moment they saw her, they hurried back, the Queen merely remarking that a moment's delay would cost them their lives, which cost them, in the event, nothing at all, as usual.
All the time they were playing the Queen never left off quarrelling with the other players, and shouting off with his head, or off with her head. Those whom she sentenced were taken into custody by the soldiers, who had to leave off being arches to do it, so that in half an hour or so there were no arches left, and all the players, except the King, the Queen, and Alice, were in custody and under sentence of execution.
Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Alice, have you seen the Mock Turtle yet?
No, said Alice. I don't even know what a Mock Turtle is.
It's the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from, said the Queen. Come on, then, and he shall tell you his history.
As they walked off, Alice heard the King say in a low voice, to the company generally, you are all pardoned. Come, that's a good thing, she said to herself. And there is the trick of that garden laid bare. The King said it every day, the moment his wife's back was turned, and the whole garden knew the arrangement by heart. Nobody was ever executed in that country.
They very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast asleep in the sun, a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion, sprawled on its back in the warm grass with all four paws in the air, doing nothing whatever, magnificently.
Up, lazy thing, said the Queen, and take this young lady to see the Mock Turtle, and to hear his history. I must go back and see after some executions I have ordered. And she walked off, leaving Alice with the Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look of the creature, but on the whole she thought it quite as safe to stay as to go after that savage Queen.
The Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes, watched the Queen till she was out of sight, and chuckled. What fun, said the Gryphon, half to itself, half to Alice.
What is the fun, said Alice.
Why, she, said the Gryphon. It's all her fancy, that. They never executes nobody, you know. Come on.
And those are the safest words in the whole old book. Keep the sentence, grammar and all, for those nights when some loud voice has been shouting sentences over your head all day. They never executes nobody. Come on.
Everybody says come on here, thought Alice, as she went slowly after it. I never was so ordered about in all my life, never.
They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the distance, sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, sighing as if his heart would break. Alice pitied him deeply. What is his sorrow, she asked the Gryphon. And the Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as before, it's all his fancy, that. He hasn't got no sorrow, you know. Come on.
So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing.
This here young lady, said the Gryphon, she wants for to know your history, she do.
I'll tell it her, said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone. Sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished.
So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. I don't see how he can ever finish, thought Alice, if he doesn't begin. But she waited.
Once, said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, I was a real Turtle.
These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of hjckrrh from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice very nearly got up and said, thank you, sir, for your interesting story, but she felt sure there must be more to come, so she sat still.
When we were little, the Mock Turtle went on at last, more calmly, though still sobbing now and then, we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Turtle. We used to call him Tortoise.
Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one, Alice asked.
We called him Tortoise because he taught us, said the Mock Turtle angrily. Really you are very dull.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question, added the Gryphon. And they both sat silent and looked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At last the Gryphon said to the Mock Turtle, drive on, old fellow. Don't be all day about it. And he went on.
Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't believe it.
I never said I didn't, interrupted Alice.
You did, said the Mock Turtle.
Hold your tongue, added the Gryphon. The Mock Turtle went on.
We had the best of educations. In fact, we went to school every day.
I've been to a day school, too, said Alice. You needn't be so proud as all that.
With extras, asked the Mock Turtle, a little anxiously.
Yes, said Alice. We learned French and music.
And washing, said the Mock Turtle.
Certainly not, said Alice indignantly.
Ah, then yours wasn't a really good school, said the Mock Turtle in a tone of great relief. Now at ours they had at the end of the bill, French, music, and washing, extra.
You couldn't have wanted it much, said Alice, living at the bottom of the sea.
I couldn't afford to learn it, said the Mock Turtle with a sigh. I only took the regular course.
What was that, inquired Alice.
Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with, the Mock Turtle replied. And then the different branches of Arithmetic. Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.
I never heard of Uglification, Alice ventured to say. What is it?
The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. What, never heard of uglifying, it exclaimed. You know what to beautify is, I suppose.
Yes, said Alice doubtfully. It means, to, make, anything, prettier.
Well, then, the Gryphon went on, if you don't know what to uglify is, you are a simpleton.
Alice did not feel encouraged to ask more, so she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said, what else had you to learn?
Well, there was Mystery, the Mock Turtle replied, counting off the subjects on his flappers. Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography. Then Drawling. The Drawling master was an old conger eel, that came once a week, and taught us Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils.
What was that like, said Alice.
Well, I can't show it you myself, the Mock Turtle said. I'm too stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it.
