But the moment the children tried to join in they had to play by themselves,for the mermaids immediately disappeared.Nevertheless we have proof that they secretly watched the interlopers,and were not above taking an idea from them; for John introduced a new way of hitting the bubble,with the head instead of the hand, and the mermaids adopted it.This is the one mark that John has left on the Neverland.
It must also have been rather pretty to see the children resting on a rock for half an hour after their mid-day meal.Wendy insisted on their doing this, and it had to be a real rest even though the meal was make-believe.So they lay there in the sun, and their bodies glistened in it,while she sat beside them and looked important.
It was one such day, and they were all on Marooners’ Rock.The rock was not much larger than their great bed,but of course they all knew how not to take up much room, and they were dozing,or at least lying with their eyes shut,and pinching occasionally when they thought Wendy was not looking. She was very busy, stitching.
While she stitched a change came to the lagoon. Little shivers ran over it,and the sun went away and shadows stole across the water, turning it cold.Wendy could no longer see to thread her needle, and when she looked up,the lagoon that had always hitherto been such a laughing place seemed formidable and unfriendly.
It was not, she knew, that night had come, but something as dark as night had come. No,worse than that. It had not come, but it had sent that shiver through the sea to say that it was coming. What was it?
There crowded upon her all the stories she had been told of Marooners’ Rock,so called because evil captains put sailors on it and leave them there to drown.They drown when the tide rises, for then it is submerged.
Of course she should have roused the children at once;not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them,but because it was no longer good for them to sleep on a rock grown chilly.But she was a young mother and she did not know this;she thought you simply must stick to your rule about half an hour after the mid-day meal. So,though fear was upon her, and she longed to hear male voices, she would not waken them.Even when she heard the sound of muffled oars, though her heart was in her mouth,she did not waken them. She stood over them to let them have their sleep out. Was it not brave of Wendy?
It was well for those boys then that there was one among them who could sniff danger even in his sleep.Peter sprang erect, as wide awake at once as a dog, and with one warning cry he roused the others.
He stood motionless, one hand to his ear.
“Pirates!” he cried. The others came closer to him. A strange smile was playing about his face,and Wendy saw it and shuddered. While that smile was on his face no one dared address him;all they could do was to stand ready to obey. The order came sharp and incisive.
“Dive!”
There was a gleam of legs, and instantly the lagoon seemed deserted.Marooners’ Rock stood alone in the forbidding waters as if it were itself marooned.
The boat drew nearer. It was the pirate dinghy, with three figures in her, Smee and Starkey,and the third a captive, no other than Tiger Lily. Her hands and ankles were tied,and she knew what was to be her fate. She was to be left on the rock to perish,an end to one of her race more terrible than death by fire or torture,for is it not written in the book of the tribe that there is no path through water to the happy hunting-ground?Yet her face was impassive; she was the daughter of a chief, she must die as a chief’s daughter, it is enough.
They had caught her boarding the pirate ship with a knife in her mouth.No watch was kept on the ship, it being Hook’s boast that the wind of his name guarded the ship for a mile around.Now her fate would help to guard it also. One more wail would go the round in that wind by night.
In the gloom that they brought with them the two pirates did not see the rock till they crashed into it.
“Luff, you lubber,” cried an Irish voice that was Smee’s; “here’s the rock. Now, then,what we have to do is to hoist the redskin on to it and leave her here to drown.”
It was the work of one brutal moment to land the beautiful girl on the rock;she was too proud to offer a vain resistance.
Quite near the rock, but out of sight, two heads were bobbing up and down, Peter’s and Wendy’s.Wendy was crying, for it was the first tragedy she had seen. Peter had seen many tragedies,but he had forgotten them all. He was less sorry than Wendy for Tiger Lily:it was two against one that angered him, and he meant to save her.An easy way would have been to wait until the pirates had gone,but he was never one to choose the easy way.
There was almost nothing he could not do, and he now imitated the voice of Hook.
“Ahoy there, you lubbers!” he called. It was a marvellous imitation.
“The captain!” said the pirates, staring at each other in surprise.
