"You are," said the Sheep; "you're a little goose."
This offended Alice a little, so there was no more conversation for a minute or two, while the boat glided gently on, sometimes among beds of weeds (which made the oars stick fast in the water, worse than ever), and sometimes under trees, but always with the same tall river-banks frowning over their heads.
"Oh, please! There are some scented rushes!" Alice cried, in a sudden transport of delight. "There really are—and such beauties!"
"You needn't say 'please' to me about 'em," the Sheep said, without looking up from her knitting; "I didn't put 'em there, and I'm not going to take 'em away."
"No, but I meant—please, may we wait and pick some?" Alice pleaded. "If you don't mind stopping the boat for a minute."
