to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past

one, time for dinner!”


(“I only wish it was,” the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)


“That would be grand, certainly,” said Alice thoughtfully:

“but then—I shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.”


“Not at first, perhaps,” said the Hatter: “but you could keep

it to half-past one as long as you liked.”


“Is that the way you manage?” Alice asked.


The Hatter shook his head mournfully. “Not I!” he replied.

“We quarrelled last March—just before he went mad, you

know—” (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,)

“—it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I

had to sing


‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!

How I wonder what you’re at!’


You know the song, perhaps?”


“I’ve heard something like it,” said Alice.


“It goes on, you know,” the Hatter continued, “in this

way:—


‘Up above the world you fly,

Like a tea-tray in the sky.

                    Twinkle, twinkle—’”


Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep

“Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle—” and went on so

long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.


“Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,” said the Hatter,

“when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, ‘He’s murdering the

time! Off with his head!’”


“How dreadfully savage!” exclaimed Alice.


“And ever since that,” the Hatter went on in a mournful tone,

“he won’t do a thing I ask! It’s always six o’clock

now.”


A bright idea came into Alice’s head. “Is that the reason so many

tea-things are put out here?” she asked.


“Yes, that’s it,” said the Hatter with a sigh:

“it’s always tea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things

between whiles.”


“Then you keep moving round, I suppose?” said Alice.


“Exactly so,” said the Hatter: “as the things get used

up.”


“But what happens when you come to the beginning again?” Alice

ventured to ask.