The Gnat amused itself meanwhile by humming round and round her head: at last it settled again and remarked, "I suppose you don't want to lose your name ?" "No, indeed," Alice said, a little anxiously.
"And yet I don't know," the Gnat went on in a careless tone: "only think how convenient it would be if you could manage to go home without it! For instance, if the governess wanted to call you to your lessons, she would call out "come here--," and there she would have to leave off, because there wouldn't be any name for her to call, and of course you wouldn't have to go, you know." "That would never do, I'm sure," said Alice: "the governess would never think of excusing me lessons for that.

If she couldn't remember my name, she'd call me "Miss!" as the servants do." "Well, if she said "Miss," and didn't say anything more," the Gnat remarked, "of course you'd miss your lessons.

That's a joke.

I wish YOU had made it." "Why do you wish _I_ had made it ?" Alice asked.

"It's a very bad one." But the Gnat only sighed deeply, while two large tears came rolling down its cheeks.
"You shouldn't make jokes," Alice said, "if it makes you so unhappy." Then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and this time the poor Gnat really seemed to have sighed itself away, for, when Alice looked up, there was nothing whatever to be seen on the twig, and, as she was getting quite chilly with sitting still so long, she got up and walked on.
She very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the other side of it: it looked much darker than the last wood, and Alice felt a LITTLE timid about going into it.