The
last sound Peter heard before
he was quite alone were the mermaids
retiring one by one to their
bedchambers under the sea. He
was too far away to hear their
doors shut; but every door in
the coral caves where they live
rings a tiny bell when it opens
or closes (as in all the nicest
houses on the mainland), and
he
heard the bells.
Steadily the waters rose till
they were nibbling at his feet;
and to pass the time until they
made their final gulp, he watched
the only thing on the lagoon.
He thought it was a piece of
floating paper, perhaps part
of the kite, and wondered idly
how long it would take to drift
ashore.
Presently he noticed as an
odd thing that it was undoubtedly
out upon the lagoon with some
definite purpose, for it was
fighting the tide, and sometimes
winning; and when it won, Peter,
always sympathetic to the weaker
side, could not help clapping;
it was such a gallant piece of
paper.
It was not really a piece of
paper; it was the Never bird,
making desperate efforts to reach
Peter on the nest. By working
her wings, in a way she had learned
since the nest fell into the
water, she was able to some extent
to guide her strange craft, but
by the time Peter recognised
her she was very exhausted. She
had come to save him, to give
him her nest, though there were
eggs in it. I rather wonder at
the bird, for though he had been
nice to her, he had also sometimes
tormented her. I can suppose
only that, like Mrs. Darling
and the rest of them, she was
melted because he had all his
first teeth.
She called out to him what
she had come for, and he called
out to her what she was doing
there; but of course neither
of them understood the other's
language. In fanciful stories
people can talk to the birds
freely, and I wish for the moment
I could pretend that this were
such a story, and say that Peter
replied intelligently to the
Never bird; but truth is best,
and I want to tell you only what
really happened. Well, not only
could they not understand each
other, but they forgot their
manners.
"I -- want -- you -- to --
get -- into -- the -- nest," the
bird called, speaking as slowly
and distinctly as possible, "and
-- then -- you -- can -- drift
-- ashore, but -- I -- am --
too - - tired -- to -- bring
-- it -- any -- nearer -- so
-- you -- must -- try -- to --
swim -- to -- it."
"What are you quacking about?" Peter
answered. "Why don't you let
the nest drift as usual?"
"I -- want -- you -- " the
bird said, and repeated it all
over.
Then Peter tried slow and distinct.
"What -- are -- you -- quacking
-- about?" and so on.
The Never bird became irritated;
they have very short tempers.
"You dunderheaded little jay," she
screamed, "Why don't you do as
I tell you?"
Peter felt that she was calling
him names, and at a venture he
retorted hotly:
"So are you!"
Then rather curiously they
both snapped out the same remark:
"Shut up!"
"Shut up!"
Nevertheless the bird was determined
to save him if she could, and
by one last mighty effort she
propelled the nest against the
rock. Then up she flew; deserting
her eggs, so as to make her meaning
clear.
Then at last he understood,
and clutched the nest and waved
his thanks to the bird as she
fluttered overhead. It was not
to receive his thanks, however,
that she hung there in the sky;
it was not even to watch him
get into the nest; it was to
see what he did with her eggs.
There were two large white
eggs, and Peter lifted them up
and reflected. The bird covered
her face with her wings, so as
not to see the last of them;
but she could not help peeping
between the feathers.
I forget whether I have told
you that there was a stave on
the rock, driven into it by some
buccaneers of long ago to mark
the site of buried treasure.
The children had discovered the
glittering hoard, and when in
a mischievous mood used to fling
showers of moidores, diamonds,
pearls and pieces of eight to
the gulls, who pounced upon them
for food, and then flew away,
raging at the scurvy trick that
had been played upon them. The
stave was still there, and on
it Starkey had hung his hat,
a deep tarpaulin, watertight,
with a broad brim. Peter put
the eggs into this hat and set
it on the lagoon. It floated
beautifully.
The Never bird saw at once
what he was up to, and screamed
her admiration of him; and, alas,
Peter crowed his agreement with
her. Then he got into the nest,
reared the stave in it as a mast,
and hung up his shirt for a sail.
At the same moment the bird fluttered
down upon the hat and once more
sat snugly on her eggs. She drifted
in one direction, and he was
borne off in another, both cheering.
Of course when Peter landed
he beached his barque [small
ship, actually the Never Bird's
nest in this particular case
in point] in a place where the
bird would easily find it; but
the hat was such a great success
that she abandoned the nest.
It drifted about till it went
to pieces, and often Starkey
came to the shore of the lagoon,
and with many bitter feelings
watched the bird sitting on his
hat. As we shall not see her
again, it may be worth mentioning
here that all Never birds now
build in that shape of nest,
with a broad brim on which the
youngsters take an airing.
Great were
the rejoicings when Peter reached
the home under
the ground almost as soon as
Wendy, who had been carried hither
and thither by the kite. Every
boy had adventures to tell; but
perhaps the biggest adventure
of all was that they were several
hours late for bed. This so inflated
them that they did various dodgy
things to get staying up still
longer, such as demanding bandages;
but Wendy, though glorying in
having them all home again safe
and sound, was scandalised by
the lateness of the hour, and
cried, "To bed, to bed," in a
voice that had to be obeyed.
Next day, however, she was awfully
tender, and gave out bandages
to every one, and they played
till bed-time at limping about
and carrying their arms in slings.
|