Chapter 1 of Peter Pan by J. M. Barry Chapter breaks through. All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, Oh, why can't you remain like this forever? This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end. Of course they lived at fourteen and until Wendy came her mother was the chief one. She was a lovely lady with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking-mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling east. However many you discover there is always one more, and her sweet mocking-mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was perfectly conspicuous in the right hand corner. The way Mr. Darling won her was this. The many gentlemen who had been boys when she was the girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling who took a cab and nipped in first and so he got her. He got Oliver except the innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box and in time he gave up trying for the kiss. Wendy thought Napoleon could have got it, but I can picture him trying and then going off in a passion slamming the door. Mr. Darling used to boast to Wendy that her mother not only loved him but respected him. He was one of those deep ones who know about stocks and shares. Of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know, and he often said stocks were up and shares were down in a way that would have made any woman respect him. Mr. Darling was married in white and at first she kept the books perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game not so much as a Brussels sprout was missing. But by and by whole cauliflower's dropped out and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces. She drew them when she should have been totting up. They were Mrs. Darling's guesses. Wendy came first, then John, then Michael. For a week or two after Wendy came it was doubtful whether they would be able to keep her as she was another mouth to feed. Mr. Darling was frightfully proud of her, but he was very honorable and he sat on the edge of Mrs. Darling's bed holding her hand and calculating expenses while she looked at him imploringly. She wanted to risk it, come what might, but that was not his way. His way was with a pencil and a piece of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at the beginning again. Now don't interrupt, he would beg of her. I have one pound seventeen here and two and six at the office. I can cut off my coffee at the office, say ten shillings, making two nine and six. With your eighteen and three makes three nine seven. With five ought ought in my checkbook makes eight nine seven. Who is that moving? Eight nine seven dot and carry seven. Don't speak my own. And the pound you lent to that man who came to the door? Quiet child! Dot and carry child. There you've done it. Did I say nine nine seven? Yes, I said nine nine seven. The question is, can we try it for a year on nine nine seven? Of course we can, George, she cried, but she was prejudiced in Wendy's favour, and he was really the grander character of the two. Remember Mumps? He warned her almost threateningly, and off he went again. Mumps, one pound, that is what I have put down, but dare see you will be more like thirty shillings. Don't speak. Measles one five. German measles have a guinea makes two fifteen six. Don't waggle your finger. Hooping cough, say fifteen shillings, and so on it went, and it added up differently each time. But at last Wendy just got through with Mumps reduced to twelve six, and the two kinds of measles treated as one. There was the same excitement over John, and Michael had even a narrower squeak, but both were kept, and soon you might have seen the three of them going in a row to Miss Folsom's kindergarten school, accompanied by their nurse. Missers Darling loved to have everything just so, and Mr. Darling had a passion for being exactly like his neighbours, so, of course, they had a nurse. As they were poor owing to the amount of milk the children drank, the nurse was a prim Newfoundland dog called Nana, who had belonged to no one in particular until the darlings engaged her. She had always thought children important, however, and the darlings had become acquainted with her in Kingsinton Gardens, where she spent most of her spare time, peeping into perambulators, and was much hated by careless nursemaids, whom she followed to their homes and complained of to their mistresses. She proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse, how thorough she was at bath time, and up at any moment of the night if one of her charges made the slightest cry. Of course, her kennel was in the nursery. She had a genius for knowing when a cough is a thing to have no patience with, and when it needs stocking around your throat. She believed to her last day in the old-fashioned remedies like rhubarb leaf, and made sounds of contempt over all this newfangled talk about germs and so on. It was a lesson in propriety to see her escorting the children to school, walking sedately by their side when they were well behaved, butting them back into line if they strayed. On John's footer days she never once forgot his sweater, and she usually carried an umbrella in her mouth in case of rain. There is a room in the basement of Miss Folsom's school where the nurses wait. They sat on forms while Nana lay on the floor, but that was the only difference. They affected to ignore her as of an inferior social status to themselves, and she despised their like-talk. She resented visits to the nursery from Missar's darling's friends, but if they did come she first whipped off Michael's pinafore and put him into the one with blue braiding, and smoothed out Wendy and made a dash at John's hair. No nursery could possibly have been conducted more correctly, and Mr. Darling knew it, yet he sometimes wondered uneasily whether the neighbors talked. He had his position in the city to consider. Nana also troubled him in another way. He had sometimes a feeling that she did not admire him. Oh, I know she admires you tremendously, George! Missar's darling would assure him, and then she would sign to the children to be specially nice to father. Lovely dances followed in which the only other servant, Liza, was sometimes allowed to join. Such a midget she looked in her long skirt and maid's cap, though she had sworn when engaged that she would never see Tin again. The gaiety of those romps, and gayest of all, was Missar's darling, who would pirouette so wildly that all you could see of her was the kiss, and then, if you had dashed at her, you might have got it. There never was a simple or happy family until the coming of Peter Pan. Missar's darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wondered during the day. If you could keep awake, but of course you can't, you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discovery sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind, and on the top beautifully aired or spread out your prettiest thoughts ready for you to put on. I don't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island, for the Neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of color here and there, and coral reefs and rakious-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose. It would be an easy map if that were all, but there is also first day at school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needlework, murders, hangings, verbs that take the datative, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say ninety-nine three pence for pulling out your own tooth yourself, and so on, and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still. Of course, the Neverlands vary a good deal. John's, for instance, has a lagoon with flamingos flying over it at which John was shooting, while Michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it. John lived in a boat turned upside down on the sands, Michael in a wigwam, Wendy in a house of leaves deftly sewn together. John had no friends, Michael had friends at night, Wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents, but on the whole the Neverlands have a family resemblance, and if they stood still in a row you could say of them that they have each other's nose and so forth. On these magic shores, children at play are forever beaching their coracles. We too have been there, we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more. Of all the delectable islands, the Neverland is the snuggest and most compact, not large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed. When you play at it by day with the chairs and tablecloth it is not in the least alarming, but in the two minutes before you go to sleep it becomes very real. That is why there are nightlights. Occasionally in her travels through her children's minds, Mrs. Darling found things she could not understand, and of these quite the most perplexing was the word Peter. She knew of no Peter, and yet he was here and there in John and Michael's minds, while Wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him. The name stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as Mrs. Darling gazed she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance. Yes, he is rather cocky, Wendy admitted with regret. Her mother had been questioning her. But who is he, my pet?  At first Mrs. Darling did not know. But after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live with the fairies. There were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them so that they should not be frightened. She had believed in him at the time, but now that she was married and full of sense, she quite doubted whether there was any such person. Besides, she said to Wendy, he would be grown up by this time. Oh no, he isn't grown up, Wendy assured her confidently. And he is just my size. She meant that he was her size in both mind and body. She didn't know how she knew, she just knew it. Mrs. Darling consulted Mr. Darling, but he smiled, poo-poo. Mork my words, he said. It is some nonsense Nana has been putting into their heads. Just the sort of idea a dog would have. Leave it alone and it will blow over. But it would not blow over, and soon the troublesome boy gave Mrs. Darling quite a shock. Children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them. For instance, they may remember to mention a week after the event happened that when they were in the wood they had met their dead father and had a game with him. It was in this casual way that Wendy one morning made a disquieting revelation. Some leaves of a tree had been found on the nursery floor, which certainly were not there when the children went to bed. And Mrs. Darling was puzzled over them when Wendy said with a tolerant smile, I do believe it is that Peter again. Whatever do you mean, Wendy? It is so naughty of him not to wipe his feet, Wendy said, sighing. She was a tidy child. She explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought Peter sometimes came to the nursery in the night and sat on the foot of her bed and played on his pipes to her. Unfortunately she never woke, so she didn't know how she knew she just knew. What nonsense you talk precious, no one can get into the house without knocking. I think he comes in by the window, she said. My love, it is three floors up. Were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother? It was quite true, the leaves had been found very near the window. Mrs. Darling did not know what to think, for it all seemed so natural to Wendy that you could not dismiss it by saying she had been dreaming.  I forgot, said Wendy lightly. She was in a hurry to get her breakfast. Oh, surely she must have been dreaming. But on the other hand there were the leaves. Mrs. Darling examined them very carefully. They were skeleton leaves, but she was sure they did not come from any tree that grew in England. She crawled about the floor, peering at it with a candle for marks of a strange foot. She rattled the poker up the chimney and tapped the walls. She let down a tape from the window to the pavement, and it was a sheer drop of thirty feet without so much as a spout to climb up by. Certainly Wendy had been dreaming. But Wendy had not been dreaming, as the very next night showed the night on which the extraordinary adventures of these children may be said to have begun. On the night we speak of, all the children were once more in bed. It happened to be Nana's evening off, and Mrs. Darling had bathed them and sung to them till one by one they had let go her hand and slid away into the land of sleep. All were looking so safe and cosy that she smiled at her fears now, and sat down tranquilly by the fire to sow. It was something from Michael who, on his birthday, was getting into shirts. The fire was warm, however, and the nursery dimly lit by three nightlights, and, presently, the sowing lay on Mrs. Darling's lap.  She was asleep. Look at the four of them, Wendy and Michael over there, John here, and Mrs. Darling by the fire. There should have been a fourth nightlight. While she slept she had a dream. She dreamt that the Neverland had come too near and that a strange boy had broken through from it. He did not alarm her, for she thought she had seen him before in the faces of many women who have no children. Perhaps he is to be found in the faces of some mothers also. But in her dream he had rent the film that obscures Neverland, and she saw Wendy and John and Michael peeping through the gap. The dream, by itself, would have been a trifle. But while she was dreaming, the window of the nursery blew open, and the boy did drop on the floor. He was accompanied by a strange light, no bigger than your fist, which darted about the room like a living thing. And I think it must have been this light that waked into Mrs. Darling. She started up with a cry and saw the boy, and somehow she knew at once that he was Peter Pan. If you or I or Wendy had been there, we should have seen that he was very like Mrs. Darling's kiss. He was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that ooze out of trees. But the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth. When he saw she was a grown-up, he gnashed the little pearls at her. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 The Shadow Mrs. Darling screamed, and as if in answer to a bell, the door opened and Nana entered, returned from her evening out. She growled and sprang at the boy, who leapt lightly through the window. Again, Mrs. Darling screamed, this time in distress for him, for she thought he was killed, and she ran down into the street to look for his little body. But it was not there. And she looked up, and in the black night she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star. She returned to the nursery and found Nana with something in her mouth, which proved to be the boy's shadow. As he leapt at the window, Nana had closed it quickly, too late to catch him, but his shadow had not had time to get out. Slammed with the window and snapped it off. You may be sure Mrs. Darling examined the shadow carefully, but it was quite the ordinary kind. Nana had no doubt of what was the best thing to do with this shadow. She hung it out at the window, meaning he is sure to come back for it. Let us put it where he can get it easily without disturbing the children. But unfortunately Mrs. Darling could not leave it hanging out at the window. It looked so like the washing, and lowered the whole tone of the house. She thought of showing it to Mr. Darling, but he was totting up winter great coats for John and Michael with a wet towel around his head to keep his brain clear, and it seemed a shame to trouble him. Besides, she knew exactly what he would say. It all comes from having a dog for a nurse. She decided to roll the shadow up and put it away carefully in a drawer until a fitting opportunity came for telling her husband, ah, me. The opportunity came a week later on that never-to-be-forgotten Friday. Of course it was a Friday. I ought to have been especially careful on a Friday, she used to say afterwards to her husband, while perhaps Nana was on the other side of her holding her hand. No, no, Mr. Darling always said. I am responsible for it all. I, George Darling, did it, mea culpa, mea culpa. He had had a classical education. They sat thus night after night, recalling that fatal Friday, till every detail of it was stamped on their brains, and came through on the other side like the faces on a bad carnage. If only I had not accepted that invitation to die in a twenty-seven, Mr. Darling said. If only I had not poured my medicine into Nana's bowl, said Mr. Darling. If only I had pretended to like the medicine was what Nana's wet eyes said. My liking for parties, George. My fatal gift of humor, dearest. My touchiness about trifles, dear master and mistress. Then one or more of them would break down altogether. Nana at the thought, it's true, it's true they ought not to have had a dog for a nurse. Many a time it was Mr. Darling who put the handkerchief to Nana's eyes. That fiend, Mrs. Darling would cry, and Nana's bark was the echo of it, but Mrs. Darling never upgraded Peter. There was something in the right-hand corner of her mouth that wanted her not to call Peter names. They would sit there in the empty nursery, recalling fondly every smallest detail of that dreadful evening. It had begun so unevenfully, so precisely like a hundred other evenings, with Nana putting on the water from Michael's bath and carrying him to it on her back. I won't go to bed, he had shouted, like one who still believed that he had the last word on the subject. I won't, I won't. Nana, it isn't six o'clock yet. Oh dear, oh dear, I shan't love you any more, Nana. I tell you I won't be bathed, I won't, I won't. Then Mrs. Darling had come in, wearing her white evening gown. She had dressed early because Wendy so loved to see her in her evening gown, with the necklace George had given her. She was wearing Wendy's bracelet on her arm. She had asked for the loan of it. Wendy loved to lend her bracelet to her mother. She had found her two older children playing at being herself and father on the occasion of Wendy's birth, and John was saying, I am happy to inform you, Mrs. Darling, that you are now a mother. In just such a tone as Mr. Darling himself may have used on the real occasion. Wendy had danced with joy just as the real Mrs. Darling must have done. Then John was born, with the extra pomp that he conceived due to the birth of a male, and Michael came from his bath to ask to be born also. But John said brutally that they did not want any more. Michael had nearly cried. Nobody wants me, he said. And of course the lady in the evening dress could not stand that. I do, she said. I so want a third child. Boy or girl, asked Michael, not too hopefully. Boy! Then he had leapt into her arms. Such a little thing for Mr. and Mrs. Darling and Nana to recall now.   It was then that I rushed in like a tornado, wasn't it? Mr. Darling would say, scarning himself, and indeed he had been like a tornado. Perhaps there was some excuse for him. He too had been dressing for the party, and all had gone well with him until he came to his tie. It is an astounding thing to have to tell, but this man, though he knew about stocks and shares, had no real mastery of his tie. Sometimes the thing yielded to him without a contest. But there were occasions when it would have been better for the house if he had swallowed his pride and used a made-up tie. This was such an occasion. He came rushing into the nursery with the crumpled little brute of a tie in his hand. Why, what is the matter, Father, dear? Matter! He yelled. He really yelled. This tie, it will not tie. He became dangerously sarcastic. Not around my neck, around the bed post. Oh yes, twenty times I have made it up around the bed post, but round my neck? No. Oh dear, no. Begs to be excused. He thought Mr. Starling was not sufficiently impressed, and he went on sternly. I warn you of this, Mother, that unless this tie is round my neck, we don't go out to dinner tonight. And if I don't go out to dinner tonight, I never go to the office again. And if I don't go to the office again, you and I starve, and our children will be flung into the streets. Even then, Mr. Starling was placid. Let me try, dear, she said. And indeed, that was what he had come to ask her to do. And with her nice cool hands she tied his tie for him, while the children stood around to see their fate decided. Some men would have resented her being able to do it so easily. But Mr. Starling was far too fine a nature for that. He thanked her carelessly, and once forgot his rage, and in another moment was dancing round the room with Michael on his back. Ah, how wildly we romped, says Mrs. Starling now, recalling it. Our last romp, Mr. Starling groaned. Oh George, do you remember Michael suddenly said to me, how did you get to know me, mother? I remember.  And they were ours, ours, and now they are gone. The romp had ended with the appearance of Nala, and, most unluckily, Mr. Starling collided against her, covering his trousers with hairs. They were not only new trousers, but they were the first he had ever had with braid on them, and he had had to bite his lip to prevent the tears coming. Of course Mr. Starling brushed him, but he began to talk again about its being a mistake to have a dog for a nurse. George, Nala is a treasure. No doubt, but I have an uneasy feeling at times that she looks upon the children as puppies. Oh no, dear one, I feel sure she knows they have souls. I wonder, Mr. Starling said thoughtfully. I wonder. It was an opportunity his wife felt for telling him about the boy. At first he poo-pooed the story, but he became thoughtful when she showed him the shadow. It is nobody I know, he said, examining it carefully, but it does look a scoundrel. We were still discussing it, you remember, says Mr. Starling, when Nanna came in with Michael's medicine. You will never carry the bottle in your mouth again, Nanna, and it's all my fault. Strong man, though he was, there is no doubt that he had behaved rather foolishly over the medicine. If he had a weakness it was for thinking that all his life he had taken medicine boldly, and so now when Michael dodged the spoon in Nanna's mouth he has said reprovingly, Be a man, Michael. Won't, won't, Michael said naughtily. Mr. Starling left the room to get a chocolate for him, and Mr. Starling thought this showed want of firmness. Mother, don't pamper him, he called after her. Michael, when I was your age I took medicine without a murmur. I said, thank you kind parents for giving me bottles to make me well. He really thought this was true, and Wendy, who was now in her nightgown, believed it also, and she said, to encourage Michael, that medicine you sometimes take father is much nastier, isn't it? Ever so much nastier, Mr. Starling said bravely, and I would take it now as an example to you, Michael, if I hadn't lost the bottle. He had not exactly lost it. He had climbed in the dead of night to the top of the wardrobe and hidden it there. What he did not know was that the faithful Liza had found it and put it back on his wash stand. I know where it is, father, Wendy cried, always glad to be of service. I'll bring it. And she was off before he could stop her. Immediately his spirit sank in the strangest way. John, he said shuddering, it's the most beastly stuff. It's that nasty, sticky, sweet kind. It will soon be over, father, John said cheerily, and then in rushed Wendy with the medicine in a glass. I have been as quick as I could, she panted. You have been wonderfully quick, her father retorted, with a vindictive politeness that was quite thrown away upon her. Michael first, he said doggedly. Father first, said Michael, who was of a suspicious nature. I shall be sick, you know, Mr. Darling said threateningly. Come on, father, said John. Hold your tongue, John, his father wrapped out. Wendy was quite puzzled. I thought you took it quite easily, father. That is not the point, he retorted. The point is that there is more in my glass than in Michael's spoon. His proud heart was nearly bursting, and it isn't fair. I would say it though it were my last breath. It isn't fair. Father, I am waiting, said Michael coldly. It's all very well to say you are waiting, so am I waiting.  I'm not frightened, neither am I frightened. Well then, take it. Well then, you take it. Wendy had a splendid idea. Why not both take it at the same time? Certainly, said Mr. Darling. Are you ready, Michael? Wendy gave the words one, two, three, and Michael took his medicine, but Mr. Darling slipped his behind his back. There was a yell of rage from Michael and, oh, father, Wendy exclaimed. What do you mean by oh, father, Mr. Darling demanded? Stop that row, Michael. I meant to take mine, but I missed it. It was dreadful the way all three were looking at him, just as if they did not admire him. Look here, all of you, he said intrudingly, as soon as Nana had gone into the bathroom. I had just thought of a splendid joke. I shall pour my medicine into Nana's bowl, and she will drink it thinking it is milk. It was the color of milk, but the children did not have their father's sense of humor, and they looked at him reproachfully as he poured the medicine into Nana's bowl. What fun, he said doubtfully, and they did not dare expose him when Mr. Darling and Nana returned. Nana, good dog, he said, patting her. I have put a little milk into your bowl, Nana. Nana wagged her tail, ran to the medicine, and began lapping it. Then she gave Mr. Darling such a look, not an angry look. She showed him the great red tear that made us so sorry for noble dogs, and crept into her kennel. Mr. Darling was frightfully ashamed of himself, but he would not give in. In a horrid silence Mrs. Darling smelt the bowl. Oh, George, she said, it's your medicine. It was only a joke, he roared while she comforted her boys, and Wendy hugged Nana. Much good, he said bitterly, my wearing myself to the bone trying to be funny in this house. And still Wendy hugged Nana. That's right, he shouted, coddle her. Nobody coddles me. Oh, dear know, I am only the breadwinner. Why should I be coddled? Why, why, why? George, Mrs. Darling entreated him. Not so loud, the servants will hear you. Somehow they had got into the way of calling Liza the servants. Let them, he answered recklessly, bring in the whole world. But I refused to allow that dog to lord it in my nursery for an hour longer. The children wept, and Nana ran to him beseechingly, but he waved her back. He felt he was a strong man again.  George, George, Mrs. Darling whispered, remember what I told you about that boy? Alas, he would not listen. He was determined to show who was master in that house, and when commands would not draw Nana from the kennel, he lured her out a bit with honeyed words, and seizing her roughly dragged her from the nursery. He was ashamed of himself and yet he did it. It was all owing to his too affectionate nature which craved for admiration. When he had tied her up in the backyard, the wretched father went and sat in the passage with his knuckles to his eyes. In the meantime, Mrs. Darling had put the children to bed in unwanted silence and lit their nightlights. They could hear Nana barking, and John whimpered, it is because he is chaining her up in the yard, but Wendy was wiser. That is not Nana's unhappy bark, she said, little guessing what was about to happen. That is her bark when she smells danger. Danger! Are you sure, Wendy? Oh, yes. Mrs. Darling quivered and went to the window. It was securely fastened. She looked out, and the night was peppered with stars. They were crowding round the house as if curious to see what was to take place there. But she did not notice this, nor that one or two of the smaller ones winked at her. Yet a nameless fear clutched at her heart and made her cry. Oh, how I wish that I wasn't going to a party tonight. Even Michael, already half asleep, knew that she was perturbed, and he asked, Can anything harm a smother after the nightlights are lit? Nothing precious, she said.  She went from bed to bed singing enchantments over them, and little Michael flung his arms round her. Mother, he cried, I'm glad of you. They were the last words she was to hear from him for a long time. Number twenty-seven was only a few yards distant, but there had been a slight fall of snow, and mother and father darling picked their way over it deftly, not to soil their shoes. They were already the only persons in the street, and all the stars were watching them. Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything. They must just look on forever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak. Winking is the star language. But the little ones still wonder. They are not really friendly to Peter who has a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out, but they are so fun to fun that they were on his side tonight and anxious to get the grown-ups out of the way. So, as soon as the door of twenty-seven closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling, there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out, Now, Peter! End of Chapter Two Chapter Three of Peter Pan by J. M. Barry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter Three Come Away, Come Away For a moment after Mr. and Mrs. Darling left the house, the nightlights by the beds of the three children continued to burn clearly. They were awfully nice little nightlights, and one could not help wishing that they could have kept awake to see Peter. But Wendy's light blinked and gave such a yawn that the other two yawned also, and before they could close their mouths all the three went out. There was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the nightlights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it had been in all the drawers in the nursery looking for Peter's shadow, rummaged the wardrobe and turned every pocket inside out. It was not really a light, it made this light by flashing about so quickly, but when it came to rest for a second you saw it was a fairy, no longer than your hand, but still growing. It was a girl called Tinkerbell, exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf cut low in square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage. She was slightly inclined to aim bon paul. A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in. He had carried Tinkerbell part of the way and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust. Tinkerbell, he called softly after making sure that the children were asleep. Tink, where are you? She was in a jug for the moment and liking it extremely, she had never been in a jug before. Oh, do come out of that jug and tell me, do you know where they put my shadow? The loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered him. It is the fairy language. You ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before. Tink said that the shadow was in the big box. She met the chest of drawers, and Peter jumped at the drawers scattering their contents to the floor with both hands as King's toss happens to the crowd. In a moment he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight he forgot that he had shut Tinkerbell up in the drawer. If he thought it all, but I don't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water, and when they did not he was appalled. He tried to stick it on with soap from the bathroom, but that also failed. A shudder passed through Peter, and he sat on the floor and cried. His sobs woke Windy, and she sat up in bed. She was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor. She was only pleasantly interested. Boy, she said curiously, why are you crying? Peter could be exceedingly polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully. She was much pleased and bowed beautifully to him from the bed. What's your name? he asked. Windy Mariah Angela Darling. She replied with some satisfaction. What is your name? Peter Pan. She was already sure that he must be Peter, but it did seem a comparatively short name. Is that all? Yes, he said rather sharply. He felt for the first time that it was a shortish name. I'm so sorry, said Windy Mariah Angela. It doesn't matter, Peter gulped. She asked where he lived. Second to the right, said Peter, and then straight on till morning. What a funny address! Peter had a sinking. For the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address. No, it isn't. I mean, Windy said nicely, remembering that she was hostess. Is that what they put on the letters? He wished she had not mentioned letters. Don't get any letters, he said contemptuously.  Don't have a mother, he said. Not only had he no mother, but he had not the slightest desire to have one. He thought them very overrated persons. Windy however felt that once that she was in the presence of a tragedy. Oh, Peter, no wonder you were crying, she said, and got out of bed and ran to him. I wasn't crying about mothers, he said rather indignantly. I was crying because I can't get my shadow to stick on, besides I wasn't crying. It has come off? Yes. Then Windy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so draggled, and she was frightfully sorry for Peter. How awful, she said, but she could not help smiling when she saw that he had been trying to stick it on with soap. How exactly like a boy. Fortunately she knew at once what to do. It must be sewn on, she said, just a little patronizingly. What's sewn, he asked?  No, I'm not. But she was exulting in his ignorance. I shall sew it on for you, my little man, she said, though he was as tall as herself, and she got out her housewife and sewed the shadow onto Peter's foot. I daresay it will hurt a little, she warned him. Oh, I, she had cry, said Peter, who was already of the opinion that he had never cried in his life.  Perhaps I should have ironed it, Windy, said thoughtfully. But Peter Boilike was indifferent to appearances, and he was now jumping about in the wildest glee. Alas, he had already forgotten that he owed his bliss to Windy. He thought he had attached the shadow himself. How clever I am, he crowed rapturously. Oh, the cleverness of me! It is humiliating to have to confess that this conceit of Peter was one of his most fascinating qualities. To put it with brutal frankness, there never was a cockier boy. But for the moment, Windy was shocked. You concede, she exclaimed with frightful sarcasm. Of course, I did nothing. You did a little, Peter said carelessly, and continued to dance. A little, she replied with hotter, if I am of no use, I can at least withdraw. And she sprang in the most dignified way into bed and covered her face with the blankets. To induce her to look up, he pretended to be going away, and with this fail he sat on the end of the bed and tapped her gently with his foot. Windy, he said, don't withdraw. I can't help crowing Windy when I'm pleased with myself. Still, she would not look up, though she was listening eagerly. Windy, he continued in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist. Windy, one girl is more used than twenty boys. Now, Windy was every inch a woman, though there were not very many inches, and she peeped out of the bed clothes. Do you really think so, Peter? Yes, I do. I think it's perfectly sweet of you, she declared, and I'll get up again. And she sat with him on the side of the bed. She also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but Peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.  I shall know when you give it to me, he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feelings, she gave him a thimble. Now, said he, shall I give you a kiss? And she replied with a slight primness, if you please.  It was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life. When people in our set are introduced, it is customary for them to ask each other's age, and so Wendy, who always liked to do the correct thing, asked Peter how old he was. It was not really a happy question to ask him. It was like an examination paper that asks a grammar when what you want to be asked is Kings of England. I don't know, he said uneasily, but I am quite young. He really knew nothing about it. He had merely suspicions, but he said at adventure, Wendy, I ran away the day I was born. Wendy was quite surprised, but interested, and she indicated in the charming drawing-room manner, by a touch on her nightgown, that he could sit nearer her. It was because I heard father and mother, he explained in a low voice, talking about what I was to be when I became a man. He was extraordinarily agitated now. I don't want ever to be a man, he said with passion.  So I ran away to King'sinton Gardens and lived a long, long time among the fairies. She gave him a look of the most intense admiration, and he thought it was because he had run away, but it was really because he knew fairies. Wendy had lived such a home life that to know fairies struck her as quite delightful. She poured out questions about them to his surprise, for they were rather a nuisance to him, getting in his way and so on, and indeed he sometimes had to give them a hiding. Still he liked them on the whole, and he told her about the beginning of fairies. You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies. Tidious talk this, but being a stay at home, she liked it. And so he went on good-naturedly. There ought to be one fairy for every boy and girl. Ought to be? Isn't there? No. You see children know such a lot now, they soon don't believe in fairies, and every time a child says, I don't believe in fairies. There is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead. Really he thought they had now talked enough about fairies, and it struck him that Tinkerbell was keeping very quiet. I can't think where she has gone to, he said, rising, and he called Tink by name. Wendy's heart went flutter with a sudden thrill. Peter, she cried, clutching him, you don't mean to tell me that there is a fairy in this room. She was here just now, he said a little impatiently. You don't hear her, do you? And they both listened. The only sound I hear, said Wendy, is like a tinkle of bells. Well, that's Tink, that's the fairy language. I think I hear her too. The sound came from the chest of drawers, and Peter made a merry face. No one could ever look quite so merry as Peter, and the loveliest of gurgles was his laugh. He had his first laugh still. Wendy, he whispered gleefully, I do believe I shut her up in the drawer. He let poor Tink out of the drawer, and she flew around the nursery screaming with fury. You shouldn't say such things, Peter retorted. Of course I'm very sorry, but how could I know you were in the drawer? Wendy was not listening to him. Oh, Peter, she cried, if she could only stand still and let me see her. They hardly ever stand still, he said. But for one moment Wendy saw the romantic figure come to rest on the cuckoo's clock. Oh, the lovely, she cried, though Tink's face was still distorted with passion. Tink, said Peter, amiably. This lady says she wishes you were her fairy. Tinkerbell answered insolently. What does she say, Peter? He had to translate. She is not very polite.  He tried to argue with Tink.    She is called Tinkerbell because she mends the pots in kettles. They were together in the armchair by this time and Wendy plied him with more questions. If you don't live in Kingstonton Gardens now, sometimes I do still. But where do you live mostly now? With the lost boys. Who are they? They are the children who fall out of their perambulators when the nurse is looking the other way. If they are not claimed in seven days, they are sent far away to the Neverland to defray expenses. I am captain. What fun it must be! Yes, said cunning Peter, but we are rather lonely. You see, we have no female companionship. Are none of the others girls? Oh no, girls you know are much too clever to fall out of their prams. This flattered Wendy immensely.  John there just despises us. For reply, Peter rose and kicked John out of bed, blankets it all, one kick. This seemed to Wendy rather forward for a first meeting, and she told him with spirit that he was not captain in her house. However, John continued to sleep so placidly on the floor that she allowed him to remain there. And I know you meant to be kind, she said relenting, so you may give me a kiss. For a moment she had forgotten his ignorance about kisses. I thought you would want it back, he said a little bitterly, and offered to return her the thimble. Oh dear, said the nice Wendy, I don't mean a kiss, I mean a thimble. What's that? It's like this, she kissed him. Funny, said Peter gravely. Now shall I give you a thimble? If you wish to, said Wendy, keeping her head erect this time. Peter thimbled her, and almost immediately she screeched. What is it, Wendy? It was exactly as if someone were pulling my hair. That must have been Tink. I've never known her so naughty before. And indeed Tink was darting about again using offensive language.  But why? Why, Tink?  Peter could not understand why, but Wendy understood, and she was just slightly disappointed when he admitted that he came to the nursery window not to see her, but to listen to stories. You see, I don't know any stories. None of the Lost Boys knows any stories. How perfectly awful, Wendy said. Do you know, Peter asked, why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.  Which story was it? About the prince who couldn't find the lady who wore the glass slipper. Peter, said Wendy excitedly. That was Cinderella, and he found her, and they lived happily ever after. Peter was so glad that he rose from the floor where they had been sitting and hurried to the window. Where are you going? she cried with misgiving. To tell the other boys. Don't go, Peter, she entreated. I know such lots of stories. Those were her precise words, so there can be no denying that it was she who first tempted him. He came back, and there was a greedy look in his eyes now which ought to have alarmed her, but did not. Oh, the stories I could tell to the boys, she cried. And then Peter gripped her and began to draw her toward the window. Let me go, she ordered him. Wendy, do come with me and tell the other boys. Of course, she was very pleased to be asked, but she said, Oh dear, I can't. Think of Mummy. Besides, I can't fly. I'll teach you. Oh, how lovely to fly. I'll teach you how to jump on the winds back and then away we go.  Oh, and Wendy, there are mermaids. Mermaids? With tails? Such long tails. Oh, cried Wendy, to see a mermaid. He had become frightfully cunning. Wendy, he said, how we should all respect you. She was wriggling her body in distress. It was quite as if she were trying to remain on the nursery floor, but he had no pity for her. Wendy, he said, the sly one, you could tuck us in at night. Oh, none of us has ever been tucked in at night. Oh, and her arms went out to him. And you could don our clothes and make pockets for us. None of us has any pockets. How could she resist? Of course, it's awfully fascinating, she cried. Peter, would you teach John and Michael to fly too? If you like, he said indifferently, and she ran to John and Michael and shook them. Wake up, she cried. Peter pan his come, and he is to teach us to fly. John rubbed his eyes. Then I shall get up, he said. Of course, he was on the floor already. Hello, he said, I am up. Michael was up by this time also, looking as sharp as a knife with six blades and a saw. But Peter signed silence. Their faces assumed the awful craftiness of children listening for sounds from the grown-up world. All was as still as salt. Then everything was right. No, stop. Everything was wrong. Nana, who had been barking distressfully all the evening, was quiet now. It was her silence they had heard. Out with the light. Hide. Quick! cried John, taking command for the only time throughout the whole adventure. And thus, when Liza entered holding Nana, the nursery seemed quite its old self, very dark, and you would have sworn you heard its three wicked inmates breathing angelically as they slept. They were really doing it artfully from behind the window curtains. Liza was in a bad temper, for she was mixing the Christmas puddings in the kitchen and had been drawn from them with a raisin still on her cheek by Nana's absurd suspicions. She thought the best way of getting a little quiet was to take Nana to the nursery for a moment, but in custody, of course. There, you suspicious brute, she said. Not sorry that Nana was in disgrace. They are perfectly safe, aren't they? Every one of the little angels sound asleep in bed. Listen to their gentle breathing. Here, Michael encouraged by his success, breathed so loudly that they were nearly detected. Nana knew that kind of breathing, and she tried to drag herself out of Liza's clutches. But Liza was dense. No more of it, Nana, she said sternly, pulling her out of the room.  