 CHAPTER 5 THE LITTLE HOUSE Everybody has heard of the little house in the Kensington Gardens, which is the only house in the whole world that the fairies have built for humans. But no one has really seen it except just three or four, and they have not only seen it but slept in it, and unless you sleep in it you never see it. This is because it is not there when you lie down, but it is there when you wake up and step outside. In a kind of way everyone may see it, but what you see is not really it, but only the light in the windows. You see the light after lockout time. David, for instance, saw it quite distinctly far away among the trees as we were going home from the pandemime, and Oliver Bailey saw it the night he stayed so late at the temple, which is the name of his father's office. Angela Clare, who loves to have a tooth extracted because then she is treated to tea in a shop, saw more than one light. She saw hundreds of them all together, and this must have been the fairies building the house, for they build it every night and always in a different part of the gardens. She thought one of the lights was bigger than the others, though she was not quite sure, for they jumped about so, and it might have been another one that was bigger. But if it was the same one, it was Peter Pan's light. Heaps of children have seen the light, so that is nothing. But Mamie Manoring was the famous one for whom the house was first built. Mamie was always rather a strange girl, and it was at night that she was strange. She was four years of age, and in the daytime she was the ordinary kind. She was pleased when her brother Tony, who was a magnificent fellow of six, took notice of her, and she looked up to him in the right way, and tried in vain to imitate him, and was flattered rather than annoyed when he shoved her about. Also, when she was batting, she would pause, though the ball was in the air, to point out to you that she was wearing new shoes. She was quite the ordinary kind in the daytime. But as the shades of night fell, Tony the Swaggerer lost his contempt for Mamie, and eyed her fearfully. And no wonder, for with dark there came into her face a look that I can describe only as a leery look. It was also a serene look that contrasted grandly with Tony's uneasy glances. Then he would make her presence of his favorite toys, which she always took away from her next morning, and she accepted them with a disturbing smile. The reason he was now become so weedling and she so mysterious was, in brief, that they knew they were about to be sent to bed. It was then that Mamie was terrible. Tony entreated her not to do it tonight, and the mother and their colored nurse threatened her. But Mamie merely smiled, her agitating smile. And by and by, when they were alone with her nightlight, she would start up in bed, crying, "'Ssh! What was that?' Tony beseeches her. "'It was nothing. Don't, Mamie, don't!' and pulls the sheet over his head. "'It is coming nearer!' she cries. "'Oh, look at it, Tony! It is feeling your bed with its horns. It is boring for you. Oh, Tony! Oh!' And she desists not until he rushes downstairs in his combinations screeching. When they came up to whip Mamie, they usually found her sleeping tranquilly. Not chamming, you know, but really sleeping, and looking like the sweetest little angel, which seems to me to make it almost worse. But, of course, it was daytime when they were in the gardens, and then Tony did most of the talking. You could gather from his talk that he was a very brave boy, and no one was so proud of it as Mamie. She would have loved to have a ticket on her saying that she was his sister. And at no time did she admire him more than when he told her, as he often did with splendid firmness, that one day he meant to remain behind in the gardens after the gates were closed. "'Oh, Tony!' she would say with awful respect, but the fairies will be so angry. "'I daresay,' replied Tony carelessly. "'Perhaps,' she said, thrilling, Peter Pan will give you a sail in his boat. "'I shall make him,' replied Tony. No wonder she was proud of him. But they should not have talked so loudly. For one day they were overheard by a fairy, who had been gathering skeleton leaves from which the little people weaved their summer curtains. And after that Tony was a marked boy. They loosened the rails before he sat on them, so that down he came on the back of his head. They tripped him up by catching his boot lace, and bribed the ducks to sink his boat. Nearly all the nasty accidents you meet within the gardens occur because the fairies have taken an ill will to you. So it behooves you to be careful what you say about them. Mamie was one of the kind who liked to fix a day for doing things, but Tony was not that kind. And when she asked him which day he was to remain behind in the gardens after lockout, he merely replied, just some day. He was quite vague about which day, except when she asked, will it be today? And then he could always say for certain that it would not be today. So she saw that he was waiting for a real good chance. This brings us to an afternoon when the gardens were white with snow, and there was ice on the round pond. Not thick enough to skate on, but at least you could spoil it for tomorrow by flinging stones, and many bright little boys and girls were doing that. When Tony and his sister arrived, they wanted to go straight to the pond, but their Aya said they must take a sharp walk first, and as she said this, she glanced at the time board to