Feather! Feather! the Sheep cried again, taking more needles. You ll
be catching a crab directly.
A dear little crab! thought Alice. I should like that.
Didn t you hear me say Feather ? the Sheep cried angrily, taking up
quite a bunch of needles.
Indeed I did, said Alice: you ve said it very often and very loud.
Please, where _are_ the crabs?
In the water, of course! said the Sheep, sticking some of the needles
into her hair, as her hands were full. Feather, I say!
_Why_ do you say feather so often? Alice asked at last, rather
vexed. I m not a bird!
You are, said the Sheep: you re a little goose.
This offended Alice a little, so there was no more conversation for a
minute or two, while the boat glided gently on, sometimes among beds of
weeds (which made the oars stick fast in the water, worse then ever),
and sometimes under trees, but always with the same tall river-banks
frowning over their heads.
Oh, please! There are some scented rushes! Alice cried in a sudden
transport of delight. There really are and _such_ beauties!
You needn t say please to _me_ about em, the Sheep said, without
looking up from her knitting: I didn t put em there, and I m not
going to take em away.
No, but I meant please, may we wait and pick some? Alice pleaded. If
you don t mind stopping the boat for a minute.
How am _I_ to stop it? said the Sheep. If you leave off rowing,
it ll stop of itself.
So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would, till it
glided gently in among the waving rushes. And then the little sleeves
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