Hadn't time, said the Gryphon. I went to the Classics master, though. He was an old crab, he was.
I never went to him, the Mock Turtle said with a sigh. He taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say.
So he did, so he did, said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn, and both creatures hid their faces in their paws.
And how many hours a day did you do lessons, said Alice, in a hurry to change the subject.
Ten hours the first day, said the Mock Turtle. Nine the next, and so on.
What a curious plan, exclaimed Alice.
That's the reason they're called lessons, the Gryphon remarked. Because they lessen from day to day.
This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a little. Then the eleventh day must have been a holiday?
Of course it was, said the Mock Turtle.
And how did you manage on the twelfth, Alice went on eagerly.
That's enough about lessons, the Gryphon interrupted in a very decided tone. Tell her something about the games now.
And notice what has happened on that little ledge of rock. A creature who was sighing as if his heart would break has spent this whole visit correcting his guests and boasting about his schooling, and has not sobbed properly in several minutes. That is what the Gryphon knew. Some sorrows are worn half for the company they bring, and the cure is somebody new to tell your history to, while the sun goes down the sea.
Chapter Ten.

The Lobster Quadrille, and Who Stole the Tarts.
You may not have lived much under the sea, the Mock Turtle said, and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster, so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster Quadrille is. No, indeed, said Alice. What sort of a dance is it?
Why, said the Gryphon, you first form into a line along the seashore.
Two lines, cried the Mock Turtle. Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on. Then, when you've cleared all the jellyfish out of the way.
That generally takes some time, interrupted the Gryphon.
You advance twice.
Each with a lobster as a partner, cried the Gryphon.
Of course, the Mock Turtle said. Advance twice, set to partners.
Change lobsters, and retire in same order, continued the Gryphon.
Then, you know, the Mock Turtle went on, you throw the.
The lobsters, shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air.
As far out to sea as you can.
Swim after them, screamed the Gryphon.
Turn a somersault in the sea, cried the Mock Turtle, capering wildly about.
Change lobsters again, yelled the Gryphon.
Back to land again, and that's all the first figure, said the Mock Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice. And the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad things, sat down again very sadly and quietly, and looked at Alice.
It must be a very pretty dance, said Alice timidly.
Would you like to see a little of it, said the Mock Turtle.
Very much indeed, said Alice.
Come, let's try the first figure, said the Mock Turtle to the Gryphon. We can do without lobsters, you know. Which shall sing? Oh, you sing, said the Gryphon. I've forgotten the words.
So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, treading on her toes when they passed too close, waving their forepaws to mark the time, while the Mock Turtle sang, very slowly and sadly, a song about a whiting and a snail.
Will you walk a little faster, said a whiting to a snail. There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail. See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance. They are waiting on the shingle. Will you come and join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?
You can really have no notion how delightful it will be, when they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea. But the snail replied, too far, too far, and gave a look askance, said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
What matters it how far we go, his scaly friend replied. There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. The further off from England the nearer is to France. Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?
And round and round they went, solemn as churchwardens, while the song swayed back and forth like water in a bay, asking its one question over and over. You may, you needn't. The dance goes on either way.
Thank you, it's a very interesting dance to watch, said Alice, very glad that it was over at last.
They then wanted her to repeat something in her turn, and she stood up to recite 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, but her head was so full of the Lobster Quadrille that the words came very queer indeed. 'Tis the voice of the Lobster, she heard herself say. I heard him declare, you have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.
That's different from what I used to say when I was a child, said the Gryphon. Well, I never heard it before, said the Mock Turtle, but it sounds uncommon nonsense. Alice said nothing. She had sat down with her face in her hands, wondering if anything would ever happen in a natural way again.
Would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you a song, the Gryphon went on.
Oh, a song, please, if the Mock Turtle would be so kind, Alice replied, so eagerly that the Gryphon said, in a rather offended tone, hm. No accounting for tastes. Sing her Turtle Soup, old fellow.
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes choked with sobs, to sing. Beautiful soup, so rich and green, waiting in a hot tureen. Who for such dainties would not stoop? Soup of the evening, beautiful soup. And at the chorus he stretched the words out long and slow, the way toffee is pulled, beautiful, beautiful soup, until the song was less a song than a ladle moving slowly round a pot, and everyone on that shore swayed along with it.
Chorus again, cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Turtle had just begun to repeat it, when a cry of, the trial's beginning, was heard in the distance.
