‘In the water, of course!’ said the Sheep, sticking 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 then ever), and sometimes under trees, but always with the same tall river-banks frowning over their heads.

‘Oh, please! There are some scented rushes!’