This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making
her escape; so she set off at once, and ran till she
was quite tired and out of breath, and till the puppy’s
bark sounded quite faint in the distance.
`And yet what a dear little puppy it was!’
said Alice, as she leant against a buttercup to rest
herself, and fanned herself with one of the leaves:
`I should have liked teaching it tricks very much,
if—if I’d only been the right size
to do it! Oh dear! I’d nearly forgotten
that I’ve got to grow up again! Let me
see—how is it to be managed?
I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other;
but the great question is, what?’
The great question certainly was, what? Alice
looked all round her at the flowers and the blades
of grass, but she did not see anything that looked
like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances.
There was a large mushroom growing near her, about
the same height as herself; and when she had looked
under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it,
it occurred to her that she might as well look and
see what was on the top of it.
She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over
the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately
met those of a large caterpillar, that was sitting
on the top with its arms folded, quietly smoking a
long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of
her or of anything else.
Advice from a Caterpillar
The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for
some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar
took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her
in a languid, sleepy voice.
`Who are you?’ said the
Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.
Alice replied, rather shyly, `I—I hardly
know, sir, just at present— at least I
know who I was when I got up this morning, but
I think I must have been changed several times since
then.’
`What do you mean by that?’ said the Caterpillar
sternly. `Explain yourself!’
`I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid,
sir’ said Alice, `because I’m not myself,
you see.’
`I don’t see,’ said the Caterpillar.
`I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,’
Alice replied very politely, `for I can’t understand
it myself to begin with; and being so many different
sizes in a day is very confusing.’
`It isn’t,’ said the Caterpillar.
`Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,’
said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you
will some day, you know—and then after
that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll
feel it a little queer, won’t you?’
`Not a bit,’ said the Caterpillar.
`Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,’
said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer
to me.’
`You!’ said the Caterpillar contemptuously.
`Who are you?’
