“So he did, so he did,” said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both creatures hid their faces in their paws.


“And how many hours a day did you do lessons?” said Alice, in a hurry to change the subject.


“That’s the reason they’re called lessons,” the Gryphon remarked: “because they lessen from day to day.”


This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a little before she made her next remark. “Then the eleventh day must have been a holiday?”


“And how did you manage on the twelfth?” Alice went on eagerly.


“That’s enough about lessons,” the Gryphon interrupted in a very decided tone: “tell her something about the games now.”


The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of one flapper across his eyes. He looked at Alice, and tried to speak, but for a minute or two sobs choked his voice. “Same as if he had a bone in his throat,” said the Gryphon: and it set to work shaking him and punching him in the back. At last the Mock Turtle recovered his voice, and, with tears running down his cheeks, he went on again:—


“You may not have lived much under the sea—” (“I haven’t,” said Alice)—“and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster—” (Alice began to say “I once tasted—” but checked herself hastily, and said “No, never”) “—so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster Quadrille is!”


“No, indeed,” said Alice. “What sort of a dance is it?”


“Why,” said the Gryphon, “you first form into a line along the sea-shore—”


“Each with a lobster as a partner!” cried the Gryphon.


“The lobsters!” shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air.


“—as far out to sea as you can—”


“Turn a somersault in the sea!” cried the Mock Turtle, capering wildly about.


“Change lobsters again!” yelled the Gryphon at the top of its voice.


“Back to land again, and that’s all the first figure,” said the Mock Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice; and the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down again very sadly and quietly, and looked at Alice.


“It must be a very pretty dance,” said Alice timidly.


“Would you like to see a little of it?” said the Mock Turtle.


So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every now and then treading on her toes when they passed too close, and waving their forepaws to mark the time, while the Mock Turtle sang this, very slowly and sadly:—


“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail. “There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail. See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance! They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?


“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!” But the snail replied “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance— Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.


“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied. “There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. The further off from England the nearer is to France— Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?”


“Thank you, it’s a very interesting dance to watch,” said Alice, feeling very glad that it was over at last: “and I do so like that curious song about the whiting!”


“Yes,” said Alice, “I’ve often seen them at dinn—” she checked herself hastily.


“I don’t know where Dinn may be,” said the Mock Turtle, “but if you’ve seen them so often, of course you know what they’re like.”


“I believe so,” Alice replied thoughtfully. “They have their tails in their mouths—and they’re all over crumbs.”


“You’re wrong about the crumbs,” said the Mock Turtle: “crumbs would all wash off in the sea. But they _have_ their tails in their mouths; and the reason is—” here the Mock Turtle yawned and shut his eyes.—“Tell her about the reason and all that,” he said to the Gryphon.


“The reason is,” said the Gryphon, “that they _would_ go with the lobsters to the dance. So they got thrown out to sea. So they had to fall a long way. So they got their tails fast in their mouths. So they couldn’t get them out again. That’s all.”


“Thank you,” said Alice, “it’s very interesting. I never knew so much about a whiting before.”


“I can tell you more than that, if you like,” said the Gryphon. “Do you know why it’s called a whiting?”


“_It does the boots and shoes_,” the Gryphon replied very solemnly.


Alice was thoroughly puzzled. “Does the boots and shoes!” she repeated in a wondering tone.


Alice looked down at them, and considered a little before she gave her answer. “They’re done with blacking, I believe.”


“Boots and shoes under the sea,” the Gryphon went on in a deep voice, “are done with a whiting. Now you know.”


“And what are they made of?” Alice asked in a tone of great curiosity.


“Soles and eels, of course,” the Gryphon replied rather impatiently: “any shrimp could have told you that.”


“If I’d been the whiting,” said Alice, whose thoughts were still running on the song, “I’d have said to the porpoise, ‘Keep back, please: we don’t want _you_ with us!’”


“They were obliged to have him with them,” the Mock Turtle said: “no wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise.”


“Wouldn’t it really?” said Alice in a tone of great surprise.


“Of course not,” said the Mock Turtle: “why, if a fish came to _me_, and told me he was going a journey, I should say ‘With what porpoise?’”


“I mean what I say,” the Mock Turtle replied in an offended tone. And the Gryphon added “Come, let’s hear some of _your_ adventures.”


“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly: “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”


“No, no! The adventures first,” said the Gryphon in an impatient tone: “explanations take such a dreadful time.”


