"Well, be off, then!" said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller, and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.
It was so long since she had been anything near the right size that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual, "Come, there's half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However, I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden--how _is_ that to be done, I wonder?" As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high.
"Whoever lives there," thought Alice, "it'll never do to come upon them _this_ size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!" So she began nibbling at the right-hand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.
PIG AND PEPPER
By Lewis Carroll
For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and wondering what to do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the wood--(she considered him to be a footman because he was in livery: otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a fish)--and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. It was opened by another footman in livery, with a round face, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled all over their heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all about, and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.
The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter, nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other, saying, in a solemn tone, "For the Duchess. An invitation from the Queen to play croquet." The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little, "From the Queen.
An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet."
Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.
Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood for fear of their hearing her; and, when she next peeped out, the Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.
Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.
"There's no sort of use in knocking," said the Footman, "and that for two reasons. First, because I'm on the same side of the door as you are: secondly, because they're making such a noise inside, no one could possibly hear you." And certainly there _was_ a most extraordinary noise going on within--a constant howling and sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to pieces.
"Please, then," said Alice, "how am I to get in?"
"There might be some sense in your knocking," the Footman went on, without attending to her, "if we had the door between us. For instance, if you were _inside_, you might knock, and I could let you out, you know." He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. "But perhaps he can't help it," she said to herself; "his eyes are so _very_ nearly at the top of his head. But at any rate he might answer questions--How am I to get in?" she repeated, aloud.
"I shall sit here," the Footman remarked, "till to-morrow--"
At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came skimming out, straight at the Footman's head: it just grazed his nose, and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him.
"--or next day, maybe," the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly as if nothing had happened.
"How am I to get in?" asked Alice again, in a louder tone.
"_Are_ you to get in at all?" said the Footman. "That's the first question, you know."
It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. "It's really dreadful," she muttered to herself, "the way all the creatures argue.
It's enough to drive one crazy!"
The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his remark, with variations. "I shall sit here," he said, "on and off, for days and days."
"But what am _I_ to do?" said Alice.
"Anything you like," said the Footman, and began whistling.
"Oh, there's no use in talking to him," said Alice desperately: "he's perfectly idiotic!" And she opened the door and went in.
The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from one end to the other; the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby: the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large caldron which seemed to be full of soup.
"There's certainly too much pepper in that soup!" Alice said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the _air_. Even the Duchess sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling alternately without a moment's pause. The only two creatures in the kitchen, that did _not_ sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat, which was lying on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.
"Please would you tell me," said Alice, a little timidly, for she was not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first, "why your cat grins like that?"
"It's a Cheshire-Cat," said the Duchess, "and that's why. Pig!"
She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the baby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on again:
"I didn't know that Cheshire-Cats always grinned; in fact, I didn't know that cats _would_ grin."
"They all can," said the Duchess; "and most of 'em do."
"I don't know of any that do," Alice said, very politely, feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation.
"You don't know much," said the Duchess; "and that's a fact."
Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought it would be as well to introduce some other subject of conversation.
While she was trying to fix on one, the cook took the caldron of soup off the fire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby--the fire-irons came first; then followed a shower of saucepans, plates, and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of them even when they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already, that it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.
"Oh, _please_ mind what you're doing!" cried Alice, jumping up and down in an agony of terror. "Oh, there goes his _precious_ nose!" as an unusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly carried it off.
"If everybody minded their own business," the Duchess said, in a hoarse growl, "the world would go around a deal faster than it does."
"Which would _not_ be an advantage," said Alice, who felt very glad to get an opportunity of showing off a little of her knowledge. "Just think what work it would make with the day and night! You see the earth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on its axis--"
"Talking of axes," said the Duchess, "chop off her head!"
Alice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant to take the hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and seemed not to be listening, so she went on again: "Twenty-four hours, I _think_; or is it twelve? I--"
"Oh, don't bother _me_!" said the Duchess. "I never could abide figures!" And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at the end of every line:--
"Speak roughly to your little boy, And beat him when he sneezes: He only does it to annoy, Because he knows it teases."
(in which the cook and the baby joined):
"Wow! wow! wow!"
While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:
"I speak severely to my boy, I beat him when he sneezes; For he can thoroughly enjoy The pepper when he pleases!"