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.
