 1 Peter breaks through. All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, oh why can't you remain like this forever? This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end. Of course they lived at fourteen, and until Wendy came her mother was the chief one. She was a lovely lady with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that came from the puzzling east. However many you discover there was always one more, and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right hand corner. The way Mr. Darling won her was this. The many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her, except Mr. Darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. He got all of her, except the most innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss. Wendy thought Napoleon could have got it, but I can picture him trying, and then going off in a passion, slamming the door. Mr. Darling used to boast to Wendy that her mother not only loved him, but respected him. He was one of those deep ones who know about stocks and shares. Of course, no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know, and he often said stocks were up and shares were down, in a way that would have made any woman respect him. Mrs. Darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a Brussels sprout was missing, but by and by, whole cauliflower dropped out, and instead of them, there were pictures of babies without faces. She drew them when she should have been totting up. They were Mrs. Darling's guesses. Wendy came first, then John, then Michael. For a week or two after Wendy came, it was doubtful whether they would be able to keep her, as she was another mouth to feed. Mr. Darling was frightfully proud of her, but he was very honorable, and he sat on the edge of Mrs. Darling's bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses, while she looked at him imploringly. She wanted to risk it, come what might, but that was not his way. His way was with a pencil and a piece of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions, he had to begin at the beginning again. Now don't interrupt, he would beg of her. I have one pound seventeen here, and two and six at the office. I can cut off my coffee at the office, say ten shillings, making two, nine, and six. With your eighteen and three, makes three, nine, seven. With five, not not, and my checkbook makes eight, nine, seven. Who is that moving? Eight, nine, seven. Don and Carrie, seven. Don't speak my own. And the pound you lent to that man who came to the door, quiet child. Don and Carrie, child, there you've done it. Did I say nine, nine, seven? Yes, I said nine, nine, seven. The question is, can we try it for a year on nine, nine, seven? Of course we can, George, she cried. But she was prejudiced in Wendy's favor, and he was really the grander character of the two. Remember mumps? He warned her almost threateningly, and off he went again. Mumps one pound, this is what I had put down, but I dare say it will be more like thirty shillings. Don't speak. Measles one five. German measles half a guinea, makes two fifteen six. Don't waggle your finger. Whooping coughs, say fifteen shillings. And so on it went, and it added up differently each time, but alas Wendy just got through, with mumps reduced to twelve six, and the two kinds of measles treated as one. There was the same excitement over John, and Michael had an even narrower squeak, but both were kept, and soon, you might have seen the three of them going in a row to Miss Folsom's kindergarten school, accompanied by their nurse. Mrs. Darling loved to have everything just so, and Mr. Darling had a passion for being exactly like his neighbor, so of course they had a nurse. As they were poor, owing to the amount of milk the children drank, this nurse was a prim newfoundland dog called Nana, who would belong to no one in particular until the darlings engaged her. She had always thought children important, however, and the darlings had become acquainted with her in Kensington Gardens, where she spent most of her spare time paving into perambulators, and was much hated by careless nursemaids whom she followed to their homes and complained of to their mistresses. She proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse, how thorough she was at that time, and up at any moment of the night if one of her charges made the slightest cry. Of course, her kennel was in the nursery. She had a genus from knowing when to cough as the things have no patients with, and when it needs a stocking round her throat. She believed to her last day in old-fashioned remedies like rhubarb leaf, and made sounds of contempt over all this new-fingled talk about germs and so on. It was a lesson in propriety to see her escorting the children to school, walking stately by their side when they were well behaved, and budding them back into line if they strayed. On John's footer days, she never once forgot his sweater, and she usually carried an umbrella in her mouth in case of rain. There was a room in the basement of Miss Folsom's school with a nurse's weight. They sat on forms while Nana lay on the floor, but that was the only difference. They effected to ignore her as of an inferior social status to themselves, and she despised their light talk. She resented visits to the nursery for Mrs. Darling's friends, but if they did come, she first whipped off Michael's pinafore and put him into the one with blue braiding, and smoothed out Wendy and made a dash at John's hair. No nursery could possibly have been conducted more correctly, and Mr. Darling knew it, yet he sometimes wondered uneasily whether the neighbors talked. He had his position in the city to consider. Nana also troubled him in another way. He had sometimes a feeling that she did not admire him. I know she admires you tremendously, George. Mrs. Darling would assure him, and then she would sign to the children to be especially nice to father. Lovely dances followed, in which the only other servant, Liza, was sometimes allowed to join. Such a midget she looked in her long skirt and made cap, though she swore, when engaged, that she would never see 10 again. The gait of those romps, and gaze of all was Mrs. Darling, who would pirouette so wildly that all you could see of her was a kiss, and then if you would dash at her, you might have got it. There was never a simpler, happier family until the coming of Peter Pan. Mrs. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake, but of course you can't, you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of her contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discovery sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you woke in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small in place at the bottom of your mind, and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on. I don't know whether you've ever seen a map of a person's mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but cats are trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads on the island for the Neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of color here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft and offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and cave through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose. It would be an easy map if that were all, but there's also first aid school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needlework, murders, hanging, verbs that tick the date of, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say 99 three pence or pulling at you two through self, and so on, and either these are part of the island or there are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still. Of course, the Neverlands vary a good deal. Johns, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingos flying over it, of which John was shooting, while Michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it. John lived in a boat turned upside down on the sand, Michael in a wigwam, Wendy in a house of leaves, definitely sewn together. John had no friends, Michael had friends at night, Wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents, but on the whole, the Neverlands had a family resemblance, and if they stood still in a row, you could say to them that they have each other's nose and so forth. On these magic shores, children at play are forever beaching the coracles. We too have been there, we can still hear the sounds of the surf, but we shall land no more. Of all the delectable islands, the Neverland is the snugest and most compact, not large and sprawling, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed. When you play at it by day, with the chairs and tablecloth, it is not the least alarming, but in the tomb abandons before you go to sleep, it becomes very real. That is why there are nightlights. Occasionally, in her travels through her children's minds, Mrs. Darling found things she could not understand, and of these, quite the most perplexing was the word Peter. She knew of no Peter, and yet he was here and there in John and Michael's minds, while Wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him. The names stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as Mrs. Darling gazed, she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance. Yes, he is rather cocky, when he admitted with regret, her mother had been questioning her. But who is he, my pet? He is Peter Pan, you know, mother. At first, Mrs. Darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood, she just remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live with the fairies. There are odd stories about him, as that when children died, he went part of the way with them so that they should not be frightened. She had believed in him at the time, but now that she was married and full of sense, she quite doubted whether there was any such person. Besides, she said to Wendy, he would be grown up by this time. Oh no, he isn't grown up. Wendy assured her confidently, and he is just my size. She meant that he was her size in both mind and body. She didn't know how she knew, she just knew it. Mrs. Darling consulted Mr. Darling, but he smiled poo-poo. Mark my words, he said. It is some nonsense Nina has been putting into their heads, just the sort of idea a dog would have. Leave it alone and it will blow over. But it would not blow over and soon the troublesome boy gave Mrs. Darling quite a shock. Children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them. For instance, they were remembered to mention, a week after the event had been, that when they were in the void they had met their dead father and had a game with him. It was in this casual way that Wendy one morning made a disquieting revelation. Some