She tied the unhappy dog up again. But do you think Nana ceased to bark? Bring Master and Missus home from the party? Why, that was just what she wanted. Do you think she cared whether she was whipped so long as her charges were safe? Unfortunately, Liza returned to her puddings, and Nana, seeing that no help would come from her, strained and strained at the chain until at last she broke it. In another moment she had burst into the dining room of twenty-seven, flung up her paws to heaven, her most expressive way of making a communication. Mr. and Missus darling knew at once that something terrible was happening in their nursery, and without a good bye to their hostess they rushed into the street. But it was now ten minutes since three scoundrels had been breathing behind the curtains, and Peter can do a great deal of harm in ten minutes. We now return to the nursery. It's all right, John announced, emerging from his hiding place. I say, Peter, can you really fly? Instead of troubling to answer him, Peter flew around the room, taking the mantelpiece on the way. How topping, said John and Michael, how sweet cried Wendy. Yes, I'm sweet. Oh, I am sweet, said Peter, forgetting his manners again. It looked delightfully easy, and they tried it first from the floor and then from the beds, but they always went down instead of up. I say, how do you do it? asked John, rubbing a knee. He was quite a practical boy. You just think lovely, wonderful thoughts, Peter explained, and they lift you up in the air. He showed them again. You're so nippy at it, John said. Couldn't you do it very slowly once? Peter did it both slowly and quickly. I've got it now, Wendy, cried John, but soon he found he had not. Not one of them could fly an inch, even though Michael was in words of two syllables, and Peter did not know A from Z. Of course, Peter had been trifling with them, for no one can fly unless the fairy dust has been blown on him. Fortunately, as we have mentioned, one of his hands was messy with it, and he blew some on each of them with the most superb results. Now wiggle your shoulders this way, he said, and let go. They were all on their beds, and Gallant Michael let go first. He did not quite mean to let go, but he did it, and immediately he was blown across the room. I flued, he screamed while still in midair. John let go and met Wendy near the bathroom. Oh, lovely! Oh, ripping! Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! They were not nearly so elegant as Peter. They could not help kicking a little, but their heads were bobbing against the ceiling, and there was almost nothing so delicious as that. Peter gave Wendy a hand at first, but had to desist. Tank was so indignant. Up and down they went, and round and round. Heavenly was Wendy's word. I say, cried John, why shouldn't we all go out? Of course it was to this that Peter had been luring them. Michael was ready. He wanted to see how long it took him to do a billion miles, but Wendy hesitated. Mermaids, said Peter again. Oh, and there are pirates. Pirates, cried John, seizing his Sunday hat. Let us go at once. It was just at this moment that Mr. and Mrs. Darling hurried with Nana out of 27. They ran into the middle of the street to look up at the nursery window, and, yes, it was still shut, but the room was ablaze with light, and most hard-gripping sight of all. They could see in shadow on the curtain three little figures in night attire circling round and round, not on the floor, but in the air, not three figures, four. In a tremble they opened the street door. Mr. Darling would have rushed upstairs, but Mrs. Darling signed him to go softly. She even tried to make her heart go softly. Will they reach the nursery in time? If so, how delightful for them, and we shall all breathe a sigh of relief, but there will be no story. On the other hand, if they are not in time, I solemnly promise that it will all come right in the end. They would have reached the nursery in time, had it not been that the little stars were watching them. Once again the stars blew the window open, and the smallest star of all called out, Covey Peter! Then Peter knew that there was not a moment to lose. Come, he cried imperiously, and soared out at once into the night, followed by John and Michael and Wendy. Mr. and Mrs. Darling and Nana rushed into the nursery too late. The birds were flown. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie This labor box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 4 The Flight Second to the right and straight on till morning That, Peter had told Wendy, was the way to the Neverland. But even birds, carrying maps and consulting them at windy corners, could not have cited it with these instructions. Peter, you see, just set anything that came into his head. At first his companions trusted him implicitly, and so great were the delights of flying, that they wasted time circling round church spires or any other tall object on the way that took their fancy. John and Michael raced, Michael getting a start. They recalled with contempt that not so long ago they had thought themselves fine fellows for being able to fly round a room. Not long ago. But how long ago? They were flying over the sea before the thought began to disturb Wendy seriously. John thought it was their second sea and their third night. Sometimes it was dark and sometimes light, and now they were very cold and again too warm. Did they really feel hungry at times, or were they merely pretending? Because Peter had such a jolly new way of feeding them. His way was to pursue birds who had food in their mouths, suitable for humans, and snatch it from them.  But Wendy noticed with gentle concern that Peter did not seem to know that this was rather an odd way of getting your bread and butter, nor even that there are other ways. Certainly they did not pretend to be sleepy. They were sleepy, and that was a danger. For the moment they popped off, down they fell. The awful thing was that Peter thought this funny. There he goes again. He would cry cleavily, as Michael suddenly dropped like a stone. Save him, save him! cried Wendy, looking with horror at the cruel sea far below. Eventually Peter would dive through the air and catch Michael just before he could strike the sea, and it was lovely the way he did it. But he always waited till the last moment, and you felt it was his cleverness that interested him in not the saving of human life. Also, he was fond of variety, and the sport that engrossed him for one moment would suddenly cease to engage him. So there was always the possibility that the next time you fell he would let you go. He could sleep in the air without falling by merely lying on his back and floating. But this was partly at least because he was so light that if you got behind him in blue he went faster. Do be more polite to him, Wendy whispered to John when they were playing. Follow my leader, then tell him to stop showing off, said John. When playing follow my leader Peter would fly close to the water and touch each shark's tail in passing just as in the street you may run your finger along an iron railing. They could not follow him in this with much success, so perhaps it was rather like showing off, especially as he kept looking behind to see how many tails they missed. You must be nice to him, Wendy impressed on her brothers. What would we do if he were to leave us? We could go back, Michael said. How could we ever find our way back without him? Well, then we could go on, said John. That is the awful thing, John. We should have to go on, for we don't know how to stop. That was true. Peter had forgotten to show them how to stop. John said that if worst came to the worst all they had to do was to go straight on, for the world was round and so in time they must come back to their own window. And who is to get food for us, John? I nipped a bit out of that eagle's mouth pretty neatly, Wendy. After the twentieth try, Wendy reminded him, and even though we became good at picking up food, see how we bump against clouds and think that he is not near to give us a hand? Indeed, they were constantly bumping. They could now fly strongly, though they still kicked far too much. But if they saw a cloud in front of them, the more they tried to avoid it, the more certainly did they bump into it. If Nana had been with them, she would have had a bandage round Michael's forehead by this time. Peter was not with them for the moment and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves. He could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight to have some adventure in which they had no share. He would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star, but he had already forgotten what it was, or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him and yet not be able to say for certain what had been happening. It was really rather irritating to children who had never seen a mermaid. And if he forgets them so quickly, Wendy argued, how can we expect that he will go on remembering us? Indeed, sometimes when he returned he did not remember them at least not well. Wendy was sure of it. She saw a recognition come into his eyes as he was about to pass them the time of day and go on. Once she even had to call him by name. I'm Wendy, she said agitatedly. He was very sorry. I say Wendy, he whispered to her, always if you see me forgetting you just keep on saying I'm Wendy and then I'll remember. Of course this was rather unsatisfactory. However, to make amends he showed them how to lie out flat on a strong wind that was going their way, and this was such a pleasant change that they tried it several times and found that they could sleep thus with security. Indeed, they would have slept longer, but Peter tired quickly of sleeping, and soon he would cry in his captain voice, we get off here. So with occasional tiffs but on the whole, rollicking, they drew near the Neverland. For after many moons they did reach it, and what is more, they had been going pretty straight all the time, not perhaps so much owing to the guidance of Peter or Tink as because the island was looking for them. It is only thus that anyone might cite those magic shores. There it is, said Peter calmly. Where, where? Where all the arrows are pointing. Indeed, a million golden arrows were pointing it out to the children, all directed by their friend the sun, who wanted them to be sure of their way before leaving them for the night. Wendy and John and Michael stood on tiptoe in the air to get their first sight of the island. Strange to say, they all recognized it at once, and until fear fell upon them they hailed it, not as something long dreamt of and seen at last, but as a familiar friend to whom they were returning home for the holidays. John, there's a lagoon. Wendy, look at the turtles burying their eggs in the sand. I say, John, I see your flamingo with the broken leg. Look, Michael, there's your cave. John, what's that in the brushwood? It's a wolf with her welps. Wendy, I do believe that's your little welp. There's my boat, John, with her side stove in. No it isn't. Why, we burned your boat. That's her at any rate. I say, John, I see the smoke of the red skin camp. Where? Show me, and I'll tell you by the way smoke curls whether they are on the warpath. There, just across the mysterious river. I see it now. Yes, they are on the warpath right enough. Peter was a little annoyed with them for knowing so much, but if he wanted to lord it over them his triumph was at hand, for have I not told you that a non-fear fell upon them? It came as the arrows went, leaving the island in gloom. In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them. The roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and above all, you lost the certainty that you would win. You were quite glad that the nightlights were on. You even liked Nenna to say that this was just the mantlepiece over here and that the Neverland was all make-believe. Of course, the Neverland had been make-believe in those days, but it was real now, and there were no nightlights, and it was getting darker every moment, and where was Nenna? They had been flying apart, but they huddled close to Peter now. His careless manner had gone at last, his eyes were sparkling, and a tingle went through them every time they touched his body. They were now over the fearsome island, flying so low that sometimes a tree grazed their feet. Nothing horrid was visible in the air, yet their progress had become slow and labored exactly as if they were pushing their way through hostile forces. Sometimes they hung in the air until Peter had beaten on it with his fists. They don't want us to land, he explained. Who are they, Wendy whispered, shuddering? But he could not or would not say. Tinkerbell had been asleep on his shoulder, but now he wakened her and sent her on in front. Sometimes he poised himself in the air listening intently, with his hand to his ear, and again he would stare down with eyes so bright that they seemed to bore two holes to earth. Having done these things, he went on again. His courage was almost appalling. Would you like an adventure now? he said casually to John. Oh, would you like to have your tea first? Wendy said, Tea first, quickly. And Michael pressed her hand in gratitude, but the bravery John hesitated. What kind of adventure? he asked cautiously. There's a pirate asleep in the pompous just beneath us, Peter told him.  