see when the gardens closed that night. It read, half past five. Poor Aya. She is the one who laughs continuously because there are so many white children in the world, but she was not to laugh much more that day. Well, they went up the baby walk and back, and when they returned to the time board, she was surprised to see that it now read five o'clock for closing time. But she was unacquainted with the tricky ways of the fairies, and did not see, as Mamie and Tony saw at once, that they had changed the hour, because there was to be a ball tonight. She said there was only time now to walk to the top of the hump and back, and as they trotted along with her, she little guessed what was thrilling their little breasts. You see, the chance had come of seeing a fairy ball. Never, Tony felt, could he hope for a better chance. He had to feel this, for Mamie so plainly felt it for him. Her eager eyes asked the question, is it today? And he gasped, and then nodded. Mamie slipped her hand into Tony's, and hers was hot, but his was cold. She did a very kind thing. She took off her scarf and gave it to him. In case you should feel cold, she whispered. Her face was aglow, but Tony's was very gloomy. As they turned on the top of the hump, he whispered to her, I'm afraid nurse would see me, so I shan't be able to do it. Mamie admired him more than ever, for being afraid of nothing but their aya, when there were so many unknown tears to fear, and she said aloud, Tony, I shall race you to the gate. And in a whisper, then you can hide. And off they ran. Tony could always out distance her easily, but never had she known him speed away so quickly as now. And she was sure he hurried, that he might have more time to hide. Brave, brave, her doting eyes were crying, when she got a dreadful shock. Instead of hiding, her hero had run out at the gate. At this bitter sight Mamie stopped blankly, as if all her lap full of darling treasures were suddenly spilled. And then for very disdain she could not sob. In a swell of protest against all pukeling cowards, she ran to St. Gover's Well, and hid in Tony's stead. When the aya reached the gate and saw Tony far in front, she thought her other charge was with him, and passed out. Twilight crept over the gardens, and hundreds of people passed out, including the last one who always has to run for it. But Mamie saw them not. She had shut her eyes tight, and glued them with passionate tears. When she opened them, something very cold ran up her legs, and up her arms, and dropped into her heart. It was the stillness of the gardens. Then she heard Clang. Then from another part Clang. Then Clang, Clang, far away. It was the closing of the gates. Immediately the last Clang had died away. Mamie distinctly heard a voice say, So that's all right. It had a wooden sound, and seemed to come from above. And she looked up in time to see an elm tree stretching out its arms and yawning. She was about to say, I never knew you could speak. When a metallic voice that seemed to come from the ladle at the well remarked to the elm, I suppose it is a bit coldish up there. And the elm replied, Not particularly, but you do get numb standing so long on one leg. And he flapped his arms vigorously, just as the cab men do before they drive off. Mamie was quite surprised to see that a number of other tall trees were doing the same sort of thing. And she stole away to the baby-walk, and crouched observantly under a minority holly, which shrugged his shoulders, but did not seem to mind her. She was not in the least cold. She was wearing a russet-coloured police, and had the hood over her head, so that nothing of her showed except her dear little face and her curls. The rest of her real self was hidden far away, inside so many warm garments that in shape she seemed rather like a ball. She was about forty round the waist. There was a good deal going on in the baby-walk, where Mamie arrived in time to see a magnolia and a Persian lilac step over the railing and set off for a smart walk. They moved in a jerky sort of way, certainly, but that was because they used crutches. An elderberry hobbled across the walk, and stood chatting with some young quinces, and they all had crutches. The crutches were the sticks that are tied to young trees and shrubs. They were quite familiar objects to Mamie, but she had never known what they were for until to-night. She peeped up the walk and saw her first fairy. He was a street-boy fairy, who was running up the walk closing the weeping trees. The way he did it was this. He pressed a spring in the trunks, and they shot like umbrellas, deluging the little plants beneath with snow. Oh, you naughty, naughty child! Mamie cried indignantly, for she knew what it was to have a dripping umbrella about your ears. Fortunately the mischievous fellow was out of earshot, but a chrysanthemum heard her, and said so pointedly, Waity-toity, what is this? That she had to come out and show herself. Then the whole vegetable kingdom was rather puzzled what to do. Of course it is no affair of ours, a spindle-tree said after they had whispered together, but you know quite well you ought not to be here, and perhaps our duty is to report you to the fairies. What do you think yourself? I think you should not, Mamie replied, which so perplexed them that they said petulantly that there was no arguing with her. I wouldn't ask it of you, she assured them, if I thought it was wrong. And of course after this they could not well carry tales. They then said, Well-a-day, and