Through the Looking Glass
“Can you answer useful questions?” she said. “How is bread made?”
“I know THAT!” Alice cried eagerly. “You take some flour—”
“Where do you pick the flower?” the White Queen asked. “In a garden, or in the hedges?”
“Well, it isn't PICKED at all,” Alice explained: “it's GROUND —”
“How many acres of ground?” said the White Queen. “You mustn't leave out so many things.”
“Fan her head!” the Red Queen anxiously interrupted. “She'll be feverish after so much thinking.” So they set to work and fanned her with bunches of leaves, till she had to beg them to leave off, it blew her hair about so.
“She's all right again now,” said the Red Queen. “Do you know Languages? What's the French for fiddle-de-dee?”
“Fiddle-de-dee's not English,” Alice replied gravely.
“Who ever said it was?” said the Red Queen.
Alice thought she saw a way out of the difficulty this time. “If you'll tell me what language “fiddle-de-dee” is, I'll tell you the French for it!” she exclaimed triumphantly.
But the Red Queen drew herself up rather stiffly, and said “Queens never make bargains.”
“I wish Queens never asked questions,” Alice thought to herself.
“Don't let us quarrel,” the White Queen said in an anxious tone. “What is the cause of lightning?”
“The cause of lightning,” Alice said very decidedly, for she felt quite certain about this, “is the thunder—no, no!” she hastily corrected herself. “I meant the other way.”
“It's too late to correct it,” said the Red Queen: “when you've once said a thing, that fixes it, and you must take the consequences.”
“Which reminds me—” the White Queen said, looking down and nervously clasping and unclasping her hands, “we had SUCH a thunderstorm last Tuesday—I mean one of the last set of Tuesdays, you know.”
Alice was puzzled. “In OUR country,” she remarked, “there's only one day at a time.”
The Red Queen said, “That's a poor thin way of doing things. Now HERE, we mostly have days and nights two or three at a time, and sometimes in the winter we take as many as five nights together—for warmth, you know.
- Page:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
© 2013-2019 FairyTales
Almost all texts on this website are from the Public Domain.