leaves of a tree had been found on the nursery floor, which certainly were not there when the children went to bed, and Mrs. Darling was puzzling over them and Wendy said with a tolerant smile, I do believe it is that Peter again. What ever do you mean Wendy? It is so naughty of him not to wipe his feet, Wendy said sighing. She was a tidy child. She explained in quite a matter of fact way that she thought Peter sometimes came to the nursery in the night and sat on the foot of her bed and played on his pipes for her. Unfortunately she never woke, so she didn't know how she knew, she just knew. What nonsense you talk precious, no one can get into the house without knocking. I think he comes in by the window, she said. My love is just three floors up. Were not the leaves of the foot of the window mother? It was quite true, the leaves had been found very near the window. Mrs. Darling did not know what to think, for it all seemed so natural to Wendy that you could not dismiss it by saying she had been dreaming. My child, the mother cried, why did you not tell me of this before? I forgot, said Wendy lightly. She was in a hurry to get her breakfast. Oh surely she must have been dreaming. But on the other hand, there were the leaves. Mrs. Darling examined them very carefully. There were skeleton leaves, but she was sure they did not come from any tree that grew in England. She crawled about the floor, peering at it with a candle for marks of a strange foot. She rattled the poker of the chimney and tapped the walls. She let down the tape from the window to the pavement and it was a sheer drop of 30 feet, without so much as a spout to climb up by. Certainly Wendy had been dreaming. But Wendy had not been dreaming, as the very next night showed. The night on which the extraordinary adventures of these children may be said to have begun. On the night we speak of, all the children were once more in bed. It happened to be Nana's evening off and Mrs. Darling had bathed them and sung to them till one by one they had let go her hand and slid away into the land of sleep. All were looking so saving cozy that she smiled at her fears now and sat down tranquilly by the fire to sow. It was something for Michael, who on his birthday was getting into shirts. The fire was warm however and the nursery dimly lit by three night lights and presently the sowing lay on Mrs. Darling's lap. Then her head nodded, oh so gracefully, she was asleep. Look at the four of them, Wendy and Michael over there, John here and Mrs. Darling by the fire. There should have been a fourth nightlight. While she slept she had a dream. She dreamt that the Neverland had come too near and that a strange boy had broken through from it. He did not alarm her, for she thought she had seen it before in the faces of many women who have no children. Perhaps he is to be found in the faces of some mothers also. But in her dream he had rent the film that obscures the Neverland and she saw Wendy and John and Michael peeping through the gap. The dream by itself would have been a trifle but while she was dreaming the window of the nursery blew open and a boy did drop on the floor. He was accompanied by a strange light no bigger than her fist which darted about the room like a living thing and I think it must have been this light that wakened Mrs. Darling. She started up with a cry and saw the boy and somehow she knew at once that he was Peter Pan. If you or I or Wendy had been there we should have seen that he was very like Mrs. Darling's kiss. He was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that he was out of trees but the most intrinsic thing about him was that he had all his first teeth. When he saw she was a grown-up he gnashed the little pearls at her. End of Chapter 1 Peter Pan by J. M. Berry Mrs. Darling screamed and as if an answer to a bell the door opened and Nana entered returned from her evening out. She growled and sprang at the boy who leapt lightly through the window. Again Mrs. Darling screamed this time in distress for him for she thought he was killed and she ran down into the street to look for his little body but it was not there and she looked up and in the black night she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star. She returned to the nursery and found Nana with something in her mouth which proved to be the boy's shadow. As he leapt at the window Nana had closed it quickly too late to catch him but his shadow had not had time to get out. Slam went the window and snapped it off. He made a sure Mrs. Darling examined the shadow carefully but it was quite of the ordinary kind. Nana had no doubt of what was the best thing to do with this shadow. She went out at the window meaning he assured to come back for it that it put it where he can get it easily without disturbing the children but unfortunately Mrs. Darling could not leave it hanging out at the window. It looked so like the washing and lowered the whole tone of the house. She thought of showing it to Mr. Darling but he was dotting up winter great-coats for John and Michael with a wet towel around his head to keep his brain clear and it seemed a shame to trouble him. Besides she knew exactly what he would say it all comes of having a dog for a nurse. She decided to roll the shadow up and put it away carefully in a drawer until a fitting opportunity came for telling her husband. The opportunity came a week later on that never to be forgotten Friday. Of course it was a Friday. I ought to have been especially careful on a Friday. She used to say afterwards to her husband while perhaps Nana was on the other side of her holding her hand. No, no, Mr. Darling always said. I am responsible for it all. I, George Darling, did it. Me a culpa, me a culpa. He had had a classical education. They said thus night after night recalling that fatal Friday till every detail of it was stamped on their brains and came through on the other side like the faces on the bad coinage. If only I had not accepted that invitation to die on a twenty-seven, Mrs. Darling said. If only I had not poured my medicine into Nana's bowl, said Mr. Darling. If only I had pretended to like that medicine was what Nana's wet eyes said. My liking for parties, George. My fatal gift of humor, dearest. My touchiness about trifles, dear master and mistress. Then one more of them would break down altogether. Nana other thoughts. It's true, it's true. They ought not have a dog for a nurse. Many a time it was Mr. Darling who put up the handkerchief to Nana's eyes. That fiend, Mr. Darling would cry. And Nana's bark was the echo of it. But Mrs. Darling never abraded, Peter. There was something in the right-hand corner of her mouth that wanted her not to call Peter names. They would sit there in the empty nursery, recalling fondly every smallest detail of the dreadful evening. It had begun so uneventfully, so precisely like hundred other evenings, with Nana putting on the water for Michael's bath and carrying him to it on her back. I won't go to bed, he had shouted, like one who still believed that he had last word on the subject. I won't, I won't. Nana, it isn't six o'clock yet. Oh dear, oh dear, I shan't love you any more, Nana. I tell you, I won't be bathed. I won't, I won't. Then Mrs. Darling had to come in, wearing her white evening gown. She had dressed early, because Wendy so loved to see her in her evening gown, with the necklace George had given her. She was wearing Wendy's bracelet on her arm. She had asked for the loan of it, when they loved to lend her bracelet to her mother. She had found her other two children playing at being herself and father on the occasion of Wendy's birth. And John was saying, I'm happy to inform you Mrs. Darling, that you are now a mother. In just such a tone as Mr. Darling himself may have used on the real occasion. Wendy had danced with joy, just as the real Mrs. Darling must have done. Then John was born, with the extra pomp that he conceived due to the birth of a male. And Michael came from his bath to ask to be born also. But John said brutally that they did not want any more. Michael had nearly cried, nobody wants me, he said, and of course the lady in the evening dress could not stand that. I do, she said, I so want a third child. Boy or girl, asked Michael, not too hopefully. Boy. Then he had leapt into her arms. Such a little thing for Mr. and Mrs. Darling and Nana to recall now, but not so little, if that was to be Michael's last night in the nursery. They go on with their recollections. It was then that I rushed in like a tornado, wasn't it? Mr. Darling would say, scorning himself, and indeed he had been like a tornado. Perhaps there was some excuse for him. He too had been dressing for the party, and all had gone well with him, until he came to his tie. It's an astounding thing to have to tell, but this man, though he knew about stocks and shares, had no real mastery of his tie. Sometimes the thing yielded to him without a contest, but there were occasions when it would have been better for the house if he had swallowed his bride and used a made up tie. This was such an occasion. He came rushing into the nursery with a crumpled little brute of a tie in his hand. Why? What's the matter, Father dear? Matter, he yelled, he really yelled. This tie it will not tie. He became dangerously sarcastic. Not round my neck, round the bed post. Oh yes, twenty time have I made it up, round the bed post, but round my neck? No, oh dear no, begs to be excused. He thought Mrs. Darling was not sufficiently impressed, and he went on sternly, I warn you of this, mother, that unless this tie is round my neck, we don't go out to dinner tonight, and if I don't go out to dinner tonight, I never go to the office again, and if I don't go to the office again, you and I starve, and our children will be flung into the streets. Even then, Mrs. Darling was placid. Let me try, dear, she said, and indeed that was what he had come to ask her to do. And with her nice, cool hands, she tined the tie for him, while the children stood around to see their fate decided. Some man would have resented her being able to do it so easily, but Mr. Darling had far too fine a nature for that. He thanked her carelessly, and once forgot his rage, and in another moment was dancing around the room with Michael on his back. How wildly we romped, said Mrs. Darling now, recalling it. Our last romp, Mr. Darling roamed. Oh, George, do you remember Michael suddenly said to me, how did you get to know me, mother? I remember. They were rather sweet, don't you think, George? And they were ours, ours, and now they're gone. The romp had ended with the appearance of Nana, and most unluckily Mr. Darling collided against her, covering his trousers with hairs. There are not only new