For
a moment after Mr. and Mrs. Darling
left the house the night-lights
by the beds of the three children
continued to burn clearly. They
were awfully nice little night-lights,
and one cannot help wishing that
they could have kept awake to
see Peter; but Wendy's light
blinked and gave such a yawn
that the other two yawned also,
and before they could close their
mouths all the
three went out.
There was another light in
the room now, a thousand times
brighter than the night-lights,
and in the time we have taken
to say this, it had been in all
the drawers in the nursery, looking
for Peter's shadow, rummaged
the wardrobe and turned every
pocket inside out. It was not
really a light; it made this
light by flashing about so quickly,
but when it came to rest for
a second you saw it was a fairy,
no longer than your hand, but
still growing. It was a girl
called Tinker Bell exquisitely
gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut
low and square, through which
her figure could be seen to the
best advantage. She was slightly
inclined to EMBONPOINT. [plump
hourglass figure]
A moment after the fairy's
entrance the window was blown
open by the breathing of the
little stars, and Peter dropped
in. He had carried Tinker Bell
part of the way, and his hand
was still messy with the fairy
dust.
"Tinker Bell," he called softly,
after making sure that the children
were asleep, "Tink, where are
you?" She was in a jug for the
moment, and liking it extremely;
she had never been in a jug before.
"Oh, do come
out of that jug, and tell me,
do you know where
they put my shadow?"
The loveliest tinkle as of
golden bells answered him. It
is the fairy language. You ordinary
children can never hear it, but
if you were to hear it you would
know that you had heard it once
before.
Tink said that the shadow was
in the big box. She meant the
chest of drawers, and Peter jumped
at the drawers, scattering their
contents to the floor with both
hands, as kings toss ha'pence
to the crowd. In a moment he
had recovered his shadow, and
in his delight he forgot that
he had shut Tinker Bell up in
the drawer.
If he thought at all, but I
don't believe he ever thought,
it was that he and his shadow,
when brought near each other,
would join like drops of water,
and when they did not he was
appalled. He tried to stick it
on with soap from the bathroom,
but that also failed. A shudder
passed through Peter, and he
sat on the floor and cried.
His sobs woke Wendy, and she
sat up in bed. She was not alarmed
to see a stranger crying on the
nursery floor; she was only pleasantly
interested.
"Boy," she said courteously, "why
are you crying?"
Peter could be exceeding polite
also, having learned the grand
manner at fairy ceremonies, and
he rose and bowed to her beautifully.
She was much pleased, and bowed
beautifully to him from the bed.
"What's your name?" he
asked.
"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she
replied with some satisfaction. "What
is your name?"
"Peter Pan."
She was already sure that he
must be Peter, but it did seem
a comparatively short name.
"Is that all?"
"Yes," he said
rather sharply. He felt for
the first time that
it was a shortish name.
"I'm so sorry," said
Wendy Moira Angela.
"It doesn't matter," Peter
gulped.
She asked where he lived.
"Second to the right," said
Peter, "and then straight on
till morning."
"What a funny
address!"
Peter had a sinking. For the
first time he felt that perhaps
it was a funny address.
"No, it isn't," he
said.
"I mean," Wendy said nicely,
remembering that she was hostess, "is
that what they put on the letters?"
He wished she had not mentioned
letters.
"Don't get any letters," he
said contemptuously.
"But your mother
gets letters?"
"Don't have a mother," he
said. Not only had he no mother,
but
he had not the slightest desire
to have one. He thought them
very over-rated persons. Wendy,
however, felt at once that she
was in the presence of a tragedy.
"O Peter, no wonder you were
crying," she said, and got out
of bed and ran to him.
"I wasn't crying about mothers," he
said rather indignantly. "I was
crying because I can't get my
shadow to stick on. Besides,
I wasn't crying."
"It has come
off?"
"Yes."
Then Wendy
saw the shadow on the floor,
looking so draggled,
and she was frightfully sorry
for Peter. "How awful!" she said,
but she could not help smiling
when she saw that he had been
trying to stick it on with soap.
How exactly like a boy!
Fortunately
she knew at once what to do. "It must be sewn
on," she said, just a little
patronisingly.
"What's sewn?" he
asked.
"You're dreadfully
ignorant."
"No, I'm not."
