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some time without interrupting it.
    “They were learning to draw,” the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; “and they drew all manner of things—everything that begins with an M—”
    “Why with an M?” said Alice.
    “Why not?” said the March Hare.
    Alice was silent.
    The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with a little shriek, and went on: “—that begins with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness—you know you say things are ‘much of a muchness’—did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness!”
    “Really, now you ask me,” said Alice, very much confused, “I don’t think—”
    “Then you shouldn’t talk,” said the Hatter.
    This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in great disgust, and walked off: the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her: the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.

“At any rate I’ll never go there again!” said Alice, as she picked her way through the wood. “It’s the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!”
    Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it. “That’s very curious!” she thought. “But everything’s curious today. I think I may as well go in at once.” And in she went.
    Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass table. “Now, I’ll manage better this time,” she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot high: then she walked down the little passage: and then —she found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.

Chapter VIII
    The Queen’s Croquet-Ground
     

    A LARGE rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them, and, just as she came up to them, she heard one of them say “Look out now, Five! Don’t go splashing paint over me like that!”
    “I couldn’t help it,” said Five, in a sulky tone. “Seven jogged my elbow.”
    On which Seven looked up and said, “That’s right, Five! Always lay the blame on others!”

“ You’d better not talk!” said Five. “I heard the Queen say only yesterday you deserved to be beheaded.”
    “What for?” said the one who had spoken first.
    “That’s none of your business, Two!” said Seven.
    “Yes, it is his business!” said Five. “And I’ll tell him—it was for bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.”
    Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun “Well, of all the unjust things—” when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, as she stood watching them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others looked round also, and all of them bowed low.
    “Would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, “why you are painting those roses?”
    Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began, in a low voice, “Why the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and, if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we’re doing our best, afore she comes, to—” At this moment, Five, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out “The Queen! The Queen!” and the three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces. There was a sound of many footsteps, and Alice looked