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"Well, if I must, I must," the King said, with a melancholy air,

and, after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his

eyes were nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, "What are

tarts made of?"

"Pepper, mostly," said the cook.

"Treacle," said a sleepy voice behind her.

"Collar that Dormouse," the Queen shrieked out. "Behead that

Dormouse! Turn that Dormouse out of court! Suppress him! Pinch

him! Off with his whiskers!"

For some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the

Dormouse turned out, and, by the time they had settled down

again, the cook had disappeared.

"Never mind!" said the King, with an air of great relief. "Call

the next witness." And he added in an undertone to the Queen,

"Really, my dear, you must cross-examine the next witness. It

quite makes my forehead ache!"