he lagoon for them, calling them by name. They found the dinghy and went home in it shouting, Peter, Wendy, as they went. But no answer came save mucking laughter from the mermaids. They must be swimming back or flying, the boys concluded. They were not very anxious because they had such faith in Peter. They chuckled far like because they would be late for bed and it was all mother Wendy's fault. When their voices died away there came cold silence over the lagoon and then a feeble cry. Help! Help! Two small figures were beating against the rock. The girl had fainted and lay on the boy's arm. With a last effort Peter pulled her up the rock and then lay down beside her. Even as he also fainted he saw that the water was rising. He knew that they would soon be drowned, but he could do no more. As they lay side by side a mermaid caught Wendy by the feet and began pulling her softly into the water. Peter, feeling her slip from him, woke with a stork and was just in time to draw her back. But he had to tell her the truth. We are on the rock, Wendy, he said, but it is growing smaller. Soon the water will be over it. She did not understand even now. We must go, she said almost brightly. Yes, he answered faintly. Shall we swim or fly, Peter? He had to tell her. Do you think you could swim or fly as far as the island, Wendy, without my help? She had to admit that she was too tired. He moaned. What is it, she asked anxious about him at once. I can't help you, Wendy. Hook wounded me. I can neither fly nor swim. Do you mean we shall both be drowned? Look how the water is rising.  They thought there would soon be no more. As they sat thus something brushed against Peter as light as a kiss and stayed there as if saying timidly, can I be of any use? It was the tail of a kite which Michael had made some days before. It had torn itself out of his hand and floated away. Michael's kite, Peter said without interest. But next moment he had seized the tail and was pulling the kite toward him. It lifted Michael off the ground, he cried. Why, she did not carry you. Both of us. It can't lift two, Michael and Curly tried. Let us draw lots, Wendy said bravely. And you a lady? Never. Already he had tied the tail round her. She clung to him. She refused to go without him, but with a goodbye, Wendy, he pushed her from the rock. And in a few minutes she was born out of sight. Peter was alone on the lagoon. The rock was very small now. Soon it would be submerged. Pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters. And by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world. The mermaids calling to the moon. Peter was not quite like other boys, but he was afraid at last. A tremor ran through him, like a shutter passing over the sea. But on the sea one shutter follows another till there are hundreds of them. And Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him.  End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Peter Pan by J. M. Berry This livery box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 9 The Neverbird The last sound Peter heard before he was quite alone, where the mermaids retiring one by one to their bed chambers under the sea. He was too far away to hear their door shut, but every door in the coral caves where they live rings a tiny bell when it opens or closes, as in all the nicest homes on the mainland. And he heard the bells. Steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet, and to pass the time until they made their final gulp, he watched the only thing on the lagoon. He thought it was a piece of floating paper, perhaps part of the kite, and wondered idly how long it would take to drift ashore. Presently he noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon the lagoon with some definite purpose, for it was fighting the tide, and sometimes winning, and when it won, Peter, always sympathetic to the weaker side, could not help clapping.  It was not really a piece of paper. It was the Neverbird making desperate efforts to reach Peter on the nest. By working her wings in a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water, she was able to some extent to guide her strange craft, but by the time Peter recognized her she was very exhausted. She had come to save him to give him her nest though there were eggs in it. I rather wonder at the bird, for though he had been nice to her, he had also sometimes tormented her. I can suppose only that, like Mrs. Darling and the rest of them, she was melted because he had all his first teeth. She called out to him what she had come for, and he called out to her what she was doing there, but of course neither of them understood the other's language. In fanciful stories, people can talk to the birds freely, and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this were such a story, and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Neverbird. But truth is best, and I want to tell you only what really happened. Well, not only could they not understand each other, but they forgot their manners. I want you to get into the nest, the very called, speaking as slowly and distinctly as possible. And then you can drift ashore, but I am too tired to bring it any nearer, so you must try to swim to it. What are you quacking about? Peter answered. Why don't you let the nest drift as usual?  Then Peter tried slow and distinct. What are you quacking about? And so on. The Neverbird became irritated. They have very short tempers.  Why don't you do as I tell you? Peter felt that she was calling him names, and at a venture he retorted hotly. So are you. Then rather curiously they both snapped out the same remark.  Nevertheless, the bird was determined to save him if she could. And by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock. Then up she flew, deserting her eggs so as to make her meaning clear. Then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead. It was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky. It was not even to watch him get into the nest. It was to see what he did with her eggs. There were two large white eggs, and Peter lifted them up and reflected. The bird covered her face with her wings so as not to see the last of them, but she could not help peeping between the feathers. I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock, driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure. The children had discovered the glaring horde, and when in a mischievous mood used the fling showers of moydours, diamonds, pearls, and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them. The stave was still there, and on it Starkey had hung his hat. A deep tarpaulin, watertight with a broad brim. Peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon. It floated beautifully. The neverbird saw it once what he was up to and screamed her admiration of him, and alas Peter crowed his agreement with her. Then he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast, and hung up his shirt for a sale. At the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat, and once more set snugly on her eggs. She drifted in one direction, and he was born off in another, both cheering. Of course, when Peter landed, he beached his bark in a place where the bird would easily find it, but the hat was such a great success that she abandoned the nest. It drifted about till it went to pieces, and often Starkey came to the shore of the lagoon, and with many bitter feelings watched the bird sitting on his hat. As we shall not see her again, it may be worth mentioning here that all neverbirds now build in that shape of nest with a broad brim on which the youngsters take an airing. Great were the rejoicings when Peter reached the home under the ground almost as soon as Wendy, who had been carried hither and thither about the kite. Every boy had adventures to tell, but perhaps the biggest adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed. This so inflamed them that they did various dodgy things to get staying up still longer, such as demanding bandages. But Wendy, though glorying and having them all home again, safe and sound, was scandalized by the lateness of the hour and cried, too bad, too bad, in a voice that had to be obeyed. Next day, however, she was awfully tender and gave out bandages to everyone, and they played till bedtime at limping about and carrying their arms and slings. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 The Happy Home One important result of the brush on the lagoon was that it made the red skins their friends. Peter had saved Tiger Lily from a dreadful fate, and now there was nothing she and her braves would not do for him. All night they sat above, keeping watch over the home under the ground and awaiting the big attack by the pirates, which obviously could not be much longer delayed. Even by day they hung about, smoking the pipe of peace and looking almost as if they wanted tidbits to eat. They called Peter the Great White Father, prostrating themselves before him, and he liked this tremendously so that it was not really good for him. The Great White Father, he would say to them in a very lorily manner as they groveled at his feet, is glad to see the picketing warriors protecting his wigwam from the pirates. Me, Tiger Lily, that lovely creature would reply. Peter Pan saved me, me his very nice friend. Me, no let pirates hurt him. She was far too pretty to cringe in this way, but Peter thought it his due, and he would answer condescendingly. It is good. Peter Pan has spoken. Always when he said, Peter Pan has spoken, it meant that they must now shut up, and they accepted it humbly in that spirit, but they were by no means so respectful to the other boys whom they looked upon as just ordinary braves. They said how due to them, and things like that, and what annoyed the boys was that Peter seemed to think this was all right. Secretly Wendy sympathized with them a little, but she was far too loyal a housewife to listen to any complaints against Father. Father knows best, she always said, whatever her private opinion must be. Her private opinion was that the Redskins should not call her a squaw. We have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the Night of Knights, because of its adventures and their upshot. The day, as if quietly gathering its forces, had been almost uneventful, and now the Redskins and their blankets were at their posts above, while below the children were having their evening meal, all except Peter who had gone out to get the time. The way you got the time on the island was to find the crocodile and then stay near him till the clock struck. The meal happened to be a make-believe tea, and they all sat around the board guzzling in their greed and really, what with their chatter and recriminations, the noise as Wendy said was positively deafening. To be sure she did not mind the noise, but she simply would not have them grabbing things, and then excusing themselves by saying that toodles had pushed their elbow. There was a fixed rule that they must never hit back at meals, but should refer the matter of dispute to Wendy by raising the right arm politely and saying, I complain of so and so. But what usually happened was that they forgot to do this or did it too much. Silence! cried Wendy, when for the twentieth time she had told them that they were not all to speak at once. Is your mug empty, slightly darling? Not quite empty, mummy, slightly said after looking into an imaginary mug. He hasn't even begun to drink his milk, nibs interposed. This was telling, and slightly seized his chance. I complain of nibs, he cried promptly. John, however, had held up his hand first. Well, John, may I sit in Peter's chair as he is not here? Sit in Father's chair, John? Wendy was scandalized, certainly not. He is not really our father, John answered. He didn't even know how a father does till I showed him. This was grumbling. We complain of John, cried the twins. Toodles held up his hand. He was so much the humblest of them, indeed, he was the only humble one that Wendy was specially gentle with him. I don't suppose, Toodles said differently, that I could be father. No, Toodles. Once Toodles began, which was not very often, he had a silly way of going on. As I can't be father, he said heavily, I don't suppose, Michael, you would let me be baby. No, I won't. Michael wrapped out. He was already in his basket. As I can't be baby, Toodles said, getting heavier and heavier and heavier, do you think I could be a twin? No, indeed, replied the twins. It's awfully difficult to be a twin. As I can't be anything important, said Toodles, would any of you like to see me do a trick? No, they all replied. Then at last he stopped. I hadn't really any hope, he said. The hateful telling broke out again. Slightly as coughing on the table, the twins began with cheesecakes. Curly is taking both butter and honey. Nibs is speaking with his mouth full. I complain of the twins. 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 Michael, I'm too big for a cradle. I must have some body in a cradle, she said almost hardly, 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.  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. Ah, old lady, said Peter, hanging up his gun. It was me told him mothers are called old lady, Michael whispered to Curly. I complained 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 humor. But we want you to dance. Peter was really the best dancer among them, but he pretended to be scandalized. 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. 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.  