I don't see him, John said after a long pause. I do. Suppose, John said a little huskily, he were to wake up. Peter spoke indignantly. You don't think I would kill him while he was sleeping? I would wake him first and then kill him. That's the way I always do. I say, do you kill many? Tons. John said, how ripping, but decided to have tea first. He asked if there were many pirates on the island just now, and Peter said he had never known so many. Who is captain now? Hook, answered Peter, and his face became very stern as he said that hated word. James Hook? Aye. Then indeed Michael began to cry, and even John could speak in gulps only. For they knew Hook's reputation. He was Blackbeard's bosson, John whispered huskily. He is the worst of them all. He is the only man of whom Barbecue was afraid. That's him, said Peter. What is he like? Is he big? He is not so big as he was. How do you mean? I cut off a bit of him. You? Yes, me, said Peter sharply. I wasn't meaning to be disrespectful. Oh, all right. But I say what bit? His right hand? Then he can't fight now? Oh, can't he just? Left-hander? He has an iron hook instead of a right hand, and he claws with it. Claws? I say, John, said Peter. Yes, say aye-aye, sir. Aye-aye, sir. There is one thing, Peter continued, that every boy who serves under me has to promise, and so must you. John paled. It is this. If we meet Hook in open fight, you must leave him to me. I promise, John said loyally. For the moment they were feeling less eerie, because Tink was flying with them, and in her light they could distinguish each other. Unfortunately, she could not fly so slowly as they, and so she had to go round and round them in a circle in which they moved, as in a halo. Wendy quite liked it, until Peter pointed out the drawbacks. She tells me, he said, that the pirate sighted us before the darkness came, and got long time out. The big gun? Yes, and of course they must see her light, and if they guess we are near it, they are sure to let fly. Wendy, John, Michael! Tell her to go away once, Peter. The three cried simultaneously, but he refused. She thinks we have lost the way, he replied stiffly, and she is rather frightened. You don't think I would send her away all by herself when she is frightened? For a moment the circle of light was broken, and something gave Peter a loving little pinch. Then tell her, Wendy begged, to put out her light. She can't put it out. That is about the only thing fairies can't do. It just goes out of itself when she falls asleep, same as the stars. Then tell her to sleep at once, John almost ordered. She can't sleep except when she's sleepy. It is the only other thing fairies can't do. Seems to me, growled John, these are the only two things worth doing. Here he got a pinch, but not a loving one. If only one of us had a pocket, Peter said, we could carry her in it. However they had set off in such a hurry that there was not a pocket between the four of them. He had a happy idea. John's hat. Tink agreed to travel by hat if it was carried in the hand. John carried it, though she had hoped to be carried by Peter. Presently Wendy took the hat, because John said it struck against his knees as he flew, and this, as we shall see, led to mischief, for Tinkerbell hated to be under an obligation to Wendy. In the black topper the light was completely hidden, and they flew on in silence. It was the stillest silence they had ever known, broken once by a distant lapping, which Peter explained was the wild beast drinking at the ford, and again by a rasping sound that might have been the branches of trees rubbing together, but he said it was the redskins sharpening their knives. Even these noises ceased. To Michael the loneliness was dreadful. If only something would make a sound, he cried. As if in answer to his request the air was rent by the most tremendous crash he had ever heard. The pirates had fired long time at them. The roar of it echoed through the mountains, and the echoes seemed to cry savagely. Where are they? Where are they? Where are they? Thus sharply did the terrified three learn the difference between an island of make-believe, and the same island come true. When at last the heavens were steady again, John and Michael found themselves alone in the darkness. John was treading the air mechanically, and Michael, without knowing how to float, was floating. Or are you shot? John whispered germulously. I haven't tried yet, Michael whispered back. We know now that no one had been hit. Peter, however, had been carried by the wind of the shot far out to sea, while Wendy was blown upwards with no companion but Tinkerbell. It would have been well for Wendy if at that moment she had dropped the hat. I don't know whether the idea came suddenly to Tink, or whether she had planned it on the way, but she had once popped out of the hat and began to lure Wendy to her destruction. Tink was not all bad, or rather she was all bad just now, but on the other hand, sometimes she was all good. Ferries have to be one thing or the other, because being so small, they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time. They are, however, allowed to change, only it must be a complete change. At present she was full of jealousy of Wendy. What she said in her lovely Tinker Wendy could not, of course, understand, and I believe some of it was bad words. But it sounded kind, and she flew back and forward, plainly meaning follow me and all will be well. What else could poor Wendy do? She called Peter and John and Michael, and got only mocking echoes in reply. She did not yet know that Tink hated her with the fierce hatred of a very woman. And so bewildered, and now staggering in her flight, she followed Tink to her doom. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Peter Pan by J. M. Berry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 5 The Island Come True Feeling that Peter was on his way back, the Neverland had again woke into life. We ought to use the plu-perfect and say wakened, but woke is better and was always used by Peter. In his absence things are usually quiet on the island. The fairies take an hour longer in the morning, the beasts attend to their young, the redskins feed heavily for six days and nights, and when pirates and lost boys meet, they merely bite their thumbs at each other. But with the coming of Peter, who hates lethargy, they are underway again. If you put your ear to the ground now, you would hear the whole island seething with life. On this evening, the chief forces of the island were disposed as follows. The lost boys were out looking for Peter, the pirates were out looking for the lost boys, the redskins were out looking for the pirates, and the beasts were out looking for the redskins. They were going round and round the island, but they did not meet, because all were going at the same rate. All wanted blood, except the boys, who liked it as a rule, but tonight were out to greet their captain. The boys on the island vary, of course, in numbers, according as they get killed and so on, and when they seem to be growing up, which is against the rules, Peter thins them out, but at this time there were six of them, counting the twins as two. Let us pretend to lie here among the sugar cane and watch them as they steal by in single file, each with his hand on his dagger. They are forbidden by Peter to look in the least like him, and they wear the skins of the bears slain by themselves, in which they are so round and furry, that when they fall they roll. They have therefore become very sure-footed. The first to pass is Tootles. Not the least brave, but the most unfortunate of all that gallant band. He had been in fewer adventures than any of them, because the big things constantly happened just when he had stepped round the corner. All would be quiet. He would take the opportunity of going off to gather a few sticks for firewood, and then, when he returned, the others would be sweeping up the blood. This ill luck had given a gentle melancholy to his countenance, but instead of souring his nature had sweetened it, so that he was quite the humblest of the boys. Poor kind Tootles, there is danger in the air for you to-night. Take care, lest an adventurer's now offer you which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe. Tootles, the fairy-tank who was spent on mischief this night, is looking for a tool, and she thinks you are the most easily tricked of the boys. Where, Tinkerbell? Would that he could hear us, but we are not really on the island, and he passes by biting his knuckles.  Slightly is the most conceited of the boys. He thinks he remembers the days before he was lost, with their manners and customs, and this has given his nose an offensive tilt. Curly is forth. He is a pickle, and so often has he had to deliver up his person when Peter said sternly, Stand forth the one who did this, that now, at the command, he stands forth automatically whether he has done it or not. Last come the twins, who cannot be described because we should be sure to be describing the wrong one. Peter never quite knew what twins were, and his band were not allowed to know anything he did not know, so these two were always vague about themselves, and did their best to give satisfaction by keeping close together in an apologetic sort of way. The boys vanish in the gloom and after a pause, but not a long pause, for things go briskly on the island. Come the pirates on their trek. We hear them before they are seen, and it is always the same dreadful song. A vast belay, oh ho, heave to, a pirating we go, and if we're parted by a shot we're sure to meet below. A more villainous looking lot never hung in a row on execution dock. Here a little in advance, ever and again with his head to the ground listening, his great arms bare, pieces of eight in his ears as ornaments, is the handsomest Italian Checo, who cut his name in letters of blood on the back of a governor of the prison at Gao. That gigantic black behind him has had many names since he dropped the one with which dusky mothers still terrified their children of the banks of the Guajamo. Here is Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed. The same Bill Jukes who got six dozen on the walrus from Flint before he would drop the bag of Moidores and Cookson, said to be black Murphy's brother, but this was never proved, and gentlemen starchy, once an usher in a public school and still dainty in his ways of killing, and Skylights, Morgan's Skylights, and the Irish Bosin Smee, and not the genial man who stabbed, so to speak, without offence, and was the only nonconformist in Hook's crew, and Noodler, whose hands were fixed on backwards, and Robert Mullins and Alf Mason and many other Ruffian long-known and feared on the Spanish main. In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, Jay's Hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the sea-cook feared. He laid his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron Hook, with which ever and a none he encouraged them to increase their pace. As dogs this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they obeyed him. In person he was cadaverous and black-avised, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, say, when he was plunging his Hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. In manner something of a grand seneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told that he was a rock-on-tear of a repute. He was never more he was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding, and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanor, showed him one of a different cast from his crew.  In dress he sometimes aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated stewards, and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. But undoubtedly the grimace part of him was his iron claw.  Skylights will do as they pass. Skylights lurches clumsily against him, ruffling his lace collar. The hook shoots forth. There is a tearing sound and one screech. Then the body is kicked aside and the pirates pass on. He has not even taken the cigars from his mouth. Such is the terrible man against whom Peter Pan has pitted, which will win. On the trail of the pirates, steely, noiselessly down the warpath, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, calm the red skins, every one of them with his eyes peeled. They carry tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil. Strong around them are scalps of boys as well as of pirates, for these are the pick and any tribe and not to be confused with the softer-hearted Delaware's or the Hurons. In the van, on all fours, is great big little Panther, a brave of so many scalps that in his present position they somewhat impede his progress. Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger comes tiger-lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right. She is the most beautiful of dusky dianas and the bell of the piccanities, coquettish, cold and amorous by turns. There is not a brave who would not have the wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet. Observe how they pass over fallen twigs without making the slightest noise. The only sound to be heard is their somewhat heavy breathing.  For the moment, however, it constitutes their chief danger. The Redskins disappear as they have come, like shadows, and soon their place is taken by the beasts, a great and motley procession, lions, tigers, bears, and the innumerable, smaller, savage things that flee from them. For every kind of beast, and more particularly all the man-eaters, live cheek by jowl on the favorite island. Their tongues are hanging out, they are hungry to-night. When they have passed comes the last figure of all, a gigantic crocodile. We shall see for whom she is looking presently. The crocodile passes, but soon the boys appear again, for the procession must continue indefinitely, until one of the parties stops or changes its pace. Then quickly they will all be on top of each other. All are keeping a sharp look out in front, but none suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind. This shows how real the island was. The first to fall out of the moving circle was the boys. They flung themselves downward on the sword, close to their underground home. I do wish Peter would come back, every one of them said nervously, though in height and still more in breath they were all larger than their captain. I am the only one who is not afraid of the pirates, slightly said, in the tone that prevented his being a general favorite. But perhaps some distance sound disturbed him, for he added hastily, but I wish he would come back and tell us whether he has heard anything more about Cinderella. They talked of Cinderella and Toodles was confident that his mother must have been very like her. It was only in Peter's absence that they could speak of mothers, the subject being forbidden by him as silly. All I remember about my mother, Nips told him, is that she often said to my father, oh how I wish I had a checkbook of my own. I don't know what a checkbook is, but I should just love to give my mother one. While they talked they heard a distant sound. You or I, not being wild things of the wood, would have heard nothing, but they heard it, and it was the grim song. Yo ho, yo ho, the pirate life, the flag of sculling bones, a merry hour, a hempen rope, and hay for navy-jones. At once the lost boys. But where are they? They are no longer there. Rabbits could not have disappeared more quickly. I will tell you where they are, with the exception of Nips, who has darted away to Reconarder. They are already in their home under the ground, a very delightful residence of which we shall see a good deal presently. But how have they reached it? For there is no entrance to be seen, not so much as a large stone, which, if rolled away, would disclose a mouth of a cave. Look closely, however, and you may note that there are here seven large trees, each with a hole in its hollow trunk, as large as a boy. These are the seven entrances to the home under ground, for which Hook has been searching in vain these many moons. Will he find it tonight? As the pirates advanced, the quick eye of starkey-sighted Nips disappearing through the wood, and at once his pistol flashed out. But an iron claw gripped his shoulder. Captain, let go, he cried, writhing. Now, for the first time, we hear the voice of Hook. It is a black voice. Put back that pistol first, it said, threateningly. It was one of those boys you hate. I could have shot him dead. Aye, and the sound would have brought Tiger Lily's red skins upon us. Do you want to lose your scalp?  