Alice might have shouted or cast a bit of magic—nothing could pierce the Rabbit’s perfect ignorance. He whisked himself into a neat little room just round the corner.
"You have arrived at your destination. Welcome home!” chirruped a voice.
No one was to be seen—except, perhaps, a doormat stitched in the pattern of tiny musical notes, lying there and looking suspiciously pleased with itself.
Upon the door shone a bright brass plate engraved with the name W. RABBIT.
Alice nipped inside, as adventurous as ever and twice as curious.
There was no greeting of a cup of tea or some warm, buttery biscuits, which was not at all what she had expected. It was, Alice supposed, nearly tea-time.
“How small!” thought Alice, immediately realizing it was hardly polite to think such a thing, even for half a second.
But it was true—never deny the truth. She had walked from the front to the back—the full extent of the little house—in no more than ten steps.
“Oh dear, that will never do! I ought to have at least two more. I always find the thimble on the thirteenth step,” declared Alice.
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