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 change me, do you? No, Wendy? Certainly he did not want to 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? Oh, yes, Wendy said primely. You see, he continued apologetically, it would make me seem so old to be their real father, but they are ours, Peter, yours and mine. But not really, Wendy, he asked anxiously. Not if you don't wish it, she replied, and she distinctly heard his sigh of relief. Peter, she asked, trying to speak firmly, what are your exact feelings to me? Those of a devoted son, Wendy, I thought so, she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room. You are so queer, he said, frankly puzzled, and Tiger Lily is just the same. Here is something she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother. No, indeed it is not, Wendy replied, with frightful emphasis. Now we know why she was prejudiced against the Redskins. Then what is it? It isn't for a lady to tell. Oh, very well, Peter said a little nettled. Perhaps Tinker Bell will tell me. Oh, yes, Tinker Bell will tell you, Wendy retorted scornfully. She is an abandoned little creature. Here, Tink, who is in her bedroom, eavesdropping, squeaked out something impudent. She says she glories in being abandoned, Peter interpreted. He had a sudden idea. Perhaps Tink wants to be my mother.  She had said it so often that Wendy needed no translation. And I almost agree with her, Wendy snapped. Fancy, Wendy snapping. But she had been much tried and she little knew what was to happen before the night was out. If she had known, she would not have snapped. None of them knew. Perhaps it was best not to know. Their ignorance gave them one more glad hour. And as it was to be their last night on the island, let us rejoice that there were sixty glad minutes in it. They sang and danced in their nightgowns. Such a deliciously creepy song it was, in which they pretended to be frightened at their own shadows, little witting that so soon shadows would close in upon them, from whom they would shrink in real fear. So uproariously gay was the dance, and how they buffeted each other on the bed and out of it. It was a pillow fight rather than a dance, and when it was finished the pillows insisted on one bout more, like partners who know that they may never meet again. The stories they told before it was time for Wendy's good night story. Even slightly tried to tell a story that night. But the beginning was so fearfully dull that it appalled not only the others, but himself, and he said, gloomily, Yes, it is a dull beginning. I say, let us pretend that it is the end. And then at last they all got into bed for Wendy's story, the story they loved best, the story Peter hated. Usually when she began to tell this story he left the room, or put his hands over his ears, and possibly if he had done either of those things this time, they might all still be on the island. But tonight he remained on his stool, and we shall see what happened. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Peter Pan by J. M. Berry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 11 Wendy's Story Listen then, said Wendy, settling down to her story, with Michael at her feet and seven boys in the bed. There was once a gentleman. I had rather he had been a lady, Curly said. I wish he had been a white rat, said Nibbs. Quiet! their mother had monished them. There was a lady also, and Oh, Mummy! cried the first twin. You mean that there is a lady also, don't you? She is not dead, is she? Oh, no! Oh, I'm awfully glad she isn't dead, said Toodles. Are you glad, John? Of course I am. Aren't you glad, Nibbs? Rather. Are you glad, twins? We are glad. Oh, dear, sighed Wendy. Little less noise there, Peter called out, determined that she should have fair play, however beastly a story it might be in his opinion. The gentleman's name, Wendy continued, was Mr. Darling, and her name was Mrs. Darling. I knew them, John said to anargy others. I think I knew them, said Michael, rather doubtfully. They were married, you know, explained Wendy, and what do you think they had? White rats! cried Nibbs, inspired. No. It's awfully puzzling, said Toodles, who knew the story by heart. Quiet, Toodles. They had three descendants. What is descendants? Well, you are one, twin. Did you hear that, John? I am a descendant. Descendants are only children, said John. Oh, dear, oh, dear, sighed Wendy. Now these three children had a faithful nurse called Nana, but Mr. Darling was angry with her and chained her up in the yard, and so all the children flew away. It's an awfully good story, said Nibbs. They flew away, Wendy continued, to the Neverland, where the lost children are. I just thought they did, curly, broken, excitedly. I don't know how it is, but I just thought they did. Oh, Wendy, cried Toodles, was one of the lost children called Toodles? Yes, he was. I am in a story. Hurrah! I am in a story, Nibbs! Hush! Now I want you to consider the feelings of the unhappy parents with all their children flown away. Oh, they all moaned, though they were not really considering the feelings of the unhappy parents one jot. Think of the empty beds. Oh, it's awfully sad, the first twin said cheerfully. I don't see how it can have a happy ending, said the second twin. Do you, Nibbs? I'm frightfully anxious. If you knew how great is a mother's love, Wendy told them triumphantly, you would have no fear. She had now come to the part that Peter hated. I do like a mother's love, said Toodles, hitting Nibbs with a pillow. Do you like a mother's love, Nibbs? I do just, said Nibbs, hitting back. You see, Wendy said complacently, our heroine knew that the mother would always leave the window open for her children to fly back by, so they stayed away for years and had a lovely time. Did they ever go back? Let us now, said Wendy, bracing herself up for her finest effort, take a peep into the future. And they all gave themselves the twist that makes peeps into the future easier. Years have rolled by, and who is this elegant lady of uncertain age alighting at London's station? Oh, Wendy, who is she? cried Nibbs, every bit as excited as if he didn't know. Can it be? Yes, no, it is the fair Wendy. Oh, and who are the two noble portly figures accompanying her, now grown to man's estate? Can they be John and Michael? They are. Oh, see, dear brothers, said Wendy, pointing upwards. There is the window still standing open. Ah, now we are rewarded for our sublime faith in a mother's love. So up they flew to their mummy and daddy, and Pin cannot describe the happy scene over which we draw a veil. That was the story, and they were as pleased with it as the fair narrator herself. Everything, just as it should be, you see. Off we skip like the most heartless things in the world, which is what children are, but so attractive, and we have an entirely selfish time, and then when we have need of special attention we nobly return for it, confident that we shall be rewarded instead of smacked. So great indeed was their faith in a mother's love that they felt they could afford to be callous for a bit longer. But there was one there who knew better, and when Wendy finished he uttered a hollow groan. Oh! What is it, Peter? She cried, running to him, thinking he was ill. She felt him solicitously lower down than his chest. Where is it, Peter? 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 a fright. So alarming was his agitation, and with a fine candor 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 from 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 go home, cried John and Michael together. Yes, she said, clutching them. Not tonight, asked the lost boys, bewildered. They knew in what they call 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-morning by this time. The 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. Aye, chain her up. In her extremity an instinct told her to which of them to turn. Toodles, she cried, I appeal to you. Was it not strange? She appealed to Toodles, quite the silliest one. Grandly however did Toodles respond, for that one moment he dropped his silliness and spoke with dignity. I am just Toodles, he said, and nobody minds me. But the first one who does not behave to Wendy like an English gentleman, I will blood him severely. He drew back his hangar, and for that instant his son 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 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, Tinkerbell 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.  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, a guest at such in subordination, whereupon Peter went sternly toward the young lady's chamber. Tink, he rapped out, if you don't get up and dress it once, I will open the curtains, and then we shall all see you in your negligee. 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. Predicting them with a nobler feeling, Wendy melted. Dear ones, she said, if you will all come with me, I feel almost sure I can get my father and mother to adopt you. The invitation was meant specially for Peter, but each of the boys was thinking exclusively of himself, and at once they jumped with joy. But won't they think us rather a handful, nibs asked in the middle of his jump? Oh no, said Wendy, rapidly thinking it out. It will only mean having a few beds in the drawing room, they can be hidden behind the screens on first Thursdays. Peter, can we go? They all cried imploringly. They took it for granted that if they went, he would go also, but really they scarcely cared. Thus children are ever ready when novelty knocks to desert their dearest ones. All right, Peter replied with a bitter smile, and immediately they rushed to get their things. And now Peter, Wendy said, thinking she had put everything right. I am going to give you your medicine before you go. She loved to give them medicine and undoubtedly gave them too much. Of course it was only water, but it was out of a bottle, and she always shook the bottle and counted the drops, which gave it a certain medicinal quality. On this occasion however, she did not give Peter his draft, for just as she had prepared it, she saw a look on his face that made her heart sink. Get your things, Peter! she cried, shaking. No, he answered, pretending indifference. I am not going with you, Wendy. Yes, Peter? No. To show that her departure would leave him unmoved, he skipped up and down the room, playing gaily on his heartless pipes. She had to run about after him, though it was rather undignified. To find your mother, she coaxed. Now if Peter had ever quite had a mother, he no longer missed her. He could do very well without one. He had thought them out and remembered only their bad points. No, no, he told Wendy decisively. Perhaps she would say I was old, and I just want always to be a little boy and to have fun. But Peter, no. And so the others had to be told. Peter isn't coming. Peter not coming? They gauged blankly at him. There are sticks over their backs and on each stick a bundle. Their first thought was that if Peter was not going he had probably changed his mind about letting them go. But he was far too proud for that. If you find your mothers, he said darkly, I hope you will like them. The awful cynicism of this made an uncomfortable impression, and most of them began to look rather doubtful. After all, their faces said, Were they not noodles to want to go? Now then, cried Peter, no fuss, no blubbering. Goodbye, Wendy. And he held out his hand cheerily, quite as if they must really go now, for he has something important to do. She had to take his hand, and there was no indication that he would prefer a thimble. You will remember about changing your flannels, Peter, she said lingering over him. She was always so particular about their flannels. Yes. And you will take your medicine? Yes. That seemed to be everything, and an awkward pause followed. Peter, however, was not the kind that breaks down before other people. Are you ready, Tinkerbell? He called out. I, I, then lead the way. Tink darted up the nearest tree, but no one followed her. For it was at this moment that the pirates made their dreadful attack upon the Redskins. Above, where all had been so still, the air was rent with shrieks and the clash of steel. Below, there was dead silence. Mowls opened and remained open. Wendy fell on her knees, but her arms were extended toward Peter. All arms were extended to him as if suddenly blown in his direction. They were beseeching him mutely not to desert them. As for Peter, he seized his sword, the same he thought he had slain barbecue with, and the lust of battle was in his eye. End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Peter Pan by J. M. Barry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 12 The Children Are Carried Off The pirate attack had been a complete surprise. A sure proof that the unscrupulous hook had conducted it improperly, for to surprise Redskins fairly is beyond the wit of the white man. By all the unwritten laws of savage warfare, it is always the Redskins who attacks, and with the wildliness of his race he does it just before the dawn, at which time he knows the courage of the whites to be at their lowest ebb. The white men have, in the meantime, made a rude stockade on the summit of yonder undulating ground, at the foot of which a stream runs, for it is destruction to be too far from water. There they await the onslaught, the inexperienced ones clutching their revolvers and treading on twigs, but the old hands sleeping tranquilly until just before the dawn. Through the long black night the savage scouts wriggle sneak like among the grass without stirring a blade. The brushwood closes behind them, as silently as sand into which a mole has dived. Not a sound is to be heard, save when they give vent to wonderful