“He must be swimming out to us,” Starkey said, when they had looked for him in vain.
“We are putting the redskin on the rock,” Smee called out.
“Set her free,” came the astonishing answer.
“Free!”
“Yes, cut her bonds and let her go.”
“But, captain—”
“At once, d’ye hear,” cried Peter, “or I’ll plunge my hook in you.”
“This is queer!” Smee gasped.
“Better do what the captain orders,” said Starkey nervously.
“Ay, ay,” Smee said, and he cut Tiger Lily’s cords.At once like an eel she slid between Starkey’s legs into the water.
Of course Wendy was very elated over Peter’s cleverness;but she knew that he would be elated also and very likely crow and thus betray himself,so at once her hand went out to cover his mouth. But it was stayed even in the act, for “Boat ahoy!” rang over the lagoon in Hook’s voice, and this time it was not Peter who had spoken.
Peter may have been about to crow, but his face puckered in a whistle of surprise instead.
“Boat ahoy!” again came the voice.
Now Wendy understood. The real Hook was also in the water.
He was swimming to the boat, and as his men showed a light to guide him he had soon reached them.In the light of the lantern Wendy saw his hook grip the boat’s side;she saw his evil swarthy face as he rose dripping from the water, and, quaking,she would have liked to swim away, but Peter would not budge.He was tingling with life and also top-heavy with conceit. “Am I not a wonder, oh, I am a wonder!” he whispered to her, and though she thought so also,she was really glad for the sake of his reputation that no one heard him except herself.
He signed to her to listen.
The two pirates were very curious to know what had brought their captain to them,but he sat with his head on his hook in a position of profound melancholy.
“Captain, is all well?” they asked timidly, but he answered with a hollow moan.
“He sighs,” said Smee.
“He sighs again,” said Starkey.
“And yet a third time he sighs,” said Smee.
Then at last he spoke passionately.
“The game’s up,” he cried, “those boys have found a mother.”
Affrighted though she was, Wendy swelled with pride.
“O evil day!” cried Starkey.
“What’s a mother?” asked the ignorant Smee.
Wendy was so shocked that she exclaimed. “He doesn’t know!” and always after this she felt that if you could have a pet pirate Smee would be her one.
Peter pulled her beneath the water, for Hook had started up, crying, “What was that?”
“I heard nothing,” said Starkey, raising the lantern over the waters,and as the pirates looked they saw a strange sight. It was the nest I have told you of,floating on the lagoon, and the Never bird was sitting on it.
“See,” said Hook in answer to Smee’s question, “that is a mother. What a lesson!The nest must have fallen into the water, but would the mother desert her eggs?No.”
There was a break in his voice, as if for a moment he recalled innocent days when—but he brushed away this weakness with his hook.
Smee, much impressed, gazed at the bird as the nest was borne past,but the more suspicious Starkey said, “If she is a mother,perhaps she is hanging about here to help Peter.”
Hook winced. “Ay,” he said, “that is the fear that haunts me.”
He was roused from this dejection by Smee’s eager voice.
“Captain,” said Smee, “could we not kidnap these boys’ mother and make her our mother?”
“It is a princely scheme,” cried Hook, and at once it took practical shape in his great brain.“We will seize the children and carry them to the boat: the boys we will make walk the plank, and Wendy shall be our mother.”
Again Wendy forgot herself.
“Never!” she cried, and bobbed.
“What was that?”
But they could see nothing. They thought it must have been a leaf in the wind. “Do you agree, my bullies?” asked Hook.
“There is my hand on it,” they both said.
“And there is my hook. Swear.”
They all swore. By this time they were on the rock, and suddenly Hook remembered Tiger Lily.
“Where is the redskin?” he demanded abruptly.
He had a playful humour at moments, and they thought this was one of the moments.
“That is all right, captain,” Smee answered complacently; “we let her go.”
“Let her go!” cried Hook.
“’Twas your own orders,” the bo’sun faltered.
“You called over the water to us to let her go,” said Starkey.
“Brimstone and gall,” thundered Hook, “what cozening is going on here!” His face had gone black with rage, but he saw that they believed their words, and he was startled.“Lads,” he said, shaking a little, “I gave no such order.”
