Kabanata Kabanata 5 · Wool and Water

. Wool and Water

She caught the shawl as she spoke, and looked about for the owner: in

another moment the White Queen came running wildly through the wood,

with both arms stretched out wide, as if she were flying, and Alice

very civilly went to meet her with the shawl.

“I’m very glad I happened to be in the way,” Alice said, as she helped

her to put on her shawl again.

The White Queen only looked at her in a helpless frightened sort of

way, and kept repeating something in a whisper to herself that sounded

like “bread-and-butter, bread-and-butter,” and Alice felt that if there

was to be any conversation at all, she must manage it herself. So she

began rather timidly: “Am I addressing the White Queen?”

“Well, yes, if you call that a-dressing,” The Queen said. “It isn’t

_my_ notion of the thing, at all.”

Alice thought it would never do to have an argument at the very

beginning of their conversation, so she smiled and said, “If your

Majesty will only tell me the right way to begin, I’ll do it as well as

I can.”

“But I don’t want it done at all!” groaned the poor Queen. “I’ve been

a-dressing myself for the last two hours.”

It would have been all the better, as it seemed to Alice, if she had

got some one else to dress her, she was so dreadfully untidy. “Every

single thing’s crooked,” Alice thought to herself, “and she’s all over

pins!—may I put your shawl straight for you?” she added aloud.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with it!” the Queen said, in a

melancholy voice. “It’s out of temper, I think. I’ve pinned it here,

and I’ve pinned it there, but there’s no pleasing it!”

“It _can’t_ go straight, you know, if you pin it all on one side,”

Alice said, as she gently put it right for her; “and, dear me, what a

state your hair is in!”

“The brush has got entangled in it!” the Queen said with a sigh. “And I

lost the comb yesterday.”

Alice carefully released the brush, and did her best to get the hair

into order. “Come, you look rather better now!” she said, after

altering most of the pins. “But really you should have a lady’s maid!”

“I’m sure I’ll take you with pleasure!” the Queen said. “Twopence a

week, and jam every other day.”

Alice couldn’t help laughing, as she said, “I don’t want you to hire

_me_—and I don’t care for jam.”

“It’s very good jam,” said the Queen.

“Well, I don’t want any _to-day_, at any rate.”

“You couldn’t have it if you _did_ want it,” the Queen said. “The rule

is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday—but never jam to-day.”

“It _must_ come sometimes to ‘jam to-day,’” Alice objected.

“No, it can’t,” said the Queen. “It’s jam every _other_ day: to-day

isn’t any _other_ day, you know.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Alice. “It’s dreadfully confusing!”

“That’s the effect of living backwards,” the Queen said kindly: “it

always makes one a little giddy at first—”

“Living backwards!” Alice repeated in great astonishment. “I never

heard of such a thing!”

“—but there’s one great advantage in it, that one’s memory works both

ways.”

“I’m sure _mine_ only works one way,” Alice remarked. “I can’t remember

things before they happen.”

“It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,” the Queen

remarked.

“What sort of things do _you_ remember best?” Alice ventured to ask.

“Oh, things that happened the week after next,” the Queen replied in a

careless tone. “For instance, now,” she went on, sticking a large piece

of plaster on her finger as she spoke, “there’s the King’s Messenger.

He’s in prison now, being punished: and the trial doesn’t even begin

till next Wednesday: and of course the crime comes last of all.”

“Suppose he never commits the crime?” said Alice.

“That would be all the better, wouldn’t it?” the Queen said, as she

bound the plaster round her finger with a bit of ribbon.

Alice felt there was no denying _that_. “Of course it would be all the

better,” she said: “but it wouldn’t be all the better his being

punished.”

“You’re wrong _there_, at any rate,” said the Queen: “were _you_ ever

punished?”

“Only for faults,” said Alice.

“And you were all the better for it, I know!” the Queen said

triumphantly.

“Yes, but then I _had_ done the things I was punished for,” said Alice:

“that makes all the difference.”

“But if you _hadn’t_ done them,” the Queen said, “that would have been

better still; better, and better, and better!” Her voice went higher

with each “better,” till it got quite to a squeak at last.

Alice was just beginning to say “There’s a mistake somewhere—,” when

the Queen began screaming so loud that she had to leave the sentence

unfinished. “Oh, oh, oh!” shouted the Queen, shaking her hand about as

if she wanted to shake it off. “My finger’s bleeding! Oh, oh, oh, oh!”

Her screams were so exactly like the whistle of a steam-engine, that

Alice had to hold both her hands over her ears.

“What _is_ the matter?” she said, as soon as there was a chance of

making herself heard. “Have you pricked your finger?”

“I haven’t pricked it _yet_,” the Queen said, “but I soon shall—oh, oh,

oh!”

“When do you expect to do it?” Alice asked, feeling very much inclined

to laugh.

“When I fasten my shawl again,” the poor Queen groaned out: “the brooch

will come undone directly. Oh, oh!” As she said the words the brooch

flew open, and the Queen clutched wildly at it, and tried to clasp it

again.

“Take care!” cried Alice. “You’re holding it all crooked!” And she

caught at the brooch; but it was too late: the pin had slipped, and the

Queen had pricked her finger.