imitation of the lonely call of the coyote. The cry is answered by other braves, and some of them do it even better than the coyotes who were not very good at it. So the chill hours wear on, and the long suspense is horribly trying to the pale face who has to live through it for the first time, but to the trained hand those ghastly calls and still ghastlier silences are but an intimation of how the night is marching. That this was the usual procedure was so well known to hook that in disregarding it he cannot be excused on the plea of ignorance. Bepicken and ease on their part trusted implicitly to his honor, trusted implicitly to his honor, and their whole action of the night stands out in marked contrast to his. They left nothing undone that was consistent with the reputation of their tribe. With that alertness of the senses which is at once the marvel and despair of civilized peoples, they knew that the pirates were on the island from the moment one of them trod on a dry stick. And in an incredibly short space of time the coyote cries began. Every foot of ground between the spot where hook had landed his forces and the home under the trees was stealthily examined by braves wearing their moccasins with the heels in front. They found only one hillock with a stream at its base, so that hook had no choice. Here he must establish himself and wait for just before the dawn. Everything being thus mapped out with almost diabolical cunning, the main body of the Redskins folded their blankets around them, and in the phlegmatic manner that is to them the pearl of manhood squatted above the children's home, awaiting the cold moment when they should deal pale death. Here dreaming though wide awake of the exquisite torches to which they were to put him at the break of day, those confiding savages were found by the treacherous hook. From the accounts afterwards supplied by such of the scouts as escaped the carnage, he does not seem to have paused at the rising ground, though it is certain that in that gray light he must have seen it. No thought of waiting to be attacked appears from first to last to have visited his subtle mind. He would not even hold off till the night was nearly spent. On he pounded with no policy but to fall to. What could the bewildered scouts do, masters as they were of every warlike artifice save this one, but trod helplessly after him, exposing themselves faithfully to view while they gave pathetic utterance to the coyote cry? Around the brave Tiger Lily were a dozen of restoutous warriors, and they suddenly saw the perfidious pirates bearing down upon them. Fell from their eyes then the film through which they had looked at victory. No more would they torture at the stake. For them the happy hunting grounds was now. They knew it, but as their father's sons they acquitted themselves. Even then they had time to gather in a phalanx that would have been hard to break had they risen quickly. But this they were forbidden to do by the traditions of their race. It is written that the noble savage must never express surprise in the presence of the white. Thus terrible as the sudden appearance of the pirates must have been to them, they remained stationary for a moment, not a muscle moving, as if the foe had come by invitation. Then indeed the tradition gallantly upheld, they seized their weapons, and the air was torn with the war cry. But it was now too late. It is no part of ours to describe what was a massacre rather than a fight. Thus perished many of the flower of the Pickenenny tribe. Not all unevenged did they die, for with lean wolf fell alf mason to disturb the Spanish main no more. And among others who bit the dust were George Scowrie, Charles Turley, and the Alsatian Fogarty. Turley fell to the tomahawk of the terrible panther, who ultimately cut a way through the pirates with Tiger Lily and a small remnant of the tribe. To what extent Hook is to blame for his tactics on this occasion is for the historian to decide. Had he waited on the rising ground till the proper hour, he and his men would probably have been butchered, and in judging him it is only fair to take this into account. What he should perhaps have done was to acquaint his opponents that he proposed to follow a new method. On the other hand, this, as destroying the element of surprise, would have made his strategy of no avail so that the whole question is beset with difficulties. One cannot at least withhold a reluctant admiration for the wit that had conceived so bold a scheme, and the fell genius with which it was carried out. What were his own feelings about himself at that triumphant moment? Fane would his dogs have known, as, breathing heavily and wiping their cutlasses, they gathered at a discreet distance from his hook and squinted through their ferrid eyes at this extraordinary man. Elation must have been in his heart, but his face did not reflect it, ever a dark and solitary enigma. He stood aloof from his followers and spirit as in substance. The night's work was not yet over, for it was not the Redskins he had come out to destroy. They were but the bees to be smoked so that he could get at the honey. It was Pan he wanted, Pan and Wendy and their band, but chiefly Pan. Peter was such a small boy that one tends to wonder at the man's hatred of him. True, he had flung hooks armed to the crocodile, but even this and the increased insecurity of life to which it led, owing to the crocodile's virginacity, hardly account for a vindictiveness so relentless and malignant. The truth is that there was something about Peter which goaded the pirate captain to frenzy. It was not his courage. It was not his engaging appearance. It was not there is no beating about the bush, for we know quite well what it was and have got to tell. It was Peter's cockiness. This had got on Hook's nerves. It made his iron claw twitch, and at night it disturbed him like an insect. While Peter lived, the tortured man felt that he was a lion in a cage into which a sparrow had come. The question now was how to get down the trees or how to get his dogs down. He ran his greedy eyes over them searching for the thinnest ones. They wriggled uncomfortably, for they knew he would not scruple to ram them down with poles. In the meantime what o' the boys? We have seen them at the first clang of the weapons turned as it were into stone figures, open-mouthed, all appealing with outstretched arms to Peter, and we return to them as their mouths close, their arms fall to their sides. The pandemonium above has ceased almost as suddenly as it arose, past like a fierce gust of wind, but they know that in the passing it has determined their fate. Which side had won? The pirates listening avidly at the mouths of the trees heard the question put by every boy, and the last they also heard Peter's answer. If the Redskins have won, he said, they will beat the Tom-Tom. It is always their sign of victory. Now Smee had found the Tom-Tom and was at that moment sitting on it. You will never hear the Tom-Tom again, he muttered, but inaudibly, of course, for strict silence had been enjoined. To his amazement Hook signed for him to beat the Tom-Tom, and slowly there came to Smee an understanding of the dreadful wickedness of the order. Never, probably, had this simple man admired Hook so much. Twice Smee beat upon the instrument and then stopped to listen gleefully. The Tom-Tom, the miscreants heard Peter cry, an Indian victory. The doomed children answered with a cheer that was music to the black hearts above, and almost immediately they repeated their goodbyes to Peter. This puzzled the pirates, but all their other feelings were swallowed by a base to light that the enemy were about to come up the trees. They smirked at each other and rubbed their hands. Rapidly and silently Hook gave his orders, one man to each tree, and the others to arrange themselves in a line two yards apart. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of Peter Pan by J. M. Barry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13 Do you believe in fairies? The more quickly this horror is disposed of the better. The first to emerge from his tree was Curly. He rose out of it into the arms of Chekko, who flung him to Smee, who flung him to Starkey, who flung him to Bill Jukes, who flung him to Noodler, and so he was tossed from one to another till he fell at the feet of the black pirate. All the boys were plucked from their trees in this ruthless manner, and several of them were in the air at a time, like bales of goods flung from hand to hand. A different treatment was accorded to Wendy, who came last. With ironical politeness Hook raised his hat to her, and offering her his arm escorted her to the spot where the others were being gagged. He did it with such an air, and he was so frightfully distinguished that she was too fascinated to cry out. She was only a little girl. Perhaps it is tell-tale to divulge that for a moment Hook entranced her, and we tell on her only because her slip led to strange results. Had she hotly unhanded him, and we should have loved to write a bit of her, she would have been hurled through the air like the others, and then Hook would probably not have been present at the tying of the children, and had he not been at the tying, he could not have discovered slightly secret, and without the secret he could not presently have made his foul attempt on Peter's life. They were tied to prevent their flying away, doubled up with their knees close to their ears, and for the trussing of them the black pirate had cut a rope into nine equal pieces. All went well until slightly's turn came, when he was found to be like those irritating parcels that use up all the string in going round and leave no tags with which to tie a knot. The pirates kicked him in their rage, just as you kick a parcel, though in fairness you should kick the string, and strange to say it was Hook who told them to belay their violence. His lip was curled with malicious triumph. While his dogs were merely sweating because every time they tried to pack the unhappy lead tight in one part he bulged out in another. Hook's mastermind had gone far beneath slightly surface, probing not for effects but for causes, and his exultation showed that he had found them. Slightly, white to the gills, knew that Hook had surprised his secret, which was this, that no boy so blown out could use a tree wherein an average man needs stick. Poor Slightly, most wretched of all the children now, for he was in a panic about Peter, bitterly regretted what he had done, madly addicted to the drinking of water when he was hot. He had swelled in consequence to his present girth, and instead of reducing himself to fit his tree, he had, unknown to the others, whittled his tree to make it fit him. Sufficient of this Hook guessed to persuade him that Peter at last lay at his mercy, but no word of the dark design that now formed in the subterranean caverns of his mind crossed his lips. He merely signed that the captives were to be conveyed to the ship, and that he would be alone. How to convey them, hunched up in their ropes they might indeed be rolled down hill like barrels, but most of the way lay through a morass. Again, Hook's genius surmounted difficulties. He indicated that the little house must be used as a conveyance. The children were flung into it, four stout pirates raised it on their shoulders, the others fell in behind and, singing the hateful pyrrhechorus, the strange processions set off through the wood. I don't know whether any of the children were crying. If so, the singing drowned the sound, but as the little house disappeared in the forest, a brave, though tiny, jet of smoke issued from its chimney as if defying Hook. Hook saw it, and it did Peter a bad service. It dried up any trickle of pity for him that may have remained in the pirate's infuriated breast. The first thing he did on finding himself alone in the fast-falling night was to tiptoe to slightly stray and make sure that it provided him with the passage. Then for long he remained brooding, his hat of ill omen on the sword so that any gentle breeze which had arisen might play refreshingly through his hair. Dark as were his thoughts, his blue eyes were as soft as the periwinkle, and gently he listened for any sound from the netherworld, but all was as silent below as above. The house under the ground seemed to be but one more empty tenement in the void. Was that boy asleep, or did he stand waiting at the foot of slightly's tree with his dagger in his hand? There was no way of knowing, save by going down. Hook let his cloak slip softly to the ground, and then, biting his lips till a lewd blood stood on them, he stepped into the tree. He was a brave man, but for a moment he had to stop there and wipe his brow which was dripping like a candle. Then silently he let himself go into the unknown. He arrived, unmolested at the foot of the shaft, and stood still again, biting at his breath which had almost left him. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, various objects in the home under the trees took shape, but the only one on which his greedy gaze rested long sought far and found at last was the great bed. On the bed lay Peter fast asleep. Unaware of the tragedy being enacted above, Peter had continued for a little time after the children left to play gaily on his pipes, no doubt rather a forlorn attempt to prove to himself that he did not care. Then he decided not to take his medicine, so as to grieve Wendy. Then he lay down on the bed outside the coverlet to vex her still more, for she had always tucked them inside it, because you never know that you might not grow chilly at the turn of the night. Then he nearly cried, but it struck him how indignant she would be if he laughed instead, so he laughed a haughty laugh and fell asleep in the middle of it. Sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of other boys. For hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them. They had to do, I think, with the riddle of his existence. At such times it had been Wendy's custom to take him out of bed and sit with him on her lap, soothing him in dear ways of her own invention, and when he grew calmer to put him back to bed before he quite woke up, so that he should not know of the indignity to which she had subjected him. But on this occasion he had fallen at once into a dreamless sleep.  