trousers, but they were the first he had ever had with braid on them, and he had had to bite his lip to prevent the tears coming. Of course Mrs. Darling brushed him, but he began to talk again, about it being a mistake to have a dog for a nurse. George, Nana is a treasure. No doubt, but I have an uneasy feeling, at times, that she looks upon the children as puppies. Oh, no! Day one, I feel sure she knows they have souls. I wonder, Mr. Darling said thoughtfully. I wonder. It was an opportunity, his wife felt, for telling him about the boy. At first he poo-poo'd the story, but he became thoughtful when she showed him the shadow. It's nobody I know, he said, examining it carefully. But it does look like a scoundrel. We were still discussing it, you remember, said Mr. Darling, when Nana came in with Michael's medicine. He'll never carry the bottle of your mouth again, Nana, and it is all my fault. Strong man, though he was, there is no doubt that he had behaved rather foolishly over the medicine. If he had a weakness, it was for thinking all his life he had taken medicine boldly. And so now, when Michael dodged the spoon in Nana's mouth, he had said, reprovingly, Be a man, Michael. Wound, wound! Michael cried noughtily. Mrs. Darling left the room to get a chocolate for him, and Mr. Darling thought this show's want of firmness. Mother, don't pamper him, he called after her. Michael, when I was your age, I took medicine without a murmur. I said, Thank you, kind parents, for giving me bottles to make me well. He really thought this was true, and Wendy, who was now in her out-gown, believed it also, and she said to encourage Michael, That medicine you sometimes take, Father, is much nastier, isn't it? Ever so much nastier, Mr. Darling said bravely, and I will take it now as an example to you, Michael, if I hadn't lost the bottle. He had not exactly lost it. He had climbed in the dead of the night to the top of the wardrobe and hid in it there. What he did not know was that a faithful Liza had found it, and put it back on his wash-tent. I know where it is, Father, Wendy cried, always glad to be of service. I'll bring it! And she was off before he could stop her. Immediately his spirit sank in the strangest way. John, he said, shuddering, it's most beastly stuff, is that nasty, sticky, sweet kind. It will soon be over, Father, John said cheerily, and then inrushed Wendy with the medicine in a glass. I've been as quick as I could, she panted. You've been wonderfully quick, her father retorted, with a vindictive politeness that was quite thrown away upon her. Michael first, he said dodgedly. Father first, said Michael, who was of a suspicious nature. I shall be sick, you know, Mr. Darling said threateningly. Come on, Father, said John, hold your tongue, John, his father wrapped out. Wendy was quite puzzled. I thought she took it quite easily, Father. That's not a point, he retorted. The point is that there is more in my glass than in Michael's spoon. His proud heart was nearly bursting. And it isn't fair. I would say, though it were in my last breath, it isn't fair. Father, I'm waiting, Michael said gaudly. It's all very well to say that you are waiting. So am I waiting. Father's a cowardly custard. So are you a cowardly custard. I'm not frightened. Neither am I frightened. Well then, take it. Well then, you take it. Wendy had a splendid idea. Why not both take it at the same time? Certainly, said Mr. Darling. Are you ready, Michael? Wendy gave the words. One, two, three. And Michael took his medicine. But Mr. Darling slipped his behind his back. There was a yell of rage from Michael. And oh, father, Wendy exclaimed. What do you mean by oh, father? Mr. Darling demanded. Stop that row, Michael. I meant to take mine, but I missed it. It was dreadful the way all the three were looking at him, just as if they did not admire him. Look here, all of you, he said, and threateningly. As soon as Nana had gone into the bathroom, I had just thought of a splendid joke. I shall pour my medicine into Nana's bowl, and she will drink it, thinking it is milk. It was the color of milk, but the children did not have the father's sense of humor, and they looked at him reproachfully as he poured the medicine into Nana's bowl. What fun, he said doubtfully, and they did not dare expose him when Mrs. Darling and Nana returned. Nana, good dog, he said, batting her. I've put a little milk into your bowl, Nana. Nana whacked her tail, ran to the medicine, and began lapping it. Then she gave Mr. Darling such a look. Not an angry look. She showed him the great red tear that makes her so sorry for noble dogs, and crept into her kennel. Mr. Darling was frightfully ashamed of himself, but he could not give in. In a horrid silence Mrs. Darling smelled the bowl. Oh, George, she said, it's your medicine. It was only a joke. He roared while she comforted her boys, and Wendy hugged Nana. Muchy good, he said bitterly. My wearing myself to the bone trying to be funny in this house. And still Wendy hugged Nana. That's right, he said, coddle her. Nobody coddles me. Oh, dear no, I'm the only breadwinner. Why should I be coddled? Why, why, why? George, Mrs. Darling entreated him. Not so loud. The serfons will hear you. Somehow they had gotten to the way of calling Liza the serfons. Let them, he answered recklessly, bring her the whole world, but I refused to allow that dog to lord it in my nursery for an hour longer. The children wept. At Nana ran to him beseechingly, but he waved her back. He felt he was a strong man again. In vain, in vain, he cried, the proper place for you is the yard. And there you go to be tied up this instant. George, George, Mrs. Darling whispered, remember what I told you about that boy? Alas, he would not listen. He was determined to show who was master in that house. And when commands could not draw Nana from the kennel, he lured her out of it with honeyed words, and, sazing her roughly, dragged her from the nursery. He was ashamed of himself, and yet he did it. It was all owing to his too affectionate nature, which craved for admiration. When he had tied her up in the backyard, the wretched father went and sat in the passage with his knuckles to his eyes. In the meantime, Mrs. Darling had put the children to bed in unwanted silence, and lit their nightlights. They could hear Nana barking, and John whimpered. It's because he's chaining her up in the yard. But Wendy was wiser. That's not Nana's unhappy bark, she said, little guessing what was about to happen. That is her bark when she smells danger. Danger. Are you sure, Wendy? Oh, yes. Mrs. Darling quivered and went to the window. It was securely fastened. She looked out, and the night was peppered with stars. They were crowding around the house, as if curious to see what was taking place there, but she did not notice this. Nor that one or two of the smaller ones winked at her. Yet a nameless fear clutched at her heart and made her cry, oh, how I wish I wasn't going to a party tonight. Even Michael, already half asleep, knew that she was perturbed, and he asked, Can anything harm us, mother, after the nightlights are lit? Nothing precious, she said. They are the eyes a mother leaves behind to guard her children. She went from bed to bed, singing enchantments over them, and little Michael flung his arms around her. Mother, he cried, I'm glad of you. They were the last words she was to hear from him for a long time. Number 27 was only a few yards distant, where there had been a slight fall of snow, and father and mother Darling picked their way over it deftly, not to soil their shoes. They were already the only persons in the street, and all the stars were watching them. Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything. They must just look on forever. It's a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star knows what it was, so the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak. Winking is the star language, but the little ones still wander. They are not really friendly to Peter, who has him achieve his way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out, but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side to-night. An anxious to get the grown-ups out of the way. So, as soon as the door of 27 closed, all Mr. and Mrs. Darling, there was a commotion in affirmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the milk-way screamed out, No, Peter! End of Chapter 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Peter Pan by J. M. Berry. Chapter 3. Come away, come away. For a moment after Mr. and Mrs. Darling left the house, the nightlights by the beds of the three children continued to burn clearly. They were awfully nice little nightlights, and one could not 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 nightlights, and in the time we've taken to say this, it had been in all the drawers of 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 Tinkerbell, exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, the richer figure could be seen to the best advantage. She was slightly inclined to en banc pas. 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 Tinkerbell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust. Tinkerbell, he caught 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 tingle as of golden bells answered him. It is the fairy language. You ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear, 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 drawer, scattering the contents of the floor with both hands, as kings tossed half-pens to the crowd. In a moment, he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight, he forgot that he had shut Tinkerbell up in the drawer. If he thought it all, but I don't believe he ever thought. It was that he and his shadow, and 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 exceedingly polite also, having learned the Grand Manor 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 her 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 shortest 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 overrated persons. Wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of a tragedy. Oh Peter, no wonder you were crying, she said, and got out of the bed and ran to him. I wasn't crying about mothers, he said rather than dignally. I was crying because I can't get my shadow to stick on. Besides, I wasn't crying. It has come off? Yes. And then Wendy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so dragled 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 patronizingly. 