One
of the first things Peter did
next day was to measure Wendy
and John and Michael for hollow
trees. Hook, you remember, had
sneered at the boys for thinking
they needed a tree apiece, but
this was ignorance, for unless
your tree fitted you it was difficult
to go up and down, and no two
of the boys were quite the same
size. Once you fitted, you drew
in [let out] your breath at the
top, and down you went at exactly
the right speed, while to ascend
you drew in and let out alternately,
and so wriggled up. Of course,
when you have mastered the action
you are able to do these things
without thinking of them, and
nothing
can be more graceful.
But you simply must fit, and
Peter measures you for your tree
as carefully as for a suit of
clothes: the only difference
being that the clothes are made
to fit you, while you have to
be made to fit the tree. Usually
it is done quite easily, as by
your wearing too many garments
or too few, but if you are bumpy
in awkward places or the only
available tree is an odd shape,
Peter does some things to you,
and after that you fit. Once
you fit, great care must be taken
to go on fitting, and this, as
Wendy was to discover to her
delight, keeps a whole family
in perfect condition.
Wendy and Michael fitted their
trees at the first try, but John
had to be altered a little.
After a few days' practice
they could go up and down as
gaily as buckets in a well. And
how ardently they grew to love
their home under the ground;
especially Wendy. It consisted
of one large room, as all houses
should do, with a floor in which
you could dig [for worms] if
you wanted to go fishing, and
in this floor grew stout mushrooms
of a charming colour, which were
used as stools. A Never tree
tried hard to grow in the centre
of the room, but every morning
they sawed the trunk through,
level with the floor. By tea-time
it was always about two feet
high, and then they put a door
on top of it, the whole thus
becoming a table; as soon as
they cleared away, they sawed
off the trunk again, and thus
there was more room to play.
There was an enourmous fireplace
which was in almost any part
of the room where you cared to
light it, and across this Wendy
stretched strings, made of fibre,
from which she suspended her
washing. The bed was tilted against
the wall by day, and let down
at 6:30, when it filled nearly
half the room; and all the boys
slept in it, except Michael,
lying like sardines in a tin.
There was a strict rule against
turning round until one gave
the signal, when all turned at
once. Michael should have used
it also, but Wendy would have
[desired] a baby, and he was
the littlest, and you know what
women are, and the short and
long of it is that he was hung
up in a basket.
It was rough and simple, and
not unlike what baby bears would
have made of an underground house
in the same circumstances. But
there was one recess in the wall,
no larger than a bird-cage, which
was the private apartment of
Tinker Bell. It could be shut
off from the rest of the house
by a tiny curtain, which Tink,
who was most fastidious [particular],
always kept drawn when dressing
or undressing. No woman, however
large, could have had a more
exquisite boudoir [dressing room]
and bed-chamber combined. The
couch, as she always called it,
was a genuine Queen Mab, with
club legs; and she varied the
bedspreads according to what
fruit- blossom was in season.
Her mirror was a Puss-in-Boots,
of which there are now only three,
unchipped, known to fairy dealers;
the washstand was Pie-crust and
reversible, the chest of drawers
an authentic Charming the Sixth,
and the carpet and rugs the best
(the early) period of Margery
and Robin. There was a chandelier
from Tiddlywinks for the look
of the thing, but of course she
lit the residence herself. Tink
was very contemptuous of the
rest of the house, as indeed
was perhaps inevitable, and her
chamber, though beautiful, looked
rather conceited, having the
appearance of a nose permanently
turned up.
I suppose it was all especially
entrancing to Wendy, because
those rampagious boys of hers
gave her so much to do. Really
there were whole weeks when,
except perhaps with a stocking
in the evening, she was never
above ground. The cooking, I
can tell you, kept her nose to
the pot, and even if there was
nothing in it, even if there
was no pot, she had to keep watching
that it came aboil just the same.
You never exactly knew whether
there would be a real meal or
just a make-believe, it all depended
upon Peter's whim: he could eat,
really eat, if it was part of
a game, but he could not stodge
[cram down the food] just to
feel stodgy [stuffed with food],
which is what most children like
better than anything else; the
next best thing being to talk
about it. Make-believe was so
real to him that during a meal
of it you could see him getting
rounder. Of course it was trying,
but you simply had to follow
his lead, and if you could prove
to him that you were getting
loose for your tree he let you
stodge.
Wendy's favourite time for
sewing and darning was after
they had all gone to bed. Then,
as she expressed it, she had
a breathing time for herself;
and she occupied it in making
new things for them, and putting
double pieces on the knees, for
they were all most frightfully
hard on their knees.
When
she sat down
to a basketful
of their stockings, every heel
with a hole in it, she would
fling up her arms and exclaim, "Oh
dear, I am sure I sometimes think
spinsters are to be envied!"
Her face beamed when she exclaimed
this.
You remember about her pet
wolf. Well, it very soon discovered
that she had come to the island
and it found her out, and they
just ran into each other's arms.
After that it followed her about
everywhere.
As
time wore on
did she think
much about the beloved parents
she had left behind her? This
is a difficult question, because
it is quite impossible to say
how time does wear on in the
Neverland, where it is calculated
by moons and suns, and there
are ever so many more of them
than on the mainland. But I am
afraid that Wendy did not really
worry about her father and mother;
she was absolutely confident
that they would always keep the
window open for her to fly back
by, and this gave her complete
ease of mind. What did disturb
her at times was that John remembered
his parents vaguely only, as
people he had once known, while
Michael was quite willing to
believe that she was really his
mother. These things scared her
a little, and nobly anxious to
do her duty, she tried to fix
the old life in their minds by
setting them examination papers
on it, as like as possible to
the ones she used to do at school.