“It is passing queer,” Smee said, and they all fidgeted uncomfortably. Hook raised his voice, but there was a quiver in it.
“Spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night,” he cried, “dost hear me?”
Of course Peter should have kept quiet, but of course he did not.He immediately answered in Hook’s voice:
“Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs, I hear you.”
In that supreme moment Hook did not blanch, even at the gills,but Smee and Starkey clung to each other in terror.
“Who are you, stranger?Speak!” Hook demanded.
“I am James Hook,” replied the voice, “captain of the _Jolly Roger_.”
“You are not; you are not,” Hook cried hoarsely.
“Brimstone and gall,” the voice retorted, “say that again, and I’ll cast anchor in you.”
Hook tried a more ingratiating manner. “If you are Hook,” he said almost humbly, “come tell me, who am I?”
“A codfish,” replied the voice, “only a codfish.”
“A codfish!” Hook echoed blankly, and it was then, but not till then, that his proud spirit broke. He saw his men draw back from him.
“Have we been captained all this time by a codfish!” they muttered. “It is lowering to our pride.”
They were his dogs snapping at him, but, tragic figure though he had become,he scarcely heeded them. Against such fearful evidence it was not their belief in him that he needed,it was his own. He felt his ego slipping from him. “Don’t desert me, bully, ” he whispered hoarsely to it.
In his dark nature there was a touch of the feminine, as in all the great pirates,and it sometimes gave him intuitions. Suddenly he tried the guessing game.
“Hook,” he called, “have you another voice?”
Now Peter could never resist a game, and he answered blithely in his own voice, “I have.”
“And another name?”
“Ay, ay.”
“Vegetable?” asked Hook.
“No.”
“Mineral?”
“No.”
“Animal?”
“Yes.”
“Man?”
“No!” This answer rang out scornfully.
“Boy?”
“Yes.”
“Ordinary boy?”
“No!”
“Wonderful boy?”
To Wendy’s pain the answer that rang out this time was “Yes.”
“Are you in England?”
“No.”
“Are you here?”
“Yes.”
Hook was completely puzzled. “You ask him some questions,” he said to the others, wiping his damp brow.
Smee reflected. “I can’t think of a thing,” he said regretfully.
“Can’t guess, can’t guess!” crowed Peter. “Do you give it up?”
Of course in his pride he was carrying the game too far, and the miscreants saw their chance.
“Yes, yes,” they answered eagerly.
“Well, then,” he cried, “I am Peter Pan.”
Pan!
In a moment Hook was himself again, and Smee and Starkey were his faithful henchmen.
“Now we have him,” Hook shouted. “Into the water, Smee. Starkey, mind the boat. Take him dead or alive!”
He leaped as he spoke, and simultaneously came the gay voice of Peter.
“Are you ready, boys?”
“Ay, ay,” from various parts of the lagoon.
“Then lam into the pirates.”
The fight was short and sharp. First to draw blood was John,who gallantly climbed into the boat and held Starkey. There was fierce struggle,in which the cutlass was torn from the pirate’s grasp.He wriggled overboard and John leapt after him. The dinghy drifted away.
Here and there a head bobbed up in the water,and there was a flash of steel followed by a cry or a whoop.In the confusion some struck at their own side.The corkscrew of Smee got Tootles in the fourth rib, but he was himself pinked in turn by Curly.Farther from the rock Starkey was pressing Slightly and the twins hard.
Where all this time was Peter?He was seeking bigger game.
The others were all brave boys, and they must not be blamed for backing from the pirate captain.His iron claw made a circle of dead water round him, from which they fled like affrighted fishes.
But there was one who did not fear him: there was one prepared to enter that circle.
Strangely, it was not in the water that they met. Hook rose to the rock to breathe,and at the same moment Peter scaled it on the opposite side. The rock was slippery as a ball,and they had to crawl rather than climb. Neither knew that the other was coming.Each feeling for a grip met the other’s arm: in surprise they raised their heads;their faces were almost touching; so they met.