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 and sewed the shadow onto Peter's foot. I dare say it will hurt a little, she warned him. Oh I shouldn'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'd 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 was never a cockier boy. But for the moment, Wendy was shocked. You can see, she exclaimed, with frightful sarcasm. Of course I did nothing. He did a little, Peter said carelessly, and continued to dance. A little, she replied with haughture. If I am no use, I can at least withdraw. And she sprang in the most signified 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 edge of the bed and tapped her gently with his foot. Wendy, he said, till 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 used than 20 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 the guest. I shall know when you give it to me, he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feelings, she gave him a thimble. Now, said he, shall I give you a kiss? And she replied with a slight primeness, if you please. She made herself rather cheap by inclining her face toward him, but he merely dropped an acorn bud and onto her hand, so she slowly returned her face where it had been before, and said nicely that she would wear his kiss on the chain around her neck. It is lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life. When people on our center 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 heavy question to him, it was like an examination paper that asked grammar when you went to be asked as Kings of England. I don't know, he replied uneasily, but I'm 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 touching her nightgown that he could sit near 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 ever want 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 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, Strecker is quite delightful. She poured out questions about them to his surprise, if they were rather a nuisance to him, getting in his way and so on, and indeed he sometimes had to give them a hiding. 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. Tideas talked this, but being a stay at home, she liked it. And so, he went on good naturally, 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 was a fairy somewhere that falls down dead. Really, he thought that they'd now talked enough about fairies, and it struck him that Tinkerbell was keeping very quiet. I can't think what she has gone to, he said, rising, and called Tink by name. Wendy's heart went flutter with a sudden thrill. Peter, she cried, clenching him. You don't mean to tell me that there was 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 tingle of bells. Well, that's Tink, that's the fairy language. I think you're here, too. The sound came from the chest of drawers, and Peter made a merry face. No one could ever quite look, so merry is Peter, and the loveliest 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 part 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. Oh, Peter, she cried, if she'd 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. Oh, the lovely, she cried, though Tink's face was still distorted with passion. Tink, said Peter emubly, this lady says she wishes you were her fairy. Tinkerbell answered insolently. What does she say, Peter? He had to translate. She's not very polite. She says you are a great 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'm a gentleman and you are a lady. To this Tink replied in these words, you silly ass, and disappeared into the bathroom. She's quite a common fairy, Peter explained apologetically. She's called Tinkerbell because she mends the pots and kettles. They were together in the armchair by this time, and Wendy plied him with more questions. If we 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 the fray expenses. I'm captain. What fun it must be. Yes, say cunning Peter, but we are rather lonely. You see, we have no female companionship. Are none of the other 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 her 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 wonder back, he said a little bitterly and offered to return 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 around 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 on the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories. Oh, 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 live happily ever after. Peter was so glad that he rose from the floor where he had been sitting, and hurried to the window. Where are you going, she cried in his giving, 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 to not. Oh, the stories I could tell to the boy as 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. Oh, 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. Oh, 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 quiet as if she was 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. Oh, none of us has ever been tucked in at night. Oh, and her arms went out to him. And you could don 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, will you teach John and Michael to fly, too? If you like, he said indifferently, and she reigned to John and Michael and shook them. Wake up, she cried. Peter Pan is coming. He has to teach us to fly. John rubbed his eyes. Then I shall get up, he said. Of course he was on the floor already. Hello, 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 a still assault. 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 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 quite seemed its old self, very dark, and you would have sworn you heard his three wicked inmates breathing angelically as I slept. They were really doing it artfully from behind the window curtains. Liza was in a bad temper for she was mixing the Christmas puddings in the kitchen and had been drawn from them with a raisin sill in 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 sounded 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 you bark again, I shall go straight for Master and Mrs 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? Brain Master and Mrs home from the party. Why, that was what she wanted. She thinks 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 the nursery and without a goodbye to their hostess, they rushed into the street. But it was now 10 minutes since three scoundrels had been breathing behind the curtains and Peter Pan can do a great deal in 10 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'm 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, Anna, 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 in their beds and Gallant Michael let go first. He did not quite mean to let go, but he did it and immediately he was born across the room. I flew to 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's 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. Oh, and there are pirates. Pirates, cried John, seizing a 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-grabbing sight of all, they could see in the shadow on the curtain three little figures and knight attires 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 should 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 they 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 the smallest star of all cried 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 Anna rushed into the nursery too late. The birds were flown. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Peter Pan This is a Libra Vox recording. All Libra Vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Recording by Mary Anderson. Peter Pan by J. M. Berry Chapter 4 The Flight Second to the right and straight on till morning. That, Peter had told Wendy, was the way to Neverland. But even birds carrying maps and consulting them at Windy Corners could not have cited it with these instructions. Peter, you see, just said anything that came into his head. At first, his companions trusted him implicitly. And so great were the delights of flying that they wasted time circling round church spires, or any other tall objects on the way that took their fancy. John and Michael raced, Michael getting a start. They were called with contempt that not so long ago they had thought themselves fine fellows for being able to fly round a room. Not long ago, but how long ago? They were flying over the sea before this thought began to disturb Wendy seriously. John thought it was their second sea and their third night. Sometimes it was dark and sometimes light. And now they were very cold and again too warm. Did they really feel hungry at times? Or were they merely pretending? Because Peter had such a jolly new way of feeding them. His way was to pursue birds who had food in their mouths suitable for humans and snatch it from them. Then the birds would follow and snatch it back. And they would all go chasing each other gaily for miles, parting at last with mutual expressions of goodwill. But Wendy noticed with gentle concern that Peter did not seem to know that this was rather an odd way of getting your bread and butter. Nor even that there are other ways. Certainly they did not pretend to be sleepy. They were sleepy. And that was a danger. For the moment they popped off down they fell. The awful thing was that Peter thought this funny. There he goes again. He would cry gleefully as Michael suddenly dropped like a stone. Save him, save him, cried Wendy, looking with horror at the cruel sea far below. Eventually Peter would dive through the air and catch Michael just before he could strike the sea. And it was lovely the way he did it. But he always waited till the last moment and you felt it was his cleverness that interested him and not the saving of human life. Also he was fond of variety and the sport that engrossed him one moment would suddenly cease to engage him. So there was always the possibility that the next time you fell he would let you go. He could sleep in the air without falling by merely lying on his back and floating. But this was partly at least because he was so light that if you got behind him in blue he went faster. Do be more polite to him, Wendy whispered to John when they were playing Follow My Leader. Then tell him to stop showing off said John. When playing Follow My Leader Peter would fly close to the water and touch each shark's tail in passing just as in the street you may run your finger along an iron railing. They could not follow him in this with much success so perhaps it was rather like showing off especially as he kept looking behind to see how many tails they missed. You must be nice to him, Wendy impressed upon her brothers. What could we do if he were to leave us? We could go back, Michael said. How could we ever find our way back without him? Well then we could go on said John. That is the awful thing John. We should have to go on for we don't know how to stop. This was true. Peter had forgotten to show them how to stop. John said that if the worst