Come on, cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand, it hurried off without waiting for the end of the song.
What trial is it, Alice panted as she ran. But the Gryphon only answered, come on, and ran the faster, while fainter and fainter behind them came the melancholy words, soup of the evening, beautiful, beautiful soup.
The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them, all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards. The Knave stood before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side. Near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it, which looked so good that it made Alice quite hungry. I wish they'd get the trial done, she thought, and hand round the refreshments.
This is the last scene of the dream, and it is the silliest, and the safest. The prisoner is a playing card. The judge is a playing card. The evidence is a plate of jam tarts, not even nibbled.
The judge, by the way, was the King, and as he wore his crown over his great wig, he did not look at all comfortable.
And that's the jury box, thought Alice, and those twelve creatures, some of them animals, and some birds, I suppose they are the jurors. She said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather proud of it, for she thought, and rightly, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all.
The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. What are they doing, Alice whispered to the Gryphon. They can't have anything to put down yet, before the trial's begun.
They're putting down their names, the Gryphon whispered, for fear they should forget them before the trial ends.
Stupid things, Alice began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out, silence in the court, and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking.
Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down stupid things on their slates, and one of them didn't know how to spell stupid, and had to ask his neighbour. A nice muddle their slates will be in before the trial's over, thought Alice.
One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This of course Alice could not stand, and she went round the court, got behind him, and very soon took it away. She did it so quickly that the poor little juror, and it was Bill, the Lizard, our own Bill, of the chimney, could not make out what had become of it, and was obliged to write with one finger, which was of very little use, as it left no mark on the slate. But Bill did not seem to mind. He wrote on serenely, recording nothing, at peace.
Herald, read the accusation, said the King.
On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows. The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer day. The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, and took them quite away.
Consider your verdict, the King said to the jury.
Not yet, not yet, the Rabbit hastily interrupted. There's a great deal to come before that.
Call the first witness, said the King. And the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called, first witness.
The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread and butter in the other. I beg pardon, your Majesty, he began, for bringing these in, but I hadn't quite finished my tea when I was sent for.
You ought to have finished, said the King. When did you begin?
The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the court, arm in arm with the Dormouse. Fourteenth of March, I think it was, he said.
Fifteenth, said the March Hare.
Sixteenth, added the Dormouse.
Write that down, the King said to the jury. And the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates, added them up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence.
Take off your hat, the King said to the Hatter.
It isn't mine, said the Hatter.
Stolen, the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact.
I keep them to sell, the Hatter added as an explanation. I've none of my own. I'm a hatter.
Give your evidence, said the King, and don't be nervous, or I'll have you executed on the spot. Which was the way judges said good morning in that country, the words being as empty as the Hatter's borrowed hat.
This did not seem to encourage the witness at all. He kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread and butter.
Just at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation. She was beginning to grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave the court, but on second thoughts she decided to remain as long as there was room for her.
I wish you wouldn't squeeze so, said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her. I can hardly breathe.
I can't help it, said Alice very meekly. I'm growing.
You've no right to grow here, said the Dormouse.
Don't talk nonsense, said Alice more boldly. You know you're growing too.
Yes, but I grow at a reasonable pace, said the Dormouse, not in that ridiculous fashion. And he got up very sulkily and crossed to the other side of the court, where he curled up and went back to sleep.
Give your evidence, the King repeated angrily, or I'll have you executed, whether you're nervous or not.
I'm a poor man, your Majesty, the Hatter began, in a trembling voice, and I hadn't but just begun my tea, not above a week or so, and what with the bread and butter getting so thin, and the twinkling of the tea.
The twinkling of the what, said the King.
It began with the tea, the Hatter replied.
Of course twinkling begins with a T, said the King sharply. Do you take me for a dunce? Go on.
I'm a poor man, the Hatter went on, and most things twinkled after that, only the March Hare said.
I didn't, the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.
You did, said the Hatter.
I deny it, said the March Hare.
He denies it, said the King. Leave out that part.
Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said, the Hatter went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too. But the Dormouse denied nothing, being fast asleep.
After that, continued the Hatter, I cut some more bread and butter.
But what did the Dormouse say, one of the jury asked.
That I can't remember, said the Hatter.
You must remember, remarked the King, or I'll have you executed.
The miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread and butter, and went down on one knee. I'm a poor man, your Majesty, he began.
You're a very poor speaker, said the King.