Thus defenseless Hook found him. He stood silent at the foot of the tree, looking across the chamber at his enemy. Did no feeling of compassion disturb his sombre breast? The man was not wholly evil. He loved flowers, I have been told, and sweet music. He was himself no mean performer on the harpsichord. And, let it be frankly admitted, the idyllic nature of the scene stirred him profoundly. Mastered by his better self, he would have returned reluctantly up the tree, but for one thing. What stayed him was Peter's impertinent appearance as he slept, the open mouth, the drooping arm, the arched knee. They were such a personification of cockiness as, taken together, will never again, one may hope, be presented to eyes so sensitive to their offensiveness. They steeled Hook's heart. If his rage had broken him into a hundred pieces, every one of them would have disregarded the incident and leapt at the sleeper. Though a light from the one lamp shone dimly on the bed, Hook stood in darkness himself, and at the first stealthy step forward he discovered an obstacle, the door to slightly straight. It did not entirely fill the aperture, and he had been looking over it. Feeling for the catch, he found to his fury that it was low down, beyond his reach. To his disortered brain it seemed then that the irritating quality in Peter's face and figure visibly increased, and he rattled the door and flung himself against it. Was his enemy to escape him after all? But what was that? The red in his eye had caught sight of Peter's medicine standing on a ledge within easy reach. He fathomed what it was straight away, and immediately knew that the sleeper was in his power. Lest he should be taken alive, Hook always carried about his person a dreadful drug, blended by himself of all the death-dealing rings that had come into his possession. These he had boiled down into a yellow liquid, quite unknown to science, which was probably the most virulent poison in existence. Five drops of this he now added to Peter's cup, his hand shook, but it was in exaltation rather than in shame. As he did it, he avoided glancing at the sleeper, but not less pity should unnerve him merely to avoid spilling. Then one long, bloating look he cast upon his victim and turning, wormed his way with difficulty up the tree. As he emerged at the top, he looked the very spirit of evil breaking from its hole. Donning his hat at its most rakish angle, he wound his cloak around him, holding one end in front as if to conceal his person from the night of which it was the blackest part, and muttering strangely to himself, stole away through the trees. Peter slept on. The light guttered and went out, leaving the tenement in darkness, but still he slept. It must have been not less than ten o'clock by the crocodile, when he suddenly sat up in his bed, wakened by he knew not what. It was a soft, cautious tapping on the door of his tree. Soft and cautious, but in that stillness it was sinister. Peter felt for his dagger till his hand gripped it. Then he spoke. Who is that? For long there was no answer. Then again the knock. Who are you? No answer. He was thrilled, and he loved being thrilled. Into strides he reached the door. Unlike slightly's door, it filled the aperture so that he could not see beyond it, nor could the one knocking see him. I won't open unless you speak, Peter cried. Then at last the visitor spoke in a lovely bell-like voice. Let me in, Peter. It was tank, and quickly he unbored to her. She flew in excitedly, her face flushed, and her dress stained with mud. What is it? Oh, you could never guess, she cried, offering him three guesses. Out with it, he shouted, and in one ungrammatical sentence, as long as the ribbons that conjurers pull out of their mouths, she told of the capture of Wendy and the boys. Peter's heart bobbed up and down as he listened. Wendy bound, and on the pirate ship, she who loved everything to be just so. I'll rescue her, he cried, leaping at his weapons. As he leapt, he thought of something he could do to please her. He could take his medicine. His hand closed on the fatal draft. No, shrieked tinkerbell, who had heard Hook mutter about his deed as he sped through the forest. Why not? It is poisoned. Poisoned? Who could have poisoned it? Hook. Don't be silly. How could Hook have got down here? Alas, tinkerbell could not explain this, for even she did not know the dark secret of slightly's tree. Nevertheless, Hook's word had left no room for doubt. The cup was poisoned. Besides, said Peter, quite believing himself, I never fell asleep. He raised the cup. No time for words now, time for deeds, and with one of her lightening movements, Tink got between his lips and the draft and drained it to the drakes. Why, Tink, how dare you drink my medicine? But she did not answer. Already she was reeling in the air. What is the matter with you? cried Peter, suddenly afraid. It was poisoned, Peter, she told him softly, and now I am going to be dead. Oh, Tink, did you drink it to save me? Yes. But why, Tink? Her wings could scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite.  His hand almost filled the fourth wall of her little room as he knelt near her in distress. Every moment her light was growing fainter and he knew that if it went out she would be no more. She liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it. Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies. Peter flung out his arms. There were no children here, and it was nighttime, but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland and who were therefore nearer to him than you think. Boys and girls in their nighties and naked papooses in their blankets hung from trees. Do you believe? he cried. Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate. She fancied. She heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure. What do you think? she asked Peter. If you believe, he shouted to them, clap your hands.  Many clapped. Some didn't. A few beasts hissed. The clapping stopped suddenly as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening. But already Tink was saved. First her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have liked to get at the ones who had hissed. And now to rescue Wendy. The moon was riding in a cloudy heaven when Peter rose from his tree, be girth with weapons and wearing a little else to set out upon his perilous quest. It was not such a night as he would have chosen. He had hoped to fly keeping not far from the ground so that nothing unwanted should escape his eyes. But in that fitful light to have flown low would have meant trailing his shadow through the trees, thus disturbing birds and equating a watchful foe that he was a stir. He regretted now that he had given the birds of the island such strange names that they are very wild and difficult to approach. There was no other course but to press forward in red-skinned fashion, at which happily he was an adept. But in what direction? For he could not be sure that the children had been taken to the ship? A light fall of snow had obliterated all footmarks, and a deadly silence pervaded the island as if for a space nature stood still in horror of the recent carnage. He had taught the children something of the forest lore that he had himself learned from Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell, and knew that in their dire hour they were not likely to forget it. Slightly, if he had an opportunity, would blaze the trees, for instance. Curly would drop seeds and Wendy would leave her handkerchief at some important place. The morning was needed to search for such guidance, and he could not wait. The upper world had called him, but would give no help. The crocodile passed him, but not another living thing, not a sound, not a movement, and yet he knew well that sudden death might be at the next tree, for stalking him from behind. He swore this terrible oath. Hook on me this time. Now he crawled forward like a snake, and again erect, he darted across a space on which the moonlight played, one finger on his lip and his dagger at the ready. He was frightfully happy. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 14 The Pirate Ship One green light squinting over Kid's Creek, which is near the mouth of the Pirate River, marked where the brig, the Jolly Roger, lay low in the water, a rakish-looking craft foul to the hull, every beam in her detestable, like ground strewn with mangled feathers. She was the cannibal of the seas, and scarce needed that watchful eye, for she floated immune in the horror of her name. She was wrapped in the blanket of night, through which no sound from her could have reached the shore.  I know not why he was so infinitely pathetic, unless it were because he was so pathetically unaware of it, but even strong men had to turn hastily from looking at him, and more than once, on summer evenings he had touched the fount of hooks' tears and made it flow. Of this, as of almost everything else, Smee was quite unconscious. A few of the pirates lent over the bulwarks, drinking in the miasma of the night. Others sprawled by barrels over games of dicing-cards, and the exhausted four who had carried the little house lay prone on the deck, where even in their sleep they rolled skillfully to this side or that out of hooks' reach, lest he should claw them mechanically in passing. Hook trod the deck in thought. Oh, man unfathomable! It was his hour of triumph Peter had been removed forever from his path, and all the other boys were in the brig about to walk the plank. It was his grimmest deed since the days when he had brought barbecue to heel. And knowing as we do how vain a tabernacle is man, could we be surprised, had he now paced the deck unsteadily, bellied out by the winds of his success? But there was no elation in his gate, which kept pace with the action of his somber mind. Hook was profoundly dejected. He was often thus when communing with himself on board ship in the quietude of the night. It was because he was so terribly alone. This inscrutable man never felt more alone than when surrounded by his dogs. They were socially inferior to him. Hook was not his true name. To reveal who he really was would even at this state set the country in a blaze. But as those who read between the lines must already have guessed, he had been at a famous public school, and its traditions still clunk to him like gormets with which indeed they are largely concerned.  But above all he retained the passion for good form. Good form. However much he may have degenerated, he still knew that this is all that really matters. From far within him he heard a creaking of rusty portals, and through them came a stern, tap, tap, tap, like hammering in the night when one cannot sleep. Have you been in good form today? was their eternal question. Fame, fame, that glittering bubble, it is mine! he cried. Is it quite good form to be distinguished at anything? the tap, tap from his school replied. I am the only man whom Barbeque feared, he urged, and Flint feared Barbeque. Barbeque, Flint, what house came the cutting retort? Most disquieting reflection of all. Was it not bad form to think about good form? His vitals were tortured by this problem. It was a claw within him sharper than the iron one, and as it tore him the perspiration dripped down his tallow countenance and streaked his doublet.  Ah, envy not hook! Envy not hook! There came to him a pre-sentiment of his early dissolution. It was as if Peter's terrible oath had boarded the ship. Hook felt a gloomy desire to make his dying speech, less presently there should be no time for it. Better for Hook, he cried, if he had had less ambition. It was in his darkest hours only that he referred to himself in the third person. No little children to love me. Strange that he should think of this, which had never troubled him before, perhaps the sewing machine brought it to his mind. For long he muttered to himself, staring at Smee, who was hemming placidly under the conviction that all children feared him. Feared him? Feared Smee! There was not a child on board the brig that night who did not already love him. He had said horrid things to them and hit them with the palm of his hand, because he could not hit with his fist, but they had only clunk to him the more. Michael had tried on his spectacles. To tell poor Smee that they thought him lovable. Hook itched to do it, but it seemed too brutal. Instead he resolved this mystery in his mind. Why do they find Smee lovable? He pursued the problem like the sleuth hound that he was. If Smee was lovable, what was it that made him so? A terrible answer suddenly presented itself. Good form? Had the boson good form without knowing it which is the best form of all? He remembered that you have to prove you don't know you have it before you are eligible for a pop. With a cry of rage he raised his iron hand over Smee's head, but he did not tear. What arrested him was this reflection. To claw a man because he is good form, what would that be? Bad form. The unhappy hook was as impotent as he was damp, and he fell forward like a cut flower. His dogs, thinking him out of the way for a time, discipline instantly relaxed, and they broke into a Buccanelean dance, which brought him to his feet at once, all traces of human weakness gone, as if a bucket of water had passed over him. Quiet you scugs, he cried, or I'll cast anchor in you. And at once the din was hushed. Are all the children chained so that they cannot fly away? Aye, aye! Then hoist them up. The wretched prisoners were dragged from the hold, all except Wendy, and ranged in line in front of him. For a time he seemed unconscious of their presence. He lulled at his ease, humming, not unmelodiously, snatches of a rude song, and fingering a pack of cards. Ever an anon, the light from his cigar, gave a touch of color to his face. Now then, bullies, he said briskly. Six of you walk the plank tonight, but I have room for two cabin boys. Which of you is it to be? Don't irritate him unnecessarily, had been Wendy's instructions in the hold. So Toodles stepped forward politely. Toodles hated the idea of signing under such a man, but an instinct told him that it would be prudent to lay the responsibility on an absent person. And, though a somewhat silly boy, he knew that mothers alone are always willing to be the buffer. All children know this about mothers and despise them for it, but make constant use of it.   