Word: ladders
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Before the Vagabond had time to answer, the March Hare was already down the ladder and the Hatter was anxiously looking for his hat and Alice was putting on her prettiest little frock. "There is nothing I can do about it now", thought the Vagabond "I suppose I'll have to take them along with...
Finally everyone was ready. The Old Woman held the ladder. Bill slid down as usual. The Dormouse nearly fell asleep on the fourth rung waiting for the Hatter to make the next step. But Alice felt herself so grown up going to a tea that she wouldn't even let the Vagabond carry her down piggy-back. Yet all reached ground...
Indeed it is this sort of practice that does make the Vagabond weary of the world and want to lift his ladder up in his Tower and live there forever with his rich illusions and good friends. In fact that is where he has been those past few days; but this morning he descends again and is off. But so world weary is he that this morning, like a true rover that he is, he shan't let names of lectures wind his way but rather the names of men. So at nine he is off to Sever...
...Vagabond feels the need of disgression himself. Climbing up his ladder tonight the Old Fellow found the rungs covered with ice! Winter is showing his sharpest teeth. The Tower at this moment is no picnic. Another log, ye merry hag. And fetch the Vagabond's cloak! We'll bear this through as in many winters past. Freedom! Freedom! Isn't that what George Noel Gordon, Lord Byron died for? Another log, merry hag! My fingers are a cold...
...near midnight, and the Vagabond climbed his old Tower and this time by some queer premonition drew the ladder after him. The old woman had left a fire to welcome the fellow; the candies had burned their life away. Things were different tonight; as if some ominous cloud had set about the Tower. The moon shone into the chamber in a doubtful, suspicious manner. All kinds of weird shapes quivered on the wall. And now there struck a deep-booming, yawning bell. Twelve o'clock...