the bull
by, and a whip, not to hurt the bull with, but just to make him mind.

The others were to try to get one of the horses while we were gone.

Oswald as usual was full of bright ideas.

'I daresay,' he said, 'the bull will be shy at first, and he'll have to
be goaded into the arena.'

'But goads hurt,' Alice said.

'They don't hurt the bull,' Oswald said; 'his powerful hide is too
thick.'

'Then why does he attend to it,' Alice asked, 'if it doesn't hurt?'

'Properly-brought-up bulls attend because they know they ought,'
Oswald said. 'I think I shall ride the bull,' the brave boy went on.
'A bull-fight, where an intrepid rider appears on the bull, sharing its
joys and sorrows. It would be something quite new.'

'You can't ride bulls,' Alice said; 'at least, not if their backs are
sharp like cows.'

But Oswald thought he could. The bull lives in a house made of wood and
prickly furze bushes, and he has a yard to his house. You cannot climb
on the roof of his house at all comfortably.

When we got there he was half in his house and half out in his yard, and
he was swinging his tail because of the flies which bothered. It was a
very hot day.

'You'll see,' Alice said, 'he won't want a goad. He'll be so glad to
get out for a walk he'll drop his head in my hand like a tame fawn, and
follow me lovingly all the way.'

Oswald called to him. He said, 'Bull! Bull! Bull! Bull!' because we did
not know the animal's real name. The bull took no notice; then Oswald
picked up a stone and threw it at the bull, not angrily, but just to
make it pay attention. But the bull did not pay a farthing's worth of
it. So then Oswald leaned over the iron gate of the bull's yard and just
flicked the bull with the whiplash. And then the bull DID pay attention.
He started when the lash struck him, then suddenly he faced round,
uttering a roar like that of the wounded King of Beasts, and putting his
head down close to his feet he ran straight at the iron gate where we
were standing.

Alice and Oswald mechanically turned away; they did not wish to annoy
the bull any more, and they ran as fast as they could across the field
so as not to keep the others waiting.

As they ran across the field Oswald had a dream-like fancy that perhaps
the bull had rooted up the gate with one paralysing blow, and was now
tearing across the field after him and Alice, with the broken gate
balanced on its horns. We climbed the stile quickly and looked