occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling alternately

without a moment’s pause. The only things in the kitchen that did not

sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat which was sitting on the hearth and

grinning from ear to ear.


“Please would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, for she

was not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first,

“why your cat grins like that?”


“It’s a Cheshire cat,” said the Duchess, “and

that’s why. Pig!”


She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite jumped; but

she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the baby, and not to her, so

she took courage, and went on again:—


“I didn’t know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I

didn’t know that cats could grin.”


“They all can,” said the Duchess; “and most of ’em

do.”


“I don’t know of any that do,” Alice said very politely,

feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation.


“You don’t know much,” said the Duchess; “and

that’s a fact.”


Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought it would be as

well to introduce some other subject of conversation. While she was trying to

fix on one, the cook took the cauldron of soup off the fire, and at once set to

work throwing everything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby—the

fire-irons came first; then followed a shower of saucepans, plates, and dishes.

The Duchess took no notice of them even when they hit her; and the baby was

howling so much already, that it was quite impossible to say whether the blows

hurt it or not.


“Oh, please mind what you’re doing!” cried Alice,

jumping up and down in an agony of terror. “Oh, there goes his

precious nose!” as an unusually large saucepan flew close by it,

and very nearly carried it off.


“If everybody minded their own business,” the Duchess said in a

hoarse growl, “the world would go round a deal faster than it

does.”