alice-in-metamorpov/adventures-in-wonderland/yns-evidence.typ

== Y/n's Evidence
“Here!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S cried/cried pov/S/, quite
forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large pov/s had grown in the
last few minutes, and pov/s jumped up in such a hurry that pov/s tipped
over the jury-box with the edge of pov/p skirt, upsetting all the
jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there they lay sprawling
about, reminding pov/o very much of a globe of goldfish pov/s had
accidentally upset the week before.

“Oh, I #emph[beg] your pardon!” pov/s exclaimed in a tone of great
dismay, and began picking them up again as quickly as pov/s could, for
the accident of the goldfish kept running in pov/p head, and pov/s had a
vague sort of idea that they must be collected at once and put back into
the jury-box, or they would die.

“The trial cannot proceed,” said the King in a very grave voice, “until
all the jurymen are back in their proper places---#emph[all];,” he
repeated with great emphasis, looking hard at pov/O as he said so.

Pov/S looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in pov/p haste, pov/s had
put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving
its tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. Pov/s
soon got it out again, and put it right; “not that it signifies much,”
pov/s said to pov/r; “I should think it would be #emph[quite] as much
use in the trial one way up as the other.”

As soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of being
upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to
them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the
accident, all except the Lizard, who seemed too much overcome to do
anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the
court.

“What do you know about this business?” the King said to pov/O.

“Nothing,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/.

“Nothing #emph[whatever?];” alt/first and second or third/the King
persisted/persisted the King/.

“Nothing whatever,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said
pov/S/.

“That's very important,” the King said, turning to the jury. They were
just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit
interrupted: “#emph[Un];important, your Majesty means, of course,” he
said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as
he spoke.

“#emph[Un];important, of course, I meant,” the King hastily said, and
went on to himself in an undertone,

“important---unimportant---unimportant---important---” as if he were
trying which word sounded best.

Some of the jury wrote it down “important,” and some “unimportant.”
Pov/S could see this, as pov/s vrb/be/ near enough to look over their
slates; “but it doesn't matter a bit,” pov/s thought to pov/r.

At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in
his note-book, cackled out “Silence!” and read out from his book, “Rule
Forty-two. #emph[All persons more than a mile high to leave the court];.”

Everybody looked at pov/O.

“#emph[I'm] not a mile high,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/.

“You are,” said the King.

“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen.

“Well, I shan't go, at any rate,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/: “besides, that's not a regular rule: you invented it
just now.”

“It's the oldest rule in the book,” alt/first and second or third/the
King said/said the King/.

“Then it ought to be Number One,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/.

The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. “Consider your
verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.

“There's more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,” said the White
Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry; “this paper has just been picked
up.”

“What's in it?” said the Queen.

“I haven't opened it yet,” said the White Rabbit, “but it seems to be a
letter, written by the prisoner to---to somebody.”

“It must have been that,” said the King, “unless it was written to
nobody, which isn't usual, you know.”

“Who is it directed to?” said one of the jurymen.

“It isn't directed at all,” said the White Rabbit; “in fact, there's
nothing written on the #emph[outside];.” He unfolded the paper as he
spoke, and added “It isn't a letter, after all: it's a set of verses.”

“Are they in the prisoner's handwriting?” asked another of the jurymen.

“No, they're not,” said the White Rabbit, “and that's the queerest thing
about it.” (The jury all looked puzzled.)

“He must have imitated somebody else's hand,” said the King. (The jury
all brightened up again.)

“Please your Majesty,” said the Knave, “I didn't write it, and they
can't prove I did: there's no name signed at the end.”

“If you didn't sign it,” said the King, “that only makes the matter
worse. You #emph[must] have meant some mischief, or else you'd have
signed your name like an honest man.”

There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really
clever thing the King had said that day.

“That #emph[proves] his guilt,” said the Queen.

“It proves nothing of the sort!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/. “Why, you don't even know what they're about!”

“Read them,” said the King.

The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. “Where shall I begin, please
your Majesty?” he asked.

“Begin at the beginning,” the King said gravely, “and go on till you
come to the end: then stop.”

