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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.