The escape of Alice: A Christmas fantasy

								

pretty nearly forgotten. But after a while she heard some one say,
“He’s coming now. He’ll be here in just a minute, now,” and at the same
moment she saw Santa Claus’s assistant coming toward her.
He was a sprightly little fellow, and Alice decided to like him. He
came up in a sort of blue-green light, which danced all around him, and
without the slightest hesitation Alice took his hand and walked away
with him.
The little man’s fingers were so cold and hard, though, that Alice was
surprised, and when she was sure he wasn’t looking she looked him over
earnestly. After she had done that, she almost screamed, used as she
was to odd things in Wonderland. For the little man was made of wood.
Everything was wood, and Alice was holding on to his wooden fingers,
and he was talking out of his wooden mouth, and the whole affair was
the most wooden episode Alice could remember. His remarks concerning
some of the books Alice wanted, the little girl thought, were the most
wooden thing about him. But the little man’s face was rather nice, for
it was highly painted in blue and green, and he had bright yellow eyes
that fairly sparkled with enamel.
“Let’s see,” said the wooden man. “Dolls were first on the list,
weren’t they? Well, here we are. We call this room ‘The Kingdom of
Dolls,’ although as a matter of fact it is ruled by a Queen, and never
did have a King, because the Queen is rather old and nobody will marry
her. And as she won’t allow any of the other dolls to marry until she
herself finds a King, it makes it hard for the younger ones.”
“Dear me,” said Alice. “Do you suppose I might get a peep at the Queen,
without being seen?”
“Easy enough,” said the wooden man, “for there she is――that long-haired
doll with the purple robe. She likes to be looked at, and I need hardly
remark that her hair is false. She’s awfully stuck up, though, and we
won’t tarry long, for she’d only snub us.”
“What a funny crown she is wearing,” laughed Alice, turning her head to
look back.
“You may well say so,” said the wooden man, ironically, “for it is made
of kistletoe. She never takes it off!”
“Kistletoe!” said Alice, and then, forgetting her humiliating experience
about the chimley, “Don’t you mean mistletoe?”
“No, I mean kistletoe,” replied the wooden man, rather impatiently.
“Everybody knows what kistletoe is. But then, perhaps you are too
young. When you are older you will know more.”
“I’m thirteen,” said Alice, with proper dignity.
“Thirteen!” shrieked the wooden man, so loudly that Alice felt sure
she had offended again. “What a dreadfully unlucky number! I should be
frightened to death to be thirteen. How long have you been thirteen?”
“Nearly two months now,” Alice confessed, miserably. Then she
brightened. “But everybody has to be thirteen sometime. Weren’t you