came to worst all they had to do was to go straight on for the world was round and so in time they must come back to their own window. And who was to get food for us, John? I nipped a bit out of that eagle's mouth pretty neatly, Wendy. After the 20th try Wendy reminded him and even though we became good at picking up food see how we bump against clouds and things if he is not near to give us a hand. Indeed they were constantly bumping. They could now fly strongly though they still kicked far too much but if they saw a cloud in front of them the more they tried to avoid it the more certainly did they bump into it. If Nana had been with them she would have had a bandage around Michael's forehead by this time. Peter was not with them for the moment and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves. He could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight to have some adventure in which they had no share. He would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star but he had already forgotten what it was. Or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him and yet not be able to sit down not be able to say for certain what had been happening. It was really rather irritating to the children who had never seen a mermaid and if he forgets them so quickly Wendy argued how can we expect that he will go on remembering us. Indeed sometimes when he returned he did not remember them at least not well Wendy was sure of it. She saw recognition come into his eyes as he was about to pass them the time of day and go on. Once even she had to call him by name. I'm Wendy she said agitatedly. He was very sorry. I say Wendy he whispered to her always if you see me forgetting you just keep on saying I'm Wendy and then I'll remember. Of course this was rather unsatisfactory. However to make amends he showed them how to lie out flat on a strong wind that was going their way and this was of such a pleasant change that they tried it several times and found that they could sleep thus with security and indeed they would have slept longer but Peter tired quickly of sleeping and soon he would cry in his captain's voice we get off here. So with occasional tiffs but on the whole rollicking they drew near the Neverland for after many moons they did reach it and what is more they had been going pretty straight all the time not perhaps so much owing to the guidance of Peter or Tink as because the island was looking for them. It is only thus that anyone may cite those magic shores. There it is said Peter calmly. Where where where all the arrows are pointing indeed a million golden arrows were pointing it out to the children all directed by their friend the sun who wanted them to be sure of their way before leaving them for the night. Wendy and John and Michael stood on tiptoe in the air to get their first sight of the island. Strange to say they all recognized it at once and until fear fell upon them they hailed it. Nuts is something long dreamt of and seen at last but as a familiar friend to whom they were returning home for the holidays. John there's the lagoon. Wendy look at the turtles bearing their eggs in the sand. I say John I see your flamingo with the broken leg. Look Michael there's your cave. John what's that in the brushwood? It's a wolf with her welps. Wendy I do believe that's your little welp. There's my boat John with her side stove in. No it isn't why we burned your boat. That's her at any rate. I say John I see the smoke of the red skin camp. Where show me and I'll tell you by the way smoke curls whether they are on the warpath. There just across the mysterious river. I see now yes they are on the warpath right enough. Peter was a little annoyed with them for knowing so much but if he wanted to lord it over them his triumph was at hand for have I not told you that a non fear fell upon them. It came as the arrows went leaving the island in gloom. In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread. Black shadows moved about in them. The roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now. And above all you lost the certainty that you would win. You were quite glad that the nightlights were on. You even liked Nana to say that this was just the mantle piece over there and that the Neverland was all make believe. Of course the Neverland had been make believe in those days but it was real now and there were no nightlights and it was getting darker every moment and where was Nana. They had been flying apart but they huddled close to Peter now. His careless manner had gone at last. His eyes were sparkling and a tingle went through them every time they touched his body. They were now over the fearsome island flying so low that sometimes a tree grazed their feet. Nothing horrid was visible in the air yet their progress had become slow and labored exactly as if they were pushing their way through hostile forces. Sometimes they hung in the air until Peter had beaten on it with his fists. They don't want us to land he explained. Who are they? Wendy whispered shuttering. But he could not or would not say. Tinkerbell had been asleep on his shoulder but now he wakened her and sent her on in front. Sometimes he poised himself in the air listening intently with his hand to his ear and again he would stare down with eyes so bright that they seemed to bore two holes to earth. Having done these things he went on again. His courage was almost appalling. Would you like an adventure now he said casually to John or would you like to have your tea first? Wendy said tea first quickly and Michael pressed her hand in gratitude. But the braver John hesitated. What kind of adventure he asked cautiously. There's a pirate asleep in the pompous just beneath us Peter told him. If you like we'll go down and kill him. I don't see him John said after a long pause. I do. Suppose John said a little huskily he were to wake up. Peter spoke indignantly. You don't think I would kill him while he was sleeping. I would wake him first and then kill him that's the way I always do. I say do you kill many? Tons. John said how ripping but decided to have tea first. He asked if there were many pirates on the island just now and Peter said he had never known so many. Who is captain now? Hook answered Peter and his face became very stern as he said that hated word. Jazz hook? I then indeed Michael began to cry and even John could speak in gulps only for they knew hooks reputation. He was blackbeard's boson John whispered huskily he is the worst of them all. He is the only man of whom barbecue was afraid. That's him said Peter. What is he like? Is he big? He is not so big as he was. How do you mean? I cut off a bit of him. You. Yes me said Peter sharply. I wasn't meaning to be disrespectful. Oh all right. But I say what bit? His right hand? Then he can't fight now? Oh can't he just? Left hander? He has an iron hook instead of a right hand and he claws with it. Claws? I say John said Peter. Yes. Say aye aye sir. Aye aye sir. There is one thing Peter continued that every boy who serves under me has to promise and so must you. John paled. It is this if we meet hook in open fight you must leave him to me. I promise John said loyally. For the moment they were feeling less eerie because tink was flying with them and in her light they could distinguish each other. Unfortunately she could not fly so slowly as they and so she had to go round and round them in a circle in which they moved as in a halo. Wendy quite liked it until Peter pointed out the drawbacks. She tells me he said that the pirate cited us before the darkness came and got long Tom out. The big gun? Yes and of course they must see her light and if they guess we are near it they are sure to let fly. Wendy, John, Michael tell her to go away at once Peter the three cried simultaneously but he refused. She thinks we have lost the way he replied stiffly and she is rather frightened. You don't think I would send her away all by herself when she is frightened? For a moment the circle of light was broken and something gave Peter a loving little pinch. Then tell her Wendy begged to put out her light. She can't put it out. That is about the only thing fairies can't do. It just goes out of itself when she falls asleep same as the stars. Then tell her to sleep at once John almost ordered. She can't sleep except when she's sleepy. It is the only other thing fairies can't do. Seems to me growled John these are the only two things worth doing. Here he got a pinch but not a loving one. If only one of us had a pocket Peter said we could carry her in it. However they had set off in such a hurry that there was not a pocket between the four of them. He had a happy idea John's hat. Tink agreed to travel by hat if it were carried in the hand. John carried it though she had hoped to be carried by Peter. Presently Wendy took the hat because John said it struck against his knee as he flew. And this as we shall see led to mischief for Tinkerbell hated to be under an obligation to Wendy. In the black top where the light was completely hidden and they flew on in silence it was the stillest silence they had ever known broken once by a distant lapping which Peter explained was the wild beast drinking at the Ford and again by a rasping sound that might have been the branches of trees rubbing together but he said it was the Redskins sharpening their knives. Even these noises ceased. To Michael the loneliness was dreadful. If only something would make a sound he cried. As if an answer to his request the air was rent by the most tremendous crash he had ever heard. The pirates had fired long Tom at them. The roar of it echoed through the mountains and the echoes seemed to cry savagely. Where are they? Where are they? Where are they? Thus sharply did the terrified three learn the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true. When at last the heavens were steady again John and Michael found themselves alone in the darkness. John was treading the air mechanically and Michael without knowing how to float was floating. Are you shot? John whispered tremulously. I haven't tried myself out yet Michael whispered back. We know now that no one had been hit. Peter however had been carried by the wind of the shot far out to sea while Wendy was blown upwards with no companion but Tinkerbell. It would have been well for Wendy if at that moment she had dropped the hat. I don't know whether the idea came suddenly to Tink or whether she had planned it on the way but she at once popped out of the hat and began to lure Wendy to her destruction. Tink was not all bad or rather she was all bad just now but on the other hand sometimes she was all good. Fairies have to be one thing or the other because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time. They