But she was
exulting in his ignorance. "I shall sew it on
for you, my little man," she
said, though he was tall as herself,
and she got out her housewife
[sewing bag], and sewed the shadow
on to Peter's foot.
"I daresay it will hurt a little," she
warned him.
"Oh, I shan't cry," said
Peter, who was already of the
opinion
that he had never cried in his
life. And he clenched his teeth
and did not cry, and soon his
shadow was behaving properly,
though still a little creased.
"Perhaps I should have ironed
it," Wendy said thoughtfully,
but Peter, boylike, was indifferent
to appearances, and he was now
jumping about in the wildest
glee. Alas, he had already forgotten
that he owed his bliss to Wendy.
He thought he had attached the
shadow himself. "How clever I
am!" he crowed rapturously, "oh,
the cleverness of me!"
It is humiliating to have to
confess that this conceit of
Peter was one of his most fascinating
qualities. To put it with brutal
frankness, there never was a
cockier boy.
But for the
moment Wendy was shocked. "You conceit [braggart]," she
exclaimed, with frightful sarcasm; "of
course I did nothing!"
"You did a little," Peter
said carelessly, and continued
to
dance.
"A little!" she replied with
hauteur [pride]; "if I am no
use I can at least withdraw," and
she sprang in the most dignified
way into bed and covered her
face with the blankets.
To induce her
to look up he pretended to
be going away, and
when this failed he sat on the
end of the bed and tapped her
gently with his foot. "Wendy," he
said, "don't withdraw. I can't
help crowing, Wendy, when I'm
pleased with myself." Still she
would not look up, though she
was listening eagerly. "Wendy," he
continued, in a voice that no
woman has ever yet been able
to resist, "Wendy, one girl is
more use than twenty boys."
Now Wendy was every inch a
woman, though there were not
very many inches, and she peeped
out of the bed-clothes.
"Do you really
think so, Peter?"
"Yes, I do."
"I think it's perfectly sweet
of you," she declared, "and I'll
get up again," and she sat with
him on the side of the bed. She
also said she would give him
a kiss if he liked, but Peter
did not know what she meant,
and he held out his hand expectantly.
"Surely you know what a kiss
is?" she asked, aghast.
"I shall know when you give
it to me," he replied stiffly,
and not to hurt his feeling she
gave him a thimble.
"Now," said he, "shall I give
you a kiss?" and she replied
with a slight primness, "If you
please." She made herself rather
cheap by inclining her face toward
him, but he merely dropped an
acorn button into her hand, so
she slowly returned her face
to where it had been before,
and said nicely that she would
wear his kiss on the chain around
her neck. It was lucky that she
did put it on that chain, for
it was afterwards to save her
life.
When people in our set are
introduced, it is customary for
them to ask each other's age,
and so Wendy, who always liked
to do the correct thing, asked
Peter how old he was. It was
not really a happy question to
ask him; it was like an examination
paper that asks grammar, when
what you want to be asked is
Kings of England.
"I don't know," he replied
uneasily, "but I am quite young." He
really knew nothing about it,
he had merely suspicions, but
he said at a venture, "Wendy,
I ran away the day I was born."
Wendy was quite surprised,
but interested; and she indicated
in the charming drawing-room
manner, by a touch on her night-gown,
that he could sit nearer her.
"It was because I heard father
and mother," he explained in
a low voice, "talking about what
I was to be when I became a man." He
was extraordinarily agitated
now. "I don't want ever to be
a man," he said with passion. "I
want always to be a little boy
and to have fun. So I ran away
to Kensington Gardens and lived
a long long time among the fairies."
She gave him a look of the
most intense admiration, and
he thought it was because he
had run away, but it was really
because he knew fairies. Wendy
had lived such a home life that
to know fairies struck her as
quite delightful. She poured
out questions about them, to
his surprise, for they were rather
a nuisance to him, getting in
his way and so on, and indeed
he sometimes had to give them
a hiding [spanking]. Still, he
liked them on the whole, and
he told her about the beginning
of fairies.
"You see, Wendy,
when the first baby laughed
for the first time,
its laugh broke into a thousand
pieces, and they all went skipping
about, and that was the beginning
of fairies."
Tedious talk this, but being
a stay-at-home she liked it.