“That accounts for the bleeding, you see,” she said to Alice with a

smile. “Now you understand the way things happen here.”

“But why don’t you scream now?” Alice asked, holding her hands ready to

put over her ears again.

“Why, I’ve done all the screaming already,” said the Queen. “What would

be the good of having it all over again?”

By this time it was getting light. “The crow must have flown away, I

think,” said Alice: “I’m so glad it’s gone. I thought it was the night

coming on.”

“I wish _I_ could manage to be glad!” the Queen said. “Only I never can

remember the rule. You must be very happy, living in this wood, and

being glad whenever you like!”

“Only it is so _very_ lonely here!” Alice said in a melancholy voice;

and at the thought of her loneliness two large tears came rolling down

her cheeks.

“Oh, don’t go on like that!” cried the poor Queen, wringing her hands

in despair. “Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long

way you’ve come to-day. Consider what o’clock it is. Consider anything,

only don’t cry!”

Alice could not help laughing at this, even in the midst of her tears.

“Can _you_ keep from crying by considering things?” she asked.

“That’s the way it’s done,” the Queen said with great decision: “nobody

can do two things at once, you know. Let’s consider your age to begin

with—how old are you?”

“I’m seven and a half exactly.”

“You needn’t say ‘exactually,’” the Queen remarked: “I can believe it

without that. Now I’ll give _you_ something to believe. I’m just one

hundred and one, five months and a day.”

“I can’t believe _that_!” said Alice.

“Can’t you?” the Queen said in a pitying tone. “Try again: draw a long

breath, and shut your eyes.”

Alice laughed. “There’s no use trying,” she said: “one _can’t_ believe

impossible things.”

“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was

your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve

believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes

the shawl again!”

The brooch had come undone as she spoke, and a sudden gust of wind blew

the Queen’s shawl across a little brook. The Queen spread out her arms

again, and went flying after it, and this time she succeeded in

catching it for herself. “I’ve got it!” she cried in a triumphant tone.

“Now you shall see me pin it on again, all by myself!”

“Then I hope your finger is better now?” Alice said very politely, as

she crossed the little brook after the Queen.

* * * * * * *

* * * * * *

* * * * * * *

“Oh, much better!” cried the Queen, her voice rising to a squeak as she

went on. “Much be-etter! Be-etter! Be-e-e-etter! Be-e-ehh!” The last

word ended in a long bleat, so like a sheep that Alice quite started.

She looked at the Queen, who seemed to have suddenly wrapped herself up

in wool. Alice rubbed her eyes, and looked again. She couldn’t make out

what had happened at all. Was she in a shop? And was that really—was it

really a _sheep_ that was sitting on the other side of the counter? Rub

as she could, she could make nothing more of it: she was in a little

dark shop, leaning with her elbows on the counter, and opposite to her

was an old Sheep, sitting in an arm-chair knitting, and every now and

then leaving off to look at her through a great pair of spectacles.

“What is it you want to buy?” the Sheep said at last, looking up for a

moment from her knitting.

“I don’t _quite_ know yet,” Alice said, very gently. “I should like to

look all round me first, if I might.”

“You may look in front of you, and on both sides, if you like,” said

the Sheep: “but you can’t look _all_ round you—unless you’ve got eyes

at the back of your head.”

But these, as it happened, Alice had _not_ got: so she contented

herself with turning round, looking at the shelves as she came to them.

The shop seemed to be full of all manner of curious things—but the

oddest part of it all was, that whenever she looked hard at any shelf,

to make out exactly what it had on it, that particular shelf was always

quite empty: though the others round it were crowded as full as they

could hold.

“Things flow about so here!” she said at last in a plaintive tone,

after she had spent a minute or so in vainly pursuing a large bright

thing, that looked sometimes like a doll and sometimes like a work-box,

and was always in the shelf next above the one she was looking at. “And

this one is the most provoking of all—but I’ll tell you what—” she

added, as a sudden thought struck her, “I’ll follow it up to the very

top shelf of all. It’ll puzzle it to go through the ceiling, I expect!”

But even this plan failed: the “thing” went through the ceiling as

quietly as possible, as if it were quite used to it.

“Are you a child or a teetotum?” the Sheep said, as she took up another

pair of needles. “You’ll make me giddy soon, if you go on turning round

like that.” She was now working with fourteen pairs at once, and Alice

couldn’t help looking at her in great astonishment.

“How _can_ she knit with so many?” the puzzled child thought to

herself. “She gets more and more like a porcupine every minute!”

“Can you row?” the Sheep asked, handing her a pair of knitting-needles

as she spoke.

“Yes, a little—but not on land—and not with needles—” Alice was

beginning to say, when suddenly the needles turned into oars in her

hands, and she found they were in a little boat, gliding along between

banks: so there was nothing for it but to do her best.

“Feather!” cried the Sheep, as she took up another pair of needles.

This didn’t sound like a remark that needed any answer, so Alice said

nothing, but pulled away. There was something very queer about the

water, she thought, as every now and then the oars got fast in it, and

would hardly come out again.