So Alice began telling them her adventures from the time when she first saw the White Rabbit. She was a little nervous about it just at first, the two creatures got so close to her, one on each side, and opened their eyes and mouths so _very_ wide, but she gained courage as she went on. Her listeners were perfectly quiet till she got to the part about her repeating “_You are old, Father William_,” to the Caterpillar, and the words all coming different, and then the Mock Turtle drew a long breath, and said “That’s very curious.”


“It’s all about as curious as it can be,” said the Gryphon.


“It all came different!” the Mock Turtle repeated thoughtfully. “I should like to hear her try and repeat something now. Tell her to begin.” He looked at the Gryphon as if he thought it had some kind of authority over Alice.


“Stand up and repeat ‘’_Tis the voice of the sluggard_,’” said the Gryphon.


“How the creatures order one about, and make one repeat lessons!” thought Alice; “I might as well be at school at once.” However, she got up, and began to repeat it, but her head was so full of the Lobster Quadrille, that she hardly knew what she was saying, and the words came very queer indeed:—


“’Tis the voice of the Lobster; I heard him declare, “You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.” As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.”


[later editions continued as follows When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark, And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark, But, when the tide rises and sharks are around, His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.]


Alice said nothing; she had sat down with her face in her hands, wondering if anything would _ever_ happen in a natural way again.


“I should like to have it explained,” said the Mock Turtle.


“She can’t explain it,” said the Gryphon hastily. “Go on with the next verse.”


“But about his toes?” the Mock Turtle persisted. “How _could_ he turn them out with his nose, you know?”


“It’s the first position in dancing.” Alice said; but was dreadfully puzzled by the whole thing, and longed to change the subject.


“Go on with the next verse,” the Gryphon repeated impatiently: “it begins ‘_I passed by his garden_.’”


Alice did not dare to disobey, though she felt sure it would all come wrong, and she went on in a trembling voice:—


[later editions continued as follows The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat, While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat. When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon, Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon: While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl, And concluded the banquet—]


“What _is_ the use of repeating all that stuff,” the Mock Turtle interrupted, “if you don’t explain it as you go on? It’s by far the most confusing thing _I_ ever heard!”


“Yes, I think you’d better leave off,” said the Gryphon: and Alice was only too glad to do so.


“Shall we try another figure of the Lobster Quadrille?” the Gryphon went on. “Or would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you a song?”


The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes choked with sobs, to sing this:—


“Beautiful Soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a hot tureen! Who for such dainties would not stoop? Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup! Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!     Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!     Beau—ootiful Soo—oop! Soo—oop of the e—e—evening,     Beautiful, beautiful Soup!


“Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish, Game, or any other dish? Who would not give all else for two p ennyworth only of beautiful Soup? Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?     Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!     Beau—ootiful Soo—oop! Soo—oop of the e—e—evening,     Beautiful, beauti—FUL SOUP!”


“Chorus again!” cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Turtle had just begun to repeat it, when a cry of “The trial’s beginning!” was heard in the distance.


“Come on!” cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand, it hurried off, without waiting for the end of the song.


“What trial is it?” Alice panted as she ran; but the Gryphon only answered “Come on!” and ran the faster, while more and more faintly came, carried on the breeze that followed them, the melancholy words:—


The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them—“I wish they’d get the trial done,” she thought, “and hand round the refreshments!” But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her, to pass away the time.


Alice had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. “That’s the judge,” she said to herself, “because of his great wig.”


The judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown over the wig, (look at the frontispiece if you want to see how he did it,) he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming.


“And that’s the jury-box,” thought Alice, “and those twelve creatures,” (she was obliged to say “creatures,” you see, because some of them were animals, and some were birds,) “I suppose they are the jurors.” She said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather proud of it: for she thought, and rightly too, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all. However, “jury-men” would have done just as well.


The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. “What are they doing?” Alice whispered to the Gryphon. “They can’t have anything to put down yet, before the trial’s begun.”


“They’re putting down their names,” the Gryphon whispered in reply, “for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.”


“Stupid things!” Alice began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out, “Silence in the court!” and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking.


Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down “stupid things!” on their slates, and she could even make out that one of them didn’t know how to spell “stupid,” and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. “A nice muddle their slates’ll be in before the trial’s over!” thought Alice.


One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This of course, Alice could _not_ stand, and she went round the court and got behind him, and very soon found an opportunity of taking it away. She did it so quickly that the poor little juror (it was Bill, the Lizard) could not make out at all what had become of it; so, after hunting all about for it, he was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of the day; and this was of very little use, as it left no mark on the slate.