Smee had pleasant names for everything, and his cutlass was Johnny Corkscrew, because he wiggled it in the wound. One could mention many lovable traits in Smee. For instance, after killing, it was his spectacles he wiped instead of his weapon. Johnny's a silent fellow, he reminded Hook. Not now, Smee, Hook said darkly. He is only one, and I want to mischief all the seven. Scatter and look for them. The pirates disappeared among the trees, and in a moment their captain and Smee were alone. Hook heaved a heavy sigh, and I know not why it was. Perhaps it was because of the soft beauty of the evening, but there came over him a desire to confide to his faithful bosson the story of his life. He spoke long and earnestly, but what it was all about, Smee, who was rather stupid, did not know in the least. On on he caught the word Peter.  He brandished the hook threateningly. I've waited long to shake his hand with this. Oh, I'll tear him. And yet, says Smee, I have often heard you say that Hook was worth a score of hands for combing the hair and other homely uses. I, the captain answered, if I was a mother I would pray to have my children born with this instead of that. And he cast a look of pride upon his iron hand and one of scorn upon the other. Then again he frowned, Peter flung my arm, he said, wincing, to a crocodile that happened to be passing by. I have often, said Smee, noticed your strange dread of crocodiles. Not of crocodiles, Hook corrected him, but of that one crocodile. He lowered his voice. It lighted my arm so much, Smee, that it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea, and from land to land, licking its lips for the rest of me. In a way, says Smee, it's sort of a compliment. I want no such compliments, Hook barked petulantly. I want Peter Pan, who first gave the brutest taste for me. He sat down on a large mushroom and now there was a quiver in his voice. Smee, he said huskily, that crocodile would have had me before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick, tick inside it, and so before it can reach me I hear the tick and bolt. He laughed, but in a hollow way.  Hook whetted his dry lips. Aye, he said, that's the fear that haunts me. Since sitting down he had felt curiously warm. Smee, he said, this seat is hot. He jumped up. Odds, bods, hammer, and tongs, I'm burning. They examined the mushroom, which was of a real size and solidity, unknown on the mainland. They tried to pull it up, and it came away at once in their hands, for it had no root. Stranger still, smoke began at once to ascend. The pirates looked at each other. Aye, chimney, they both exclaimed. They had indeed discovered the chimney of the home underground. It was the custom of the boys to stop it with the mushroom when enemies were in the neighborhood.  The pirates listened grimly and then replaced the mushroom. They looked around them and noted the holes in the seven trees. Did you hear them say Peter Pan's from home? Smee whispered, fidgeting with Johnny Corkscrew. Hook nodded. He stood for a long time, lost in thought, and at last a curdling smile lit up his swarthy face. Smee had been waiting for it. Unrip your plan, Captain, he cried eerily. To return to the ship, Hook replied slowly through his teeth, and cook a large, rich cake of a jolly thickness with green sugar on it. There can be but one room below, for there is but one chimney. The silly moles had not the sense to see that they did not need a door apiece. That shows they have no mother. We'll leave the cake on the shore of the mermaid's lagoon.  They will find the cake and they will gobble it up, because having no mother, they don't know how dangerous it is to eat rich, damp cake. He burst into laughter, not hollow laughter now, but honest laughter. Ha-ha-ha!  Smee had listened with growing admiration. It's the wickedest, prettiest policy I ever heard of. He cried, and in their exultation they danced and sang, A vast belay when I appear by fear they overtook. Noughts left upon your bones when you have shaken claws with Hook. They began the verse, but they never finished it, for another sound broke in and stilled them. There was at first such a tiny sound, that a leaf might have fallen on it and smothered it, but as it came nearer it was more distinct. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Hook stood shuddering, one foot in the air. The Crocodile, he gasped and bounded away, followed by his boson. It was indeed the Crocodile. It had passed the Redskins, who are now on the trail of the other pirates. It oozed on after Hook. Once more the boys emerged into the open, but the dangers of the night were not yet over, for presently nibs rushed breathlessly into their midst, pursued by a pack of wolves. The tongues of the pursuers were hanging out, the baying of them was horrible. Save me, save me! cried nibs, falling on the ground. But what can we do? What can we do? It was a high compliment to Peter, that at that dire moment their thoughts turned to him. What would Peter do? they cried simultaneously. Almost in the same breath they cried, Peter would look at them through his legs, and then let us do what Peter would do. It is quite the most successful way of defying wolves, and as one boy they bent and looked through their legs. The next moment is the long one, but victory came quickly, for as the boys advanced upon them in the terrible attitude, the wolves dropped their tails and fled. Now nibs rose from the ground, and the others thought that his staring eyes still saw the wolves. But it was not wolves he saw. I have seen a wonderfuler thing, he cried as they gathered round him eagerly. A great white bird, it is flying this way. What kind of a bird do you think? I don't know, nibs said, awestruck, but it looks so weary and as it flies it moans, poor Wendy. Poor Wendy. I remember, said slightly instantly, there are birds called Wendy's. See, it comes, cried Curly, pointing to Wendy in the heavens. Wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry. But more distinct came the shrill voice of Tinkerbell. The jealous fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship, and was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched. Hello, Tink! cried the wondering boys. Tink's reply rang out.  It was not in their nature to question when Peter ordered. Let us do what Peter wishes, cried the simple boys. Quick, bows and arrows. All but Toodles popped down their trees. He had a bow and arrow with him, and Tink noted it and rubbed her little hands. Quick, Toodles, quick! she screamed. Peter will be so pleased. Toodles excitedly fitted the arrow to his bow. Out of the way, Tink, he shouted. And then he fired, and Wendy fluttered to the ground with an arrow in her breast. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of Peter Pan by J. M. Berry. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 6 The Little House Foolish Toodles was standing like a conqueror over Wendy's body when the other boys sprang armed from their trees. You were too late, he cried proudly. I have shot the Wendy. Peter will be so pleased with me.  The others did not hear her. They had crowded round Wendy, and as they looked, a terrible silence fell upon the wood. If Wendy's heart had been beating, they would all have heard it. Slightly was the first to speak. This is no bird, he said in a scared voice. I think this must be a lady. A lady? said Toodles, and fell a trembling. And we have killed her, nibs said hoarsely. They all whipped off their caps. Now I see, Curly said, Peter was bringing her to us. He threw himself sorrowfully on the ground. A lady to take care of us at last, said one of the twins, and you have killed her. They were sorry for him, but sorry for themselves. And when he took a step nearer them, they turned from him. Toodles' face was very white. But there was a dignity about him now that had never been there before. I did it, he said, reflecting. When ladies used to come to me in dreams, I said, Pretty mother, pretty mother. But when at last she really came, I shot her. He moved slowly away. Don't go, they called in pity. I must, he answered, shaking. I'm so afraid of Peter. It was at this tragic moment that they heard a sound which made the heart of every one of them rise to his mouth. They heard Peter crow. Peter, they cried, for it was always thus that he signaled his return. Hide her! they whispered, and gathered hastily around Wendy. But Toodles stood aloof. Again that ringing crow and Peter dropped in front of them. Greetings, boys! he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then again was silence. He frowned. I am back, he said hotly. Why do you not cheer? They opened their mouths, but the cheers would not come. He overlooked it in his haste to tell the glorious tidings. Great news, boys! he cried.  Still no sound, except a little thud from Toodles as he dropped on his knees. Have you not seen her? asked Peter, becoming troubled. She flew this way. Ah, me! one voice said, and another said, Oh mournful day! Toodles rose. Peter, he said quietly, I will show her to you. And when the others would still have hidden her, he said, Back twins, let Peter see. So they all stood back and let him see. And after he had looked for a little while he did not know what to do next. She is dead, he said uncomfortably. Perhaps she is frightened at being dead. He thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more. They would all have been glad to follow if he had done this. But there was the arrow. He took it from her heart and faced his band. Whose arrow? he demanded sternly. Mine, Peter, said Toodles on his knees. Oh, dastard hand, Peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger. Toodles did not flinch. He bared his breast. Strike, Peter, he said firmly, strike true. Twice did Peter raise the arrow and twice did his hand fall. I cannot strike, he said with awe. There was something stays my hand. I looked at him in wonder, saved Nibbs, who fortunately looked at Wendy. It is she, he cried. The Wendy lady, see her arm? Wonderful to relate, Wendy had raised her arm. Nibbs bent over her and listened reverently. I think she said poor Toodles, he whispered. She lives, Peter said briefly. Slightly cried instantly. The Wendy lady lives. Then Peter knelt beside her and found his button. You remember, she had put it on a chain that she wore round her neck. See, he said, the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life. I remember kisses, slightly interposed quickly. Let me see it. Aye, that's a kiss. Peter did not hear him. He was begging Wendy to get better quickly so that he could show her the mermaids. Of course, she could not answer, yet being still in a frightful faint. But from overhead came a wailing note. Listen to Tank, said Curly. She is crying because the Wendy lives. Then they had to tell Peter of Tank's crime, and almost never had they seen him look so stern. Listen, Tinkerbell, he cried. I am your friend no more. Be gone from me forever.  Not until Wendy again raised her arm did he relent sufficiently to say, well, not forever, but for a whole week. Do you think Tinkerbell was grateful to Wendy for raising her arm? Oh, dear no. Never wanted to pinch her so much. Ferries indeed are strange, and Peter, who understands them best, often cuffed them. But what to do with Wendy in her present delicate state of health? Let us carry her down into the house, Curly suggested. I said slightly. That is what one does with ladies. No, no, Peter said. You must not touch her. It would not be sufficiently respectful. That, said slightly, is what I was thinking.  