“And then there’s the Butterfly,” Alice went on, after she had taken a good look at the insect with its head on fire, and had thought to herself, “I wonder if that’s the reason insects are so fond of flying into candles—because they want to turn into Snap-dragon-flies!” “Crawling at your feet,” said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some alarm), “you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin slices of Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.” “And what does _it_ live on?” “Weak tea with cream in it.” A new difficulty came into Alice’s head. “Supposing it couldn’t find any?” she suggested. “Then it would die, of course.” “But that must happen very often,” Alice remarked thoughtfully. “It always happens,” said the Gnat. After this, Alice was silent for a minute or two, pondering. The Gnat amused itself meanwhile by humming round and round her head: at last it settled again and remarked, “I suppose you don’t want to lose your name?” “No, indeed,” Alice said, a little anxiously. “And yet I don’t know,” the Gnat went on in a careless tone: “only think how convenient it would be if you could manage to go home without it! For instance, if the governess wanted to call you to your lessons, she would call out ‘come here—,’ and there she would have to leave off, because there wouldn’t be any name for her to call, and of course you wouldn’t have to go, you know.” “That would never do, I’m sure,” said Alice: “the governess would never think of excusing me lessons for that. If she couldn’t remember my name, she’d call me ‘Miss!’ as the servants do.” “Well, if she said ‘Miss,’ and didn’t say anything more,” the Gnat remarked, “of course you’d miss your lessons. That’s a joke. I wish _you_ had made it.” “Why do you wish _I_ had made it?” Alice asked. “It’s a very bad one.” But the Gnat only sighed deeply, while two large tears came rolling down its cheeks. “You shouldn’t make jokes,” Alice said, “if it makes you so unhappy.” Then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and this time the poor Gnat really seemed to have sighed itself away, for, when Alice looked up, there was nothing whatever to be seen on the twig, and, as she was getting quite chilly with sitting still so long, she got up and walked on. She very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the other side of it: it looked much darker than the last wood, and Alice felt a _little_ timid about going into it. However, on second thoughts, she made up her mind to go on: “for I certainly won’t go _back_,” she thought to herself, and this was the only way to the Eighth Square.