On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:—


“Not yet, not yet!” the Rabbit hastily interrupted. “There’s a great deal to come before that!”


“Call the first witness,” said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, “First witness!”


The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. “I beg pardon, your Majesty,” he began, “for bringing these in: but I hadn’t quite finished my tea when I was sent for.”


The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the court, arm-in-arm with the Dormouse. “Fourteenth of March, I _think_ it was,” he said.


“Write that down,” the King said to the jury, and the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence.


“_Stolen!_” the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact.


Here the Queen put on her spectacles, and began staring at the Hatter, who turned pale and fidgeted.


“Give your evidence,” said the King; “and don’t be nervous, or I’ll have you executed on the spot.”


This did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread-and-butter.


Just at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation, which puzzled her a good deal until she made out what it was: she was beginning to grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave the court; but on second thoughts she decided to remain where she was as long as there was room for her.


“I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so.” said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her. “I can hardly breathe.”


“You’ve no right to grow _here_,” said the Dormouse.


“Yes, but _I_ grow at a reasonable pace,” said the Dormouse: “not in that ridiculous fashion.” And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court.


All this time the Queen had never left off staring at the Hatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she said to one of the officers of the court, “Bring me the list of the singers in the last concert!” on which the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes off.


“I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” the Hatter began, in a trembling voice, “—and I hadn’t begun my tea—not above a week or so—and what with the bread-and-butter getting so thin—and the twinkling of the tea—”


“Of course twinkling begins with a T!” said the King sharply. “Do you take me for a dunce? Go on!”


“I’m a poor man,” the Hatter went on, “and most things twinkled after that—only the March Hare said—”


“I didn’t!” the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.


“Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said—” the Hatter went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too: but the Dormouse denied nothing, being fast asleep.


The miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread-and-butter, and went down on one knee. “I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” he began.


Here one of the guinea-pigs cheered, and was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court. (As that is rather a hard word, I will just explain to you how it was done. They had a large canvas bag, which tied up at the mouth with strings: into this they slipped the guinea-pig, head first, and then sat upon it.)


“I’m glad I’ve seen that done,” thought Alice. “I’ve so often read in the newspapers, at the end of trials, “There was some attempts at applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court,” and I never understood what it meant till now.”


“If that’s all you know about it, you may stand down,” continued the King.


“Come, that finished the guinea-pigs!” thought Alice. “Now we shall get on better.”


“I’d rather finish my tea,” said the Hatter, with an anxious look at the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.


“You may go,” said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court, without even waiting to put his shoes on.


“—and just take his head off outside,” the Queen added to one of the officers: but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.


The next witness was the Duchess’s cook. She carried the pepper-box in her hand, and Alice guessed who it was, even before she got into the court, by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once.


The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said in a low voice, “Your Majesty must cross-examine _this_ witness.”


“Well, if I must, I must,” the King said, with a melancholy air, and, after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, “What are tarts made of?”


“Treacle,” said a sleepy voice behind her.


For some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the Dormouse turned out, and, by the time they had settled down again, the cook had disappeared.


“Never mind!” said the King, with an air of great relief. “Call the next witness.” And he added in an undertone to the Queen, “Really, my dear, _you_ must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my forehead ache!”


Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list, feeling very curious to see what the next witness would be like, “—for they haven’t got much evidence _yet_,” she said to herself. Imagine her surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice, the name “Alice!”


“Here!” cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of goldfish she had accidentally upset the week before.


“Oh, I _beg_ your pardon!” she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and began picking them up again as quickly as she could, for the accident of the goldfish kept running in her head, and she had a vague sort of idea that they must be collected at once and put back into the jury-box, or they would die.


“The trial cannot proceed,” said the King in a very grave voice, “until all the jurymen are back in their proper places—_all_,” he repeated with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice as he said so.


Alice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving its tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon got it out again, and put it right; “not that it signifies much,” she said to herself; “I should think it would be _quite_ as much use in the trial one way up as the other.”


As soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of being upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the accident, all except the Lizard, who seemed too much overcome to do anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the court.


“What do you know about this business?” the King said to Alice.


“That’s very important,” the King said, turning to the jury. They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit interrupted: “_Un_important, your Majesty means, of course,” he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.


“_Un_important, of course, I meant,” the King hastily said, and went on to himself in an undertone,


“important—unimportant—unimportant—important—” as if he were trying which word sounded best.