such is life, for they can be frightfully sarcastic. But she felt sorry for those of them who had no crutches, and she said good-naturedly, Before I go to the fairies-ball, I should like to take you for a walk one at a time. You can lean on me, you know. At this they clapped their hands, and she escorted them up the baby-walk and back again, one at a time, putting an arm or a finger round the very frail, setting their leg right when it got too ridiculous, and treating the foreign ones quite as courteously as the English, though she could not understand a word they said. They behaved well on the whole, though some whispered that she had not taken them as far as she took Nancy or Grace or Dorothy, and others jagged her, but it was quite unintentional, and she was too much of a lady to cry out. So much walking tired her, and she was anxious to be off to the ball, but she no longer felt afraid. The reason she felt no more fear was that it was now night-time, and in the dark, you remember, Mamie was always rather strange. They were now lost to let her go, for if the fairies see you, they warrant her, they will mischief you, stab you to death, or compel you to nurse their children, or turn you into something tedious like an evergreen oak. As they said this, they looked with affected pity at an evergreen oak, for in winter they are very envious of the evergreens. Oh, la! replied the oak-bindingly, how deliciously cozy it is to stand here, butt into the neck, and watch you poor naked creature shivering. This made them sulky, though they had really brought it on themselves, and they drew for Mamie a very gloomy picture of the perils that would face her if she insisted on going to the ball. She learned from a purple filbert that the court was not in its usual good temper at present, the cause being the tantalizing heart of the Duke of Christmas daisies. He was an Oriental fairy, fairy poorly of a dreadful complaint, namely inability to love, and though he had tried many ladies in many lands, he could not fall in love with one of them. Queen Mab, who rules in the gardens, had been confident that her girls could be with him, but alas, his heart, the doctor said, remained cold. This rather irritating doctor, who was his private physician, felt the Duke's heart immediately after any lady was presented, and then always shook his bald head and murmured, cold, quite cold. Naturally Queen Mab felt disgraced, and first she tried the effect of ordering the court into tears for nine minutes, and then she blamed the Cupid's, and decreed that they should wear fool's caps until they thought the Duke's frozen heart. How I should love to see the Cupid's in their dear little fool's caps, Mamie cried, and away she ran to look for them very recklessly, for the Cupid's hate to be laughed at. It is always easy to discover where a fairy's ball is being held, as ribbons are stretched between it and all the populous parts of the gardens, on which those invited may walk to the dance without wetting their pumps. This night the ribbons were red, and looked very pretty on the snow. Mamie walked alongside one of them for some distance without meeting anybody, but at last she saw a fairy cavalcade approaching. To her surprise they seemed to be returning from the ball, and she had just time to hide from them by bending her knees and holding out her arms and pretending to be a garden chair. There were six horsemen in front and six behind. In the middle walked a prim lady wearing a long train held up by two pages, and on the train, as if it were a couch, reclined a lovely girl, for in this way do aristocratic fairies travel about. She was dressed in golden rain, but the most enviable part of her was her neck, which was blue in colour and of a velvet texture, and of course showed off her diamond necklace as no white throat could have glorified it. The high-born fairies obtained this admired effect by pricking their skin, which lets the blue blood come through and dye them, and you cannot imagine anything so dazzling unless you have seen the lady's busts in the jeweler's windows. Mamie also noticed that the whole cavalcade seemed to be in a passion, tilting their noses higher than it can be safe for even fairies to tilt them, and she concluded that this must be another case in which the doctor had said, cold, quite cold. Well, she followed the ribbon to a place where it became a bridge over a dry puddle, into which another fairy had fallen and been unable to climb out. At first this little damsel was afraid of Mamie, who most kindly went to her aid, but soon she sat in her hand chatting gaily and explaining that her name was brownie, and that though only a poor street-singer, she was on her way to the ball to see if the duke would have her. Of course, she said, I am rather plain, and this made Mamie uncomfortable, for indeed the simple little creature was almost quite plain for a fairy. It was difficult to know what to reply. I see you think I have no chance, brownie said falteringly. I don't say that, Mamie answered politely. Of course, your face is just a tiny bit homely, but really it was quite awkward for her. Fortunately she remembered about her father and the bazaar. He had gone to a fashionable bazaar where all the most beautiful ladies in London were on view for half a crown the second day. But on his return home, instead of being dissatisfied with Mamie's mother, he had said, you can't think, my dear, what a relief it is to see a homely face again. Mamie repeated the story, and it