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!" once 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 [tell], 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 [slapped] 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
[fireplace] 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 [top], 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.
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