:::
"Always tea time, and never time enough to wash up. That's too bad," Alice
said, as she walked alongside the lanky, shambling man. The afternoon was
a warm and golden one. Large rays of light shone through the trees on
either side of the road, splotching and dappling the grass into spots and
patterns. A hazy dust, kicked up by their feet on the dusty road, lingered
in the air behind them, little brown motes caught in the sunlight.
"What do you do when you run out of clean things to use?" she asked.
"I think it high time we changed the subject," The Hatter announced loudly. Alice sighed, though she had given up on straight answers long ago. She moved away from him.
"Where are you going now?" he called as she began to walk off the path and into the woods.
"I simply must get into that lovely garden I saw earlier," she said over her shoulder to him. "I know it's somewhere about here, and I'm not stopping until I find it." She pushed back the branches of a large, thick fir and stepped into the shade of the forest.
"Come back!" the Hatter shouted suddenly. Being a good girl, Alice did as she was told and obediently trotted back towards the road. The Hatter smiled at her in a way that made her shiver. He was so very ugly, and his left eye had a habit of getting about by itself every so often, regardless of what direction the other was pointed in. He lifted his hat politely and offered her his arm.
"Let us talk awhile and perhaps I can help you find that garden," he said amicably. Not wishing to be rude, Alice took his arm reluctantly. His tweed jacket was worn and darned in several places. She turned away in apparent interest at a large flowerbed that had appeared by the wayside, though really she could not stand the overbearing smell of tobacco that hung close about his clothes and hair. They walked on sometime in silence and Alice was just beginning to regret coming back to him, when he presently began to speak again.
"How old are you?" he asked. Alice replied, "Eleven and a half." She was very proud of that half a year, which she often used to lord it over her younger cousins.
"How old aren't you?" the Hatter asked quickly, with a sidelong look at her.
"Er..." Alice thought to herself. "I'm not eighty-two years old," she finished truthfully.
The Hatter nodded to himself approvingly. "That's a good age not to be," he declared seriously, then glanced behind them down the path, as if anxious not to be overheard. "Do you know how old the Queen is?" he continued in a low voice.
"No," Alice responded, mystified. The hatter winked at her in a very disconcerting manner, then put his mouth to her ear quite confidentially. Alice wrinkled her nose at the awful smell of stale bread and pipe-tobacco that blew over her.
"The Queen," he whispered, "is seven-hundred and ninety-three years old."
Alice started. "That's impossible!" she declared. "At least.I've never heard of someone living that long. I don't believe it can be done." She shuddered quite perceptibly as the Hatter put his free hand on hers in what no doubt was meant to be a soothing manner.
"Don't worry your head about impossible ideas, my dear," he said silkily. "They'll only put your mind out of sorts and at odds with itself, which is no state to be in. Better to believe what you're told and have no battles over impossibilities raging in your head. Might cause an undue amount of damage otherwise."
Perhaps that's why philosophers always seem so serious and bad-tempered, Alice thought to herself. They have so much to debate in their heads, that it gives them headaches from all the fighting.
"What are you thinking of, my dear?" the Hatter smiled down at Alice. She shook her head, as if to relieve it of any dangerously impossible ides.
"I was only thinking about not thinking about impossibilities," she said after a pause. The Hatter smiled wider and patted her head knowingly. Alice found that, like impossible ideas, if she just didn't think about the smell of pipe that came from him, it didn't bother her very much.
"The reason," the Hatter continued, "that I mention the Queen's age is because she is no longer in a state to be the Head of Wonderland. I'm sure you agree that no one that old would be capable of running a country by herself."
Alice nodded slowly. His words were slow and measured and sounded very much like Fact. His voice had a not unpleasant town accent, with a small lilt in it from time to time that lightened any subject on which he chose to speak. Crickets buzzed in the bushes as they continued to walk along the dusty path, through the stifling quiet of the afternoon.
"But then.who will succeed her?" Alice asked presently. The Hatter smiled a crooked smile and stroked her head with his nervous, twitching hand, and this time she did not flinch.
"Who knows, my sweet?" he purred in her ear, twirling a lock of her hair between two long fingers. "Who knows?" :::
***
Alice wandered about the Royal gardens sadly, looking for a path that might lead her to the front gate. But all the paths seemed to be stubbornly against her and kept leading her awry.
"What was the point of making me play croquet, then?" she asked in exasperation, as she turned a corner and found herself actually walking out through the brass gate. But having no alternative, she left the gardens.
Alice walked slowly through the field, trying to make sense of what had happened today. She hadn't hurt or killed anyone, so how could she possibly be Queen? She wasn't even sure that if she had, it would qualify her to be Queen. But if not, how else did one become Queen? Alice sat down on the ground, folded her hands in her lap and tried very hard to remember all she knew about military campaigns and overthrowing governments. But the sun was making her tired, as usual, and she couldn't recall much of anything she had learned about that particular subject. Instead, she lay down in the long grass and promptly fell asleep.