fortified brownie tremendously. Indeed she had no longer the slightest doubt that the duke would choose her. So she scutted away up the ribbon, calling out to Mamie not to follow lest the queen should mischief her. But Mamie's curiosity tugged her forward, and presently at the seven Spanish chestnuts she saw a wonderful light. She crept forward until she was quite near it, and then she peeped from behind a tree. The light, which was as high as your head above the ground, was composed of myriads of glowworms all holding on to each other, and so forming a dazzling canopy over the fairy ring. There were thousands of little people looking on, but they were in shadow and drab in colour compared to the glorious creatures within that luminous circle, who were so bewilderingly bright that Mamie had to wink hard all the time she looked at them. It was amazing, and even irritating to her, that the duke of Christmas daisies should be able to keep out of love for a moment. Yet out of love his dusky grace still was. You could see it by the shamed looks of the queen and court, though they pretended not to care. By the way darling ladies brought forward for his approval burst into tears as they were told to pass on, and by his own most dreary face. Mamie could also see the pompous doctor feeling the duke's heart, and hear him give utterance to his parrot cry, and she was particularly sorry for the cupids, who stood in their fool's caps in obscure places, and every time they heard that, cold, quite cold, bowed their disgraced little heads. She was disappointed not to see Peter Pan, and I may as well tell you now why he was so late that night. It was because his boat had got wedged on the serpentine between fields of floating ice, through which he had to break a perilous passage with his trusty paddle. The fairies had as yet scarcely missed him, for they could not dance so heavy were their hearts. They forget all the steps when they are sad, and remember them again when they are merry. David tells me that fairies never say we feel happy. What they say is we feel dancing. Well, they were looking very undancy indeed, when sudden laughter broke out among the onlookers, caused by Brownie, who had just arrived, and was insisting on her right to be presented to the duke. Mamie craned forward eagerly to see how her friend fared, though she had really no hope. No one seemed to have the least hope except Brownie herself, who, however, was absolutely confident. She was led before his grace, and the doctor putting a finger carelessly on the ducal heart, which for convenience's sake was reached by a little trapped door in his diamond shirt, had begun to say mechanically, cold, quiet, when he stopped abruptly. What's this? he cried, and first he shook the heart like a watch, and then he put his ear to it. Bless my soul! cried the doctor. And by this time, of course, the excitement among the spectators was tremendous, fairies feigning right and left. Everybody stared breathlessly at the duke, who was very much startled, and looked as if he would like to run away. Good gracious me! the doctor was heard muttering, and now the heart was evidently on fire, for he had to jerk his fingers away from it and put them in his mouth. The suspense was awful. Then in a loud voice and bowing low, my lord duke, said the physician elatedly, I have the honor to inform your excellency that your grace is in love. You can't conceive the effect of it. Brownie held out her arms to the duke, and he flung himself into them. The queen leapt into the arms of the Lord Chamberlain, and the ladies of the court leapt into the arms of her gentlemen, for it is etiquette to follow her example in everything. Thus in a single moment about fifty marriages took place, for if you leap into each other's arms, it is a very wedding. Of course a clergyman has to be present. How the crowd cheered and leapt. Trumpet's braid, the moon came out, and immediately a thousand couples seized hold of its rays, as if they were ribbons in a may-dance, and waltzed in wild abandon round the fairy ring. Most gladsome sight of all, the cupids plucked the hated fool's caps from their heads, and cast them high in the air. And then Mamie went and spoiled everything. She couldn't help it. She was crazy with delight over her little friend's good fortune. So she took several steps forward, and cried in an ecstasy. Oh, Brownie, how splendid! Everybody stood still. The music ceased, the lights went out, and all in the time you may take to say, Oh, dear! An awful sense of her peril came upon Mamie. Too late she remembered that she was a lost child in a place where no human must be between the locking and the opening of the gates. She heard the murmur of an angry multitude. She saw a thousand swords flashing for her blood, and she uttered a cry of terror and fled. How she ran. And all the time her eyes were starting out of her head. Many times she lay down, and then quickly jumped up and ran on again. Her little mind was so entangled in terrors that she no longer knew she was in the gardens. The one thing she was sure of was that she must never cease to run, and she thought she was still running long after she had dropped in the figs and gone to sleep. She thought the snowflakes falling on her face were her mother kissing her good night. She thought her coverlet of snow was a warm blanket and tried to pull it over her head. And when she heard talking through her dreams she thought it was mother bringing father to the nursery door to look at her as