Some of the greatest heroes have confessed that just before they fell to they had a sinking.Had it been so with Peter at that moment I would admit it. After all,he was the only man that the Sea-Cook had feared. But Peter had no sinking,he had one feeling only, gladness; and he gnashed his pretty teeth with joy.Quick as thought he snatched a knife from Hook’s belt and was about to drive it home,when he saw that he was higher up the rock than his foe. It would not have been fighting fair.He gave the pirate a hand to help him up.
It was then that Hook bit him.
Not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed Peter. It made him quite helpless.He could only stare, horrified. Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly.All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness.After you have been unfair to him he will love you again,but will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness;no one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot it.I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest.
So when he met it now it was like the first time; and he could just stare, helpless. Twice the iron hand clawed him.
A few moments afterwards the other boys saw Hook in the water striking wildly for the ship;no elation on the pestilent face now, only white fear,for the crocodile was in dogged pursuit of him.On ordinary occasions the boys would have swum alongside cheering; but now they were uneasy,for they had lost both Peter and Wendy, and were scouring the lagoon for them,calling them by name. They found the dinghy and went home in it, shouting “Peter,Wendy” as they went, but no answer came save mocking laughter from the mermaids.“They must be swimming back or flying,” the boys concluded. They were not very anxious,because they had such faith in Peter. They chuckled, boylike, because they would be late for bed; and it was all mother Wendy’s fault!
When their voices died away there came cold silence over the lagoon, and then a feeble cry.
“Help, help!”
Two small figures were beating against the rock; the girl had fainted and lay on the boy’s arm.With a last effort Peter pulled her up the rock and then lay down beside her.Even as he also fainted he saw that the water was rising. He knew that they would soon be drowned, but he could do no more.
As they lay side by side a mermaid caught Wendy by the feet,and began pulling her softly into the water. Peter, feeling her slip from him, woke with a start,and was just in time to draw her back. But he had to tell her the truth.
“We are on the rock, Wendy,” he said, “but it is growing smaller. Soon the water will be over it.”
She did not understand even now.
“We must go,” she said, almost brightly.
“Yes,” he answered faintly.
“Shall we swim or fly, Peter?”
He had to tell her.
“Do you think you could swim or fly as far as the island, Wendy, without my help?”
She had to admit that she was too tired.
He moaned.
“What is it?” she asked, anxious about him at once.
“I can’t help you, Wendy. Hook wounded me. I can neither fly nor swim.”
“Do you mean we shall both be drowned?”
“Look how the water is rising.”
They put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight. They thought they would soon be no more.As they sat thus something brushed against Peter as light as a kiss, and stayed there,as if saying timidly, “Can I be of any use?”
It was the tail of a kite, which Michael had made some days before.It had torn itself out of his hand and floated away.
“Michael’s kite,” Peter said without interest, but next moment he had seized the tail, and was pulling the kite toward him.
“It lifted Michael off the ground,” he cried; “why should it not carry you?”
“Both of us!”
“It can’t lift two; Michael and Curly tried.”
“Let us draw lots,” Wendy said bravely.
“And you a lady; never.” Already he had tied the tail round her. She clung to him;she refused to go without him; but with a “Good-bye, Wendy,” he pushed her from the rock;and in a few minutes she was borne out of his sight. Peter was alone on the lagoon.
The rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged.Pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters;and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.
Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremour ran through him,like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them,and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again,with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying,“To die will be an awfully big adventure.”
Chapter IX. THE NEVER BIRD
The last sound Peter heard before he was quite alone were the mermaids retiring one by one to their bedchambers under the sea.He was too far away to hear their doors shut;but every door in the coral caves where they live rings a tiny bell when it opens or closes (as in all the nicest houses on the mainland), and he heard the bells.
Steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet;and to pass the time until they made their final gulp, he watched the only thing on the lagoon.He thought it was a piece of floating paper, perhaps part of the kite,and wondered idly how long it would take to drift ashore.
Presently he noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon the lagoon with some definite purpose,for it was fighting the tide, and sometimes winning; and when it won, Peter,always sympathetic to the weaker side, could not help clapping; it was such a gallant piece of paper.
