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. 