These were the verses the White Rabbit read:---

#include "poems/prisoners-letter.typ"

“That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet,” said the
King, rubbing his hands; “so now let the jury---”

“If any one of them can explain it,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/, (pov/s had grown so large in the last few minutes that
pov/s wasn't a bit afraid of interrupting him,) “I'll give him sixpence.
#emph[I] don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it.”

The jury all wrote down on their slates, “#emph[Prn/s] doesn't believe
there's an atom of meaning in it,” but none of them attempted to explain
the paper.

“If there's no meaning in it,” said the King, “that saves a world of
trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. And yet I don't know,”
he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at them
with one eye; “I seem to see some meaning in them, after all.
“---#emph[said I could not swim];---” you can't swim, can you?” he
added, turning to the Knave.

The Knave shook his head sadly. “Do I look like it?” he said. (Which he
certainly did #emph[not];, being made entirely of cardboard.)

“All right, so far,” said the King, and he went on muttering over the
verses to himself: “‘#emph[We know it to be true];---' that's the jury,
of course---‘#emph[I gave her one, they gave him two];---' why, that
must be what he did with the tarts, you know---”

“But, it goes on ‘#emph[they all returned from him to you];,'” alt/first
and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/.

“Why, there they are!” said the King triumphantly, pointing to the tarts
on the table. “Nothing can be clearer than #emph[that];. Then
again---‘#emph[before she had this fit];---' you never had fits, my
dear, I think?” he said to the Queen.

“Never!” said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at the Lizard as
she spoke. (The unfortunate little Bill had left off writing on his
slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark; but he now hastily
began again, using the ink, that was trickling down his face, as long as
it lasted.)

“Then the words don't #emph[fit] you,” said the King, looking round the
court with a smile. There was a dead silence.

“It's a pun!” the King added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed,
“Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for about the
twentieth time that day.

“No, no!” said the Queen. “Sentence first---verdict afterwards.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said
pov/S/ loudly. “The idea of having the sentence first!”

“Hold your tongue!” alt/first and second or third/the Queen said/said
the Queen/, turning purple.

“I won't!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/.

“Off with her head!” the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody
moved.

“Who cares for you?” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said
pov/S/, (pov/s had grown to pov/p full size by this time.) “You're
nothing but a pack of cards!”

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon
her: pov/s gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and
tried to beat them off, and found pov/r lying on the bank, with pov/p
head in the lap of pov/p sister, who was gently brushing away some dead
leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon pov/p face.

“Wake up, Y/n dear!” said her sister; “Why, what a long sleep you've
had!”

“Oh, I've had such a curious dream!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/, and pov/s told pov/p sister, as well as pov/s could
remember them, all these strange Adventures of pov/a that you have just
been reading about; and when pov/s had finished, pov/p sister kissed
pov/o, and said, “It #emph[was] a curious dream, dear, certainly: but
now run in to your tea; it's getting late.” So pov/S got up and ran off,
thinking while pov/s ran, as well pov/s might, what a wonderful dream it
had been.

#line(length: 100%)

But pov/p sister sat still just as pov/s left her, leaning her head on
her hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Y/n and all
prn/p wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion,
and this was her dream:---

First, she dreamed of little Y/n prn/r, and once again the tiny hands
were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes were looking up
into hers---she could hear the very tones of prn/p voice, and see that
queer little toss of prn/p head to keep back the wandering hair that
#emph[would] always get into prn/p eyes---and still as she listened, or
seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the
strange creatures of her little prn/k's dream.

The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by---the
frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool---she
could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends
shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen
ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution---once more the
pig-baby was sneezing on the Duchess's knee, while plates and dishes
crashed around it---once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking
of the Lizard's slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed
guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the
miserable Mock Turtle.

So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in
Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all
would change to dull reality---the grass would be only rustling in the
wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds---the rattling
teacups would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen's shrill
cries to the voice of the shepherd boy---and the sneeze of the baby, the
shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she
knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard---while the lowing
of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle's
heavy sobs.

Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little prn/k of hers
would, in the after-time, be prn/r a grown prn/N; and how prn/s would
keep, through all prn/p riper years, the simple and loving heart of
prn/p childhood: and how prn/s would gather about prn/p other little
children, and make #emph[their] eyes bright and eager with many a
strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and
how prn/s would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure
in all their simple joys, remembering prn/p own child-life, and the
happy summer days.