THE BOOK OF BETTY BARBER.
“I’m poetry,” said Lucy faintly, for she was beginning to feel rather frightened.
“Of course,” said the Lobster, “so are we all.”
“Ah, you did get here then,” said a Young Man. “Father William was talking about you. I must tell him you’ve come. It’s capital fun, you know.”
Lucy was almost crying.
“What shall I do? What shall I do?” she said.
“Let us hear something about you, now you are here,” said the Walrus. “Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m good little Lucy,” said Lucy. “Don’t you know my piece, ‘Good-night and Good-morning’? It begins—
‘A number of rooks sat under a tree,
Sewing as long as their eyes could see.’
No, that isn’t right. I was going to cut that line out. No, I wasn’t. Oh dear, oh dear! I must go back. Let me go, let me go.”
“There, then, there!” said the Clanglewangle.
“But we won’t let you go,” said the Lobster.
“You must stay with us,” said the Walrus.
“I won’t,” said Lucy, and she began to run.
But the Pussy Cat caught hold of her, the Owl jumped on her shoulder; the Walrus, the Lobster, and a number of queer beasts and fishes seized her and held her fast.
Lucy began to sob and cry aloud, and struggled to get free. The animals seemed rather scared.
“I’m going for a sail in my pea-green boat,” said the Pussy Cat, as the Owl jumped down from Lucy’s shoulder, and one after another the animals moved away.
Lucy, left alone, sat down on the ground, feeling as miserable as a good little girl can be. She was so full of her troubles that she did not notice that someone had come close to her, and was standing by her, looking down at her; and when she felt herself lightly touched on the shoulder she stopped crying instantly and jumped up from the ground.