she slept. But it was the fairies. I am very glad to be able to say that they no longer desired to mischief her. When she rushed away they had rent the air with such cries as, Slay her! Turn her into something extremely unpleasant, and so on. But the pursuit was delayed while they discussed who should march in front. And this gave Duchess Brownie time to cast herself before the Queen and demand a boon. Every bride has a right to a boon, and what she asked for was Mamie's life. Anything except that, replied Queen Mab sternly, and all the fairies echoed, anything except that. But when they learned how Mamie had befriended Brownie, and so enabled her to attend the ball to their great glory and renown, they gave three hazzas for the little human, and set off like an army to thank her, the court advancing in front, and the canopy keeping step with it. They traced Mamie easily by her footprints in the snow. But though they found her deep in snow in the figs, it seemed impossible to thank Mamie, for they could not waken her. They went through the form of thanking her. That is to say, the new King stood on her body and read her a long address of welcome, but she heard not a word of it. They also cleared the snow off her, but soon she was covered again, and they saw she was in danger of perishing of cold. Turn her into something that does not mind the cold, seemed a good suggestion of the doctors, but the only thing they could think of that does not mind cold was a snowflake, and it might melt, the Queen pointed out, so that idea had to be given up. A magnificent attempt was made to carry her to a sheltered spot, but though there were so many of them, she was too heavy. By this time all the ladies were crying in their hangar shifts, but presently the Cupid's had a lovely idea. Build a house round her, they cried, and at once everybody perceived that this was the thing to do. In a moment a hundred fairy sawyers were among the branches. Architects were running round Mamie measuring her. A bricklayer's yard sprang up at her feet. Seventy-five masons rushed up with the foundation stone, and the Queen laid it. Overseers were appointed to keep the boys off. Scaffoldings were run up. The whole place rang with hammers and chisels and turning-lathes, and by this time the roof was on and the glaciers were putting in the windows. The house was exactly the size of Mamie, and perfectly lovely. One of her arms was extended, and this had bothered them for a second, but they built a veranda round it leading to the front door. The windows were the size of a coloured picture-book, and the door rather smaller, but it would be easy for her to get out by taking off the roof. The fairies, as is their custom, clapped their hands with delight over their cleverness, and they were so madly in love with the little house that they could not bear to think they had finished it. So they gave it ever so many little extra touches, and even then they added more extra touches. For instance, two of them ran up a ladder and put on a chimney. Now we fear it is quite finished, they sighed. But no, for another two ran up the ladder and tied some smoke to the chimney. That certainly finishes it, they said reluctantly. Not at all, cried a glowworm. If she were to wake without seeing a nightlight she might be frightened, so I shall be her nightlight. Wait one moment, said a China merchant, and I shall make you a saucer. Now, alas, it was absolutely finished. Oh, dear, no! Gracious me! cried a brass manufacturer. There's no handle on the door, and he put one on. An iron monger added a scraper, and an old lady ran up with a doormat. Carpenters arrived with a water-butt, and the painters insisted on painting it. Finished at last. Finished? How can it be finished? the plumber demanded scornfully, before hot and cold are put in. And he put in hot and cold. Then an army of gardeners arrived, with fairy carts and spades and seeds and bulbs and forcing-houses, and soon they had a flower garden to the right of the veranda, and a vegetable garden to the left, and roses and clematis on the walls of the house, and in less than five minutes all these dear things were in full bloom. Oh, how beautiful the little house was now! But it was, at last, finished true as true, and they had to leave it and return to the dance. They all kissed their hands to it as they went away, and the last to go was brownie. She stayed a moment behind the others to drop a pleasant dream down the chimney. All through the night the exquisite little house stood there in the figs taking care of Mamie, and she never knew. She slept until the dream was quite finished, and woke feeling deliciously cozy, just as morning was breaking from its egg. And then she almost fell asleep again, and then she called out, Tony, for she thought she was at home in the nursery. As Tony made no answer she sat up, whereupon her head hid the roof, and it opened like the lid of a box, and to her bewilderment she saw all around her the Kensington Gardens lying deep in snow. As she was not in the nursery she wondered whether this was really herself, so she pinched her cheeks, and then she knew it was herself, and this reminded her that she was in the middle of a great adventure. She remembers now everything that had happened to her, from the closing of the gates up to her running away from the fairies. But however she asked herself had she gotten into this funny place. She stepped out by the roof, right over the garden, and then she saw the dear house in which she had