are however allowed to change only it must be a complete change. At present she was full of jealousy of Wendy. What she said in her lovely tinkle Wendy could not of course understand and I believe some of it was bad words but it sounded kind and she flew back and forward plainly meaning follow me and all will be well. What else could poor Wendy do? She called to Peter and John and Michael and got only mocking echoes in reply. She did not yet know that Tink hated her with the fierce hatred of a very woman and so bewildered and now staggering in her flight she followed Tink to her doom. End of Chapter 4 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Peter Pan by Sir James Berry Chapter 5 The Island Come True Feeling that Peter was on his way back. The Neverland had again woke into life. We ought to use the pluperfect and say wakened but woke is better and was always used by Peter. In his absence things are usually quiet on the island. The fairies take an hour longer in the morning the beasts attend to their young the red skins feed heavily for six days and nights and when pirates and lost boys meet they merely bite their thumbs at each other. But with the coming of Peter who hates lethargy they are underway again. If you put your ear to the ground now you would hear the whole island seething with life. On this evening the chief forces of the island were disposed as follows. The lost boys were out looking for Peter, the pirates were out looking for the lost boys, the red skins were out looking for the pirates and the beasts were out looking for the red skins. They were going round and round the island but they did not meet because all were going at the same rate. All wanted blood except the boys who liked it as a rule but tonight were out to greet their captain. The boys on the island vary of course in numbers according as they get killed and so on and when they seem to be growing up which is against the rules Peter thins them out but at this time there was six of them counting the twins as two. Let us pretend to lie here among the sugar cane and watch them as they steal by in single file each with his hand on his dagger. They are forbidden by Peter to look in the least like him and they wear the skins of the bears slain by themselves in which they are so round and furry that when they fall they roll. They have therefore become very sure footed. The first to pass is two tools not the least brave but the most unfortunate of all that gallant band. He had been in fewer adventures than any of them because the big things constantly happened just when he stepped around the corner. All would be quiet. He would take the opportunity of going off to gather a few sticks for firewood and then when he returned the others would be sweeping up the blood. This ill luck had given a gentle melancholy to his countenance but instead of souring his nature had sweetened it so that he was quite the humblest of the boys. Poor kind tootles. There is danger in the air for you tonight. Take care lest an adventure is now offered you which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe. Tootles, the fairy tink who is bent on mischief this night, is looking for a tool for doing mischief and she thinks you are the most easily tricked of the boys. Beware, tinkerbell. Would that he could hear us but we are not really on the island and he passes by biting his knuckles. Next comes Nibbs, the gay and debonair, followed by Slightly, who cuts whistles out of the trees and dances ecstatically to his own tunes. Slightly is the most conceited of the boys. He thinks he remembers the days before he was lost, with their manners and customs, and this has given his nose an offensive tilt. Curly is the fourth. He is a pickle, a person who gets in pickle's predicaments, and so often has he had to deliver up his person when Peter said sternly, Stand forth the one who did this thing, that now, at the command, he stands forth automatically, whether he has done it or not. Last come the twins, who cannot be described because we should be sure to be describing the wrong one. Peter never quite knew what twins were, and his band were not allowed to know anything he did not know, so these two were always vague about themselves and did their best to give satisfaction by keeping close together in an apologetic sort of way. The boys vanish in the gloom, and after a pause, but not a long pause for things go briskly on the island, come the pirates on their track. We hear them before they are seen, and it is always the same dreadful song. A more villainous-looking lot never hung in a row on Execution Dock. Here, a little in advance, ever and again with his head to the ground listening, his great arms bare, pieces of eight in his ears as ornaments, is the handsome Italian Zetso, who cut his name in letters of blood on the back of the governor of the prison at Gaol. That gigantic black behind him has had many names since he dropped the one with which dusky mothers still terrify their children on the banks of the Guajamo. Here is Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed, the same Bill Jukes who got six dozen on the walrus from Flint before he would drop the bag of Mordor's, and Cookson, said to be Black Murphy's brother, but this was never proved, and Gentleman Starkey, once an usher in a public school, and still dainty in his ways of killing, and Skylights, Morgan's Skylights, and the Irish Boson Smee, an oddly genial man who stabbed, so to speak, without defence, and was the only nonconformist in Hook's crew, and Newdler, whose hands were fixed on backwards, and Robert Mullins and Alf Mason and many other Ruffrian, long known and feared on the Spanish Maine. In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, J. A. S. Hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the sea-cook feared. He lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron hook, with which ever an anon he encouraged them to increase their pace. As dogs this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they obeyed him. In person he was cadaverous, dead-looking, and black-avised, dark-faced, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them, and lit them up horribly. In manner something of the grand senior still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told that he was a raconteur, a storyteller of repute. He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding, and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing. No less than the distinction of his demeanour showed him one of a different cast from his crew. A man of indomitable courage, it was said that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated stewards, and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance, which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. But undoubtedly the grimest part of him was his iron claw. Let us now kill a pirate to show Hook's method. Skylights will do. As they pass, skylights lurches clumsily against him, ruffling his lace collar. The Hook shoots forth, there is a tearing sound, and one screech. Then the body is kicked aside, and the pirates pass on. He has not even taken the cigars from his mouth. Such is the terrible man against whom Peter Pan is pitted, which will win. On the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war path, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the Redskins, every one of them with eyes peeled. They carry tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil. Strung around them are scalps of boys as well as of pirates, for these are the Piccinini tribe, and not to be confused with the softer-hearted Delaware's or the Hurons. In the van on all fours is the great big little panther, a brave of so many scalps that in his present position they somewhat impede his progress. Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, comes Tiger Lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right. She is the most beautiful of dusky Dianas, Diana equals the Goddess of the Woods, and the bell of the Piccininis, coquettish, cold and amorous by turns. There is not a brave who would not have the wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet. Observe how they pass over's fallen twigs without making the slightest noise. The only sound to be heard is their somewhat heavy breathing. The fact is that they are all a little fat just now after the heavy gorging, but in time they will work this off. For the moment, however, it constitutes their chief danger. The Redskins disappear as they have come, like shadows, and soon their place is taken by the beasts, a great and motley procession, lions, tigers, bears, and the innumerable smaller savage things that flee from them for every kind of beast, and more particularly, all the man-eaters, live cheek by jowl on the favoured island. Their tongues are hanging out, they are hungry to-night. When they have passed comes the last figure of all, a gigantic crocodile, we shall see for whom she is looking presently. The crocodile passes. But soon the boys appear again, for the procession must continue indefinitely until one of the parties stops or changes its pace. Then quickly they will be on top of each other. All are keeping a sharp look out in front, but none suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind. This shows how real the island was. The first to fall out of the moving circle was the boys. They flung themselves down on the sword, close to their underground home. I do wish Peter would come back, every one of them said nervously. Though in height and still more in breadth they were all larger than their captain. I am the only one who is not afraid of the pirates, slightly said, in the tone that prevented his being a general favourite, but perhaps some distant sound disturbed him, for he added hastily. But I wish he would come back, and tell us whether he has heard anything more about Cinderella. They talked of Cinderella, and Tootles was confident that his mother must have been very like her. It was only in Peter's absence that they could speak of mothers, the subject being forbidden by him as silly. All I remember about my mother, Nibbs told them, is that she often said to my father, Oh, how I wish I had a checkbook of my own. I don't know what a checkbook is, but I should just love to give my mother one. While they talked, they heard a distant sound. You or I, not being wild things of the woods, would have heard nothing. But they heard it, and it was the grim song. Yo ho, yo ho, The pirate life, the flag of skull and bones, a merry hour, a hempen rope, and hay for Davy Jones. At once the lost boys. But where are they? They are no longer there. Rabbits could not have disappeared more quickly. I will tell you where they are. With the exception of