Charles Dodgson had had a difficult day photographing young Victor Alexander Parnell, one of Queen Victoria's godsons. Dodgson wasn't at all certain of how either the boy's parents or the Queen would regard the photograph if he let them see it. The image showed a boy with the cold and calculating gaze of a gunman that one might encounter in a saloon in the American West. It had taken no fewer than six attempts to get this image of Alexander, and Dodgson was thoroughly exhausted. The boy had twitched and squinted, blinked and shifted, ruining one plate after another. The trip back to Oxford, with all of the heavy boxes of photographic equipment, had been the final strain of a long and tiring day. By the time he finally reached his rooms he was ready for a simple meal of bread, cheese and a small glass of claret, then immediately off to bed. He would unpack the boxes later in the week, when he had recovered a bit from the expedition. Dodgson pulled the heavy curtains of his rooms together without looking out of the windows onto the quadrangle. He was under the covers and asleep in less than five minutes. And this is what he dreamed...