passed the night. It so entranced her that she could think of nothing else. Oh, you darling! Oh, you sweet! Oh, you love! she cried. Perhaps a human voice frightened the little house, or maybe it now knew that its work was done. For no sooner had Mamie spoken than it began to grow smaller. It shrank so slowly that she could scarce believe it was shrinking. Yet she soon knew that it could not contain her now. It always remained as complete as ever, but it became smaller and smaller, and the garden dwindled at the same time, and the snow crept closer, lapping house and garden up. Now the house was the size of a little dog's kennel, and now of a Noah's Ark. But still you could see the smoke and the door handle, and the roses on the wall, every one complete. The glowworm light was waning too, but it was still there. Darling, loveliest doggo! Mamie cried, falling on her knees, for the little house was now the size of a reel of thread, but still quite complete. But as she stretched out her arms imploringly, the snow crept up on all sides until it met itself, and where the little house had been, was now one unbroken expanse of snow. Mamie stamped her foot gnaudily, and was putting her fingers to her eyes, when she heard a kind voice say, Don't cry, pretty human, don't cry! And then she turned round, and saw a beautiful little naked boy regarding her wistfully. She knew at once that he must be Peter Pan. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens 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 Peter Eastman Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens by J. M. Berry Chapter 6 Peter's Goat Mamie felt quite shy, but Peter knew not what shy was. I hope you have had a good night, he said earnestly. Thank you! she replied. I was so cozy and warm, but you! And she looked at his nakedness awkwardly. Don't you feel the least bit cold? Now, cold was another word Peter had forgotten. So he answered, I think not, but I may be wrong. You see, I am rather ignorant. I am not exactly a boy. Solomon says I am a betwixt and between. So that is what it is called, said Mamie thoughtfully. That's not my name, he explained. My name is Peter Pan. Yes, of course, she said. I know, everybody knows. You can't think how pleased Peter was to learn that all the people outside the gates knew about him. He begged Mamie to tell him what they knew and what they said, and she did so. They were sitting by this time on a fallen tree. Peter had cleared off the snow for Mamie, but he sat on a snowy bit himself. Squeeze closer, Mamie said. What is that? he asked, and she showed him, and then he did it. They talked together, and he found that people knew a great deal about him, but not everything. Not that he had gone back to his mother and been barred out, for instance. And he said nothing of this to Mamie, for it still humiliated him. Do they know that I play games exactly like real boys? He asked very proudly. Oh, Mamie, please tell them. But when he revealed how he played, by sailing his hoop on the round pond and so on, she was simply horrified. All your ways of playing, she said, with her big eyes on him, are quite, quite wrong, and not in the least like how boys play. Poor Peter uttered a little moan at this, and he cried for the first time for I know not how long. Mamie was extremely sorry for him, and lent him her handkerchief, but he didn't know in the least what to do with it. So she showed him, that is to say, she wiped her eyes, and then gave it back to him, saying, now you do it. But instead of wiping his own eyes, he wiped hers, and she thought it best to pretend that this was what she had meant. She said out of pity for him, I shall give you a kiss if you like. But though he once knew, he had long forgotten what kisses are, and he replied, thank you, and held out his hand, thinking she had offered to put something into it. This was a great shock to her, but she felt she could not explain without shaming him. So with charming delicacy, she gave Peter a thimble which happened to be in her pocket, and pretended that it was a kiss. Poor little boy, he quite believed her, and to this day he wears it on his finger, though there can be scarcely anyone who needs a thimble so little. You see, though still a tiny child, it was really years and years since he had seen his mother, and I daresay the baby who had supplanted him was now a man with whiskers. But you must not think that Peter Pan was a boy too pity rather than to admire. If Mamie began by thinking this, she soon found she was very much mistaken. Her eyes glistened with admiration when he told her of his adventures, especially of how he went to and fro between the island and the gardens in the thrush's nest. How romantic! Mamie exclaimed. But this was another unknown word, and he hung his head, thinking she was despising him. I suppose Tony would not have done that, he said very humbly. Never, never! she answered with conviction. He would have been afraid. What is afraid? asked Peter longingly. He thought it must be some splendid thing. I do wish you would teach me how to be afraid, Mamie, he said. I believe no one could teach that to you, she answered adorably. But Peter thought she meant that he was stupid. She had told him about Tony and of the wicked thing she did in the dark to frighten him. She knew quite well that it was wicked. But Peter misunderstood her meaning and said, Oh, how I wish I was as brave as Tony. It quite irritated her. You are twenty thousand times braver than Tony, she said. You