Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood for fear of their hearing her; and, when she next peeped out, the Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky. Alice went timidly 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 or kettle 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." He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. "But perhaps he can't help it," she said to herself; "his eyes are so _very_ nearly at the top of his head. But at any rate he might answer questions--How am I to get in?" she repeated, aloud. "I shall sit here," the Footman remarked, "till to-morrow--" 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. "--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 was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. "It's really dreadful," she muttered to herself, "the way all the creatures argue. It's enough to drive one crazy!" The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his remark, with variations. "I shall sit here," he said, "on and off, for days and days." "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, which was 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 caldron 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.