now,” thought Alice, “to speak to this mouse?
Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very
likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in trying.” So she
began: “O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired
of swimming about here, O Mouse!” (Alice thought this must be the right
way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but
she remembered having seen in her brother’s Latin Grammar, “A mouse—of
a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!”) The Mouse looked at her rather
inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes,
but it said nothing.“Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,” thought Alice; “I daresay it’s
a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.” (For, with all
her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago
anything had happened.) So she began again: “Où est ma chatte?” which
was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a
sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with
fright. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice hastily, afraid that she
had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. “I quite forgot you didn’t like
cats.”“Not like cats!” cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. “Would
_you_ like cats if you were me?”“Well, perhaps not,” said Alice in a soothing tone: “don’t be angry
about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you’d
take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear
quiet thing,” Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about
in the pool, “and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her
paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to
nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your
pardon!” cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all
over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. “We won’t talk
about her any more if you’d rather not.”“We indeed!” cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his
tail. “As if _I_ would talk on such a subject! Our family always
_hated_ cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the name
again!”“I won’t indeed!” said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of
conversation. “Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?” The Mouse did not
answer, so Alice went on eagerly: “There is such a nice little dog near
our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you
know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when
you throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts
of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you
know, and he says it’s so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says
it kills all the rats and—oh dear!” cried Alice in a 

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