“Suppose we change the subject,” the March Hare interrupted,

yawning. “I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us

a story.”


“I’m afraid I don’t know one,” said Alice, rather

alarmed at the proposal.


“Then the Dormouse shall!” they both cried. “Wake up,

Dormouse!” And they pinched it on both sides at once.


The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. “I wasn’t asleep,” he

said in a hoarse, feeble voice: “I heard every word you fellows were

saying.”


“Tell us a story!” said the March Hare.


“Yes, please do!” pleaded Alice.


“And be quick about it,” added the Hatter, “or you’ll

be asleep again before it’s done.”


“Once upon a time there were three little sisters,” the Dormouse

began in a great hurry; “and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie;

and they lived at the bottom of a well—”


“What did they live on?” said Alice, who always took a great

interest in questions of eating and drinking.


“They lived on treacle,” said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute

or two.


“They couldn’t have done that, you know,” Alice gently

remarked; “they’d have been ill.”


“So they were,” said the Dormouse; “very ill.”


Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would

be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: “But why did they

live at the bottom of a well?”


“Take some more tea,” the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.


“I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone,

“so I can’t take more.”


“You mean you can’t take less,” said the Hatter:

“it’s very easy to take more than nothing.”


“Nobody asked your opinion,” said Alice.


“Who’s making personal remarks now?” the Hatter asked

triumphantly.


Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea

and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her

question. “Why did they live at the bottom of a well?”