It was not really a piece of paper; it was the Never bird,making desperate efforts to reach Peter on the nest. By working her wings,in a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water,she was able to some extent to guide her strange craft,but by the time Peter recognised her she was very exhausted. She had come to save him,to give him her nest, though there were eggs in it. I rather wonder at the bird,for though he had been nice to her, he had also sometimes tormented her. I can suppose only that,like Mrs. Darling and the rest of them, she was melted because he had all his first teeth.
She called out to him what she had come for, and he called out to her what she was doing there;but of course neither of them understood the other’s language.In fanciful stories people can talk to the birds freely,and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this were such a story,and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Never bird; but truth is best,and I want to tell you only what really happened. Well,not only could they not understand each other, but they forgot their manners.
“I—want—you—to—get—into—the—nest,” the bird called, speaking as slowly and distinctly as possible,“and—then—you—can—drift—ashore, but—I—am—too—tired—to—bring—it—any—nearer—so—you—must—try to—swim—to—it. ”
“What are you quacking about?” Peter answered. “Why don’t you let the nest drift as usual?”
“I—want—you—” the bird said, and repeated it all over.
Then Peter tried slow and distinct.
“What—are—you—quacking—about?” and so on.
The Never bird became irritated; they have very short tempers.
“You dunderheaded little jay!” she screamed, “Why don’t you do as I tell you?”
Peter felt that she was calling him names, and at a venture he retorted hotly:
“So are you!”
Then rather curiously they both snapped out the same remark:
“Shut up!”
“Shut up!”
Nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could,and by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock. Then up she flew;deserting her eggs, so as to make her meaning clear.
Then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead.It was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky;it was not even to watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs.
There were two large white eggs, and Peter lifted them up and reflected.The bird covered her face with her wings, so as not to see the last of them;but she could not help peeping between the feathers.
I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock,driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure.The children had discovered the glittering hoard,and when in a mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds,pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food, and then flew away,raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them. The stave was still there,and on it Starkey had hung his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim.Peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon. It floated beautifully.
The Never bird saw at once what he was up to, and screamed her admiration of him; and, alas,Peter crowed his agreement with her. Then he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast,and hung up his shirt for a sail. At the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs.She drifted in one direction, and he was borne off in another, both cheering.
Of course when Peter landed he beached his barque in a place where the bird would easily find it;but the hat was such a great success that she abandoned the nest.It drifted about till it went to pieces, and often Starkey came to the shore of the lagoon,and with many bitter feelings watched the bird sitting on his hat. As we shall not see her again,it may be worth mentioning here that all Never birds now build in that shape of nest,with a broad brim on which the youngsters take an airing.
Great were the rejoicings when Peter reached the home under the ground almost as soon as Wendy,who had been carried hither and thither by the kite. Every boy had adventures to tell;but perhaps the biggest adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed.This so inflated them that they did various dodgy things to get staying up still longer,such as demanding bandages; but Wendy, though glorying in having them all home again safe and sound,was scandalised by the lateness of the hour, and cried, “To bed, to bed,” in a voice that had to be obeyed. Next day, however, she was awfully tender,and gave out bandages to every one, and they played till bed-time at limping about and carrying their arms in slings.
Chapter X. THE HAPPY HOME
One important result of the brush on the lagoon was that it made the redskins their friends.Peter had saved Tiger Lily from a dreadful fate,and now there was nothing she and her braves would not do for him. All night they sat above,keeping watch over the home under the ground and awaiting the big attack by the pirates which obviously could not be much longer delayed.Even by day they hung about, smoking the pipe of peace,and looking almost as if they wanted tit-bits to eat.
They called Peter the Great White Father, prostrating themselves before him;and he liked this tremendously, so that it was not really good for him.
“The great white father,” he would say to them in a very lordly manner,as they grovelled at his feet, “is glad to see the Piccaninny warriors protecting his wigwam from the pirates. ”
“Me Tiger Lily,” that lovely creature would reply. “Peter Pan save me, me his velly nice friend. Me no let pirates hurt him.”
