herself, “it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes rather

a handsome pig, I think.” And she began thinking over other children she

knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying to herself, “if

one only knew the right way to change them—” when she was a little

startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards

off.


The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she thought:

still it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it

ought to be treated with respect.


“Cheshire Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all

know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.

“Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she went on.

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”


“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the

Cat.


“I don’t much care where—” said Alice.


“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.


“—so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an

explanation.


“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you

only walk long enough.”


Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question.

“What sort of people live about here?”


“In that direction,” the Cat said, waving its right paw

round, “lives a Hatter: and in that direction,” waving the

other paw, “lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both

mad.”


“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.


“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re

all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”


“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.


“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come

here.”


Alice didn’t think that proved it at all; however, she went on “And

how do you know that you’re mad?”


“To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You

grant that?”


“I suppose so,” said Alice.