"How am I to stop it?" said the Sheep. "If you leave off rowing, it'll stop of itself."
So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would, till it glided gently in among the waving rushes. And then the little sleeves were carefully rolled up, and the little arms were plunged in elbow-deep, to get hold of the rushes a good, long way down before breaking them off; and for a while Alice forgot all about the Sheep and the knitting as she bent over the side of the boat, with just the ends of her tangled hair dipping into the water, while with bright, eager eyes she caught at one bunch after another of the darling, scented rushes.
"I only hope the boat won't tipple over!" she said to herself. "Oh, what a lovely one! Only I couldn't quite reach it." And it certainly did seem a little provoking ("almost as if it happened on purpose," she thought)