Here one of the guinea pigs cheered, and was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court. As that is rather a hard word, I will explain how it was done, exactly as the old book explains it. They had a large canvas bag, which tied up at the mouth with strings. Into this they slipped the guinea pig, head first, and then sat upon it. And the guinea pig made no complaint, a canvas bag being dark, and soft, and not a bad place to spend a warm afternoon.
I'm glad I've seen that done, thought Alice. I've so often read in the newspapers, at the end of trials, there was some attempt at applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court, and I never understood what it meant till now.
If that's all you know about it, you may stand down, continued the King.
I can't go no lower, said the Hatter. I'm on the floor, as it is.
Then you may sit down, the King replied.
Here the other guinea pig cheered, and was suppressed. Come, that finishes the guinea pigs, thought Alice. Now we shall get on better.
I'd rather finish my tea, said the Hatter, with an anxious look at the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.
You may go, said the King. And the Hatter hurriedly left the court, without even waiting to put his shoes on.
And just take his head off outside, the Queen added to one of the officers. But the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get to the door, and the officer, who had been sent on that errand two hundred times and had never once caught anybody, strolled to the doorway and strolled back, duty done.
Call the next witness, said the King.
The next witness was the Duchess's cook. She carried the pepper box, and Alice guessed who it was before she got into the court, by the way the people near the door all began sneezing at once.
Give your evidence, said the King.
Shan't, said the cook.
The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said in a low voice, your Majesty must cross examine this witness.
Well, if I must, I must, the King said with a melancholy air, and after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, what are tarts made of?
Pepper, mostly, said the cook.
Treacle, said a sleepy voice behind her.
Collar that Dormouse, the Queen shrieked out. Behead that Dormouse. Turn that Dormouse out of court. Suppress him. Pinch him. Off with his whiskers.
The whole court was in confusion, getting the Dormouse turned out, and it was done with great gentleness in the end, two of the birds carrying him out like a small furry parcel, still asleep, whiskers intact, to a warm bank where he slept on in the sun, missing everything. And by the time the court had settled down again, the cook had disappeared.
Never mind, said the King, with great relief. Call the next witness. And he added in an undertone to the Queen, really, my dear, you must cross examine the next one. It quite makes my forehead ache.
Alice watched the White Rabbit fumble over the list. For they haven't got much evidence yet, she said to herself. Imagine her surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice, the name, Alice.
Chapter Eleven.

Alice's Evidence, and a Pack of Cards.
Here, cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large she had grown, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jurors on to the heads of the crowd below, where they lay sprawling about, reminding her of a globe of goldfish she had accidentally upset the week before.
Oh, I beg your pardon, she exclaimed in great dismay, and began picking them up again as quickly as she could, for she had a vague idea that they must be put back at once, or they would die. They were not goldfish, of course. They were a dream's jurors, and a softer landing was never had, for they came down on hats and wigs and cushions, and the whole business hurt exactly nobody.
The trial cannot proceed, said the King in a very grave voice, until all the jurymen are back in their proper places. All, he repeated with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice.
Alice looked at the jury box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving its tail about in a melancholy way, quite unable to move. She soon got it out and put it right. Not that it signifies much, she said to herself. It would be quite as much use in the trial one way up as the other. And Bill, the right way up once more, gave her a small grateful nod, and took up writing nothing with his finger again, contentedly, as before.
As soon as the jury had recovered, and their slates and pencils had been handed back, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the accident, all except the Lizard, who could do nothing but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the court.
What do you know about this business, the King said to Alice.
Nothing, said Alice.
Nothing whatever, persisted the King.
Nothing whatever, said Alice.
That's very important, the King said, turning to the jury. They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit interrupted. Unimportant, your Majesty means, of course, he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.
Unimportant, of course, I meant, the King hastily said, and went on to himself in an undertone, important, unimportant, unimportant, important, as if he were trying which word sounded best. Some of the jury wrote it down important, and some unimportant. But it doesn't matter a bit, thought Alice. And she was righter than she knew. Important, unimportant. Said softly over, they rock, like a boat.
At this moment the King, who had been busily writing in his notebook, called out, silence, and read from his book, Rule Forty Two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.
Everybody looked at Alice.
I'm not a mile high, said Alice.
You are, said the King.
Nearly two miles high, added the Queen.
Well, I shan't go, at any rate, said Alice. Besides, that's not a regular rule. You invented it just now.
It's the oldest rule in the book, said the King.
Then it ought to be Number One, said Alice.
