alice-in-metamorpov/through-the-looking-glass/wool-and-water.typ

== Wool and Water
Pov/s caught the shawl as pov/s 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 pov/S very
civilly went to meet her with the shawl.

“I'm very glad I happened to be in the way,” pov/S said, as pov/s helped
her to put on her shawl again.

The White Queen only looked at pov/o 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 pov/S felt that if there
was to be any conversation at all, pov/s must manage it pov/r. So pov/s
began rather timidly: “Am I addressing the White Queen?”

“Well, yes, if you call that a-dressing,” The Queen said. “It isn't
#emph[my] notion of the thing, at all.”

Pov/S thought it would never do to have an argument at the very
beginning of their conversation, so pov/s 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 pov/O, if pov/s had
got some one else to dress her, she was so dreadfully untidy. “Every
single thing's crooked,” pov/S thought to pov/r, “and she's all over
pins!---may I put your shawl straight for you?” pov/s 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 #emph[can't] go straight, you know, if you pin it all on one side,”
pov/S said, as pov/s 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.”

Pov/S carefully released the brush, and did pov/p best to get the hair
into order. “Come, you look rather better now!” pov/s 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.”

Pov/S couldn't help laughing, as pov/s said, “I don't want you to hire
#emph[me];---and I don't care for jam.”

“It's very good jam,” said the Queen.

“Well, I don't want any #emph[to-day];, at any rate.”

“You couldn't have it if you #emph[did] want it,” the Queen said. “The
rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday---but never jam to-day.”

“It #emph[must] come sometimes to ‘jam to-day,'” pov/S objected.

“No, it can't,” said the Queen. “It's jam every #emph[other] day: to-day
isn't any #emph[other] day, you know.”

“I don't understand you,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said
pov/S/. “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!” pov/S 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 #emph[mine] only works one way,” pov/S 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 #emph[you] remember best?” pov/S 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?” alt/first and second or
third/pov/S said/said pov/S/.

“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.

Pov/S felt there was no denying #emph[that];. “Of course it would be all
the better,” pov/s said: “but it wouldn't be all the better his being
punished.”

“You're wrong #emph[there];, at any rate,” said the Queen: “were
#emph[you] ever punished?”

“Only for faults,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/.

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

“Yes, but then I #emph[had] done the things I was punished for,”
alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/: “that makes all
the difference.”

“But if you #emph[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.

Pov/S vrB/be/ just beginning to say “There's a mistake somewhere---,”
when the Queen began screaming so loud that pov/s 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
pov/S had to hold both pov/p hands over pov/p ears.

“What #emph[is] the matter?” pov/s said, as soon as there was a chance
of making pov/r heard. “Have you pricked your finger?”

“I haven't pricked it #emph[yet];,” the Queen said, “but I soon
shall---oh, oh, oh!”

“When do you expect to do it?” pov/S 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!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S cried/cried pov/S/.
“You're holding it all crooked!” And pov/s 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 pov/O with a
smile. “Now you understand the way things happen here.”

“But why don't you scream now?” pov/S asked, holding pov/p hands ready
to put over pov/p 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,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/: “I'm so
glad it's gone. I thought it was the night coming on.”

“I wish #emph[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 #emph[very] lonely here!” pov/S said in a melancholy
voice; and at the thought of pov/p loneliness two large tears came
rolling down pov/p cheeks.

“Oh, don't go on like that!” cried the poor Queen, wringing her hands in
despair. “Consider what a great prn/n you are. Consider what a long way
you've come to-day. Consider what o'clock it is. Consider anything, only
don't cry!”

Pov/S could not help laughing at this, even in the midst of pov/p tears.
“Can #emph[you] keep from crying by considering things?” pov/s 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 #emph[you] something to believe. I'm just
one hundred and one, five months and a day.”

“I can't believe #emph[that];!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/.

“Can't you?” the Queen said in a pitying tone. “Try again: draw a long
breath, and shut your eyes.”

Pov/S laughed. “There's no use trying,” pov/s said: “one #emph[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?” pov/S said very politely, as
pov/s crossed the little brook after the Queen.

#line(length: 100%)

“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 pov/S quite started.