Hi, she will die, slightly admitted, but there is no way out. Yes, there is, cried Peter. Let us build a little house round her. They were all delighted. Quick, he ordered them, bring me each of you the best of what we have. Gut our house. Be sharp. In a moment they were as busy as Taylor's the night before a wedding. They scurried this way and that down for bedding up for firewood, and while they were at it, who should appear but John and Michael? As they dragged along the ground they fell asleep standing, stopped, woke up, moved another step, and slept again. John, John, Michael would cry, Wake up, where is Nana, John, and Mother? And then John would rub his eyes and mutter, It is true, we did fly. You may be sure they were very relieved to find Peter. Hello, Peter, they said. Hello, replied Peter amiably, though he had quite forgotten about them. He was very busy at the moment, measuring Wendy with his feet to see how large a house she would need. Of course, he meant to leave room for chairs and the table. John and Michael watched him. Is Wendy asleep? They asked. Yes. John, Michael proposed, let us wake her and get her to make supper for us. But as he said it, some of the other boys rushed on carrying branches for the building of the house. Look at them, he cried. Curly, said Peter in his most captainly voice, see that these boys help in the building of the house. Aye, aye, sir. Build a house, exclaimed John. For the Wendy, said Curly. For Wendy, John said aghast, why she is only a girl. That, explained Curly, is why we are her servants. You, Wendy's servants? Yes, said Peter, and you also, away with them. The astounded brothers were dragged away to hack and hue and carry. Chairs and a fender first, Peter ordered. Then we shall build a house round them. Aye, said slightly. That is how a house is built. It all comes back to me. Peter thought of everything. Slightly, he cried, fetch a doctor. Aye, aye, said slightly at once and disappeared, scratching his head. But he knew Peter must be obeyed and he returned in a moment, wearing John's hat and looking solemn. Please, sir, said Peter, going to him. Are you a doctor? The difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe, while to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing. This sometimes troubled them as when they had to make-believe that they had had their dinners. If they broke down in their make-believe, he wrapped them on the knuckles. Yes, my little man, slightly anxiously replied, who had jacked knuckles. Please, sir, Peter explained. A lady lies very ill. She was lying at their feet, but slightly had the sense not to see her. Tot, tot, tot, he said. Where does she lie? In yonder-glade. I will put a glass thing in her mouth, said slightly, and he made-believe to do it, while Peter waited. It was an anxious moment when the glass thing was withdrawn. How is she? inquired Peter. Tot, tot, tot, said slightly. This has cured her. I am glad, Peter cried. I will call again in the evening, slightly said. Give her beef-tea out of a cup with a spout to it. But after he had returned the hat to John, he blew big breaths, which was his habit on escaping from a difficulty. In the meantime, the wood had been alive with a sound of axes. Almost everything needed for a cozy dwelling already lay at Wendy's feet. If only we knew, said one, the kind of house she likes best. Peter shouted another. She is moving in her sleep. Her mouth opens, cried a third, looking respectfully into it. Oh, lovely! Perhaps she is going to sing in her sleep, said Peter. Wendy, sing the kind of house you would like to have. Immediately, without opening her eyes, Wendy began to sing. I wish I had a pretty house the littlest ever seen, with funny little red walls and a roof of mossy green. They gurgled with joy at this, for by the greatest good luck the branches they had brought were sticky with red sap, and all the ground was carpeted with moss. As they rattled up the little house, they broke into song themselves. We built the little walls and roof and made a lovely door, so tell us, Mother Wendy, what are you wanting more? To this she answered greedily.  With a blow of their fists they made windows, and large yellow leaves were the blinds. But roses. Roses, cried Peter sternly. Quickly they made believe to grow the loveliest roses up the walls. Babies? To prevent Peter ordering babies, they hurried into song again. We've made the roses peeping out, the babies are at the door. We cannot make ourselves, you know, because we've been made before. Peter, seeing this to be a good idea, at once pretended that it was his own. The house was quite beautiful, and no doubt Wendy was very cozy within, though of course they could no longer see her. Peter strode up and down, ordering finishing touches. Nothing escaped his eagle eyes. Just when it seemed absolutely finished, there's no knocker on the door, he said. They were very ashamed, but two wolves gave the soul of his shoe, and it made an excellent knocker. Absolutely finished now, they thought. Not a bit of it. There's no chimney, Peter said. We must have a chimney. It certainly does need a chimney, said John importantly. This gave Peter an idea. He snatched the hat off John's head, knocked out the bottom, and put the hat on the roof. The little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that, as if to say thank you, smoke immediately began to come out of the hat. Now really and truly it was finished. Nothing remained to do but to knock. All look your best, Peter warned them. First impressions are awfully important. He was glad no one asked him what first impressions are. They were all too busy looking their best. He knocked politely, and now the wood was as still as the children, not a sound to be heard except from Tinker Bell, who was watching from a branch and openly sneering. What the boys were wondering was, would anyone answer the knock? If a lady, what would she be like? The door opened, and a lady came out. It was Wendy. They all whipped off their hats. She looked properly surprised, and this was just how they at hope she would look. Where am I? she said. Of course, slightly was the first to get his word in. Wendy, lady, he said rapidly, for you we built this house. Oh, say you're pleased, cried Nibbs. Lovely darling house, Wendy said, and they were the very words they at hope she would say. And we are your children, cried the twins. They all went on their knees and holding out their arms, cried. Oh, Wendy, lady, be our mother. Auti, Wendy said, all shining. Of course, it's frightfully fascinating, but you see, I am only a little girl, I have no real experience. That doesn't matter, said Peter, as if he were the only person present who knew all about it, though he was really the one who knew least. What we need is just a nice motherly person. Oh, dear, Wendy cried. You see, I feel that is exactly what I am. It is, it is, they all cried. We saw it at once. Very well, she said, I will do my best. Come inside and once you naughty children, I am sure your feet are damp. And before I put you to bed, I have just time to finish the story of Cinderella. In they went. I don't know how there was room for them, but you can squeeze very tight in the Neverland. And that was the first of the many joyous evenings they had with Wendy. By and by she tucked them up in the great bed in the home under the trees, but she herself slept that night in the little house, and Peter kept watch outside with drawn sword, for the pirates could be heard carousing far away, and the wolves were on prowl. The little house looked so cozy and safe in the darkness, with a bright light showing through its blinds, and the chimney smoking beautifully, and Peter standing on guard. After a time he fell asleep, and some unsteady fairies had to climb over him on their way home from an orgy. Any of the other boys obstructing the ferry path at night they would have mischiefed, but they just tweaked Peter's nose and passed on. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Peter Pan by J. M. Barry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7 The Home Under the Ground One of the first things Peter did next day was to measure Wendy and John and Michael for hollow trees. Hook, you remember, had sneered at the boys for thinking they needed a tree apiece, but this was ignorance, for unless your tree fitted you, it was difficult to go up and down, and no two boys were quite the same size.  Of course, when you have mastered the action, you are able to do these things without thinking of them, and nothing can be more graceful, but you simply must fit, and Peter measures you for the tree as carefully as for a suit of clothes, the only difference being that the clothes are made to fit you while you have to be made to fit the tree. Usually it is done quite easily, as by your wearing too many garments or too few, but if you are bumpy and awkward places, or the only available tree is an odd shape, Peter does some things to you, and after that you fit. Once you fit, great care must be taken to go on fitting, and this, as Wendy was to discover to her delight, keeps a whole family in perfect condition. Wendy and Michael fitted their trees at the first try, but John had to be altered a little. After a few days' practice, they could go up and down as gaily as buckets in a well, and how ardently they grew to love their home under the ground, especially Wendy. It consisted of one large room, as all houses should do, with the floor in which you could dig if you wanted to go fishing, and in this floor grew stout mushrooms of a charming color which were used as stools. A never-tree tried hard to grow in the center of the room, but every morning they sawed the trunk through level with the floor. By tea time it was always about two feet high, and then they put a door on top of it, the hole thus becoming a table. As soon as they cleared away they sawed off the trunk again, and thus there was more room to play. There was an enormous fireplace, which was in almost any part of the room where you cared to light it, and across this, Wendy stretched strings made of fiber, from which she suspended her washing. The bed was tilted against the wall by day and let down at six thirty, when it filled nearly half the room, and all the boys slept in it, except Michael, lying like sardines in a tin. There were strict rules against turning round until one gave the signal, when all turned at once. Michael should have used it also, but Wendy would have a baby, and he was the littlest than you know what women are, and the short and long of it is that he was hung up in a basket. It was rough and simple, and not unlike what baby bears would have made of an underground house in the same circumstances, but there was one recess in the wall, no larger than a birdcage, which was the private apartment of Tinkerbell. It could be shut off from the rest of the house by a tiny curtain, which Tink, who was most fastidious, always kept drawn when dressing or undressing. No woman, however large, could have had a more exquisite boudoir and bedchamber combined. The couch, as she always called it, was a genuine Queen Mab with club legs, and she varied the bedspreads according to what fruit blossom was in season. Her mirror was a puss in boots, of which there are now only three unchipped known to ferry dealers. The washstand was pie-crust and reversible, the chest of drawers, and authentic charming the sixth, and the carpet and rugs, the best, the early period of marjorie and robin. There was a chandelier from tiddly winks for the look of the thing, but of course she lit the residence herself. Tink was very contentious of the rest of the house, as indeed was perhaps inevitable, and her chamber, though beautiful, looked rather conceited, having the appearance of a nose permanently turned up. I suppose it was all especially entrancing to Wendy, because those rampageous boys of hers gave her so much to do. Really, there were whole weeks when, except perhaps with a stocking in the evening, she was never above ground. The cooking I can tell you kept her nose to the pot, and even if there was nothing in it, even if there was no pot, she had to keep watching that it came a boil just the same. You never exactly knew whether there would be a real meal or just a mate-believe. It all depended upon Peter's whim. He could eat, really eat, if it was part of a game, but he could not stodge just to feel stodgy. Which is what most children like better than anything else, the next best thing being to talk about it. Make-believe was so real to him that during a meal of it you could see him getting rounder. Of course it was trining, but you simply had to follow his lead, and if you could prove to him that you were getting loose for your tree, he let you stodge. Wendy's favorite time for sewing and darning was after they had all gone to bed. Then, as she expressed it, she had a breathing time for herself, and she occupied it in making new things for them and putting double pieces on the knees, for they were all most frightfully hard on the knees. When she sat down to a basket full of their stockings, every heel with a hole in it, she would fling up her arms and exclaim, Oh dear, I am sure I sometimes think spinsters are to be envied. Her face beamed when she exclaimed this. You remember about her pet wolf? Well, it very soon discovered that she had come to the island, and it found her out, and they just ran into each other's arms. After that it followed her about everywhere. As time wore on, did she think much about the beloved parents she had left behind her? This is a difficult question because it is quite impossible to say how time does wear on in the Neverland, where it is calculated by moons and suns, and there are ever so many more of them than on the mainland. But I am afraid that Wendy did not really worry about her father and mother. She was absolutely confident that they would always keep the window open for her to fly back by, and this gave her complete ease of mind. What did disturb her at times was that John remembered his parents vaguely only as people he had once known, while Michael was quite willing to believe that she was really his mother. These things scared her a little, and nobly anxious to do her duty, she tried to fix the old life in their minds by setting them examination papers on it, as like as possible to the ones she used to do at school. The other boys thought this awfully interesting and insisted on joining, and they made slates for themselves and sat round the table, writing and thinking hard about the questions she had written on another slate and passed round. They were the most ordinary questions. What was the color of mother's eyes? Which was taller, father or mother? Was mother blonde or brunette? Answer all three questions if possible. A. Write an essay of not less than 40 words on how I spent my last holidays, or the characters of father and mother compared. Only one of these to be attempted. Or. 1. Describe mother's laugh. 2. Describe father's laugh. 3. Describe mother's party dress. 