Nibbs, who has darted away to Reconoiter, they are already in their home under the ground, a very delightful residence of which we shall see a good deal presently. But how have they reached it? For there is no entrance to be seen, not so much as a large stone which, if rolled away, would disclose the mouth of the cave. Look closely, however, and you may note that there are seven large trees, each with a hole in its hollow trunk, as large as a boy. These are the seven entrances to the home under the ground, for which Hook has been searching in vain these many moons. Will he find it tonight? As the pirates advanced, the quick eye of Starkey cited Nibbs disappearing through the wood, and at once his pistol flashed out. But an iron claw gripped his shoulder. Captain, let go! he cried, writhing. Now for the first time we hear the voice of Hook. It was a black voice. Put back that pistol first, it said, threateningly. It was one of those boys you hate. I could have shot him dead. I, and the sound would have brought Tiger Lily's redskins upon us, do you want to lose your scalp? Shall I after him, Captain? asked the pathetic Smee, and tickle him with Johnny Corkscrew. Smee had pleasant names for everything, and his cutlass was Johnny Corkscrew, because he wiggled it in the wound. One could mention many lovable traits in Smee. For instance, after killing, it was his spectacles he wiped instead of his weapon. Johnny is a silent fellow, he reminded Hook. Not now, Smee, Hook said darkly. He is only one, and I want to mischief all seven, scatter and look for them. The pirates disappeared among the trees, and in a moment their Captain and Smee were alone. Hook heaved a heavy sigh. And I know not why it was. Perhaps it was because of the soft beauty of the evening, but there came over him a desire to confide to his faithful bosan the story of his life. He spoke long and earnestly, but what it was all about, Smee, who was rather stupid, did not know in the least. Anon, he caught the word, Peter. Most of all, Hook was saying passionately, I want their Captain, Peter Pan. It was he cut off my arm. He brandished the hook threateningly. I waited long to shake his hand with this. Oh! I'll tear him. And yet, said Smee, I have often heard you say that Hook was worth a score of hands for combing hair, and other homely uses. I, the Captain answered, if I was a mother, I would pray to have my children born with this instead of that. And he cast a look of pride upon his iron hand, and one of scorn upon the other. Then again he frowned. Peter flung my arm, he said wincing, to a crocodile that happened to be passing by. I have often, said Smee, noticed your strange dread of crocodiles. Not of crocodiles, Hook corrected him, but of that one crocodile. He lowered his voice. It liked my arm so much, Smee, that it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea, and from land to land licking its lips for the rest of me. In a way, said Smee, it's sort of a compliment. I want no such compliments, Hook barked petulantly. I want Peter Pan, who first gave this brute its taste for me. He sat down on a large mushroom, and there was a quiver in his voice. Smee, he said huskily, that crocodile would have had me before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick-tick inside it, and so before it can reach me, I hear the tick and bolt. He laughed, but in a hollow way. Some day, said Smee, the clock will run down, and then he'll get you. Hook wetted his dry lips. I, he said, that's the fear that haunts me. Since sitting down he had felt curiously warm. Smee, he said, this seat is hot. He jumped up. Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs I'm burning! They examined the mushroom, which was of a size and solidity unknown on the mainland. They tried to pull it up, and it came away at once in their hands, for it had no root. Stranger still, Smee began at once to ascend. The pirates looked at each other. A chimney, they both exclaimed. They had indeed discovered the chimney of the home under the ground. It was the custom of the boys to stop it with a mushroom when enemies were in the neighbourhood. Not only Smee came out of it, there came also children's voices, for so safe did the boys feel in their hiding-place that they were gaily chattering. The pirates listened grimly, and then replaced the mushroom. They looked around them and noted the holes in the seven trees. Did you hear them say, Peter Penn's from home? Smee whispered, fidgeting with Johnny Corkscrew. Hook nodded. He stood for a long time, lost in thought, and at last a curdling smile lit up his swarthy face. Smee had been waiting for it. Unrip your plan, Captain! he cried eagerly. To return to the ship, Hook replied slowly through his teeth, and cook a large ridge-cake of a jolly thickness with green sugar on it. There can be but one room below, for there is but one chimney. The silly moles had not the sense to see that they did not need a door apiece. That shows they have no mother. We will leave the cake on the shore of the mermaid's lagoon. These boys are always swimming about there, playing with the mermaids. They will find the cake, and they will gobble it up, because, having no mother, they don't know how dangerous it is to eat rich, damp cake. He burst into laughter. Not hollow laughter now, but honest laughter. They will die. Smee had listened with growing admiration. It's the wickedest, prettiest policy I ever heard of, he cried, and in their exultation they danced and sang. A vast belay when I appear, by fear they're overtook, knots left upon your bones when you have shaken claws with Hook. They began the verse, but they never finished it, for another sound broke in and stilled them. There was at first such a tiny sound, that a leaf might have fallen on it and smothered it. But as it came nearer, it was more distinct. Tick, tick, tick, tick, Hook stood shuddering, one foot in the air. The crocodile, he gasped, and bounded away, followed by his boson. It was indeed the crocodile. It had passed the Redskins, who were now on the trail of the other pirates. It oozed on after Hook. Once more the boys emerged into the open. But the dangers of the night were not yet over, for presently names rushed breathless into their midst, pursued by a pack of wolves. The tongues of the pursuers were hanging out, the baying of them was horrible. Save me, save me! cried Nibbs, falling on the ground. But what can we do? What can we do? It was a high compliment to Peter, that at that dire moment their thoughts turned to him. What would Peter do? they cried simultaneously. Almost in the same breath, they cried, Peter would look at them through his legs. And then, let us do what Peter would do. It is quite the most successful way of defying wolves, and as one boy they bent and looked through their legs. The next moment is the long one, but victory came quickly, for as the boys advanced upon them in the terrible attitude, the wolves dropped their tails and fled. Now Nibbs rose from the ground, and the others thought that his staring eyes still saw the wolves. But it was not wolves, he saw. I have seen a wonderful or thing, he cried, as they gathered round him eagerly. A great white bird, it is flying this way. What kind of a bird do you think? I don't know, Nibbs said, awestruck. But it looks so weary, and as it flies it moans, poor Wendy. Poor Wendy! I remember, said slightly instantly, there are birds called Wendy's. See, it comes! cried Curly, pointing to Wendy in the heavens. Wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry. But more distinct came the shrill voice of Tinkerbell. The jealous fairy had now cast off all the skies of friendship, and was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched. Hello, Tink! cried the wandering boys. Tink's reply rang out, Peter wants you to shoot the Wendy. It was not in their nature to question when Peter ordered. Let us do what Peter wishes, cried the simple boys. Quick! bows and arrows! All the toodles popped down their trees. He had a bow and arrow with him, and Tink noted it and rubbed her little hands. Quick toodles! Quick! she screamed. Peter will be so pleased! Toodles excitedly fitted the arrow to his bow. Out of the way, Tink! he shouted. And then he fired, and Wendy fluttered to the ground with an arrow in her breast. End of Chapter 5. Thank you for listening. Chapter 6 of Peter Pan This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Anderson. Peter Pan by J. M. Berry. Chapter 6. The Little House Foolish toodles was standing like a conqueror over Wendy's body, when the other boys sprang, armed from their trees. You are too late, he cried proudly. I have shot the Wendy. Peter will be so pleased with me. Overhead Tinkerbell shouted, silly ass, and darted into hiding. The others did not hear her. They had crowded round Wendy, and as they looked a terrible silence fell upon the wood. If Wendy's heart had been beating, they would all have heard it. Slightly was the first to speak. This is no bird, he said in a scared voice. I think this must be a lady. A lady, said Toodles, and fell a-trembling. And we have killed her, nibb said hoarsely. They all whipped off their caps. Now I see, Curly said, Peter was bringing her to us. He threw himself sorrowfully on the ground. A lady to take care of us at last, said one of the twins, and you have killed her. They were sorry for him, but sorryer for themselves. And when he took a step nearer them, they turned from him. Toodles' face was very white, but there was a dignity about him now that had never been there before. I did it, he said, reflecting. When ladies used to come to me in dreams, I said, Pretty Mother, Pretty Mother. But when at last she really came, I shot her. He moved slowly away. Don't go, they called in pity. I must, he answered, shaking. I am so afraid of Peter. It was at this tragic moment that they heard a sound which made the heart of every one of them rise to his mouth. They heard Peter crow. Uh-uh-uh! Peter, they cried, for it was always thus that he signaled his return. Hider, they whispered, and gathered hastily around Wendy, but Toodles stood aloof. Again came that ringing crow. And Peter dropped in front of them. Greetings, boys, he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then again was silence. He frowned. I am back, he said hotly, why do you not cheer? They opened their mouths, but the cheers would not come. He overlooked it in his haste to tell the glorious tidings. Great news, boys, he cried, I have brought at last a mother for you all. Still no sound except a little thud from Toodles as he dropped on his knees. Have you not seen her? asked Peter, becoming troubled. She flew this way. Ah, me, one voice said, and another said. Oh, mournful day! Toodles rose. Peter, he said