The King turned pale, and shut his notebook hastily. Consider your verdict, he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.
There's more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty, said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a hurry. This paper has just been picked up.
What's in it, said the Queen.
I haven't opened it yet, said the White Rabbit, but it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to, to somebody.
It must have been that, said the King, unless it was written to nobody, which isn't usual, you know.
Who is it directed to, said one of the jurymen.
It isn't directed at all, said the White Rabbit. In fact, there's nothing written on the outside. He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and added, it isn't a letter, after all. It's a set of verses.
Are they in the prisoner's handwriting, asked another of the jurymen.
No, they're not, said the White Rabbit, and that's the queerest thing about it. The jury looked puzzled.
He must have imitated somebody else's hand, said the King. The jury all brightened up again.
Please your Majesty, said the Knave, I didn't write it, and they can't prove I did. There's no name signed at the end.
If you didn't sign it, said the King, that only makes the matter worse. You must have meant some mischief, or else you'd have signed your name like an honest man.
There was a general clapping of hands. It was the first really clever thing the King had said all day, and the whole court was pleased for him, the way a family is pleased when the slowest uncle wins a hand at last.
That proves his guilt, said the Queen.
It proves nothing of the sort, said Alice. Why, you don't even know what they're about.
Read them, said the King.
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. Where shall I begin, please your Majesty, he asked.
Begin at the beginning, the King said gravely, and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.
And that may be the piece of the old book this room loves best, for it is the whole of the art of falling asleep. Begin at the beginning. Go on till you come to the end. Then stop.
There was dead silence in the court whilst the White Rabbit read out these verses.
They told me you had been to her, and mentioned me to him. She gave me a good character, but said I could not swim. He sent them word I had not gone, we know it to be true. If she should push the matter on, what would become of you? I gave her one, they gave him two, you gave us three or more. They all returned from him to you, though they were mine before.
There were more verses, each exactly as clear as those, which is to say, clear the way deep water is clear, all the way down to nothing. Pronouns without people. Errands without ends. And the court listened to them with enormous respect.
That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet, said the King, rubbing his hands. So now let the jury.
If any one of them can explain it, said Alice, who had grown so large by now that she wasn't a bit afraid of interrupting him, I'll give him sixpence. I don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it.
The jury all wrote down on their slates, she doesn't believe there's an atom of meaning in it, but none of them attempted to explain the paper.
If there's no meaning in it, said the King, that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. And yet I don't know, he went on, spreading the verses out on his knee. I seem to see some meaning in them, after all. Said I could not swim. You can't swim, can you, he added, turning to the Knave.
The Knave shook his head sadly. Do I look like it, he said. Which he certainly did not, being made entirely of cardboard.
All right, so far, said the King, and he went on muttering over the verses, finding a meaning here and losing it there, while the afternoon light came slanting in, and Alice felt herself growing again, quietly, steadily, the way a tide comes in, or a sleeper rises toward morning.
Let the jury consider their verdict, the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.
No, no, said the Queen. Sentence first, verdict afterwards.
Stuff and nonsense, said Alice loudly. The idea of having the sentence first.
Hold your tongue, said the Queen, turning purple.
I won't, said Alice.
Off with her head, the Queen shouted at the top of her voice.
Nobody moved.
Who cares for you, said Alice. She had grown to her full size by this time. You're nothing but a pack of cards.
And there it was at last, spoken out loud, the thing she had known since she arrived in the garden. They were only a pack of cards, after all.
At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her.
And even this, the last and loudest thing the dream ever did, was gentle, for a playing card in flight is only a stiff sort of leaf, and by the time they reached her they were leaves indeed, dry ones, gold and brown, drifting and settling. She gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.
That is the whole distance between Wonderland and home. The width of a falling leaf.
Wake up, Alice dear, said her sister. Why, what a long sleep you've had.
Oh, I've had such a curious dream, said Alice. And she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange adventures you have just been hearing about. The rabbit, the pool, the caterpillar, the grin, the tea table, the garden, the trial. And when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, it was a curious dream, dear, certainly. But now run in to your tea. It's getting late.
So Alice got up and ran off, thinking as she ran, what a wonderful dream it had been. And the light was long and low across the meadow, and the river had gone the color of the inside of a shell, and the wood pigeon was still saying its one soft thing, as if no time had passed at all. And in that house, presently, there would be tea, and a saucer of milk for Dinah, and a small girl talking nineteen to the dozen about a dormouse in a teapot. And then, by and by, a bath, and a bed, and the end of one of the great days of a life. They do not announce themselves, the great days. They end in tea, like the others.
