'What do you know about this business?' the King said to Alice.

'Nothing,' said Alice.

'Nothing at all?' persisted the King.

'Nothing at all,' said Alice.

'That's very important,' the King said, and turned to the jury. They were just beginning to write this down, when the White Rabbit interrupted: 'UNimportant, your Majesty means, of course,' he said in a very respectful tone.

'UNimportant, of course, I meant,' the King hastily said, and went on, 'important-unimportant-unimportant-important'.

He was trying which word sounded best.

Some of the jury wrote it down 'important,' and some 'unimportant.' Alice could see this, she was near enough.

At this moment the King cried out 'Silence!' and read out from his book, 'Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.'

Everybody looked at Alice.

'I'm not a mile high,' said Alice.

'You are,' said the King.

'Nearly two miles high,' added the Queen.

'Well, I shan't go,' said Alice: 'besides, that's not a regular rule: you invented it just now.'

'It's the oldest rule in the book,' said the King.

'Why is it not Number One?' said Alice.

The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily.

'Consider your verdict,' he said to the jury. His voice was low and trembling.

'There's something more, please your Majesty,' said the White Rabbit. He was jumping up; 'this letter!'

'What's in it?' said the Queen.

'I did not open it,' said the White Rabbit, 'but I think this is the letter which the Knave of Hearts wrote to-to somebody.'

'Exactly,' said the King, 'unless it was written to nobody, which isn't usual, you know.'

“Whose name is on it?” said one of the jurymen.

'There's no name on it,' said the White Rabbit, as he looked at the letter; 'in fact, it's a rhyme.'

'Is the handwriting the prisoner's?' asked another of the jurymen.

'No, it's not,' said the White Rabbit, 'and that's the queerest thing.'

'He imitated somebody else's handwriting,' said the King.

'Please your Majesty,' said the Knave, 'I didn't write it, and they can't prove I did. There's no name at the end.'

'If you didn't sign it,' said the King, 'that only makes your case worse. Honest men always sign their letters.'

'That proves his guilt,' said the Queen.

'It proves nothing!' said Alice. 'Why, you don't even know what the rhyme is about!'

'Read it,' said the King.

The White Rabbit put on his spectacles.

'Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?' he asked.

'Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'

The White Rabbit read:

'They told me you said to her,

And spoke of me to him:

She gave me a good name, indeed,

But said I could not swim.

He sent them word I went away

(We know that it's true):

If she pushes the matter on

What will become of you?

I gave her one, they gave him two,

You gave us three, or more;

They all came back from him to you,

Though they were mine before.

My notion was, she liked him best,

(Before she had this thing)

I'll hide it from all the rest

But him and you and it.'

'That's the most important thing,' said the King. He was rubbing his hands; 'so now let the jury…'

'If anyone of you can explain it,' said Alice, (she grew very large and she wasn't afraid of the King,) 'I'll give him sixpence. I don't think there's a grain of sense in it.'

The jury all wrote down, 'She doesn't think there's a grain of sense in it,' but nobody tried to tell what it meant.

'It's even better,' said the King. 'If there's no sense in it we will have no trouble, you know.'

He put the verses on his knee, and looked at them with one eye.

'I found some sense in them, after all. “”said I could not swim”! – You can't swim, can you?' he asked the Knave.

The Knave shook his head sadly.

'Do I look like it?' he said.

(Which he certainly did not, because he was made of paper.)