Wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry.But more distinct came the shrill voice of Tinker Bell.The jealous fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship,and was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched.
“Hullo, Tink,” cried the wondering 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 but Tootles popped down their trees. He had a bow and arrow with him, and Tink noted it, and rubbed her little hands.
“Quick, Tootles, quick,” she screamed. “Peter will be so pleased.”
Tootles 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.
Chapter VI. THE LITTLE HOUSE
Foolish Tootles 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 Tinker Bell 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 Tootles, and fell a-trembling.
“And we have killed her,” Nibs 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 sorrier for themselves,and when he took a step nearer them they turned from him.
Tootles’ 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.
“Peter!” they cried, for it was always thus that he signalled his return.
“Hide her,” they whispered, and gathered hastily around Wendy. But Tootles 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 Tootles 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.”
Tootles 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 Tootles on his knees.
“Oh, dastard hand,” Peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger.
Tootles 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.”
All looked at him in wonder, save Nibs, who fortunately looked at Wendy.
“It is she,” he cried, “the Wendy lady, see, her arm!”
Wonderful to relate, Wendy had raised her arm. Nibs bent over her and listened reverently.“I think she said, ‘Poor Tootles,’” 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 round 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. Ay, 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. Begone from 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.
“Ay,” 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, “is what I was thinking.”
“But if she lies there,” Tootles said, “she will die.”
“Ay, 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 skurried 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.
“Hullo, Peter,” they said.
“Hullo,” 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 and 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 captainy voice,“see that these boys help in the building of the house.”
“Ay, ay, 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 a fender first,” Peter ordered. “Then we shall build a house round them.”
“Ay,” 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.”
“Ay, ay,” 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,while 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 rapped 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.
“Tut, tut, tut,” he said, “where does she lie?”
“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 when the glass thing was withdrawn.
“How is she?” inquired Peter.
“Tut, tut, tut,” 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 cosy 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,” cried 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 roof 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 song 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, ’Cos 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 cosy 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 Tootles gave the sole of his shoe, and it made an excellent knocker.
Absolutely finished now, they thought.
Not of 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.
“All 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 Tinker Bell,who was watching from a branch and openly sneering.
What the boys were wondering was, would any one 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, “O Wendy lady, be our mother.”
“Ought 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 carousing far away and the wolves were on the prowl.The little house looked so cosy 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 mischiefed,but they just tweaked Peter’s nose and passed on.
Chapter VII. THE HOME UNDER THE GROUND
One of the first things Peter did next day was to measure Wendy and John and Michael for hollow trees.Hook, you remember, had sneered at the boys for thinking they needed a tree apiece,but this was ignorance, for unless your tree fitted you it was difficult to go up and down,and no two of the boys were quite the same size. Once you fitted,you drew in your breath at the top, and down you went at exactly the right speed,while to ascend you drew in and let out alternately, and so wriggled up. Of course,when you have mastered the action you are able to do these things without thinking of them, and nothing can be more graceful.
But you simply must fit, and Peter measures you for your tree as carefully as for a suit of clothes:the only difference being that the clothes are made to fit you,while you have to be made to fit the tree. Usually it is done quite easily,as by your wearing too many garments or too few,but if you are bumpy in awkward places or the only available tree is an odd shape,Peter does some things to you, and after that you fit. Once you fit,great care must be taken to go on fitting, and this, as Wendy was to discover to her delight,keeps a whole family in perfect condition.
Wendy and Michael fitted their trees at the first try, but John had to be altered a little.
After a few days’ practice they could go up and down as gaily as buckets in a well.And how ardently they grew to love their home under the ground; especially Wendy.It consisted of one large room, as all houses should do,with a floor in which you could dig if you wanted to go fishing,and in this floor grew stout mushrooms of a charming colour, which were used as stools.A Never tree tried hard to grow in the centre of the room,but every morning they sawed the trunk through, level with the floor.By tea-time it was always about two feet high, and then they put a door on top of it,the whole thus becoming a table; as soon as they cleared away, they sawed off the trunk again,and thus there was more room to play. There was an enormous fireplace which was in almost any part of the room where you cared to light it,and across this Wendy stretched strings, made of fibre, from which she suspended her washing.The bed was tilted against the wall by day, and let down at 6:30,when it filled nearly half the room; and all the boys slept in it, except Michael,lying like sardines in a tin. There was a strict rule against turning round until one gave the signal,when all turned at once. Michael should have used it also, but Wendy would have a baby,and he was the littlest, and you know what women are,and the short and long of it is that he was hung up in a basket.
