When the book struck Richard, he found that it was only a lump of wet
moss.
While talking to the owl he had spied a hollow behind one of the
branches. Judging this to be the way the owl meant, he went to see, and
found a rude, ill-defined staircase going down into the very heart of
the trunk. But so large was the tree that this could not have hurt it
in the least. Down this stair, then, Richard scrambled as best he
could, followed by Alice--not of her own will, she gave him clearly to
understand, but because she could do no better. Down, down they went,
slipping and falling sometimes, but never very far, because the stair
went round and round. It caught Richard when he slipped, and he caught
Alice when she did. They had begun to fear that there was no end to the
stair, it went round and round so steadily, when, creeping through a
crack, they found themselves in a great hall, supported by thousands of
pillars of gray stone. Where the little light came from they could not
tell. This hall they began to cross in a straight line, hoping to reach
one side, and intending to walk along it till they came to some
opening. They kept straight by going from pillar to pillar, as they had
done before by the trees. Any honest plan will do in Fairyland, if you
only stick to it. And no plan will do if you do not stick to it.
It was very silent, and Alice disliked the silence more than the
dimness,--so much, indeed, that she longed to hear Richard's voice.
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