The King and Queen of Hearts sat on their throne in a crowded courtroom. The Knave stood in chains. Before him lay a plate of tarts that smelled much too good to be evidence.
The White Rabbit blew a trumpet and read the charge: the Knave had stolen the Queen’s tarts.
The Hatter was called first. He entered carrying his teacup and bread-and-butter because his tea had never ended. The King asked when he had begun; the Hatter could not remember. The Queen stared until his shoes shook.
“You may go,” said the King.
The Hatter ran out without putting them on.
The Cook testified that tarts were made mostly of pepper. The Dormouse shouted that treacle was more likely. Soon everyone argued, and the Cook vanished.
“Alice!” called the White Rabbit.
Alice jumped up, forgetting she had been growing again. Her skirt knocked the jury box over, spilling twelve animal jurors onto the crowd. She put them back as quickly as she could, upside down and then right way up.
The King asked what she knew.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing whatever?”
“Nothing whatever.”
The White Rabbit produced a poem found near the tarts. It named nobody and proved nothing, but the King called it the most important evidence yet.
“Sentence first—verdict afterwards!” shouted the Queen.
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Alice, now her proper size. “Who cares for you? You’re only a pack of cards!”
The whole pack flew at her. Alice screamed and tried to beat them away.
Then she opened her eyes.
She lay on the riverbank with her head in her sister’s lap. Dry leaves fluttered onto her face—not playing cards. Alice told her sister about the White Rabbit, the Caterpillar, the mad tea, the croquet game, and the trial, then ran home for tea.
Her sister remained beneath the tree and dreamed of Wonderland: teacups rattling, the Queen shouting, the Gryphon crying, and Alice’s bright voice among them. She imagined Alice grown older, telling other children the strange tale and remembering her own childhood.
The river murmured. Sheep bells rang in the distance. For one quiet moment, the ordinary afternoon held every impossible thing Alice had seen.