"She can't do that," said the Gry-phon. "Go on with the next verse."
"But his toes?" the Mock Tur-tle went on. "How could he turn them out with his nose, you know?"
"Go on with the next verse," the Gry-phon said once more; "it begins 'I passed by his gar-den.'"
Al-ice thought she must do as she was told, though she felt sure it would all come wrong, and she went on:
"I passed by his gar-den and marked with one eye,
How the owl and the oys-ter were shar-ing the pie."
"What is the use of say-ing all that stuff!" the Mock Tur-tle broke in, "if you don't tell what it means as you go on? I tell you it is all non-sense."
"Yes, I think you might as well leave off," said the Gry-phon, and Al-ice was but too glad to do so.
"Shall we try the Lob-ster dance once more?" the Gry-phon went on, "or would you like the Mock Tur-tle to sing you a song?"
"Oh, a song please, if the Mock Tur-tle would be so kind," Al-ice said with so much zest that the Gry-phon threw back his head and said, "Hm! Well, each one to his own taste. Sing her 'Tur-tle Soup,' will you, old fel-low?"
The Mock Tur-tle heaved a deep sigh, and in a voice choked with sobs, be-gan his song, but just then the cry of "The tri-al is on!" was heard a long way off.