The escape of Alice: A Christmas fantasy

								


                          A Christmas Fantasy

                          The Escape of Alice



                          A Christmas Fantasy



                                  By



                           Vincent Starrett

                            PRIVATELY PRINTED AT

                         CEDAR RAPIDS IOWA FOR

                         THE FRIENDS OF LUTHER

                         ALBERTUS AND ELINORE

                         TAYLOR BREWER CHRISTMAS

                         NINETEEN NINETEEN

                            Copyright 1919

                          By Vincent Starrett

                            TO OUR FRIENDS

It has been well said, that a friend in need is a friend indeed.
Such a friend, Vincent Starrett, of Chicago, has proven to be to us.
Last year, more to our regret than to the regret of our friends, we
were compelled reluctantly to forego the pleasure and privilege of
holding a session with them around our fireplace or beneath our reading
lamp.
And a similar situation was imminent at this Christmas time――when our
good fairy, Mr. Starrett, one morning dropped on our desk The Escape
of Alice with the cheerful message, “It is yours, Brewer, for your
Christmas booklet, if you want it.”
So here it is――a pleasant Christmas fantasy――sent to our friends of old
and to some new ones, with all the best greetings of the season.



                                                          THE BREWERS
December 25 1919

                          THE ESCAPE OF ALICE

The red linen covers opened slightly, and a little girl slipped out,
leaving behind her a curious vacancy in one of the familiar pictures
signed with Mr. Tenniel’s initials. She looked about her with bright,
alert eyes, hoping no one had been a witness to her desertion, and then
carefully began to climb down. She need not have alarmed herself, for
she was no bigger than a minute, and clearer eyes than those of the
rheumatic old antiquarian who kept the shop would have been needed to
comprehend her departure. Fortunately, the shelf onto which she had
emerged was not high, and by exercising great caution the little girl
was able to reach the floor without mishap.
Still watching the old man closely, she reached a hand into the pocket
of her print dress and produced a few crumbs of cake, which she
immediately ate. Almost instantly she began to grow, and, in a moment,
from a tiny little mite of three or four inches, she had shot up into
as tall a schoolgirl of thirteen as the proudest parent could wish. The
ascent, indeed, was so rapid that before she quite realized what had
happened, there was her head on a level with the shelf upon which, only
an instant before, she had been standing; and there was the prison
from which she had escaped. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” read
the gold letters over the door.