She was far too pretty to cringe in this way, but Peter thought it his due,and he would answer condescendingly, “It is good. Peter Pan has spoken.”
Always when he said, “Peter Pan has spoken,” it meant that they must now shut up,and they accepted it humbly in that spirit;but they were by no means so respectful to the other boys,whom they looked upon as just ordinary braves. They said “How-do?” to them, and things like that; and what annoyed the boys was that Peter seemed to think this all right.
Secretly Wendy sympathised with them a little,but she was far too loyal a housewife to listen to any complaints against father.“Father knows best,” she always said, whatever her private opinion must be.Her private opinion was that the redskins should not call her a squaw.
We have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the Night of Nights,because of its adventures and their upshot. The day, as if quietly gathering its forces,had been almost uneventful, and now the redskins in their blankets were at their posts above,while, below, the children were having their evening meal; all except Peter,who had gone out to get the time. The way you got the time on the island was to find the crocodile,and then stay near him till the clock struck.
The meal happened to be a make-believe tea, and they sat around the board, guzzling in their greed;and really, what with their chatter and recriminations, the noise, as Wendy said,was positively deafening. To be sure, she did not mind noise,but she simply would not have them grabbing things,and then excusing themselves by saying that Tootles had pushed their elbow.There was a fixed rule that they must never hit back at meals,but should refer the matter of dispute to Wendy by raising the right arm politely and saying,“I complain of so-and-so;” but what usually happened was that they forgot to do this or did it too much.
“Silence,” cried Wendy when for the twentieth time she had told them that they were not all to speak at once. “Is your mug empty, Slightly darling?”
“Not quite empty, mummy,” Slightly said, after looking into an imaginary mug.
“He hasn’t even begun to drink his milk,” Nibs interposed.
This was telling, and Slightly seized his chance.
“I complain of Nibs,” he cried promptly.
John, however, had held up his hand first.
“Well, John?”
“May I sit in Peter’s chair, as he is not here?”
“Sit in father’s chair, John!” Wendy was scandalised. “Certainly not.”
“He is not really our father,” John answered.“He didn’t even know how a father does till I showed him.”
This was grumbling. “We complain of John,” cried the twins.
Tootles held up his hand. He was so much the humblest of them, indeed he was the only humble one,that Wendy was specially gentle with him.
“I don’t suppose,” Tootles said diffidently, “that I could be father.”
“No, Tootles.”
Once Tootles began, which was not very often, he had a silly way of going on.
“As I can’t be father,” he said heavily, “I don’t suppose, Michael, you would let me be baby?”
“No, I won’t,” Michael rapped out. He was already in his basket.
“As I can’t be baby,” Tootles said, getting heavier and heavier and heavier, “do you think I could be a twin?”
“No, indeed,” replied the twins; “it’s awfully difficult to be a twin.”
“As I can’t be anything important,” said Tootles, “would any of you like to see me do a trick?”
“No,” they all replied.
Then at last he stopped. “I hadn’t really any hope,” he said.
The hateful telling broke out again.
“Slightly is coughing on the table.”
“The twins began with cheese-cakes.”
“Curly is taking both butter and honey.”
“Nibs is speaking with his mouth full.”
“I complain of the twins.”
“I complain of Curly.”
“I complain of Nibs.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” cried Wendy, “I’m sure I sometimes think that spinsters are to be envied.”
She told them to clear away, and sat down to her work-basket,a heavy load of stockings and every knee with a hole in it as usual.
“Wendy,” remonstrated Michael, “I’m too big for a cradle.”
“I must have somebody in a cradle,” she said almost tartly, “and you are the littlest.A cradle is such a nice homely thing to have about a house.”
While she sewed they played around her; such a group of happy faces and dancing limbs lit up by that romantic fire.It had become a very familiar scene, this, in the home under the ground,but we are looking on it for the last time.
There was a step above, and Wendy, you may be sure, was the first to recognize it.
“Children, I hear your father’s step. He likes you to meet him at the door.”
Above, the redskins crouched before Peter.
“Watch well, braves. I have spoken.”
And then, as so often before, the gay children dragged him from his tree. As so often before, but never again.