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 sheepbells, 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 thy 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 sister of hers
would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would
keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her
childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and
make THEIR eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even
with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all
their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys,
remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.

THE END

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