Alice (Fictitious character from Carroll) -- Juvenile fiction; Children's stories; Fantasy fiction; Imaginary places -- Juvenile fiction
CHAPTER I. Looking-Glass house
CHAPTER II. The Garden of Live Flowers
CHAPTER III. Looking-Glass Insects
CHAPTER IV. Tweedledum And Tweedledee
CHAPTER V. Wool and Water
CHAPTER VI. Humpty Dumpty
CHAPTER VII. The Lion and the Unicorn
CHAPTER VIII. “It’s my own Invention”
CHAPTER IX. Queen Alice
CHAPTER X. Shaking
CHAPTER XI. Waking
CHAPTER XII. Which Dreamed it?
CHAPTER I.
Looking-Glass house
One thing was certain, that the _white_ kitten had had nothing to do
with it:—it was the black kitten’s fault entirely. For the white kitten
had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of
an hour (and bearing it pretty well, considering); so you see that it
_couldn’t_ have had any hand in the mischief.
The way Dinah washed her children’s faces was this: first she held the
poor thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw
she rubbed its face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and
just now, as I said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which
was lying quite still and trying to purr—no doubt feeling that it was
all meant for its good.
But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon,
and so, while Alice was sitting curled up in a corner of the great
arm-chair, half talking to herself and half asleep, the kitten had been
having a grand game of romps with the ball of worsted Alice had been
trying to wind up, and had been rolling it up and down till it had all
come undone again; and there it was, spread over the hearth-rug, all
knots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail in the
middle.
“Oh, you wicked little thing!” cried Alice, catching up the kitten, and
giving it a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace.
“Really, Dinah ought to have taught you better manners! You _ought_,
Dinah, you know you ought!” she added, looking reproachfully at the old
cat, and speaking in as cross a voice as she could manage—and then she
scrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the worsted
with her, and began winding up the ball again. But she didn’t get on
very fast, as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the kitten,
and sometimes to herself. Kitty sat very demurely on her knee,
pretending to watch the progress of the winding, and now and then
putting out one paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be
glad to help, if it might.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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