The snoring got more distinct every minute, and sounded more like a tune: at last she could even make out the words, and she listened so eagerly that, when the two great heads vanished from her lap, she hardly missed them. She was standing before an arched doorway over which were the words QUEEN ALICE in large letters, and on each side of the arch there was a bell-handle; one was marked “Visitors’ Bell,” and the other “Servants’ Bell.” “I’ll wait till the song’s over,” thought Alice, “and then I’ll ring—the—_which_ bell must I ring?” she went on, very much puzzled by the names. “I’m not a visitor, and I’m not a servant. There _ought_ to be one marked ‘Queen,’ you know—” Just then the door opened a little way, and a creature with a long beak put its head out for a moment and said “No admittance till the week after next!” and shut the door again with a bang. Alice knocked and rang in vain for a long time, but at last, a very old Frog, who was sitting under a tree, got up and hobbled slowly towards her: he was dressed in bright yellow, and had enormous boots on. “What is it, now?” the Frog said in a deep hoarse whisper. Alice turned round, ready to find fault with anybody. “Where’s the servant whose business it is to answer the door?” she began angrily. “Which door?” said the Frog. Alice almost stamped with irritation at the slow drawl in which he spoke. “_This_ door, of course!” The Frog looked at the door with his large dull eyes for a minute: then he went nearer and rubbed it with his thumb, as if he were trying whether the paint would come off; then he looked at Alice. “To answer the door?” he said. “What’s it been asking of?” He was so hoarse that Alice could scarcely hear him. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I talks English, doesn’t I?” the Frog went on. “Or are you deaf? What did it ask you?” “Nothing!” Alice said impatiently. “I’ve been knocking at it!” “Shouldn’t do that—shouldn’t do that—” the Frog muttered. “Vexes it, you know.” Then he went up and gave the door a kick with one of his great feet. “You let _it_ alone,” he panted out, as he hobbled back to his tree, “and it’ll let _you_ alone, you know.” At this moment the door was flung open, and a shrill voice was heard singing: “To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said, ‘I’ve a sceptre in hand, I’ve a crown on my head; Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be, Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me.’” And hundreds of voices joined in the chorus: “Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can, And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran: Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea— And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!” Then followed a confused noise of cheering, and Alice thought to herself, “Thirty times three makes ninety. I wonder if any one’s counting?” In a minute there was silence again, and the same shrill voice sang another verse;