quietly, I will show her to you. And when the others would still have hidden her, he said, back twins, let Peter see. So they all stood back and let him see. And after he had looked for a little time he did not know what to do next. She is dead, he said uncomfortably. Perhaps she is frightened at being dead. He thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more. They would all have been glad to follow if he had done this. But there was the arrow. He took it from her heart and faced his band. Whose arrow, he demanded sternly. Mine, Peter, said Toodles on his knees. Oh, dastard hand, Peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger. Toodles did not flinch. He bared his breast. Strike, Peter, he said firmly, strike true. Twice did Peter raise the arrow, and twice did his hand fall. I cannot strike, he said with awe. There is something stays my hand. I'll look at him in wonder, save Nibbs, who fortunately looked at Wendy. It is she, he cried, the Wendy-lady, see her arm. Wonderful to relate, Wendy had raised her arm. Nibbs bent over her and listened reverently. I think she said, poor Toodles, he whispered. She lives, Peter said briefly. Slightly cried instantly. The Wendy-lady lives! Then Peter knelt beside her and found his button. You remember she had put it on a chain that she wore around her neck. See, he said, the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life. I remember kisses, slightly interposed quickly. Let me see it. I, that's a kiss. Peter did not hear him. He was begging Wendy to get better quickly, so that he could show her the mermaids. Of course she could not answer yet, being still in a frightful faint, but from overhead came a wailing note. Listen to Tink, said Curly. She is crying because the Wendy lives. Then they had to tell Peter of Tink's crime, and almost never had they seen him look so stern. Listen, Tinker Bell, he cried, I am your friend no more. Be gone for me for ever. She flew on to his shoulder and pleaded, but he brushed her off. Not until Wendy again raised her arm did he relent sufficiently to say, Well, not for ever, but for a whole week. Do you think Tinker Bell was grateful to Wendy for raising her arm? Oh dear no, never wanted to pinch her so much. Fairies indeed are strange, and Peter, who understood them best, often cuffed them. But what to do with Wendy in her present delicate state of health? Let us carry her down into the house, Curly suggested. I, said slightly, that is what one does with ladies. No, no, Peter said, you must not touch her. It would not be sufficiently respectful. That, said slightly, that is what one does with ladies. That is what I was thinking. But if she lies there, Toodle said, she will die. I, she will die, slightly admitted, but there is no way out. Yes there is, cried Peter, let us build a little house round her. They were all delighted. Quick, he ordered them, bring me, each of you, the best of what we have. Gut our house, be sharp. In a moment they were as busy as tailors the night before a wedding. They scurried this way and that, down for bedding, up for firewood, and while they were at it, who should appear but John and Michael? As they dragged along the ground they fell asleep standing, stopped, woke up, moved another step, and slept again. John, John, Michael would cry, wake up! Where is Nana, John, and Mother? And then John would rub his eyes and mutter, it is true, we did fly. You may be sure they were very relieved to find Peter. Hello, Peter, they said. Hello, replied Peter amicably, though he had quite forgotten them. He was very busy at the moment measuring Wendy with his feet, to see how large a house she would need. Of course he meant to leave room for chairs on a table. John and Michael watched him. Is Wendy asleep, they asked? Yes. John, Michael proposed, let us wake her and get her to make supper for us. But as he said it some of the other boys rushed on carrying branches for the building of the house. Look at them, he cried. Curly, said Peter, in his most captainly voice, see that these boys help in the building of the house. Aye, aye, sir. Build a house, exclaimed John, for the Wendy, said Curly. For Wendy, John said aghast, why she is only a girl. That, explained Curly, is why we are her servants. You, Wendy's servants? Yes, said Peter, and you also, away with them. The astounded brothers were dragged away to hack and hew and carry. Chairs and offender, first Peter ordered, then we shall build a house round them. Aye, said slightly, that is how a house is built, it all comes back to me. Peter thought of everything. Slightly he cried, fetch a doctor. Aye, aye, said slightly at once and disappeared, scratching his head. But he knew Peter must be obeyed, and he returned in a moment wearing John's hat and looking solemn. Please, sir, said Peter, going to him, are you a doctor? The difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe. Well, to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing. This sometimes troubled them, as when they had to make-believe that they had had their dinners. If they broke down in their make-believe he wrapped them on the knuckles. Yes, my little man, slightly anxiously replied, who had chapped knuckles. Please, sir, Peter explained, a lady lies very ill. She was lying at their feet, but slightly had the sense not to see her. Tutt, tutt, tutt, he said, where does she live? In yonder glade. I will put a glass thing in her mouth, said slightly, and he made-believe to do it while Peter waited. It was an anxious moment while the glass thing was withdrawn. How is she, inquired Peter? Tutt, tutt, tutt, said slightly, this has cured her. I am glad, Peter cried. I will call again in the evening, slightly said. Give her beef tea out of a cup with a spout to it. But after he had returned the hat to John he blew big breaths, which was his habit on escaping from a difficulty. In the meantime the wood had been alive with the sound of axes. Almost everything needed for a cozy dwelling already lay at Wendy's feet. If only we knew, said one, the kind of house she likes best. Peter shouted another she is moving in her sleep. Her mouth opens quite a third, looking respectfully into it. Oh, lovely! Perhaps she is going to sing in her sleep, said Peter. Wendy, sing the kind of house you would like to have. Immediately without opening her eyes Wendy began to sing. I wish I had a pretty house the littlest ever seen, with funny little red walls and roofs of mossy green. They gurgled with joy at this, for by the greatest good luck the branches they had brought were sticky with red sap, and all the ground was carpeted with moss. As they rattled up the little house they broke into songs themselves. We've built the little walls and roof, and made a lovely door. So tell us, Mother Wendy, what are you wanting more? To this she answered greedily. Oh really next I think I'll have gay windows all about, with roses peeping in you know and babies peeping out. With a blow of their fists they made windows, and large yellow leaves were the blinds. But roses? Roses, cried Peter sternly. Quickly they made believe to grow the loveliest roses up the walls. Babies? To prevent Peter ordering babies they hurried into song again. We've made the roses peeping out, the babes are at the door, we cannot make ourselves you know because we've been made before. Peter seeing this to be a good idea at once pretended that it was his own. The house was quite beautiful, and no doubt Wendy was very cozy within, though of course they could no longer see her. Peter strode up and down ordering finishing touches. Nothing escaped his eagle eyes. Just when it seemed absolutely finished, there's no knocker on the door he said. They were very ashamed, but Toodles gave the soul of his shoe, and it made an excellent knocker. Absolutely finished now they thought. Not a bit of it, there's no chimney Peter said, we must have a chimney. It certainly does need a chimney said John importantly. This gave Peter an idea. He snatched the hat off John's head, knocked out the bottom, and put the hat on the roof. The little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that, as if to say thank you, smoke immediately began to come out of the hat. Now really and truly it was finished, nothing remained to do but to knock. I'll look your best, Peter warned them, first impressions are awfully important. He was glad no one asked him what first impressions are. They were all too busy looking their best. He knocked politely, and now the wood was as still as the children. Not a sound to be heard except from Tinkerbell, who was watching from a branch and openly sneering. What the boys were wondering was, would anyone answer the knock? If a lady what would she be like? The door opened and a lady came out. It was Wendy, they all whipped off their hats. She looked properly surprised, and this was just how they had hoped she would look. Where am I she said? Of course slightly was the first to get his word in. Wendy lady, he said rapidly, for you we built this house. Oh say you're pleased, cried Nibs. Lovely darling house, Wendy said, and they were the very words they had hoped she would say. And we are your children, cried the twins. Then all went on their knees and holding out their arms cried, Oh Wendy lady, be our mother. Ot I, Wendy said, all shining. Of course it's frightfully fascinating, but you see I am only a little girl, I have no real experience. That doesn't matter, said Peter, as if he were the only person present who knew all about it, though he was really the one who knew least. What we need is just a nice motherly person. Oh dear, Wendy said, you see I feel that is exactly what I am. It is, it is, they all cried, we saw it at once. Very well she said I will do my best. Come inside at once you naughty children, I am sure your feet are damp, and before I put you to bed I have just time to finish the story of Cinderella. In they went. I don't know how there was room for them, but you can squeeze very tight in the Neverland. And that was the first of the many joyous evenings they had with Wendy. By and by she tucked them up in the great bed in the home under the trees, but she herself slept that night in the little house, and Peter kept watch outside with drawn sword, for the pirates could be heard corousing far away, and the wolves were on the prowl. The little house looked so cozy and safe in the darkness, with a bright light showing through its blinds, and the chimney smoking beautifully, and Peter standing on guard. After a time he fell asleep, and some unsteady fairies had to climb over him on their way home from an orgy. Any of the other boys obstructing the fairy path at night they would have mischieved, but they just tweaked Peter's nose and passed on. End of Chapter 6