It was rough and simple, and not unlike what baby bears would have made of an underground house in the same circumstances.But there was one recess in the wall, no larger than a bird-cage,which was the private apartment of Tinker Bell.It could be shut off from the rest of the house by a tiny curtain, which Tink,who was most fastidious, always kept drawn when dressing or undressing. No woman, however large,could have had a more exquisite boudoir and bed-chamber combined. The couch,as she always called it, was a genuine Queen Mab, with club legs;and she varied the bedspreads according to what fruit-blossom was in season.Her mirror was a Puss-in-Boots, of which there are now only three, unchipped,known to fairy dealers; the washstand was Pie-crust and reversible,the chest of drawers an authentic Charming the Sixth,and the carpet and rugs the best (the early) period of Margery and Robin.There was a chandelier from Tiddlywinks for the look of the thing,but of course she lit the residence herself. Tink was very contemptuous of the rest of the house,as indeed was perhaps inevitable, and her chamber, though beautiful, looked rather conceited,having the appearance of a nose permanently turned up.
I suppose it was all especially entrancing to Wendy,because those rampagious boys of hers gave her so much to do. Really there were whole weeks when,except perhaps with a stocking in the evening, she was never above ground. The cooking,I can tell you, kept her nose to the pot, and even if there was nothing in it,even if there was no pot, she had to keep watching that it came aboil just the same.You never exactly knew whether there would be a real meal or just a make-believe,it all depended upon Peter’s whim: he could eat, really eat, if it was part of a game,but he could not stodge just to feel stodgy,which is what most children like better than anything else;the next best thing being to talk about it.Make-believe was so real to him that during a meal of it you could see him getting rounder.Of course it was trying, but you simply had to follow his lead,and if you could prove to him that you were getting loose for your tree he let you stodge.
Wendy’s favourite time for sewing and darning was after they had all gone to bed. Then,as she expressed it, she had a breathing time for herself;and she occupied it in making new things for them, and putting double pieces on the knees,for they were all most frightfully hard on their knees.
When she sat down to a basketful of their stockings, every heel with a hole in it,she would fling up her arms and exclaim, “Oh dear,I am sure I sometimes think spinsters are to be envied!”
Her face beamed when she exclaimed this.
You remember about her pet wolf. Well, it very soon discovered that she had come to the island and it found her out,and they just ran into each other’s arms. After that it followed her about everywhere.
As time wore on did she think much about the beloved parents she had left behind her?This is a difficult question, because it is quite impossible to say how time does wear on in the Neverland,where it is calculated by moons and suns,and there are ever so many more of them than on the mainland.But I am afraid that Wendy did not really worry about her father and mother;she was absolutely confident that they would always keep the window open for her to fly back by,and this gave her complete ease of mind.What did disturb her at times was that John remembered his parents vaguely only,as people he had once known, while Michael was quite willing to believe that she was really his mother.These things scared her a little, and nobly anxious to do her duty,she tried to fix the old life in their minds by setting them examination papers on it,as like as possible to the ones she used to do at school.The other boys thought this awfully interesting, and insisted on joining,and they made slates for themselves, and sat round the table,writing and thinking hard about the questions she had written on another slate and passed round.They were the most ordinary questions—“What was the colour of Mother’s eyes?Which was taller, Father or Mother?Was Mother blonde or brunette?Answer all three questions if possible.” “(A) Write an essay of not less than 40 words on How I spent my last Holidays,or The Characters of Father and Mother compared. Only one of these to be attempted.” Or “(1) Describe Mother’s laugh; (2) Describe Father’s laugh; (3) Describe Mother’s Party Dress;(4) Describe the Kennel and its Inmate.”
They were just everyday questions like these,and when you could not answer them you were told to make a cross;and it was really dreadful what a number of crosses even John made.Of course the only boy who replied to every question was Slightly,and no one could have been more hopeful of coming out first,but his answers were perfectly ridiculous, and he really came out last: a melancholy thing.
Peter did not compete. For one thing he despised all mothers except Wendy,and for another he was the only boy on the island who could neither write nor spell;not the smallest word. He was above all that sort of thing.
By the way, the questions were all written in the past tense. What was the colour of Mother’s eyes,and so on. Wendy, you see, had been forgetting, too.
Adventures, of course, as we shall see, were of daily occurrence;but about this time Peter invented, with Wendy’s help, a new game that fascinated him enormously,until he suddenly had no more interest in it, which, as you have been told,was what always happened with his games. It consisted in pretending not to have adventures,in doing the sort of thing John and Michael had been doing all their lives,sitting on stools flinging balls in the air, pushing each other,going out for walks and coming back without having killed so much as a grizzly.To see Peter doing nothing on a stool was a great sight;he could not help looking solemn at such times,to sit still seemed to him such a comic thing to do.He boasted that he had gone walking for the good of his health.For several suns these were the most novel of all adventures to him;and John and Michael had to pretend to be delighted also;otherwise he would have treated them severely.
