In those days Addison's Walk had, in season, its banks covered with pretty periwinkles--white and blue--and there were strict laws not to pick them. I, childlike, could not resist the temptation, and one day, Mary being seated at work near by, "Ducky," left to play alone, gathered a bunch of the coveted beauties, hid them under her little spencer (a small coat of those days), and trotted by Mary's side, half-frightened, to the lodge of the gruff old porter, who sat reading his paper, glancing always at the passers through his doorway. Nothing escaped his notice. Mary went through and then I, half-trembling, with the periwinkles closely clasped to my side. The street gained, I was safe, but (alas! there is always a "but"), Mr. Dodgson, going to see a friend in the college, came up to me, saying, "Why so flushed, little Alice? And what is that hanging below your jacket?" The flowers had not gained anything by their hot pressure under my jacket, and it was a very much ashamed, sad little girl who stood convicted of flower-theft! "Ducky, come with me"; and, taking my unwilling hand, he led me back to the grim old custodian of the cloisters, to whom I had to deliver up the now faded periwinkles, and promise future goodness and "never to do so any more." Then Mary took me in hand, and the quiet little "weep" I indulged in while going home was much enhanced by the sound of Mary's voice telling me: "Miss Ducky, you are an awful naughty child; you have quite disgusted Mr. Dodgson, and you shall go to your bed without supper." This threat she carried out. On Sunday afternoons father used to take me for a walk to St. John's College gardens, or, perhaps, New College gardens, and as they--father and Mr. Dodgson--were great friends, he often joined us. And how I enjoyed all the bright sunshine and the shade of the mulberry-trees! And then father, tired from his morning services, snatched a "forty-winks." I revelled in stories of small men and maidens, stories so entertaining that I thought I could never read "line upon line" any more; and then there were the stories of the other little Alice who bore the same initials as myself, and who was so pretty and behaved so well; who sat before the wonderful photographing machine and came out a pretty little beggar girl! I am afraid I was rather envious of this child and a tiny bit jealous, but I took the greatest interest in what she did and said. And I remember all this perfectly.