"And so," he went on good-naturedly, "there
ought to be one fairy for every
boy and girl."
"Ought to be?
Isn't there?"
"No. You see
children know such a lot now,
they soon don't
believe in fairies, and every
time a child says, `I don't believe
in fairies,' there is a fairy
somewhere that falls down dead."
Really, he
thought they had now talked
enough about fairies,
and it struck him that Tinker
Bell was keeping very quiet. "I
can't think where she has gone
to," he said, rising, and he
called Tink by name. Wendy's
heart went flutter with a sudden
thrill.
"Peter," she cried, clutching
him, "you don't mean to tell
me that there is a fairy in this
room!"
"She was here just now," he
said a little impatiently. "You
don't hear her, do you?" and
they both listened.
"The only sound I hear," said
Wendy, "is like a tinkle of bells."
"Well, that's
Tink, that's the fairy language.
I think I
hear her too."
The sound come from the chest
of drawers, and Peter made a
merry face. No one could ever
look quite so merry as Peter,
and the loveliest of gurgles
was his laugh. He had his first
laugh still.
"Wendy," he whispered gleefully, "I
do believe I shut her up in the
drawer!"
He let poor
Tink out of the drawer, and
she flew about the
nursery screaming with fury. "You
shouldn't say such things," Peter
retorted. "Of course I'm very
sorry, but how could I know you
were in the drawer?"
Wendy was not
listening to him. "O Peter," she cried, "if
she would only stand still and
let me see her!"
"They hardly ever stand still," he
said, but for one moment Wendy
saw the romantic figure come
to rest on the cuckoo clock. "O
the lovely!" she cried, though
Tink's face was still distorted
with passion.
"Tink," said Peter amiably, "this
lady says she wishes you were
her fairy."
Tinker Bell answered insolently.
"What does
she say, Peter?"
He had to translate. "She
is not very polite. She says
you
are a great [huge] ugly girl,
and that she is my fairy.
He tried to
argue with Tink. "You
know you can't be my fairy, Tink,
because I am an gentleman and
you are a lady."
To this Tink
replied in these words, "You silly ass," and disappeared
into the bathroom. "She is quite
a common fairy," Peter explained
apologetically, "she is called
Tinker Bell because she mends
the pots and kettles [tinker
= tin worker]." [Similar to "cinder" plus "elle" to
get Cinderella]
They were together in the armchair
by this time, and Wendy plied
him with more questions.
"If you don't
live in Kensington Gardens
now -- "
"Sometimes
I do still."
"But where
do you live mostly now?"
"With the lost
boys."
"Who are they?"
"They are the
children who fall out of their
perambulators
when the nurse is looking the
other way. If they are not claimed
in seven days they are sent far
away to the Neverland to defray
expenses. I'm captain."
"What fun it
must be!"
"Yes," said cunning Peter, "but
we are rather lonely. You see
we have no female companionship."
"Are none of
the others girls?"
"Oh, no; girls,
you know, are much too clever
to fall out of
their prams."
This flattered
Wendy immensely. "I
think," she said, "it is perfectly
lovely the way you talk about
girls; John there just despises
us."
For reply Peter
rose and kicked John out of
bed, blankets and
all; one kick. This seemed to
Wendy rather forward for a first
meeting, and she told him with
spirit that he was not captain
in her house. However, John continued
to sleep so placidly on the floor
that she allowed him to remain
there. "And I know you meant
to be kind," she said, relenting, "so
you may give me a kiss."
For the moment
she had forgotten his ignorance
about kisses. "I
thought you would want it back," he
said a little bitterly, and offered
to return her the thimble.
"Oh dear," said the nice Wendy, "I
don't mean a kiss, I mean a thimble."
"What's that?"
"It's like this." She
kissed him.
"Funny!" said Peter gravely. "Now
shall I give you a thimble?"
"If you wish to," said
Wendy, keeping her head erect
this time.
Peter thimbled
her, and almost immediately
she screeched. "What
is it, Wendy?"
"It was exactly
as if someone were pulling
my hair."
"That must
have been Tink. I never knew
her so naughty before."
And indeed Tink was darting
about again, using offensive
language.
"She says she
will do that to you, Wendy,
every time I give
you a thimble."
"But why?"
"Why, Tink?"