The other boys thought this awfully
interesting, and insisted on
joining, and they made slates
for themselves, and sat round
the table, writing and thinking
hard about the questions she
had written on another slate
and passed round. They were the
most ordinary questions -- "What
was the colour of Mother's eyes?
Which was taller, Father or Mother?
Was Mother blonde or brunette?
Answer all three questions if
possible." "(A) Write an essay
of not less than 40 words on
How I spent my last Holidays,
or The Characters of Father and
Mother compared. Only one of
these to be attempted." Or "(1)
Describe Mother's laugh; (2)
Describe Father's laugh; (3)
Describe Mother's Party Dress;
(4) Describe the Kennel and its
Inmate."
They were just everyday questions
like these, and when you could
not answer them you were told
to make a cross; and it was really
dreadful what a number of crosses
even John made. Of course the
only boy who replied to every
question was Slightly, and no
one could have been more hopeful
of coming out first, but his
answers were perfectly ridiculous,
and he really came out last:
a melancholy thing.
Peter did not compete. For
one thing he despised all mothers
except Wendy, and for another
he was the only boy on the island
who could neither write nor spell;
not the smallest word. He was
above all that sort of thing.
By the way, the questions were
all written in the past tense.
What was the colour of Mother's
eyes, and so on. Wendy, you see,
had been forgetting, too.
Adventures, of course, as we
shall see, were of daily occurrence;
but about this time Peter invented,
with Wendy's help, a new game
that fascinated him enormously,
until he suddenly had no more
interest in it, which, as you
have been told, was what always
happened with his games. It consisted
in pretending not to have adventures,
in doing the sort of thing John
and Michael had been doing all
their lives, sitting on stools
flinging balls in the air, pushing
each other, going out for walks
and coming back without having
killed so much as a grizzly.
To see Peter doing nothing on
a stool was a great sight; he
could not help looking solemn
at such times, to sit still seemed
to him such a comic thing to
do. He boasted that he had gone
walking for the good of his health.
For several suns these were the
most novel of all adventures
to him; and John and Michael
had to pretend to be delighted
also; otherwise he would have
treated them severely.
He
often went
out alone,
and when he
came back you
were never
absolutely certain whether he
had had an adventure or not.
He might have forgotten it so
completely that he said nothing
about it; and then when you went
out you found the body; and,
on the other hand, he might say
a great deal about it, and yet
you could not find the body.
Sometimes he came home with his
head bandaged, and then Wendy
cooed over him and bathed it
in lukewarm water, while he told
a dazzling tale. But she was
never quite sure, you know. There
were, however, many adventures
which she knew to be true because
she was in them herself, and
there were still more that were
at least partly true, for the
other boys were in them and said
they were wholly true. To describe
them all would require a book
as large as an English-Latin,
Latin- English Dictionary, and
the most we can do is to give
one as a specimen of an average
hour on the island. The difficulty
is which one to choose. Should
we take the brush with the redskins
at Slightly Gulch? It was a sanguinary
[cheerful] affair, and especially
interesting as showing one of
Peter's peculiarities, which
was that in the middle of a fight
he would suddenly change sides.
At the Gulch, when victory was
still in the balance, sometimes
leaning this way and sometimes
that, he called out, "I'm redskin
to-day; what are you, Tootles?" And
Tootles answered, "Redskin; what
are you, Nibs?" and Nibs said, "Redskin;
what are you Twin?" and so on;
and they were all redskins; and
of course this would have ended
the fight had not the real redskins
fascinated by Peter's methods,
agreed to be lost boys for that
once, and so at it they all went
again, more fiercely than ever.
The extraordinary upshot of
this adventure was -- but we
have not decided yet that this
is the adventure we are to narrate.
Perhaps a better one would be
the night attack by the redskins
on the house under the ground,
when several of them stuck in
the hollow trees and had to be
pulled out like corks. Or we
might tell how Peter saved Tiger
Lily's life in the Mermaids'
Lagoon, and so made her his ally.
Or we could tell of that cake
the pirates cooked so that the
boys might eat it and perish;
and how they placed it in one
cunning spot after another; but
always Wendy snatched it from
the hands of her children, so
that in time it lost its succulence,
and became as hard as a stone,
and was used as a missile, and
Hook fell over it in the dark.
Or suppose we tell of the birds
that were Peter's friends, particularly
of the Never bird that built
in a tree overhanging the lagoon,
and how the nest fell into the
water, and still the bird sat
on her eggs, and Peter gave orders
that she was not to be disturbed.
That is a pretty story, and the
end shows how grateful a bird
can be; but if we tell it we
must also tell the whole adventure
of the lagoon, which would of
course be telling two adventures
rather than just one. A shorter
adventure, and quite as exciting,
was Tinker Bell's attempt, with
the help of some street fairies,
to have the sleeping Wendy conveyed
on a great floating leaf to the
mainland. Fortunately the leaf
gave way and Wendy woke, thinking
it was bath-time, and swam back.
Or again, we might choose Peter's
defiance of the lions, when he
drew a circle round him on the
ground with an arrow and dared
them to cross it; and though
he waited for hours, with the
other boys and Wendy looking
on breathlessly from trees, not
one of them dared to accept his
challenge.
Which of these adventures shall
we choose? The best way will
be to toss for it.
I have tossed, and the lagoon
has won. This almost makes one
wish that the gulch or the cake
or Tink's leaf had won. Of course
I could do it again, and make
it best out of three; however,
perhaps fairest to stick to the
lagoon.
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