Peter Pan

“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 [scolded] 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. He had brought nuts for the boys as well as the correct time for Wendy. “Peter, you just spoil them, you know,” Wendy simpered [exaggerated a smile]. “Ah, old lady,” said Peter, hanging up his gun. “It was me told him mothers are called old lady,” Michael whispered to Curly. “I complain of Michael,” said Curly instantly. The first twin came to Peter. “Father, we want to dance.” “Dance away, my little man,” said Peter, who was in high good humour. “But we want you to dance.” Peter was really the best dancer among them, but he pretended to be scandalised. “Me! My old bones would rattle!” “And mummy too.” “What,” cried Wendy, “the mother of such an armful, dance!” “But on a Saturday night,” Slightly insinuated. It was not really Saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long lost count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was Saturday night, and then they did it. “Of course it is Saturday night, Peter,” Wendy said, relenting. “People of our figure, Wendy!” “But it is only among our own progeny [children].” “True, true.” So they were told they could dance, but they must put on their nighties first. “Ah, old lady,” Peter said aside to Wendy, warming himself by the fire and looking down at her as she sat turning a heel, “there is nothing more pleasant of an evening for you and me when the day’s toil is over than to rest by the fire with the little ones near by.” “It is sweet, Peter, isn’t it?” Wendy said, frightfully gratified. “Peter, I think Curly has your nose.” “Michael takes after you.” She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Dear Peter,” she said, “with such a large family, of course, I have now passed my best, but you don’t want to [ex]change me, do you?” “No, Wendy.” Certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep. “Peter, what is it?” “I was just thinking,” he said, a little scared. “It is only make-believe, isn’t it, that I am their father?”