"Isn't it rather unusual—" she said to the Sheep (it seemed more natural, somehow, to speak to the Sheep)—"isn't it rather unusual for different animals to be so much alike?"
"Not in our set," said the Sheep, conceitedly. "We all know who's who. Of course we have to mark the pigs, as they're so extremely like the polar-bears;" and Dorothy noticed that two pigs, who were dancing just opposite to her, had labels with "PIG" on them hung around their necks by little chains, as if they had been a couple of decanters—"only," she thought, "it would have been 'SHERRY' or 'MADEIRA' instead of 'PIG,' you know."
"I suppose you all came out of a Noah's Ark," she said presently, at a venture.
"Of course. Largest size, I believe. How very clever you are!" said the Sheep, admiringly. "By the way," she added, confidentially, "do you happen to know what a tapir is?"
"I believe it's something to light, like a candle," said Dorothy.
"Does it ever go out of its own accord?" inquired the Sheep.
"It ought not to," said Dorothy.
"Then that accounts for the trouble we've had," said the Sheep, with a satisfied air. "Those two tapirs dancing over there are always in everybody's way, and we've had to put them out over and over again."
This sounded like a joke; but the Sheep was so serious that Dorothy didn't dare to laugh, so she said, by way of continuing the conversation, "I don't see any birds here."
"Oh dear, no!" exclaimed the Sheep; "you see, this is really a quadrupedrille. Of course you're all right, because it's precisely as if you were dancing on your hind feet. In fact," she added, nodding approvingly, "you look almost as well as if you were."