Alice (Fictitious character from Carroll) -- Juvenile fiction; Children's stories; Fantasy fiction; Imaginary places -- Juvenile fiction
“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: “—that begins with an M, 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 that they would call after her:
the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into
the teapot.
“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. I think I may as well go in at once.” And
in she went.
Once more she found herself in the long hall, and 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, and unlocking the door that
led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom
(she had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot
high: then she walked down the little passage: and _then_—she found
herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds
and the cool fountains.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Queen’s Croquet-Ground
A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses
growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily
painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she
went nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard
one of them say, “Look out now, Five! 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!”
“What for?” said the one who had spoken first.
“That’s none of _your_ business, Two!” said Seven.
“Yes, it _is_ his business!” said Five, “and I’ll tell him—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, as she stood watching
them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others looked round also,
and all of them bowed low.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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