are ever so much the bravest boy I ever knew. He could scarcely believe she meant it. But when he did believe, he screamed with joy. And if you want very much to give me a kiss, Mamie said, you can do it. Very reluctantly Peter began to take the thimble off his finger. He thought she wanted it back. I don't mean a kiss, she said hurriedly. I mean a thimble. What's that? Peter asked. It's like this, she said, and kissed him. I should love to give you a thimble, Peter said gravely, so he gave her one. He gave her quite a number of thimbles, and then a delightful idea came into his head. Mamie, he said, will you marry me? Now, strange to tell, the same idea had come at exactly the same time into Mamie's head. I should like to, she answered. But will there be room in your boat for two? If you squeeze close, he said eagerly. Perhaps the birds would be angry? He assured her that the birds would love to have her, though I am not so certain of it myself. Also, that there were very few birds in winter. Of course, they might want your clothes, he had to admit rather falteringly. She was somewhat indignant at this. They are always thinking of their nests, he said apologetically, and there are some bits of you. He stroked the fur on her police, that would excite them very much. They shan't have my fur, she said sharply. No, he said, still fondling it, however. No. Oh Mamie, he said rapturously, do you know why I love you? It is because you are like a beautiful nest. Somehow this made her uneasy. I think you are speaking more like a bird than a boy now, she said, holding back, and indeed he was even looking rather like a bird. After all, she said, you are only a betwixtant between. But it hurt him so much that she immediately added, it must be a delicious thing to be. Come and be one then, dear Mamie, he implored her, and they set off for the boat, for it was now very near open gate time. And you are not a bit like a nest, he whispered to please her. But I think it is rather nice to be like one, she said in a woman's contradictory way, and Peter, dear, though I can't give them my fur, I wouldn't mind their building in it. Fancy a nest in my neck, with little spotty eggs in it. Oh Peter, how perfectly lovely! But as they drew near the serpentine, she shivered a little, and said, Of course, I shall go and see mother often, quite often. It is not as if I was saying goodbye forever to mother, it is not in the least like that. Oh no! answered Peter. But in his heart he knew it was very like that, and he would have told her so, had he not been in a quaking fear of losing her. He was so fond of her, he felt he could not live without her. She will forget her mother in time, and be happy with me, he kept saying to himself, and he hurried her on, giving her thimbles by the way. But even when she had seen the boat, and exclaimed ecstatically over its loveliness, she still talked tremblingly about her mother. You know quite well, Peter, don't you? she said, that I wouldn't come unless I knew for certain I could go back to mother whenever I want to. Peter, say it. He said it, but he could no longer look her in the face. If you are sure your mother will always want you, he added rather sourly. The idea of mother's not always wanting me, Mamie cried, and her face glistened. If she doesn't bar you out, said Peter huskily. The door, replied Mamie, will always, always be open, and mother will always be waiting at it for me. Then, said Peter, not without grimness, step in if you feel so sure of her. And he helped Mamie into the thrush's nest. But why don't you look at me? she asked, taking him by the arm. Peter tried hard not to look. He tried to push off. Then he gave a great gulp, and jumped ashore, and sat down miserably in the snow. She went to him. What is it, dear, dear, Peter? she said, wondering. Oh, Mamie! he cried. It isn't fair to take you with me if you think you can go back. You're mother! he gulped again. You don't know them as well as I do. And then he told her the woeful story of how he had been barred out, and she gasped all the time. But my mother, she said, my mother. Yes, she would, said Peter. They are all the same. I daresay she is looking for another one already. Mamie was aghast. I can't believe it. You see, when you went away, your mother had none. But my mother has Tony, and shortly they are satisfied when they have one. Peter replied bitterly. You should see the letters Solomon gets from ladies who have six. Just then they heard a grating creak, followed by creak, creak, all round the gardens. It was the opening of the gates, and Peter jumped nervously into his boat. He knew Mamie would not come with him now, and he was trying bravely not to cry. But Mamie was sobbing painfully. If I should be too late, she said in agony, oh Peter, if she has got another one already. Again he sprang ashore, as if she had called him back. I shall come and look for you tonight, he said, squeezing close. But if you hurry away, I think you will be in time. Then he pressed a last thimble on her sweet little mouth, and covered his face with his hands, so that he might not see her go. Dear Peter! she cried. Dear Mamie! cried the tragic boy. She leapt into his arms, so that it was a sort of fairy wedding. And then she hurried away. Oh, how she hastened to the gates! Peter, you may be sure, was back in the gardens that night, as soon as lock-out sounded. But he found no Mamie, and so he knew she had been in time. For long he hoped that some night she would come back to him. Often