some of the needles into her hair, as her hands were full. 'Feather, I say!'
'Why do you say "Feather" so often?' Alice asked at last, rather vexed. 'I'm not a bird!'
'You are,' said the Sheep: 'you're a little goose.'
This offended Alice a little, so there was no more conversation for a minute or two, while the boat glided gently on, sometimes among beds of weeds (which made the oars stick fast in the water, worse than ever), and sometimes under trees, but always with the same tall river-banks frowning over their heads.
'Oh, please! There are some scented rushes!' Alice cried in a sudden transport of delight. 'There really are – and such beauties!'
'You needn't say "please" to me about 'em,' the Sheep said, without looking up from her knitting: 'I didn't put 'em there, and I'm not going to take 'em away.'
'No, but I meant – please, may we wait and pick some?' Alice pleaded. 'If you don't mind stopping the boat for a minute.'
'How am I to stop it?' said the Sheep. 'If you leave off rowing, it'll stop of itself.'
So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would, till it glided gently in among the waving rushes. And then the little sleeves were carefully rolled up, and the little arms were plunged in elbow-deep, to get hold of the rushes a good long way down before breaking them off – and for a while Alice for-