Pov/s looked at the Queen, who seemed to have suddenly wrapped herself
up in wool. Pov/S rubbed pov/p eyes, and looked again. Pov/s couldn't
make out what had happened at all. Was pov/s in a shop? And was that
really---was it really a #emph[sheep] that was sitting on the other side
of the counter? Rub as pov/s could, pov/s could make nothing more of it:
pov/s was in a little dark shop, leaning with pov/p elbows on the
counter, and opposite to pov/o was an old Sheep, sitting in an arm-chair
knitting, and every now and then leaving off to look at pov/o 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 #emph[quite] know yet,” pov/S 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 #emph[all] round you---unless you've got eyes
at the back of your head.”

But these, as it happened, pov/S had #emph[not] got: so pov/s contented
pov/r with turning round, looking at the shelves as pov/s 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 pov/s 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!” pov/s said at last in a plaintive tone,
after pov/s 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 pov/s vrb/be/ looking at.
“And this one is the most provoking of all---but I'll tell you what---”
pov/s added, as a sudden thought struck pov/o, “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 pov/S
couldn't help looking at her in great astonishment.

“How #emph[can] she knit with so many?” alt/first and second or
third/pov/S thought to pov/r, puzzled/the puzzled child thought to
pov/r/. “She gets more and more like a porcupine every minute!”

“Can you row?” the Sheep asked, handing pov/o a pair of knitting-needles
as she spoke.

“Yes, a little---but not on land---and not with needles---” pov/S
vrB/be/ beginning to say, when suddenly the needles turned into oars in
pov/p hands, and pov/s found they were in a little boat, gliding along
between banks: so there was nothing for it but to do pov/p 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 pov/S said
nothing, but pulled away. There was something very queer about the
water, pov/s 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!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
thought/thought pov/S/. “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,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/:
“you've said it very often---and very loud. Please, where #emph[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!”

“#emph[Why] do you say ‘feather' so often?” pov/S asked at last, rather
vexed. “I'm not a bird!”

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

This offended pov/S 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!” pov/S cried in a sudden
transport of delight. “There really are---and #emph[such] beauties!”

“You needn't say ‘please' to #emph[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?” pov/S pleaded.
“If you don't mind stopping the boat for a minute.”

“How am #emph[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 pov/S forgot all about the Sheep and the knitting, as pov/s
bent over the side of the boat, with just the ends of pov/p tangled hair
dipping into the water---while with bright eager eyes pov/s caught at
one bunch after another of the darling scented rushes.

“I only hope the boat won't tipple over!” pov/s said to pov/r. “Oh,
#emph[what] a lovely one! Only I couldn't quite reach it.” And it
certainly #emph[did] seem a little provoking (“almost as if it happened
on purpose,” pov/s thought) that, though pov/s managed to pick plenty of
beautiful rushes as the boat glided by, there was always a more lovely
one that pov/s couldn't reach.

“The prettiest are always further!” pov/s 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, pov/s scrambled back into pov/p
place, and began to arrange pov/p new-found treasures.

What mattered it to pov/o just then that the rushes had begun to fade,
and to lose all their scent and beauty, from the very moment that pov/s
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 pov/S 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 #emph[wouldn't] come out again (so pov/S explained
it afterwards), and the consequence was that the handle of it caught
pov/o under the chin, and, in spite of a series of little shrieks of
“Oh, oh, oh!” from alt/first and second or third/pov/S/poor pov/S/, it
swept pov/o straight off the seat, and down among the heap of rushes.

However, pov/s vrb/be/n'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 pov/S got back into pov/p
place, very much relieved to find pov/r still in the boat.

“Was it? I didn't see it,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said
pov/S/, 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?” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/.

“Crabs, and all sorts of things,” said the Sheep: “plenty of choice,
only make up your mind. Now, what #emph[do] you want to buy?”

“To buy!” pov/S 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 pov/s vrb/be/ back again in the little dark shop.

“I should like to buy an egg, please,” pov/s said timidly. “How do you
sell them?”

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

“Then two are cheaper than one?” pov/S said in a surprised tone, taking
out pov/p purse.

“Only you #emph[must] eat them both, if you buy two,” said the Sheep.

“Then I'll have #emph[one];, please,” alt/first and second or
third/pov/S said/said pov/S/, as pov/s put the money down on the
counter. For pov/s thought to pov/r, “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 #emph[why] it wouldn't do?” alt/first and second or
third/pov/S thought/thought pov/S/, as pov/s groped pov/p 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!”

#line(length: 100%)

So pov/s went on, wondering more and more at every step, as everything
turned into a tree the moment pov/s came up to it, and pov/s quite
expected the egg to do the same.