Again Tink
replied, "You silly
ass." Peter could not understand
why, but Wendy understood, and
she was just slightly disappointed
when he admitted that he came
to the nursery window not to
see her but to listen to stories.
"You see, I
don't know any stories. None
of the lost boys
knows any stories."
"How perfectly awful," Wendy
said.
"Do you know," Peter asked "why
swallows build in the eaves of
houses? It is to listen to the
stories. O Wendy, your mother
was telling you such a lovely
story."
"Which story
was it?"
"About the
prince who couldn't find the
lady who wore the glass
slipper."
"Peter," said Wendy excitedly, "that
was Cinderella, and he found
her, and they lived happily ever
after."
Peter was so glad that he rose
from the floor, where they had
been sitting, and hurried to
the window.
"Where are you going?" she
cried with misgiving.
"To tell the
other boys."
"Don't go Peter," she entreated, "I
know such lots of stories."
Those were her precise words,
so there can be no denying that
it was she who first tempted
him.
He came back, and there was
a greedy look in his eyes now
which ought to have alarmed her,
but did not.
"Oh, the stories I could tell
to the boys!" she cried, and
then Peter gripped her and began
to draw her toward the window.
"Let me go!" she
ordered him.
"Wendy, do
come with me and tell the other
boys."
Of course she
was very pleased to be asked,
but she said, "Oh
dear, I can't. Think of mummy!
Besides, I can't fly."
"I'll teach
you."
"Oh, how lovely
to fly."
"I'll teach
you how to jump on the wind's
back, and then
away we go."
"Oo!" she exclaimed
rapturously.
"Wendy, Wendy,
when you are sleeping in your
silly bed you
might be flying about with me
saying funny things to the stars."
"Oo!"
"And, Wendy,
there are mermaids."
"Mermaids!
With tails?"
"Such long
tails."
"Oh," cried Wendy, "to
see a mermaid!"
He had become
frightfully cunning. "Wendy," he
said, "how we should all respect
you."
She was wriggling her body
in distress. It was quite as
if she were trying to remain
on the nursery floor.
But he had no pity for her.
"Wendy," he said, the sly one, "you
could tuck us in at night."
"Oo!"
"None of us
has ever been tucked in at
night."
"Oo," and her
arms went out to him.
"And you could
darn our clothes, and make
pockets for us. None
of us has any pockets."
How could she
resist. "Of course
it's awfully fascinating!" she
cried. "Peter, would you teach
John and Michael to fly too?"
"If you like," he said indifferently,
and she ran to John and Michael
and shook them. "Wake up," she
cried, "Peter Pan has come and
he is to teach us to fly."
John rubbed
his eyes. "Then
I shall get up," he said. Of
course he was on the floor already. "Hallo," he
said, "I am up!"
Michael was up by this time
also, looking as sharp as a knife
with six blades and a saw, but
Peter suddenly signed silence.
Their faces assumed the awful
craftiness of children listening
for sounds from the grown-up
world. All was as still as salt.
Then everything was right. No,
stop! Everything was wrong. Nana,
who had been barking distressfully
all the evening, was quiet now.
It was her silence they had heard.
"Out with the light! Hide!
Quick!" cried John, taking command
for the only time throughout
the whole adventure. And thus
when Liza entered, holding Nana,
the nursery seemed quite its
old self, very dark, and you
would have sworn you heard its
three wicked inmates breathing
angelically as they slept. They
were really doing it artfully
from behind the window curtains.
Liza was in a bad tamper, for
she was mixing the Christmas
puddings in the kitchen, and
had been drawn from them, with
a raisin still on her cheek,
by Nana's absurd suspicions.
She thought the best way of getting
a little quiet was to take Nana
to the nursery for a moment,
but in custody of course.
"There, you suspicious brute," she
said, not sorry that Nana was
in disgrace. "They are perfectly
safe, aren't they? Every one
of the little angels sound asleep
in bed. Listen to their gentle
breathing."
Here Michael, encouraged by
his success, breathed so loudly
that they were nearly detected.
Nana knew that kind of breathing,
and she tried to drag herself
out of Liza's clutches.
But Liza was
dense. "No more
of it, Nana," she said sternly,
pulling her out of the room. "I
warn you if bark again I shall
go straight for master and missus
and bring them home from the
party, and then, oh, won't master
whip you, just."
