Alice went tumble-tumble—splash!—into something wet.
“Oh no,” she sighed. “What is this?”
“A pool of your own tears,” whispered a voice.
“My tears? But… I don’t recall weeping.” She tapped at her soil-tangled hair, while pictures upon pictures skittered through her mind.
I ought to be ashamed of myself, she thought.
So busy for a little girl—yet she noticed something drifting near: fur, whiskers, a long, twitching muzzle.
“Clumsy, big-footed… Ratty.” Alice guessed.
The creature bristled. “Mouse. Handsome. Tail a meter long. On your desk sits my cousin.”
Stamping the water, he insisted—almost desperately—“Mouse!”