He winked at slightly, who said mournfully. I don't think so, as if he wished things had been otherwise.  I don't think so, said the first twin, as clever as the others. Nibs would stow this gab, roared hook, and the spokesmen were dragged back. You boy, he said addressing John.  Dis never want to be a pirate, my hearty. Now John had sometimes experienced this hankering at math's prep, and he was struck by hooks picking him out. I once thought of calling myself Red-handed Jack, he said differently. And a good name, too.  What do you think, Michael? asked John. What would you call me if I join? Michael demanded. Blackbeard Joe. Michael was necrally impressed. What do you think, John? He wanted John to decide, and John wanted him to decide. Shall we still be respectful subjects of the King? John inquired. Through Hook's teeth came the answer. You would have to swear down with the King. Perhaps John had not behaved very well so far. But he's shown out now.  And I refuse, cried Michael. Rule Britannia, squeaked Curly. The infuriated pirates buffeted them in the mouth, and Hook roared out. That seals your doom. Bring up their mother. Get the plank ready. There were only boys, and they went white, as they saw Jukes and Jekko preparing the fatal plank. But they tried to look brave when Wendy was brought up. No words of mine can tell you how Wendy despised those pirates. To the boys, there was at least some glamour in the pirate calling. But all that she saw was that the ship had not been tidied for years. There was not a porthole on the grimy glass of which you might not have written with your finger dirty pig, and she had already written it on several. But as the boys gathered round her, she had no thought, of course, save for them. So, my beauty! said Hook, as if he spoke in syrup.  Fine gentleman, though he was, the intensity of his communings had soiled his rough, and suddenly he knew that she was gazing at it. With a hasty gesture he tried to hide it, but he was too late. Are they to die? asked Wendy with a look of such frightful contempt that he nearly fainted. They are, he snarled.  At this moment Wendy was grand. These are my last words, dear boys, she said firmly. I feel that I have a message to you from your real mothers, and it is this.  Even the pirates were awed, and toodles cried out hysterically. I am going to do what my mother hopes. What are you going to do, nibs? What my mother hopes? What are you to do, twin? What my mother hopes? John would ar— But Hook had found his voice again. Tie her up, he shouted. It was Smee who tied her to the mast. See here, honey, he whispered.  But not even for Smee would she make such a promise. I would almost rather have no children at all, she said, disbainfully. It is sad to know that not a boy was looking at her as Smee tied her to the mast. The eyes of all were on the plank, that last little walk they were about to take. They were no longer able to hope that they would walk it manfully, for the capacity to think had gone from them. They could stare and shiver only. Hook smiled on them with his teeth closed and took a step toward Wendy. His intention was to turn her face so that she should see the boys walking the plank one by one. But he never reached her. He never heard the cry of anguish he hoped to ring from her. He heard something else instead. It was the terrible tick, tick of the crocodile. They all heard it. Pirate's boys, Wendy and immediately every head was blown in one direction. Not to the water once the sound proceeded, but toward Hook. All knew that what was about to happen concerned him alone, and that from being actors they were suddenly become spectators. Very frightful was it to see the change that came over him. It was as if he had been clipped in every joint. He fell in a little heap. The sound came steadily nearer, and in advance of it came this ghastly thought. The crocodile is about to board the ship. Even the iron claw hung inactive as if knowing that it was no intrinsic part of what the attacking force wanted.  But the gigantic brain of Hook was still working, and under its guidance he clawed on the knees along the deck as far from the sound as he could go. The pirates respectfully cleared a passage for him, and it was only when he was brought up against the bulwarks that he spoke. Hide me! he cried hoarsely.  They had no thought of fighting it. It was fate. Only when Hook was hidden from them did curiosity loosen the limbs of the boys so that they could rush to the ship's side to see the crocodile climbing it. Then they got the strangest surprise of the night of nights, for it was no crocodile that was coming to their aid. It was Peter. He signed to them not to give vent to any cry of admiration that might rouse suspicion. Then he went on ticking. Things happened to all of us on our way through life without our noticing for time that they have happened. Thus, to take an instance, we suddenly discovered that we have been deaf in one ear for we don't know how long, but say half an hour. Now such an experience had come that night to Peter. When last we saw him he was stealing across the island with one finger to his lips and his dagger at the ready. He had seen the crocodile pass by without noticing anything peculiar about it, but by and by he remembered that it had not been ticking. At first he thought this eerie, but soon concluded rightly that the clock had run down. Without giving a thought to what might be the feelings of a fellow creature, thus abruptly deprived of its closest companion, Peter began to consider how he could turn the catastrophe to his own use. And he decided to tick so that wild beast should believe he was the crocodile and let him pass unmolested. He ticked superbly, but with one unforeseen result. The crocodile was among those who heard the sound, and it followed him, though whether with the purpose of regaining what it had lost or merely as a friend under the belief that it was again ticking itself will never be certainly known for, like slaves to a fixed idea, it was a stupid beast. Peter reached the shore without mishap and went straight on, his legs encountering the water as if quite unaware that they had entered a new element. Thus many animals passed from land to water, but no other human of whom I know. As he swam he had but one thought, hook or me this time. He had ticked so long that he now went on ticking without knowing without knowing that he was doing it. Had he known he would have stopped, for to board the brig by help of the tick, though an ingenious idea had not occurred to him. On the contrary, he thought he had scaled her side as noiseless as a mouse, and he was amazed to see the pirates cowering from him with hook in their midst as abject as if he had heard the crocodile. The crocodile! No sooner did Peter remember it than he heard the ticking. At first he thought the sound did come from the crocodile and he looked behind him swiftly. Then he realized that he was doing it himself, and in a flash he understood the situation. How clever of me, he thought at once, and signed it to the boys not to burst into applause. It was at this moment that Ed Tiente, the quartermaster, emerged from the forecastle and came along the deck. Now, reader, time what happened by your watch. Peter struck true and deep. John clapped his hands on the ill-fated pirate's mouth to stifle the dying groan. He fell forward. Four boys caught him to prevent the thud. Peter gave the signal and the carrion was cast overboard. There was a splash and then silence. How long has it taken? One slightly had begun to count. None too soon, Peter, every inch of him on tiptoe, vanished into the cabin, for more than one pirate was screwing up his courage to look round. They could hear each other's distressed breathing now, which showed them that the more terrible sound had passed. It's gone, Captain. Smee said, wiping off his spectacles, all still again. Slowly Hook let his head emerge from his ruff and listened so intently that he could have caught the echo of the tick.  Then here's to Johnny Plank, he cried brazenly, hating the boys more than ever because they had seen him unbend. He broke into the villainous ditty.  To terrorize the prisoners the more, though with a certain loss of dignity, he danced along an imaginary Plank, grimacing at them as he sang, and when he finished he cried, Do you want a touch of the cat before you walk the Plank? At that they fell on their knees. No, no, they cried so piteously that every pirate smiled. Fetch the cat, Jukes, said Hook, it's in the cabin. The cabin? Peter was in the cabin. The children gazed at each other. Aye, aye, said Jukes blithely, and he strode into the cabin.  They scarce knew that Hook had resumed his song, his dogs joining in with him.  For of a sudden the song was stayed by a dreadful screech from the cabin. It wailed through the ship and died away. Then was heard a crowing sound which was well understood by the boys, but to the pirates was almost more eerie than the screech. What was that? cried Hook. Two, said slightly solemnly. The Italian Keco hesitated for a moment and then swung into the cabin. He tottered out, haggard. What's the matter with Bill Jukes, you dog? His hook towering over him. The matter with him is he's dead, stabbed, replied Keco in a hollow voice. Bill Jukes dead? cried the startled pirates. The cabin says black as a pit, Keco said, almost jivering, but there was something terrible in there, the thing you heard crowing. The exultation of the boys, the lowering looks of the pirates, both were seen by Hook. Keco, he said in his most steely voice, go back and fetch me out that doodle-doo. Keco, bravest of the brave, cowered before his captain crying, no, no. But Hook was purring to his claw. Did you say you would go, Keco? he said musingly. Keco went, first flinging his arms despairingly. There was no more singing, all listened now, and again came a death screech and again a crow. No one spoke except slightly. Three, he said. Hook rallied his dogs with a gesture. Stealth and odds fish, he thundered. Who is to bring me that doodle-doo? Wait till Keco comes out, growled Starchy, and the others took up the crime. I think I heard you volunteer, Starchy, said Hook, purring again. No, my thunder, Starchy cried. My Hook thinks you did, said Hook, crossing to him. I wonder if it would not be advisable, Starchy, to humor the Hook. I'll swing before I go in there, replied Starchy doggedly, and again he had the support of the crew. Is this mutiny, asked Hook, more pleasantly than ever? Starchy's a ringleader. Captain, mercy! Starchy wimpered all of a tremble now. Shake hands, Starchy, said Hook, proffering his claw. Starchy looked round for help, but all deserted him. As he backed up, Hook advanced, and now the red spark was in his eye. With a despairing scream, the pirate leapt upon long time, and precipitated himself into the sea. Four, said slightly. And now, Hook said courteously, did any other gentleman say mutiny, seizing a lantern and raising his claw with a menacing gesture? I'll bring out that doodle-do myself, he said, and sped into the cabin. Five, how slightly longed to say it, he wedded his lips to be ready, but Hook came staggering out without his lantern. Something blew out the light, he said a little unsteadily. Something echoed Mullins. What if Keco demanded noodler? He's as dead as jukes, said Hook, shortly. His reluctance to return to the cabin impressed them all unfavorably, and the mutiny sounds again broke forth. All pirates are superstitious, and Cookson cried. They do say the surest sign a ship's accursed is when there's one on board more than can be accounted for. I've heard, muttered Mullins, he always boards the pirate craft last. Had he a tail, Captain? They say, said another, looking viciously at Hook, that when he comes it's in the likeness of the wickedest man aboard. Had he a hook, Captain? asked Cookson insolently, and one after another took up the cry. The ship's doomed! At this the children could not resist raising a cheer. Hook had well my forgotten his prisoners, but as he swung round on them now, his face lit up again. Lads! he cried to his crew. Now here's a notion. Open the cabin door and drive them in. Let them fight the doodle-doo for their lives. If