“This must be the wood,” she said thoughtfully to herself, “where things have no names. I wonder what’ll become of _my_ name when I go in? I shouldn’t like to lose it at all—because they’d have to give me another, and it would be almost certain to be an ugly one. But then the fun would be trying to find the creature that had got my old name! That’s just like the advertisements, you know, when people lose dogs—‘_answers to the name of “Dash:” had on a brass collar_’—just fancy calling everything you met ‘Alice,’ till one of them answered! Only they wouldn’t answer at all, if they were wise.” She was rambling on in this way when she reached the wood: it looked very cool and shady. “Well, at any rate it’s a great comfort,” she said as she stepped under the trees, “after being so hot, to get into the—into _what_?” she went on, rather surprised at not being able to think of the word. “I mean to get under the—under the—under _this_, you know!” putting her hand on the trunk of the tree. “What _does_ it call itself, I wonder? I do believe it’s got no name—why, to be sure it hasn’t!” She stood silent for a minute, thinking: then she suddenly began again. “Then it really _has_ happened, after all! And now, who am I? I _will_ remember, if I can! I’m determined to do it!” But being determined didn’t help much, and all she could say, after a great deal of puzzling, was, “L, I _know_ it begins with L!” Just then a Fawn came wandering by: it looked at Alice with its large gentle eyes, but didn’t seem at all frightened. “Here then! Here then!” Alice said, as she held out her hand and tried to stroke it; but it only started back a little, and then stood looking at her again. “What do you call yourself?” the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it had! “I wish I knew!” thought poor Alice. She answered, rather sadly, “Nothing, just now.” “Think again,” it said: “that won’t do.” Alice thought, but nothing came of it. “Please, would you tell me what _you_ call yourself?” she said timidly. “I think that might help a little.” “I’ll tell you, if you’ll move a little further on,” the Fawn said. “I can’t remember here.” So they walked on together though the wood, Alice with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came out into another open field, and here the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook itself free from Alice’s arms. “I’m a Fawn!” it cried out in a voice of delight, “and, dear me! you’re a human child!” A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full speed. Alice stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with vexation at having lost her dear little fellow-traveller so suddenly. “However, I know my name now.” she said, “that’s _some_ comfort. Alice—Alice—I won’t forget it again. And now, which of these finger-posts ought I to follow, I wonder?”