Alice (Fictitious character from Carroll) -- Juvenile fiction; Children's stories; Fantasy fiction; Imaginary places -- Juvenile fiction
And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. “They must
go by the carrier,” she thought; “and how funny it’ll seem, sending
presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!
_Alice’s Right Foot, Esq., 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: in fact 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 down on one side, to
look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more
hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Alice, “a great girl like
you,” (she might well say this), “to go on crying in this way! Stop
this moment, I tell you!” But she went on all the same, shedding
gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about
four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.
After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and
she 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: he came trotting along in a
great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, “Oh! the Duchess, the
Duchess! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting!” Alice felt
so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, 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 skurried 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 all the time she went on talking: “Dear, dear! How
queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual.
I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: 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!” And she began
thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as
herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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