they kill him, we're so much the better. If he kills them, we're none the worse. For the last time his dogs admired Hook, and devotedly they did his bidding. The boys, pretending to struggle, were pushed into the cabin, and the door was closed on them. Now listen, cried Hook, and all listened. But not one dared to face the door. Yes, one, Wendy, who all this time had been bound to the mast. It was for neither a scream nor a crow that she was watching. It was for the reappearance of Peter. She had not long to wait. In the cabin he had found the thing for which he had gone in search, the key that would free the children of their manacles. And now they all stole forth, armed with such weapons as they could find. First, signing them to hide, Peter cut Wendy's bonds. Then nothing could have been easier than for all of them to fly off together. But one thing barred the way. An oath, Hook or me this time. So when he had freed Wendy he whispered for her to conceal herself with the others. And himself took her place by the mast, her cloak around him so that he should pass for her. Then he took a great breath and crowed. To the pirates, it was a voice crying that all the boys lay slain in the cabin, and they were panic-stricken. Hook tried to hearten them, but like the dogs he had made them, they showed him their fangs, and he knew that if he took his eyes off them now, they would leap at him. Lads, he said, ready to cajole or strike as need be, but never quelling for an instant, I have fought it out. There's a Jonah aboard. Aye, they snarled, a man with a hook. No, lads, no, it's the girl. Never was luck on a pirate's ship with a woman on board. We'll write the ship when she's gone. Some of them remembered that this had been a saying of Flint's. It's worth trying, they said doubtfully. Flaying the girl overboard, cried Hook, and they made a rush at the figure in the cloak. There's none can save you now, Missy, Mullins hissed jeeringly. There's one, replied the figure, who's that? Peter pan the Avenger, came the terrible answer, and as he spoke, Peter flung off his cloak. Then they all knew who it was that had been undoing them in the cabin, and twice Hook essayed to speak, and twice he failed. In that frightful moment, I think his fierce heart broke. At last he cried, CLEAVE HIM TO THE BRISKET, BUT WITHOUT CONVICTION. Down, boys, and at them, Peter's voice rang out, and in another moment the clash of arms was resounding through the ship. Had the pirates kept together, it is certain that they would have won. But the onset came when they were still unsure of what to do. The onset came when they were still unstrung, and they ran hither and thither striking wildly, each thinking himself the last survivor of the crew. Man to man they were the stronger, but they fought on the defense only, which enabled the boys to hunt in pairs and choose their quarry. Some of the miscreants leapt into the sea, others hid in dark recesses, where they were found by slightly who did not fight, but ran about with a lantern which he flashed in their faces, so that they were half-blinded and fell as an easy prey to the reeking swords of the other boys. There was little sound to be heard, but the clang of weapons, an occasional screech or splash, and slightly, monotonously counting, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. I think all were gone when a group of savage boys surrounded Hook, who seemed to have a charmed life, as he kept them at bay in that circle of fire. They had done for his dogs, but this man alone seemed to be a match for them all. Again and again they closed upon him, and again and again he hewed a clear space. He had lifted up one boy on his Hook and was using him as a buckler, when another, who had just passed his sword through Mullins, sprang into the fray. Put up your swords, boys, cried the newcomer. This man is mine. Thus suddenly Hook found himself face to face with Peter. The others drew back and formed a ring around them. For long the two enemies looked at one another, Hook shuddering slightly, and Peter, with a strange smile upon his face, so, pen, said Hook at last, this is all you're doing. I, James Hook, came to stern answer, it is all my doing. Proud and insolent youth, said Hook, prepare to meet thy doom. Dark and sinister man, Peter answered, have at thee. Without more words they fell too. And for a space there was no advantage to either blade. Peter was a superb swordsman, and parried with dazzling rapidity. Ever and on he followed up a faint with a lunge that got past his foe's defence, but his shorter reach stood him in ill stead, and he could not drive this steel home. Hook, scarcely his inferior in brilliancy, but not quite so nimble in wrist play, forced him back by the weight of his onset, hoping suddenly to end all with a favorite thrust taught him long ago by Barbecue at Rio. But to his astonishment, he found this thrust turned aside again and again. Then he sought to close and give the quietus with his iron hook, which all the time had been pawing the air. But Peter doubled under it, and, lunging fiercely, pierced him in the ribs.  Now, cried all the boys, but with a magnificent gesture Peter invited his opponent to pick up his sword. Hook did so instantly, but with a tragic feeling that Peter was showing good form. Hitherto, he had thought it was some fain fighting him, but darker suspicions assailed him now. Pan, who and what art thou? he cried huskily. I'm youth, I'm joy, Peter answered at a venture. I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg. This, of course, was nonsense, but it was proof to the unhappy Hook that Peter did not know in the least who or what he was, which is the very pinnacle of good form. To it again, he cried despairingly. He thought now, like a human flail, and every sweep of that terrible sword would have severed in twain any man or boy who obstructed it. But Peter fluttered round him as if the very wind it made blew him out of the danger zone, and again and again he darted in and tricked. Hook was fighting now without hope. That passionate breast no longer asked for life, but for one boon he craved to see Peter show bad form before it was cold forever. Abandoning the fight, he rushed into the powder magazine and fired it. In two minutes, he cried, the ship will be blown to pieces. Now, now, he thought true form will show. But Peter issued from the powder magazine with the shell in his hands and calmly flung it overboard. What sort of form was Hook himself showing? Misguided man though he was, we may be glad, without sympathizing with him, that in the end he was true to the traditions of his race. The other bars were flying round him now, flouting scornful, and he staggered about the deck striking at them impotently. His mind was no longer with them. It was slouching in the playing fields of long ago, or being sent up for good, or watching the wall game from a famous wall. And his shoes were right, and his waistcoat was right, and his tie was right, and his socks were right. James Hook, thou not wholly unheroic figure, farewell, for we have come to his last moment. Seeing Peter slowly advancing upon him through the air with dagger-poised, he sprang upon the borks to cast himself into the sea. He did not know that the crocodile was waiting for him, for we purposely stopped the clock that this knowledge might be spared him, and little mark of respect from us at the end. He had one last triumph, which I think we need not grudge him. As he stood on the bulwark looking over his shoulder at Peter gliding through the air, he invited him with a gesture to use his foot. It made Peter kick instead of stab. At last Hook had got the boon for which he craved. Bad form, he cried jeeringly, and went content to the crocodile. Thus perished James Hook. Seventeen, slightly sang out, but he was not quite correct in his figures. Fifteen paid the penalty for their crimes that night, but two reached the shore, storky to be captured by the Redskins, who made him nurse for all their pepuses, a melancholy come down for a pirate, and smee, who henceforth wondered about the world and his spectacles, making a precarious living by saying he was the only man that James Hook had feared. Wendy, of course, had stood by, taking no part in the fight though watching Peter with glistening eyes, but now that all was over she became prominent again. She praised him equally, and shuddered delightfully when Michael showed her the place where he had killed one, and then she took them into Hook's cabin and pointed to his watch which was hanging on a nail. It said, half past one. The lateness of the hour was almost the biggest thing of all. She got them to bed in the pirate's bunks pretty quickly, you may be sure. All but Peter, who strutted up and down on the deck until at last he fell asleep by the side of long time. He had one of his dreams that night, and cried in his sleep for a long time, and Wendy held him tightly. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie This labry box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 16 The Return Home By three bells that morning they were all stirring their stumps, for there was a big sea running, and toodles, the boson, was among them with the ropes in his hand and chewing tobacco. They all donned pyrrheclothes cut off with the knee, shaved smartly, and tumbled up with the true nautical roll and hitching their trousers. It need not be said who was the captain. Nibs and John were first and second mate. There was a woman aboard. The rest were Tars before the mast and lived in the Focussal. Peter had already lashed himself to the wheel, but he piped all hands and delivered a short address to them and said he hoped they would do their duty like gallant hearties. But that he knew they were the scum of Rio and the Gold Coast, and if they snapped at him he would tear them. The bluff, strident words struck the notes sailors understood, and they cheered him lustily. Then a few sharp orders were given, and they turned the ship round and nosed her for the mainland. Captain Pan calculated, after consulting the ship's chart, that if this weather lasted they should strike the Azores about the 21st of June, after which it would save time to fly. Some of them wanted it to be an honest ship, and others were in favor of keeping it a pirate. But the captain treated them as dogs, and they dared not express their wishes to him even in a round robin. Instead obedience was the only safe thing. Slightly got a dozen for looking perplexed when told to take soundings. The general feeling was that Peter was honest just now, to lull Wendy's suspicions, but that there might be a change when the new suit was ready, which, against your will, she was making for him out of some of Hook's wickedest garments. It was afterwards whispered among them that on the first night he wore this suit, he sat long in the cabin with Hook's cigar holder in his mouth, and one hand clenched, all but the forefinger, which he bent and held threateningly aloft like a hook. Instead of watching the ship, however, we must now return to that desolate home from which three of our characters had taken heartless flight so long ago. It seems a shame to have neglected number 14 all this time, and yet we may be sure that Misser's darling does not blame us. If we had returned sooner to look with sorrowful sympathy at her, she would probably have cried, Don't be silly, what do I matter? Do go back and keep an eye on the children. So long as mothers are like this their children will take advantage of them, and they may lay to that. Even now we venture into that familiar nursery only because its lawful occupants are on their way home. We are merely hurrying on in advance of them to see that their beds are properly aired, and that Mr. and Misser's darling do not go out for the evening. We are no more than servants. Why on earth should their beds be properly aired, seeing that they left them in such a thankless hurry? Would it not serve them jolly well right if they came back and found that their parents were spending the weekend in the country? It would be the moral lesson they have been in need of ever since we met them. But if we can try things in this way, Misser's darling would never forgive us. One thing I should like to do immensely, and that is to tell her, in the way authors have, that the children are coming back, that indeed they will be here on Thursday week. This would spoil so completely the surprise to which Wendy and John and Michael are looking forward. They have been planning it out on the ship. Mother's rapture, father's shout of joy, Nana's leap through the air to embrace them first, when what they ought to be prepared for is a good hiding. How delicious to spoil it all by breaking the news in advance so that when they enter grandly, Misser's darling may not even offer Wendy her mouth, and Mr. Darling may exclaim pettishly, dash it all, here are those boys again. However, we should get no thanks even for this. We are beginning to know Misser's darling by this time, and may be sure that she would upbraid us for depriving the children of their little pleasure. But, my dear madam, it is ten days till Thursday week, so that by telling you what's what, we can save you ten days of unhappiness. Yes, but at what cost? By depriving the children of ten minutes of delight. Oh, if you look at it in that way. What other way is there in which to look at it? You see, the woman had no proper spirit. I had meant to say extraordinarily nice things about her, but I despise her, and not one of them will I say now. She does not really need to be told to have things ready, for they are ready. All the beds are aired, and she never