“Feather! Feather!” the Sheep cried again, taking more needles. “You’ll

be catching a crab directly.”

“A dear little crab!” thought Alice. “I should like that.”

“Didn’t you hear me say ‘Feather’?” the Sheep cried angrily, taking up

quite a bunch of needles.

“Indeed I did,” said Alice: “you’ve said it very often—and very loud.

Please, where _are_ the crabs?”

“In the water, of course!” said the Sheep, sticking some of the needles

into her hair, as her hands were full. “Feather, I say!”

“_Why_ do you say ‘feather’ so often?” Alice asked at last, rather

vexed. “I’m not a bird!”

“You are,” said the Sheep: “you’re a little goose.”

This offended Alice a little, so there was no more conversation for a

minute or two, while the boat glided gently on, sometimes among beds of

weeds (which made the oars stick fast in the water, worse then ever),

and sometimes under trees, but always with the same tall river-banks

frowning over their heads.

“Oh, please! There are some scented rushes!” Alice cried in a sudden

transport of delight. “There really are—and _such_ beauties!”

“You needn’t say ‘please’ to _me_ about ’em,” the Sheep said, without

looking up from her knitting: “I didn’t put ’em there, and I’m not

going to take ’em away.”

“No, but I meant—please, may we wait and pick some?” Alice pleaded. “If

you don’t mind stopping the boat for a minute.”

“How am _I_ to stop it?” said the Sheep. “If you leave off rowing,

it’ll stop of itself.”

So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would, till it

glided gently in among the waving rushes. And then the little sleeves

were carefully rolled up, and the little arms were plunged in

elbow-deep to get the rushes a good long way down before breaking them

off—and for a while Alice forgot all about the Sheep and the knitting,

as she bent over the side of the boat, with just the ends of her

tangled hair dipping into the water—while with bright eager eyes she

caught at one bunch after another of the darling scented rushes.

“I only hope the boat won’t tipple over!” she said to herself. “Oh,

_what_ a lovely one! Only I couldn’t quite reach it.” And it certainly

_did_ seem a little provoking (“almost as if it happened on purpose,”

she thought) that, though she managed to pick plenty of beautiful

rushes as the boat glided by, there was always a more lovely one that

she couldn’t reach.

“The prettiest are always further!” she said at last, with a sigh at

the obstinacy of the rushes in growing so far off, as, with flushed

cheeks and dripping hair and hands, she scrambled back into her place,

and began to arrange her new-found treasures.

What mattered it to her just then that the rushes had begun to fade,

and to lose all their scent and beauty, from the very moment that she

picked them? Even real scented rushes, you know, last only a very

little while—and these, being dream-rushes, melted away almost like

snow, as they lay in heaps at her feet—but Alice hardly noticed this,

there were so many other curious things to think about.

They hadn’t gone much farther before the blade of one of the oars got

fast in the water and _wouldn’t_ come out again (so Alice explained it

afterwards), and the consequence was that the handle of it caught her

under the chin, and, in spite of a series of little shrieks of “Oh, oh,

oh!” from poor Alice, it swept her straight off the seat, and down

among the heap of rushes.

However, she wasn’t hurt, and was soon up again: the Sheep went on with

her knitting all the while, just as if nothing had happened. “That was

a nice crab you caught!” she remarked, as Alice got back into her

place, very much relieved to find herself still in the boat.

“Was it? I didn’t see it,” Said Alice, peeping cautiously over the side

of the boat into the dark water. “I wish it hadn’t let go—I should so

like to see a little crab to take home with me!” But the Sheep only

laughed scornfully, and went on with her knitting.

“Are there many crabs here?” said Alice.

“Crabs, and all sorts of things,” said the Sheep: “plenty of choice,

only make up your mind. Now, what _do_ you want to buy?”

“To buy!” Alice echoed in a tone that was half astonished and half

frightened—for the oars, and the boat, and the river, had vanished all

in a moment, and she was back again in the little dark shop.

“I should like to buy an egg, please,” she said timidly. “How do you

sell them?”

“Fivepence farthing for one—Twopence for two,” the Sheep replied.

“Then two are cheaper than one?” Alice said in a surprised tone, taking

out her purse.

“Only you _must_ eat them both, if you buy two,” said the Sheep.

“Then I’ll have _one_, please,” said Alice, as she put the money down

on the counter. For she thought to herself, “They mightn’t be at all

nice, you know.”

The Sheep took the money, and put it away in a box: then she said “I

never put things into people’s hands—that would never do—you must get

it for yourself.” And so saying, she went off to the other end of the

shop, and set the egg upright on a shelf.

“I wonder _why_ it wouldn’t do?” thought Alice, as she groped her way

among the tables and chairs, for the shop was very dark towards the

end. “The egg seems to get further away the more I walk towards it. Let

me see, is this a chair? Why, it’s got branches, I declare! How very

odd to find trees growing here! And actually here’s a little brook!

Well, this is the very queerest shop I ever saw!”

* * * * * * *

* * * * * *

* * * * * * *

So she went on, wondering more and more at every step, as everything

turned into a tree the moment she came up to it, and she quite expected

the egg to do the same.