next, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the wood—(she

considered him to be a footman because he was in livery: otherwise, judging by

his face only, she would have called him a fish)—and rapped loudly at the

door with his knuckles. It was opened by another footman in livery, with a

round face, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had

powdered hair that curled all over their heads. She felt very curious to know

what it was all about, and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.


The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter, nearly

as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other, saying, in a solemn

tone, “For the Duchess. An invitation from the Queen to play

croquet.” The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn tone, only

changing the order of the words a little, “From the Queen. An invitation

for the Duchess to play croquet.”


Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.


Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood for fear

of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out the Fish-Footman was gone,

and the other was sitting on the ground near the door, staring stupidly up into

the sky.


Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.


“There’s no sort of use in knocking,” said the Footman,

“and that for two reasons. First, because I’m on the same side of

the door as you are; secondly, because they’re making such a noise

inside, no one could possibly hear you.” And certainly there was a

most extraordinary noise going on within—a constant howling and sneezing,

and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to

pieces.


“Please, then,” said Alice, “how am I to get in?”


“There might be some sense in your knocking,” the Footman went on

without attending to her, “if we had the door between us. For instance,