leaves the house, and observe, the window is open. For all the use we are to her, we might well go back to the ship. However, as we are here, we may as well stay and look on. That is all we are, lookers on. Nobody really wants us, so let us watch and say jacky things, in the hope that some of them will hurt. The only change to be seen in the night nursery is that between nine and six the kennel is no longer there. When the children flew away, Mr. Darling felt in his bones that all the blame was his for having chained Nana up, and that from first to last she had been wiser than he. Of course, as we have seen, he was quite a simple man. Indeed, he might have passed for a boy again if he had been able to take his ballness off. But he had also a noble sense of justice, and a lion's courage to do what seemed right to him, and, having thought the matter out with anxious care after the flight of the children, he went down on all fours and crawled into the kennel. To all Mrs. Darling's dear invitations to him to come out, he replied sadly but firmly, No, my own one, this is the place for me. In the bitterness of his remorse, he swore that he would never leave the kennel until his children came back. Of course, this was a pity. But whatever Mr. Darling did, he had to do in excess, otherwise he soon gave up doing it. And there never was a more humble man than the once proud George Darling as he sat in the kennel of an evening talking with his wife of their children and all their pretty ways. Very touching was his deference to Nana. He would not let her come into the kennel, but, on all other matters, he followed her wishes implicitly. Every morning the kennel was carried with Mr. Darling in it to a cab, which conveyed him to his office, and he returned home in the same way at six. Something of the strength of character of the man will be seen if we remember how sensitive he was to the opinion of neighbors. This man, whose every movement now attracted surprised attention. Inwardly he must have suffered torture, but he preserved a calm exterior, even when the young criticized his little home, and he always lived to disshat courteously to any lady who looked inside. It may have seemed quixotic, but it was magnificent. Soon the inward meaning of it leaked out, and the great heart of the public was touched. Crowds followed the cab, cheering it lustily. Charming girls scaled it to get his autograph. Interviews appeared in the better class of papers, and society invited him to dinner and added, do come in the kennel. On that eventful Thursday week, Mr. Darling was in the night nursery, awaiting George's return home, a very sad-eyed woman. Now that we look at her closely and remember the gaiety of her in the old days, all gone now just because she has lost her babies, I find I won't be able to say nasty things about her after all. If she was too fond of her rubbish children, she couldn't help it. Look at her in her chair where she has fallen asleep. The corner of her mouth, where one looks first, is almost withered up. Her hand moves restlessly on her breast, as if she had a pain there. Some like Peter Best, and some like Wendy Best, but I like her best. Suppose to make her happy. We whisper to her in her sleep that the brats are coming back. They are really within two miles of the window now, and flying strong. But all we need whisper is that they are on the way. Let's. It is a pity we did it, for she has started up, calling their names, and there is no one in the room but Nana. Oh, Nana, I dreamt my dear ones had come back. Nana had fill me eyes, but all she could do was put her paw gently on her mistress's lap, and they were sitting together thus when the kennel was brought back.  He gave his hat to Liza who took it scornfully, for she had no imagination, and was quite incapable of understanding the motives of such a man. Outside the crowd who had accompanied the cab home were still cheering, and he was naturally not unmoved. Listen to them, he said. It is very gratifying.  There were several adults today, he assured her with a faint flush. But when she tossed her head he had not a word of reproof for her. Social success had not spoiled him, it had made him sweeter. For some time he sat with his head out of the kennel, talking with Mr. Darling of this success, and pressing her hand reassuringly when she said she hoped his head would not be turned by it. But if I had been a weak man, he said, ah, good heavens, if I had been a weak man.  Full of remorse as ever, dearest, see my punishment living in a kennel. But it is punishment, isn't it, George? You are sure you are not enjoying it? My love! You may be sure she begged his pardon. Then, feeling drowsy, he curled round in his kennel. Ah, won't you play me to sleep? he asked, on the nursery piano. And as she was crossing to the day nursery, he added thoughtlessly, and, shut that window, I feel a draft. Oh, George, never ask me to do that. The window must always be left open for them, always, always. Now it was his turn to beg her pardon. And she went into the day nursery and played, and soon he was asleep. And while he slept, Wendy and John and Michael flew into the room. Oh, no, we have written it so, because that was the charming arrangement planned by them before we left the ship. But something must have happened since then, for it is not they who have flown in, it is Peter and Tinkerbell. Peter's first words tell all. Quick, Tink, he whispered, close the window, bar it, that's right. Now you and I must get away by the door, and when Wendy comes, she will think her mother has barred her out, and she will have to go back with me. Now I understand what had hitherto puzzled me. Why, when Peter had exterminated the pirates, he did not return to the island, and leave Tink to escort the children to the mainland.  Instead of feeling that he was behaving badly, he danced with glee. Then he peeped into the day nursery to see who was playing. He whispered to Tink, it is Wendy's mother. She is a pretty lady, but not so pretty as my mother.  Of course he knew nothing whatever about his mother, but he sometimes bragged about her. He did not know the tune, which was home, sweet home, but he knew it was saying, come back, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. And he cried exultantly, you will never see Wendy again, lady, for the window is barred. He peeped in again to see why the music had stopped, and now he saw that Mrs. Darling had laid her head on the box, and that two tears were sitting on her eyes. She wants me to unbore the window, thought Peter, but I won't, not I. He peeped again and the tears were still there, or another two had taken their place. She's awfully fond of Wendy, he said to himself. He was angry with her now for not seeing why she could not have Wendy. The reason was so simple. I'm fond of her too. We can't both have her, lady. But the lady would not make the best of it, and he was unhappy. He ceased to look at her, but even then she would not let go of him. He skipped about and made funny faces, but when he stopped it was just as if she were inside him knocking. Oh, all right, he said at last and gulped. Then he unbored the window. Come on, Tink, he cried with a frightful sneer at the laws of nature. We don't want any silly mothers. And he flew away. Thus Wendy and John and Michael found the window open for them after all, which, of course, was more than they deserved. They alighted on the floor, quite unashamed of themselves, and the youngest one had already forgotten his home. John, he said looking around him doubtfully, I think I have been here before. Of course you have, you silly. There is your old bed. So it is, Michael said, but not with much conviction. I say, cried John, the kennel, and he dashed across to look into it. Perhaps Nana is inside it, Wendy said. But John whistled. Hello, he said there's a man inside it. It's Father, exclaimed Wendy. Let me see, Father. Michael begged eagerly, and he took a good look. He is not so big as the pirate I killed. He said with such frank disappointment that I am glad Mr. Darling was asleep. It would have been sad if those had been the first words he heard his little Michael say. Wendy and John had been taken aback somewhat at finding their father in the kennel. Surely, said John, like one who had lost faith in his memory, he used not to sleep in the kennel. John, Wendy said falteringly, perhaps we don't remember the old life as well as we thought we did. A chill fell upon them and served them right. It is very careless of Mother, said that young scoundrel John, not to be here when we come back. It was then that Mr. Darling began playing again. It is Mother, cried Wendy, peeping. So it is, said John. Then you are not really our Mother, Wendy, asked Michael, who was surely sleepy. Oh, dear, exclaimed Wendy, with her first real twinge of remorse. It was quite time we came back. Let us creep in, John suggested, and put our hands over her eyes. But Wendy, who saw that they must break the joyous news more gently, had a better plan. Let us all slip into our beds and be there when she comes in, just as if we had never been away. And so, when Mrs. Darling went back to the night nursery to see if her husband was asleep, all the beds were occupied. The children waited for her cry of joy, but it did not come. She saw them, but she did not believe they were there. You see, she saw them in their beds so often in her dreams that she thought this was just a dream hanging around her still. She sat down in the chair by the fire, wearing the old days she had nursed them. They could not understand this, and a cold fear fell upon all the three of them. Mother, Wendy cried. That's Wendy, she said, but still she was sure it was the dream. Mother? That's John, she said. Mother, cried Michael, he knew her now. That's Michael, she said. And she stretched out her arms for the three little selfish children they would never envelop again. Yes, they did. They went round Wendy and John and Michael, who had slipped out of bed and run to her. George, George, she cried when she could speak, and Mr. Darling woke to share her bliss, and Nana came rushing in. There could not have been a lovelier sight, but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know, but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be forever barred. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of Peter Pan by J. M. Barry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 17 When Wendy grew up I hope you want to know what became of the other boys. They were waiting below to give Wendy time to explain about them, and when they had counted five hundred, they went up. They went up by the stair because they thought this would make a better impression.  They said nothing, but their eyes asked her to have them. They ought to have looked at Mr. Darling also, but they forgot about him. Of course, Mr. Darling said at once that she would have them, but Mr. Darling was curiously depressed, and they saw that he considered six a rather large number. I must say, he said to Wendy, that you don't do things by halves. A grudging remark which the twins thought was pointed at them. The first twin was the proud one, and he asked, flushing, Do you think we should be too much of a handful, sir? Because if so, we can go away. Father, Wendy cried, shocked, but still the cloud was on him. He knew he was behaving unworthily, but he could not help it. We could lie doubled up, said Nibbs. I always cut their hair myself, said Wendy. George, Mr. Darling exclaimed, pained to see her dear one showing himself in such an unfavorable light. Then he burst into tears, and the truth came out. He was as glad to have them as she was, he said, but he thought they should have asked his consent as well as hers, instead of treating him as a cipher in his own house. I don't think he is a cipher, Toodles cried instantly. Do you think he is a cipher, Curly? No, I don't. Do you think he is a cipher slightly? Rather not. Twin, what do you think? It turned out that not one of them thought him a cipher, and he was absurdly gratified, and said he would find space for them all in the drawing-room if they fit it in. We'll fit in, sir, they assured him. Then follow the leader, he cried gaily. Mind you, I am not sure that we have a drawing-room, but we pretend we have. And it's all the same. Hoop-la! He went off dancing through the house, and they all cried Hoop-la! and danced after him, searching for the drawing-room. And I forget whether they found it, but at any rate they found corners and they all fitted in. As for Peter, he saw Wendy once again before he flew away. He did not exactly come to the window, but he brushed against it in passing so that she could open it if she liked and called to him. That is what she did. Hello, Wendy. Goodbye, he said. Oh, dear, are you going away? Yes. You don't feel, Peter, she said falteringly, that you would like to say anything to my parents about a very sweet subject? No. About me, Peter? No. Mrs. Darling came to the window. For a present, she was keeping a sharp eye on Wendy. She told Peter Pan that she had adopted all the other boys and would like to adopt him also. Would you send me to school? He inquired craftily. Yes. And then to an office? I suppose so. Soon I would be a man. Very soon. I don't want to go to school to learn solemn things, he told her passionately. I don't want to be a man. Oh, Wendy's mother, if I were to wake up and feel there was a beard, Peter, said Wendy, the comforter, I should love you in a beard. And Mrs. Darling stretched out her arms to him, but he repulsed her. Keep back, lady. No one is going to catch me and make me a man. But where are you going to