When he woke he found himself still afloat upon the broad palm-leaf. He was alone in the middle of a lake, with flowers and trees growing in and out of it everywhere. The sun was just over the treetops. A drip of water from the flowers greeted him with music; the mists were dissolving away, and where the sunlight fell on the lake the water was clear as glass. Casting his eyes downward, he saw, just beneath him, far down at the bottom, Alice drowned, as he thought. He was in the act of plunging in, when he saw her open her eyes, and at the same moment begin to float up. He held out his hand, but she repelled it with disdain, and swimming to a tree, sat down on a low branch, wondering how ever the poor widow’s son could have found his way into Fairyland. She did not like it. It was an invasion of privilege.
“How did you come here, young Richard?” she asked, from six yards off.
“A goblin brought me.”
“Ah! I thought so. A fairy brought me.”
“Where is your fairy?”
“Here I am,” said Peaseblossom, rising slowly to the surface just by the tree on which Alice was seated.
“Where is your goblin?” retorted Alice.
“Here I am,” bawled Toadstool, rushing out of the water like a salmon, and casting a summersault in the air before he fell in again with a tremendous splash. His head rose again close beside Peaseblossom, who being used to such creatures only laughed.
“Isn’t he handsome?” he grinned.