They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the distance, sitting

sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as they came nearer, Alice could

hear him sighing as if his heart would break. She pitied him deeply.

“What is his sorrow?” she asked the Gryphon, and the Gryphon

answered, very nearly in the same words as before, “It’s all his

fancy, that: he hasn’t got no sorrow, you know. Come on!”


So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with large eyes full of

tears, but said nothing.


“This here young lady,” said the Gryphon, “she wants for to

know your history, she do.”


“I’ll tell it her,” said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow

tone: “sit down, both of you, and don’t speak a word till

I’ve finished.”


So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to herself,

“I don’t see how he can ever finish, if he doesn’t

begin.” But she waited patiently.


“Once,” said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, “I

was a real Turtle.”


These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional

exclamation of “Hjckrrh!” from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy

sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and saying,

“Thank you, sir, for your interesting story,” but she could not

help thinking there must be more to come, so she sat still and said

nothing.


“When we were little,” the Mock Turtle went on at last, more

calmly, though still sobbing a little now and then, “we went to school in

the sea. The master was an old Turtle—we used to call him

Tortoise—”


“Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn’t one?” Alice

asked.


“We called him Tortoise because he taught us,” said the Mock Turtle

angrily: “really you are very dull!”


“You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple

question,” added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and looked at