He often went out alone, and when he came back you were never absolutely certain whether he had had an adventure or not.He might have forgotten it so completely that he said nothing about it;and then when you went out you found the body; and, on the other hand,he might say a great deal about it, and yet you could not find the body.Sometimes he came home with his head bandaged,and then Wendy cooed over him and bathed it in lukewarm water, while he told a dazzling tale.But she was never quite sure, you know. There were, however,many adventures which she knew to be true because she was in them herself,and there were still more that were at least partly true,for the other boys were in them and said they were wholly true.To describe them all would require a book as large as an English-Latin, Latin-English Dictionary,and the most we can do is to give one as a specimen of an average hour on the island.The difficulty is which one to choose. Should we take the brush with the redskins at Slightly Gulch?It was a sanguinary affair, and especially interesting as showing one of Peter’s peculiarities,which was that in the middle of a fight he would suddenly change sides. At the Gulch,when victory was still in the balance, sometimes leaning this way and sometimes that,he called out, “I’m redskin to-day; what are you, Tootles?” And Tootles answered, “Redskin; what are you, Nibs?” and Nibs said, “Redskin; what are you Twin?” and so on; and they were all redskins;and of course this would have ended the fight had not the real redskins fascinated by Peter’s methods,agreed to be lost boys for that once, and so at it they all went again, more fiercely than ever.
The extraordinary upshot of this adventure was—but we have not decided yet that this is the adventure we are to narrate.Perhaps a better one would be the night attack by the redskins on the house under the ground,when several of them stuck in the hollow trees and had to be pulled out like corks.Or we might tell how Peter saved Tiger Lily’s life in the Mermaids’ Lagoon, and so made her his ally.
Or we could tell of that cake the pirates cooked so that the boys might eat it and perish;and how they placed it in one cunning spot after another;but always Wendy snatched it from the hands of her children,so that in time it lost its succulence, and became as hard as a stone, and was used as a missile, and Hook fell over it in the dark.
Or suppose we tell of the birds that were Peter’s friends,particularly of the Never bird that built in a tree overhanging the lagoon,and how the nest fell into the water, and still the bird sat on her eggs,and Peter gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. That is a pretty story,and the end shows how grateful a bird can be;but if we tell it we must also tell the whole adventure of the lagoon,which would of course be telling two adventures rather than just one. A shorter adventure,and quite as exciting, was Tinker Bell’s attempt, with the help of some street fairies,to have the sleeping Wendy conveyed on a great floating leaf to the mainland.Fortunately the leaf gave way and Wendy woke, thinking it was bath-time, and swam back. Or again,we might choose Peter’s defiance of the lions,when he drew a circle round him on the ground with an arrow and dared them to cross it;and though he waited for hours, with the other boys and Wendy looking on breathlessly from trees,not one of them dared to accept his challenge.
Which of these adventures shall we choose?The best way will be to toss for it.
I have tossed, and the lagoon has won. This almost makes one wish that the gulch or the cake or Tink’s leaf had won.Of course I could do it again, and make it best out of three; however, perhaps fairest to stick to the lagoon.
Chapter VIII. THE MERMAIDS’ LAGOON
If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one,you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness;then if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape,and the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on fire.But just before they go on fire you see the lagoon.This is the nearest you ever get to it on the mainland, just one heavenly moment;if there could be two moments you might see the surf and hear the mermaids singing.
The children often spent long summer days on this lagoon, swimming or floating most of the time,playing the mermaid games in the water, and so forth.You must not think from this that the mermaids were on friendly terms with them: on the contrary,it was among Wendy’s lasting regrets that all the time she was on the island she never had a civil word from one of them.When she stole softly to the edge of the lagoon she might see them by the score,especially on Marooners’ Rock, where they loved to bask,combing out their hair in a lazy way that quite irritated her; or she might even swim,on tiptoe as it were, to within a yard of them, but then they saw her and dived,probably splashing her with their tails, not by accident, but intentionally.
They treated all the boys in the same way, except of course Peter,who chatted with them on Marooners’ Rock by the hour, and sat on their tails when they got cheeky. He gave Wendy one of their combs.
The most haunting time at which to see them is at the turn of the moon,when they utter strange wailing cries; but the lagoon is dangerous for mortals then,and until the evening of which we have now to tell, Wendy had never seen the lagoon by moonlight,less from fear, for of course Peter would have accompanied her,than because she had strict rules about every one being in bed by seven.She was often at the lagoon, however, on sunny days after rain,when the mermaids come up in extraordinary numbers to play with their bubbles.The bubbles of many colours made in rainbow water they treat as balls,hitting them gaily from one to another with their tails,and trying to keep them in the rainbow till they burst. The goals are at each end of the rainbow,and the keepers only are allowed to use their hands.Sometimes a dozen of these games will be going on in the lagoon at a time, and it is quite a pretty sight.