live? With Tink in the house we built for Wendy. The fairies are to put it high up among the treetops where they sleep at nights. How lovely! cried Wendy so longingly that Mrs. Darling tightened her grip. I thought all the fairies were dead, Mrs. Darling said. There are always a lot of young ones, explained Wendy, who was now quite in authority, because, you see, when a new baby laughs for the first time a new fairy is born, and as there are always new babies, there are always new fairies. They live in nests on the tops of trees, and the mob ones are boys and the white ones are girls, and the blue ones are just little sillies who are not sure what they are. I shall have such fun, said Peter, with eye on Wendy. It will be rather lonely in the evening, she said, sitting by the fire. I shall have Tink. Tink can't go a twentieth part of the way round, she reminded him a little tortly. Sneaky tell-tale, Tink called out from somewhere around the corner. It doesn't matter, Peter said. Oh, Peter, you know it matters. Well, then, come with me to the little house. May I, Mummy? Certainly not. I have got you home again, and I mean to keep you. But he does so need a mother. So do you, my love. Oh, all right, Peter said, as if he had asked her for lightness merely. But Mrs. Darling saw his mouth twitch, and she made this handsome offer, to let Wendy go to him for a week every year to do his spring cleaning. Wendy would have preferred a more permanent arrangement, and it seemed to her that spring would be long and coming, but this promise sent Peter away quite gay again. He had no sense of time, and was so full of adventures, that all I have told you about him is only a half-penny worth of them. I suppose it was because Wendy knew this, that her last words to him were these rather plaintive ones. You won't forget me, Peter, will you, before spring cleaning time comes? Of course, Peter promised, and then he flew away. He took Mrs. Darling's kiss with him. The kiss that had been for no one else. Peter took it quite easily. Funny, but she seemed satisfied. Of course all the boys went to school, and most of them got into class three, but slightly was put first into class four, and then into class five. Class one is the top class. Before they had attended school a week, they saw what goats they had been not to remain on the island, but it was too late now, and soon they settled down to being as ordinary as you were me or Jenkins Minor. It is sad to have to say that the power to fly gradually left them. At first, Nana tied their feet to the bed-posts so that they should not fly away in the night, and one of their diversions by day was to pretend to fall off buses, but by and by they ceased to tug at their bonds in bed, and found that they hurt themselves when they let go of the bus. In time they could not even fly after their hats. Want of practice they called it, but what it really meant was that they no longer believed. Michael believed longer than the other boys, though they jeered at him, so he was with Wendy when Peter came for her at the end of the first year. She flew away with Peter in the frock, she had woven from leaves and berries in the Neverland, and her one fear was that he might notice how short it had become, but he never noticed he has so much to say about himself. She looked forward to thrilling talks with him about old times, but new adventures had crowded the old ones from his mind. Who is Captain Hook? He asked with interest when she spoke of the arch enemy. Don't you remember? She asked amazed how you killed him and saved all our lives. I forget them after I killed them, he replied carelessly. When she expressed a doubtful hope that Tinkerbell would be glad to see her, he said, Who is Tinkerbell? Oh, Peter, she said, shocked. But even when she explained, he could not remember. There are such a lot of them, he said, I expect she is no more. I expect he was right, for fairies don't live long, but they are so little that a short time seems a good while to them. Wendy was pained, too, to find that the past year was but as yesterday to Peter. It had seemed such a long year of waiting to her, but he was exactly as fascinating as ever, and they had a lovely spring cleaning in the little house on the treetops. Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet, but he never came. Perhaps he is ill, Michael said. You know he is never ill. Michael came close to her and whispered with a shiver, perhaps there is no such person, Wendy, and then Wendy would have cried if Michael had not been crying. Peter came next spring cleaning, and the strange thing was that he never knew he had missed a year. That was the last time the girl Wendy ever saw him. For a little longer she tried for his sake not to have growing pains, and she felt she was untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge. But the years came and went without bringing the careless boy, and when they met again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys. Wendy had grown up. You need not be sorry for her.  In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls. All the boys were grown up and done for by this time, so it is scarcely worth while saying anything more about them. You may see the twins and nibs and curly any day going to an office, each carrying a little bag and an umbrella. Michael is an engine driver, slightly married a lady of title, so he became a lord. You see that judge in a wig coming out of the iron door? That used to be Toodles. The bearded man who doesn't know any story to tell his children was once John. Wendy was married and white with a pink sash. It is strange to think that Peter did not alight in the church and forbid the bands. Years rolled on again and Wendy had a daughter. This ought not to be written in ink, but in a golden splash. She was called Jane and always had an odd inquiring look as if from the moment she arrived on the mainland she wanted to ask questions. When she was old enough to ask them they were mostly about Peter Pan. She loved to hear of Peter and Wendy told her all she could remember in the very nursery from which the famous flight had taken place. It was Jane's nursery now for her father had bought it at the three percents from Wendy's father who was no longer fond of stairs. Mr's darling was now dead and forgotten. There were only two beds in the nursery now, Jane's and her nurses, and there was no kennel for Nana also had passed away. She died of old age and at the end she had been rather difficult to get on with being very firmly convinced that no one knew how to look after children except herself. Once a week Jane's nurse had her evening off and then it was Wendy's part to put Jane to bed. That was the time for stories. It was Jane's invention to raise the sheet over her mother's head in her own thus making a tent and in the awful darkness to whisper, What do we see now? I don't think I see anything tonight, says Wendy, with the feeling that if Nana were here she would object to further conversation. Yes you do, says Jane. You see when you were a little girl. That was a long time ago, sweetheart, says Wendy. Ah me, how time flies. Does it fly? asks the artful child, the way you flew when you were a little girl. The way I flew? Do you know Jane? I sometimes wonder whether I ever did really fly. Yes you did, the dear old days when I could fly. Why can't you fly now, mother? Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way. Why do they forget the way?  It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly.  I do wish I were gay and innocent and heartless. Or perhaps Wendy admits she does see something. I do believe, she says, that it is this nursery. I do believe it is, says Jane. Go on. They are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when Peter flew in looking for his shadow. The foolish fellow, says Wendy, tried to stick it on with soap, and when he could not he cried and that woke me, and I sewed it on for him. You have missed a bit, interrupted Jane, who now knows the story better than her mother, when you saw him sitting on the floor crying. What did you say? I sat up in bed and I said, boy, why are you crying? Yes, that was it, says Jane, with a big breath. And then he flew us all away to the Neverland and the Ferries and the Pirates and the Redskins and the Mermaids, Lagoon and the Home Under the Ground and the Little House. Yes, which did you like best of all? I think I liked the Home Under the Ground best of all. Yes, so do I. What was the last thing Peter ever said to you? The last thing he ever said to me was, just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing. Yes, but alas he forgot all about me. Wendy said it with a smile. She was as grown up as that. What did his crow sound like? Jane asked one evening. It was like this, Wendy said, trying to imitate Peter's crow. No, it wasn't, Jane said gravely. It was like this, and she did it ever so much better than her mother. Wendy was a little startled. My darling, how can you know? I often hear it when I am sleeping, Jane said. Ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but I was the only one who heard it awake. Lucky you, said Jane. And then one night came the tragedy. It was the spring of the year and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now asleep in her bed. Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire so as to see to dawn, for there was no other light in the nursery, and while she sat dawning, she heard a crow. Then the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the floor. He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth. He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire, not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman. Hello, Wendy, he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself, and in the dim light her white dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her first. Hello, Peter, she said faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible. Something inside her was crying. Woman, woman, let go of me. Hello, where is John? He asked, suddenly missing the third bed. John is not here now, she gasped. Is Michael asleep? He asked with a careless glance at Jane. Jane? Yes, she answered. And now she felt that she was untrue to Jane, as well as to Peter. That is not Michael, she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her. Peter looked. Hello, is it a new one? Yes, boy or girl, girl. Now surely he would understand, but not a bit of it. Peter, she said, faltering, are you expecting me to fly away with you? Of course, that is why I have come, he added a little sternly. Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time? She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring cleaning times pass. I can't come, she said apologetically. I have forgotten how to fly. I'll soon teach you again. Oh, Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me. She had risen, and now at last they fear assailed him. What is it? he cried, shrinking. I will turn up the light, she said, and then you can see for yourself. For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid. Don't turn up the light, he cried. She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy. She was not a little girl heartbroken about him, but a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet-eyed smiles. Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw.  What is it? he cried again. She had to tell him, I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long ago. You promised not to. I couldn't help it. I am a married woman, Peter. No, you're not. Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby. No, she's not. But he supposed she was, and he took a step toward the sleeping child with his dagger upraised. Of course, he did not strike. He sat down on the floor instead and sobbed, and Wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once. She was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think. Peter continued to cry, and soon his sobs woke Jane. She sat up in bed and was interested at once. Boy, she said, why are you crying? Peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed. Hello, he said. Hello, said Jane. My name is Peter Pan, he told her. Yes, I know. Yes, I know. I came back from my mother, he explained, to take her to the Neverland. Yes, I know, Jane said. I have been waiting for you. When Wendy returned diffidently, she found Peter sitting on the bed post growing gloriously, while Jane in her nightie was flying round the room in solemn ecstasy. She is my mother, Peter explained, and Jane descended and stood by his side, with a look on her face that he liked to see on ladies when they gazed at him. He does so need a mother, Jane said. Yes, I know, Wendy admitted, rather forlornly. No one knows it so well as I. Good-bye, said Peter to Wendy, and he rose in the air, and the shameless Jane rose with him. It was already her easiest way of moving about. Wendy rushed to the window. No, no, she cried. It is just for spring cleaning time, Jane said. He wants me always to do his spring cleaning. Ah, if only I could go with you, Wendy sighed. You see, you can't fly, said Jane. Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together. Our last glimpse of her shows her at the window, watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars. As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up with a daughter called Margaret, and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes from Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up, she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother-in-turn, and thus it will go on so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.