"What do you do when you run out of clean things to use?" she asked.
"I think it high time we changed the subject," The Hatter announced loudly. Alice sighed, though she had given up on straight answers long ago. She moved away from him.
"Where are you going now?" he called as she began to walk off the path and into the woods.
"I simply must get into that lovely garden I saw earlier," she said over her shoulder to him. "I know it's somewhere about here, and I'm not stopping until I find it." She pushed back the branches of a large, thick fir and stepped into the shade of the forest.
"Come back!" the Hatter shouted suddenly. Being a good girl, Alice did as she was told and obediently trotted back towards the road. The Hatter smiled at her in a way that made her shiver. He was so very ugly, and his left eye had a habit of getting about by itself every so often, regardless of what direction the other was pointed in. He lifted his hat politely and offered her his arm.
"Let us talk awhile and perhaps I can help you find that garden," he said amicably. Not wishing to be rude, Alice took his arm reluctantly. His tweed jacket was worn and darned in several places. She turned away in apparent interest at a large flowerbed that had appeared by the wayside, though really she could not stand the overbearing smell of tobacco that hung close about his clothes and hair. They walked on sometime in silence and Alice was just beginning to regret coming back to him, when he presently began to speak again.
"How old are you?" he asked. Alice replied, "Eleven and a half." She was very proud of that half a year, which she often used to lord it over her younger cousins.
"How old aren't you?" the Hatter asked quickly, with a sidelong look at her.
"Er..." Alice thought to herself. "I'm not eighty-two years old," she finished truthfully.
The Hatter nodded to himself approvingly. "That's a good age not to be," he declared seriously, then glanced behind them down the path, as if anxious not to be overheard. "Do you know how old the Queen is?" he continued in a low voice.
"No," Alice responded, mystified. The hatter winked at her in a very disconcerting manner, then put his mouth to her ear quite confidentially. Alice wrinkled her nose at the awful smell of stale bread and pipe-tobacco that blew over her.
"The Queen," he whispered, "is seven-hundred and ninety-three years old."
Alice started. "That's impossible!" she declared. "At least.I've never heard of someone living that long. I don't believe it can be done." She shuddered quite perceptibly as the Hatter put his free hand on hers in what no doubt was meant to be a soothing manner.
"Don't worry your head about impossible ideas, my dear," he said silkily. "They'll only put your mind out of sorts and at odds with itself, which is no state to be in. Better to believe what you're told and have no battles over impossibilities raging in your head. Might cause an undue amount of damage otherwise."
Perhaps that's why philosophers always seem so serious and bad-tempered, Alice thought to herself. They have so much to debate in their heads, that it gives them headaches from all the fighting.
"What are you thinking of, my dear?" the Hatter smiled down at Alice. She shook her head, as if to relieve it of any dangerously impossible ides.
"I was only thinking about not thinking about impossibilities," she said after a pause. The Hatter smiled wider and patted her head knowingly. Alice found that, like impossible ideas, if she just didn't think about the smell of pipe that came from him, it didn't bother her very much.
"The reason," the Hatter continued, "that I mention the Queen's age is because she is no longer in a state to be the Head of Wonderland. I'm sure you agree that no one that old would be capable of running a country by herself."
Alice nodded slowly. His words were slow and measured and sounded very much like Fact. His voice had a not unpleasant town accent, with a small lilt in it from time to time that lightened any subject on which he chose to speak. Crickets buzzed in the bushes as they continued to walk along the dusty path, through the stifling quiet of the afternoon.
"But then.who will succeed her?" Alice asked presently. The Hatter smiled a crooked smile and stroked her head with his nervous, twitching hand, and this time she did not flinch.
"Who knows, my sweet?" he purred in her ear, twirling a lock of her hair between two long fingers. "Who knows?" :::
***
Alice wandered about the Royal gardens sadly, looking for a path that might lead her to the front gate. But all the paths seemed to be stubbornly against her and kept leading her awry.
"What was the point of making me play croquet, then?" she asked in exasperation, as she turned a corner and found herself actually walking out through the brass gate. But having no alternative, she left the gardens.
Alice walked slowly through the field, trying to make sense of what had happened today. She hadn't hurt or killed anyone, so how could she possibly be Queen? She wasn't even sure that if she had, it would qualify her to be Queen. But if not, how else did one become Queen? Alice sat down on the ground, folded her hands in her lap and tried very hard to remember all she knew about military campaigns and overthrowing governments. But the sun was making her tired, as usual, and she couldn't recall much of anything she had learned about that particular subject. Instead, she lay down in the long grass and promptly fell asleep.