Some of the jury wrote it down “important,” and some “unimportant.” Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look over their slates; “but it doesn’t matter a bit,” she thought to herself.


At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his note-book, cackled out “Silence!” and read out from his book, “Rule Forty-two. _All persons more than a mile high to leave the court_.”


“It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King.


“Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice.


“There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,” said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry; “this paper has just been picked up.”


“I haven’t opened it yet,” said the White Rabbit, “but it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to—to somebody.”


“It must have been that,” said the King, “unless it was written to nobody, which isn’t usual, you know.”


“It isn’t directed at all,” said the White Rabbit; “in fact, there’s nothing written on the _outside_.” He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and added “It isn’t a letter, after all: it’s a set of verses.”


“No, they’re not,” said the White Rabbit, “and that’s the queerest thing about it.” (The jury all looked puzzled.)


“He must have imitated somebody else’s hand,” said the King. (The jury all brightened up again.)


“Please your Majesty,” said the Knave, “I didn’t write it, and they can’t prove I did: there’s no name signed at the end.”


“If you didn’t sign it,” said the King, “that only makes the matter worse. You _must_ have meant some mischief, or else you’d have signed your name like an honest man.”


There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really clever thing the King had said that day.


“It proves nothing of the sort!” said Alice. “Why, you don’t even know what they’re about!”


“Begin at the beginning,” the King said gravely, “and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”


These were the verses the White Rabbit read:—


“They told me you had been to her,     And mentioned me to him: She gave me a good character,     But said I could not swim.


He sent them word I had not gone     (We know it to be true): If she should push the matter on,     What would become of you?


I gave her one, they gave him two,     You gave us three or more; They all returned from him to you,     Though they were mine before.


If I or she should chance to be     Involved in this affair, He trusts to you to set them free,     Exactly as we were.


My notion was that you had been     (Before she had this fit) An obstacle that came between     Him, and ourselves, and it.


Don’t let him know she liked them best,     For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest,     Between yourself and me.”


“That’s the most important piece of evidence we’ve heard yet,” said the King, rubbing his hands; “so now let the jury—”


“If any one of them can explain it,” said Alice, (she had grown so large in the last few minutes that she wasn’t a bit afraid of interrupting him,) “I’ll give him sixpence. _I_ don’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it.”


The jury all wrote down on their slates, “_She_ doesn’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it,” but none of them attempted to explain the paper.


“If there’s no meaning in it,” said the King, “that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn’t try to find any. And yet I don’t know,” he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at them with one eye; “I seem to see some meaning in them, after all. “—_said I could not swim_—” you can’t swim, can you?” he added, turning to the Knave.


“All right, so far,” said the King, and he went on muttering over the verses to himself: “‘_We know it to be true_—’ that’s the jury, of course—‘_I gave her one, they gave him two_—’ why, that must be what he did with the tarts, you know—”


“But, it goes on ‘_they all returned from him to you_,’” said Alice.


“Why, there they are!” said the King triumphantly, pointing to the tarts on the table. “Nothing can be clearer than _that_. Then again—‘_before she had this fit_—’ you never had fits, my dear, I think?” he said to the Queen.


“Never!” said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at the Lizard as she spoke. (The unfortunate little Bill had left off writing on his slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark; but he now hastily began again, using the ink, that was trickling down his face, as long as it lasted.)


“Then the words don’t _fit_ you,” said the King, looking round the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.


“It’s a pun!” the King added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed, “Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.


“Stuff and nonsense!” said Alice loudly. “The idea of having the sentence first!”


“Off with her head!” the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody moved.


“Who cares for you?” said Alice, (she had grown to her full size by this time.) “You’re nothing but a pack of cards!”


At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her: she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.


“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!” said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, “It _was_ a curious dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it’s getting late.” So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.


But her sister sat still just as she left her, leaning her head on her hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Alice and all her wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, and this was her dream:—


First, she dreamed of little Alice herself, and once again the tiny hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes were looking up into hers—she could hear the very tones of her voice, and see that queer little toss of her head to keep back the wandering hair that _would_ always get into her eyes—and still as she listened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the strange creatures of her little sister’s dream.


The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by—the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool—she could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution—once more the pig-baby was sneezing on the Duchess’s knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it—once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard’s slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable Mock Turtle.


So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds—the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen’s shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy—and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard—while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle’s heavy sobs.


Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make _their_ eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.