open, gazing up into the roof of the court.


“What do you know about this business?” the King said to Alice.


“Nothing,” said Alice.


“Nothing whatever?” persisted the King.


“Nothing whatever,” said Alice.


“That’s very important,” the King said, turning to the jury.

They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White

Rabbit interrupted: “Unimportant, your Majesty means, of

course,” he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces

at him as he spoke.


“Unimportant, of course, I meant,” the King hastily said,

and went on to himself in an undertone,


“important—unimportant—unimportant—important—”

as if he were trying which word sounded best.


Some of the jury wrote it down “important,” and some

“unimportant.” Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look

over their slates; “but it doesn’t matter a bit,” she thought

to herself.


At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his

note-book, cackled out “Silence!” and read out from his book,

“Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the

court.”


Everybody looked at Alice.


“I’m not a mile high,” said Alice.


“You are,” said the King.


“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen.


“Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,” said Alice: “besides,

that’s not a regular rule: you invented it just now.”


“It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King.


“Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice.


The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. “Consider your

verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.


“There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,”

said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry; “this paper has just

been picked up.”


“What’s in it?” said the Queen.


“I haven’t opened it yet,” said the White Rabbit, “but

it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to—to somebody.”