he thought he saw her waiting for him by the shore of the serpentine, as his bark drew to land. But Mamie never went back. She wanted to. But she was afraid that if she saw her dear be twixed and between again, she would linger with him too long. And besides, the eye now kept a sharp eye on her. But she often talked lovingly of Peter, and she knitted a kettle-holder for him. And one day, when she was wondering what Easter present he would like, her mother made a suggestion. Nothing, she said thoughtfully, would be so useful to him as a goat. He could ride on it, cried Mamie, and play on his pipe at the same time. Then, her mother asked, won't you give him your goat, the one you fried in Tony with at night? But it isn't a real goat, Mamie said. It seems very real to Tony, replied her mother. It seems frightfully real to me too, Mamie admitted. But how could I give it to Peter? Her mother knew away. And next day, accompanied by Tony, who was really quite a nice boy, though of course he could not compare. They went to the gardens. And Mamie stood alone within a fairy-ring. And then her mother, who was a rather gifted lady, said, My daughter, tell me, if you can, what have you got for Peter Pan? To which Mamie replied, I have a goat for him to ride. Observe me, cast it far and wide. Then she flung her arms about, as if she were sowing seed, and turned round three times. Next, Tony said, If Peedoth find it waiting here, will Narra again make me to fear? And Mamie answered, By darker light I fondly swear never to see goats anywhere. She also left a letter to Peter in a likely place, explaining what she had done, and begging him to ask the fairies to turn the goat into one convenient for riding on. Well, it all happened just as she hoped, for Peter found the letter. And of course nothing could be easier for the fairies than to turn the goat into a real one. And so that is how Peter got the goat, on which he now rides round the gardens every night, playing sublimely on his pipe. And Mamie kept her promise, and never frightened Tony with a goat again. Though I have heard that she created another animal. Until she was quite a big girl, she continued to leave presents for Peter in the gardens, with letters explaining how humans play with them. And she is not the only one who has done this. David does it, for instance, and he and I know the likeliest place for leaving them in. And we shall tell you if you like, but for mercy's sake don't ask us before Porthos, for he is so fond of toys, that were he to find out the place, he would take every one of them. Though Peter still remembers Mamie, he has become as gay as ever. And often in sheer happiness, he jumps off his goat, and lies kicking merrily on the grass. Oh, he has a joyful time. But he has still a vague memory, that he was a human once, and it makes him especially kind to the house-swallows when they visit the island. For house-swallows are the spirits of little children who have died. They always build in the eaves of the houses where they lived when they were humans. And sometimes they try to fly in at a nursery window. And perhaps that is why Peter loves them best of all the birds. And the little house? Every lawful night. That is to say, every night except ball nights. The fairies now build the little house, lest there should be a human child lost in the gardens. And Peter rides the marches looking for lost ones. And if he finds them, he carries them on his goat to the little house. And when they wake up, they are in it. And when they step out, they see it. The fairies build the house merely because it is so pretty. But Peter rides round in memory of Mamie. And because he still loves to do, just as he believes real boys would do. But you must not think that because somewhere among the trees the little house is twinkling, it is a safe thing to remain in the gardens after lock-out time. If the bad ones among the fairies happen to be out that night, they will certainly mischief you. And even though they are not, you may perish of cold and dark before Peter Pan comes round. He has been too late several times. And when he sees he is too late, he runs back to the Thresh's Nest for his paddle, of which Mamie had told him the true use. And he digs a grave for the child, and erects a little tombstone, and carves the poor thing's initials on it. He does this at once, because he thinks it is what real boys would do. And you must have noticed the little stones, and that there are always two together. He puts them in twos because they seem less lonely. I think that quite the most touching sight in the gardens is the two tombstones of Walter, Stephen Matthews, and Phoebe Phelps. They stand together at the spot where the parish of Westminster St. Mary's is said to meet the parish of Paddington. Here Peter found the two babes, who had fallen unnoticed from their perambulators. Phoebe aged thirteen months, and Walter probably still younger, for Peter seems to have felt a delicacy about putting any age on his stone. They lie side by side, and the simple inscriptions read WSTM, and 13a, pp, 1841. David sometimes places white flowers on these two innocent graves. But how strange for parents, when they hurry into the gardens at the opening of the gates, looking for their lost one, to find the sweetest little tombstone instead. I do hope that Peter is not too ready with his spade. It is all rather sad. End of Chapter 6 End of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens Recorded by Peter Eastman August 2009