Peter Pan

“It isn’t that kind of pain,” Peter replied darkly. “Then what kind is it?” “Wendy, you are wrong about mothers.” They all gathered round him in affright, so alarming was his agitation; and with a fine candour he told them what he had hitherto concealed. “Long ago,” he said, “I thought like you that my mother would always keep the window open for me, so I stayed away for moons and moons and moons, and then flew back; but the window was barred, for mother had forgotten all about me, and there was another little boy sleeping in my bed.” I am not sure that this was true, but Peter thought it was true; and it scared them. “Are you sure mothers are like that?” “Yes.” So this was the truth about mothers. The toads! Still it is best to be careful; and no one knows so quickly as a child when he should give in. “Wendy, let us [let’s] go home,” cried John and Michael together. “Yes,” she said, clutching them. “Not to-night?” asked the lost boys bewildered. They knew in what they called their hearts that one can get on quite well without a mother, and that it is only the mothers who think you can’t. “At once,” Wendy replied resolutely, for the horrible thought had come to her: “Perhaps mother is in half mourning by this time.” This dread made her forgetful of what must be Peter’s feelings, and she said to him rather sharply, “Peter, will you make the necessary arrangements?” “If you wish it,” he replied, as coolly as if she had asked him to pass the nuts. Not so much as a sorry-to-lose-you between them! If she did not mind the parting, he was going to show her, was Peter, that neither did he. But of course he cared very much; and he was so full of wrath against grown-ups, who, as usual, were spoiling everything, that as soon as he got inside his tree he breathed intentionally quick short breaths at the rate of about five to a second. He did this because there is a saying in the Neverland that, every time you breathe, a grown-up dies; and Peter was killing them off vindictively as fast as possible. Then having given the necessary instructions to the redskins he returned to the home, where an unworthy scene had been enacted in his absence. Panic-stricken at the thought of losing Wendy the lost boys had advanced upon her threateningly. “It will be worse than before she came,” they cried. “We shan’t let her go.” “Let’s keep her prisoner.” “Ay, chain her up.” In her extremity an instinct told her to which of them to turn. “Tootles,” she cried, “I appeal to you.” Was it not strange? She appealed to Tootles, quite the silliest one. Grandly, however, did Tootles respond. For that one moment he dropped his silliness and spoke with dignity. “I am just Tootles,” he said, “and nobody minds me. But the first who does not behave to Wendy like an English gentleman I will blood him severely.” He drew back his hanger; and for that instant his sun was at noon. The others held back uneasily. Then Peter returned, and they saw at once that they would get no support from him. He would keep no girl in the Neverland against her will. “Wendy,” he said, striding up and down, “I have asked the redskins to guide you through the wood, as flying tires you so.” “Thank you, Peter.” “Then,” he continued, in the short sharp voice of one accustomed to be obeyed, “Tinker Bell will take you across the sea. Wake her, Nibs.” Nibs had to knock twice before he got an answer, though Tink had really been sitting up in bed listening for some time. “Who are you? How dare you? Go away,” she cried. “You are to get up, Tink,” Nibs called, “and take Wendy on a journey.” Of course Tink had been delighted to hear that Wendy was going; but she was jolly well determined not to be her courier, and she said so in still more offensive language. Then she pretended to be asleep again. “She says she won’t!” Nibs exclaimed, aghast at such insubordination, whereupon Peter went sternly toward the young lady’s chamber. “Tink,” he rapped out, “if you don’t get up and dress at once I will open the curtains, and then we shall all see you in your negligee [nightgown].” This made her leap to the floor. “Who said I wasn’t getting up?” she cried. In the meantime the boys were gazing very forlornly at Wendy, now equipped with John and Michael for the journey. By this time they were dejected, not merely because they were about to lose her, but also because they felt that she was going off to something nice to which they had not been invited. Novelty was beckoning to them as usual. Crediting them with a nobler feeling Wendy melted.