He picked her up gently, and opened the book lying on the counter.
“You must find the place,” he said: “Do you remember it?”
With a little sigh of relief, Alice slipped into the right picture, where, to her great joy, she fitted like a glove—and suddenly the picture was complete again, and the old bookman turning the leaves over could not find her—there were so many of her, and he did not know which one was really her.
Suddenly the book fell from his hand, and clattered onto the floor, striking his foot as it fell. At the same instant, of course, he awoke, sitting in his chair near the old stove. He smiled a little, but was not surprised, for he was used to dreaming strange and pleasant dreams. As he stooped to pick up the book, a customer entered the store.
“What have you there?” asked the stranger, looking at the book in the old man’s hand. “‘Alice in Wonderland?’ Charming thing! What do you ask for it?”
“Not this copy,” said the old man, firmly. “This is my personal copy. This is one book you cannot buy.”
TWO HUNDRED COPIES OF THIS BOOK
WERE PRINTED BY THE TORCH PRESS
CEDAR RAPIDS IOWA IN THE MONTH
OF DECEMBER NINETEEN NINETEEN
Transcriber’s Notes:
Printer’s, punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.