Chapter Twelve.

Goodnight. And the Lamp at the Edge of Morning.
But her sister sat still just as Alice left her, leaning her head on her hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Alice and all her wonderful adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion.
She dreamed of Wonderland without ever leaving the bank. She heard, or thought she heard, the long grass rustle at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by, and the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends shared their never ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution, which never once was carried out. Once more the pig baby was sneezing on the Duchess's knee, while plates and dishes crashed all around it and struck nothing, and the squeak of the Lizard's slate pencil filled the air, mixed with the distant sobs of the Mock Turtle, who had, as we know on good authority, no sorrow at all.
So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality. The rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep bells, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy, while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle's heavy sobs.
Only she did not open her eyes. Not just yet. And neither need you.
It is worth knowing what that sister understood, which is that the two worlds are made of each other. Sheep bells on one side, teacups on the other, and nothing is lost in the exchange, ever, going either way. That is all a dream is. The day, told again, by a kinder teller.
Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after time, be herself a grown woman. And how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood. And how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago, remembering her own child life, and the happy summer days.
Hold that a moment, before the lamp goes low. It is the last page of the old book, explaining itself. A dream, dreamed on a riverbank, kept safe for years, and then lit again, like a lamp, for other children at other bedtimes. That is what is happening in this room tonight.
And now the dusk comes down over the meadow, and over the dream under it.
The meadow cools first. The bees went home long ago. The daisies close, one by one, unpicked, entirely content. The river takes the last of the pink out of the sky and carries it away west, slowly, without spilling any.
And down the rabbit hole, all that long warm way down, Wonderland is going to bed.
The hall of lamps burns low. The little golden key lies on the glass table, and the little door stands open now, with the smell of roses coming through. The pool of tears has gone smooth as a looking glass, and holds one star. Somewhere on the shore a thimble is kept, very carefully, in a nest.
The Caterpillar's mushroom stands empty under the moon, one side and the other side exactly as mysterious as before. Above the wood, the Pigeon sleeps deep among her eggs, and not a serpent in the sky anywhere, all night.
At the March Hare's house it is six o'clock, as it always is, forever teatime, but even a stopped clock rests. The tea has gone cool in the cups. The March Hare sleeps with his ears crossed. The Hatter sleeps in his chair with his hat tipped down over his eyes. And between them, in the teapot, in the warm dark, the Dormouse sleeps the sleep he has been practicing all his life, and if you listen you can hear him breathing there, in and out, in and out, the small tide of him, going all night.
In the garden the croquet is over. The flamingoes stand asleep on one leg apiece, folded up like pink umbrellas. The hedgehogs have wandered away into the flowerbeds, every one of them uncroqueted and glad of it. The roses are half white and half red, and nobody minds anymore, and nobody ever really minded. Far off, on his ledge by the sea, the Mock Turtle has sobbed himself into an entirely comfortable sleep, and the sea keeps him company, sighing beautifully, on and on, like soup.
And the cards are gathered up. All fifty two of them, counted and complete, the gardeners and the soldiers, the courtiers and the children, the Knave, quite pardoned, with the tarts beside him, not a crumb of them ever missing, and the King, and the Queen. Squared into a pack, and slid into their box, and set on the shelf. And the Queen of Hearts sleeps in the middle of the deck like everyone else, flat, and quiet, and harmless, dreaming, we may suppose, of roses that were red to begin with.
Last of all, the grin. It hangs a while over the dark garden, the way the first sliver of the moon hangs over a hedge, requiring nothing of anybody. It watches the whole sleeping country with perfect approval, and then it thins, and softens, and goes out, exactly like a lamp at the edge of morning.
And in England, in the real house, the curtains are drawn. Dinah is a warmth at the foot of the bed. And Alice is asleep, of course, in her own bed, with her lessons unlearned and her daisies unpicked, gone back down, perhaps, easily, the way you will go, to where the boats are slow and the tea is endless and the fall never lands. The river runs all night past the bottom of the meadow. It has heard the whole story. It tells it over, very quietly, to the reeds, and the reeds nod.
The storyteller closes the book, but slowly, the way a door is closed on a sleeping house.
The lamp is turned low.
Whatever became of them after, they are safe now, and so are you.
The lantern will be lit again. There are more tales in the old book than there are nights in a year.
Goodnight.