She tied the unhappy dog up
again, but do you think Nana
ceased to bark? Bring master
and missus home from the party!
Why, that was just what she wanted.
Do you think she cared whether
she was whipped so long as her
charges were safe? Unfortunately
Liza returned to her puddings,
and Nana, seeing that no help
would come from her, strained
and strained at the chain until
at last she broke it. In another
moment she had burst into the
dining- room of 27 and flung
up her paws to heaven, her most
expressive way of making a communication.
Mr. and Mrs. Darling knew at
once that something terrible
was happening in their nursery,
and without a good-bye to their
hostess they rushed into the
street.
But it was now ten minutes
since three scoundrels had been
breathing behind the curtains,
and Peter Pan can do a great
deal in ten minutes.
We now return to the nursery.
"It's all right," John announced,
emerging from his hiding- place. "I
say, Peter, can you really fly?"
Instead of troubling to answer
him Peter flew around the room,
taking the mantelpiece on the
way.
"How topping!" said
John and Michael.
"How sweet!" cried
Wendy.
"Yes, I'm sweet, oh, I am sweet!" said
Peter, forgetting his manners
again.
It looked delightfully easy,
and they tried it first from
the floor and then from the beds,
but they always went down instead
of up.
"I say, how do you do it?" asked
John, rubbing his knee. He was
quite a practical boy.
"You just think lovely wonderful
thoughts," Peter explained, "and
they lift you up in the air."
He showed them again.
"You're so nippy at it," John
said, "couldn't you do it very
slowly once?"
Peter did it
both slowly and quickly. "I've got it now, Wendy!" cried
John, but soon he found he had
not. Not one of them could fly
an inch, though even Michael
was in words of two syllables,
and Peter did not know A from
Z.
Of course Peter had been trifling
with them, for no one can fly
unless the fairy dust has been
blown on him. Fortunately, as
we have mentioned, one of his
hands was messy with it, and
he blew some on each of them,
with the most superb results.
"Now just wiggle your shoulders
this way," he said, "and let
go."
They were all on their beds,
and gallant Michael let go first.
He did not quite mean to let
go, but he did it, and immediately
he was borne across the room.
"I flewed!" he
screamed while still in mid-air.
John let go and met Wendy near
the bathroom.
"Oh, lovely!"
"Oh, ripping!"
"Look at me!"
"Look at me!"
"Look at me!"
They were not nearly so elegant
as Peter, they could not help
kicking a little, but their heads
were bobbing against the ceiling,
and there is almost nothing so
delicious as that. Peter gave
Wendy a hand at first, but had
to desist, Tink was so indignant.
Up and down they went, and
round and round. Heavenly was
Wendy's word.
"I say," cried John, "why
shouldn't we all go out?"
Of course it was to this that
Peter had been luring them.
Michael was ready: he wanted
to see how long it took him to
do a billion miles. But Wendy
hesitated.
"Mermaids!" said
Peter again.
"Oo!"
"And there
are pirates."
"Pirates," cried John, seizing
his Sunday hat, "let us go at
once."
It was just at this moment
that Mr. and Mrs. Darling hurried
with Nana out of 27. They ran
into the middle of the street
to look up at the nursery window;
and, yes, it was still shut,
but the room was ablaze with
light, and most heart-gripping
sight of all, they could see
in shadow on the curtain three
little figures in night attire
circling round and round, not
on the floor but in the air.
Not three figures, four!
In a tremble they opened the
street door. Mr. Darling would
have rushed upstairs, but Mrs.
Darling signed him to go softly.
She even tried to make her heart
go softly.
Will they reach the nursery
in time? If so, how delightful
for them, and we shall all breathe
a sigh of relief, but there will
be no story. On the other hand,
if they are not in time, I solemnly
promise that it will all come
right in the end.
They would have reached the
nursery in time had it not been
that the little stars were watching
them. Once again the stars blew
the window open, and that smallest
star of all called out:
"Cave, Peter!"
Then Peter
knew that there was not a moment
to lose. "Come," he
cried imperiously, and soared
out at once into the night, followed
by John and Michael and Wendy.
Mr. and Mrs. Darling and Nana
rushed into the nursery too late.
The birds were flown.
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