4. Describe the kennel and its inmate. They were just everyday questions like these, and when you could not answer them, you were told to make a cross, and it was really dreadful what a number of crosses even John made. Of course, the only boy who replied to every question was slightly, and no one could have been more hopeful of coming out first, but his answers were perfectly ridiculous, and he really came out last. A melancholy thing. Peter did not compete. For one thing he despised all mothers except Wendy, and for another he was the only boy on the island who could neither write nor spell, not the smallest word. He was above all that sort of thing. By the way, the questions were all written in the past tense. What was the color of mother's eyes and so on? Wendy, you see, had been forgetting too. Adventures, of course, as we shall see, were of daily occurrence, but about this time Peter invented with Wendy's help a new game that fascinated him enormously until he suddenly had no more interest in it, which, as you have been told, was what always happened with his games. It consisted in pretending not to have adventures, in doing the sort of thing John and Michael had been doing all their lives, sitting on stools, flinging balls in the air, pushing each other, going out for walks and coming back without having killed so much as a grizzly. To see Peter doing nothing on a stool was a great sight. He could not help looking solemn at such times, to sit still seemed to him such a comic thing to do. He boasted that he had gone walking for the good of his health. For several sons these were the most novel of all adventures to him, and John and Michael had to pretend to be delighted also, otherwise he would have treated them severely. He often went out alone, and when he came back you were never absolutely certain whether he had had an adventure or not. He might have forgotten it so completely that he said nothing about it, and then when you went out you found the body. And on the other hand he might say a great deal about it, and yet you could not find the body. Sometimes he came home with his head bandaged and then Wendy cooed over him and bathed it in lukewarm water while he told a dazzling tale. But she was never quite sure you know. There were however many adventures which she knew to be true because she was in them herself, and there were still more that were at least partly true for the other boys were in them and said they were wholly true. To describe them all would require a book as large as an English-Latin-Latin English dictionary, and the most we can do is to give one as a specimen of an average hour on the island. The difficulty is which one to use. Should we take the brush with the red skins as slightly gulch? It was a sanguinary affair, and especially interesting as showing one of Peter's peculiarities, which was that in the middle of a fight he would suddenly change sides. At the gulch when victory was still in the balance, sometimes leaning this way and sometimes that he called out. I'm a red skin today. What are you, Toodles? And Toodles answered. Red skin. What are you, nibs? And nibs said red skin. What are you, twin? And so on. And they were all red skins, and of course this would have ended the fight had not the real red skins fascinated by Peter's methods, agreed to be lost boys for that once, and so at it they all went again more fiercely than ever. The extraordinary upshot of this adventure was, but we have not decided yet that this is the adventure we are to narrate. Perhaps a better one would be the night attacked by the red skins on the house underground when several of them stuck in the hollow trees and had it be pulled out like corks. Or we might tell how Peter saved Tiger Lily's life in the mermaid's lagoon, and so made her his ally. Or we could tell of that cake of the pirates cooked so that the boys might eat it and perish, and how they placed it in one cunning spot after another, but always Wendy snatched it from the hands of her children, so that in time it lost its succulence and became as hard as a stone, and was used as a missile and hook fell over it in the dark. Or suppose we tell of the birds that were Peter's friends, particularly of the neverbird, that built in a tree overhanging the lagoon, and how the nest fell into the water and still the bird sat on her eggs, and Peter gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. That is a pretty story, and the end shows how grateful a bird can be, but if we tell it we must also tell the whole adventure of the lagoon, which would of course be telling two adventures rather than just one. A shorter adventure, and quite as exciting, was Tinkerbell's attempt with the help of some street fairies to have the sleeping Wendy conveyed on a great floating leaf to the mainland. Fortunately the leaf gave way, and Wendy woke, thinking it was bath time, and swam back. Or again we might choose Peter's defiance of the lines, when he drew a circle around him on the ground with an arrow and dared them to cross it. And, though he waited for hours with the other boys and Wendy, looking on breathlessly from trees, not one of them dared to accept his challenge. Which of these adventures shall we choose? The best way will be to toss for it. I have tossed, and the lagoon has won. This almost makes one wish that the gulch or the cake or tink's leaf had won. Of course I could do it again and make it best out of three, however perhaps fairest to stick to the lagoon. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of Peter Pan by J. M. Berry This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 8 The Mermaid's Lagoon If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colors suspended in the darkness.   This is the nearest you ever get to it on the mainland. Just one heavenly moment, if there could be two moments, you might see the surf, and hear the mermaid singing. The children often spent long summer days on this lagoon, swimming or floating most of the time, playing the mermaid games in the water and so forth. You must not think from this that the mermaids were on friendly terms with them. On the contrary, it was among Wendy's lasting regrets that all the time she was on the island she never had a civil word from one of them. When she stole softly to the edge of the lagoon, she might see them by the score, especially on Merooner's Rock, where they loved to bask, combing out their hair in a lazy way that quite irritated her, or she might even swim on tiptoes or do within a yard of them. But then they saw her and dived, probably splashing her with their tails, not by accident, but intentionally. They treated all the boys in the same way except, of course, Peter, who chatted with them on Merooner's Rock by the hour, and sat on their tails when they got cheeky. He gave Wendy one of their combs. The most haunting time at which to see them is at the turn of the moon when they utter strange wailing cries. But the lagoon is dangerous for mortals, then, and until the evening of which we have now to tell, Wendy had never seen the lagoon by moonlight less from fear, for, of course, Peter would have accompanied her than because she had strict rules about everyone being in bed by seven. She was often at the lagoon, however, on sunny days after rain when the mermaids came up in extraordinary numbers to play with their bubbles. The bubbles of many colors made in rainbow water they treat as balls, hitting them gaily from one to another with their tails, and trying to keep them in the rainbow till they burst. The goals are at each end of the rainbow, and the keepers only are allowed to use their hands. Sometimes a dozen of these games will be going on in the lagoon at a time, and it is quite a pretty sight. But the moment the children tried to join in, they had to play by themselves, for the mermaids immediately disappeared. Nevertheless, we have proof that they secretly watched the interlopers and were not above taking an idea from them, for John introduced a new way of hitting the bubble with his head instead of the hand, and the mermaids adopted it. This is the one mark that John has left on the Neverland. It must also have been rather pretty to see the children resting on a rock for half an hour after their midday meal. Wendy insisted on their doing this, and it had to be a real rest even though the meal was make-believe. So they lay there in the sun and their bodies glistened in it while she sat beside them and looked important. It was one such day, and they were all on Maruna's rock. The rock was not much larger than their great bed, but of course they all knew how to not take up much room, and they were dozing, or at least lying with their eyes shut, and pinching occasionally when they thought Wendy was not looking. She was very busy stitching. While she stitched, a change came to the lagoon. Little shivers ran over it, and the sun went away and shadows stowed across the water, turning it cold. Wendy could no longer see to threat her needle, and when she looked up, the lagoon that had always hitherto been such a laughing place seemed formidable and unfriendly. It was not she knew that night had come, but something as dark as night had come. No, worse than that. It had not come, but it had sent that shiver through the sea to say that it was coming. What was it? There crowded upon her all the stories she had been told of Maruna's rock, so called, because evil captains put sailors on it and left them there to drown. They drowned when the tide rises, for then it is submerged. Of course, she should have roused the children at once, not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them, but because it was no longer good for them to sleep on a rock-grown chili. But she was a young mother, and she did not know this. She thought how simply you must stick to your rule about half an hour after the midday meal. So, though fear was upon her, and she longed to hear male voices, she could not awaken them. Even when she heard the sound of muffled oars, though her heart was in her mouth, she did not awaken them. She stood over them to let them have their sleep out. Was it not brave of Wendy? It was well for those boys, then, that there was one among them who could sniff danger even in his sleep. Peter sprang erect as wide awake at once as a dog, and with one warning cry he roused the others. He stood motionless, one hand to his ear. Pirates, he cried, the others came closer to him. A strange smile was playing about his face, and Wendy saw it and shuddered. While that smile was on his face, no one dared address him. All they could do was to stand ready to obey. The order came sharp and incisive. Dive! There was a gleam of legs, and instantly the lagoon seemed deserted. Maruma's rock stood alone in the forbidding waters as if it were itself marooned. The boat drew nearer. It was the pirate dingy, with three figures in her, Smee and Starkey, and a third, a captive, no other than Tiger Lily. Her hands and ankles were tied, and she knew what was to be her fate. She was to be left on the rock to perish, and end to one of her race more terrible than death by fire or torture, far is it not written in the book of the tribe that there is no path through water to the happy hunting-ground. Yet her face was impassive. She was the daughter of a chief.  It is enough. They had caught her boarding the pirate ship with a knife in her mouth. No watch was kept on the ship, it being Hook's boast that the wind of his name guarded the ship-frame mile around. Now her fate would help to guard it also. One more whale would go to the round in that wind by night. In the gloom they had brought with them, the two pirates did not see the rock till they crashed into it. Lafiel Lover cried in Irish voice that was Smee's. Here's the rock. Now then what we have to do is to hoist the red skin onto it and leave her here to drown. It was the work of one brutal moment to land the beautiful girl on the rock. She was too proud to offer a vain resistance. Quite near the rock but out of sight two heads were bobbing up and down. Peter is in Wendy's. Wendy was crying for it was the first tragedy that she had seen. Peter had seen many tragedies but he had forgotten them all. He was less sorry than Wendy for Tiger Lily. It was two against one that angered him and he meant to save her. An easy way would have been to wait until the pirates had gone but he was never one to choose the easy way. There was almost nothing he could not do and now he imitated the voice of Hook. He called. It was a marvellous imitation. The captain said the pirates staring at each other in surprise. He must be swimming out to us, Starkey said, when they had looked for him in vain. We are putting the red skin on the rock, Smee called out. Set her free! came the astonishing answer. Free? Yes, cut her bonds and let her go. But captain, at once be a hear, cried Peter, or I'll plunge my hook in you. This is queer, Smee gasped. Better do with the captain orders, said Starkey nervously. Aye-aye, Smee said, and he cut Tiger Lily's cords. At once like an eel she slid between Starkey's legs into the water. Of course Wendy was very elated over Peter's cleverness, but she knew that he would be elated also and very likely to crow and thus betray himself. So at once her hand went out to cover his mouth. But it was stayed even in the act for. Bode high rang over the lagoon in Hook's voice, and this time it was not Peter who had spoken. Peter may have been about to crow, but his face puckered in a whistle of surprise instead. Bode high again came the voice. Now Wendy understood. The real Hook was also in the water. He was swimming to the boat, and as his men showed a light to guide him, he had soon reached them. In the light of the lantern Wendy saw his Hook grip the boat side. She saw his evil swarthy face as he rose dripping from the water and quaking. She would have liked to swim away, but Peter would not budge. He was tingling with life and also top heavy with conceit. Am I not a wonder? Oh, I am a wonder. He whispered to her, and though she thought so also, she was really glad for the sake of his reputation that no one heard him except herself. He signed to her to listen. The two pirates were very curious to know what had brought their captain to them, but he sat with his head on his Hook in a position of profound melancholy. Captain is all well, they asked timidly, but he answered with a hollow moan. Oh, he sighs, sets me. He sighs again, said Storky, and yet a third time he sighs, sets me. Then at last he spoke passionately. The game's up, he cried. Those boys have found a mother. Afrighted though she was, Wendy swelled with pride. Oh, evil day! cried Storky. What's a mother? asked the ignorance me. Wendy was so shocked that she exclaimed. He doesn't know. And always after this she felt that if you could have a pet pirate, me would be her one. Peter pulled her beneath the water, for Hook had started up crying. What was that? I hear nothing, said Storky, raising the lantern over the waters, and as the pirates looked they saw a strange sight. It was the nest I have told you of, floating on the lagoon, and the neverbird was sitting on it. See! said Hook an answer to Smee's question. That is a mother. What a lesson! The nest must have fallen into the water, but would the mother desert her eggs? No. There was a break in his voice, as if for a moment he recalled innocent days when, but he brushed away this weakness with his Hook. Smee much impressed, gazed at the bird as the nest was born past, but the more suspicious Storky said, if she is a mother perhaps she is hanging about here to help Peter. Hook winced. Aye! he said. That is the fear that haunts me. He was roused from this dejection by Smee's eager voice. Captain, says Smee, could we not kidnap these boys' mother and make her our mother? It is a princely scheme, cried Hook, and at once it took practical shape in his great brain. We will seize the children and carry them to the boat. The boys we will make walk the plank, and Wendy shall be our mother. Again Wendy forgot herself. Never! she cried and bobbed. What was that? But they could see nothing. They thought it must have been a leaf in the wind. Do you agree, my bullies? asked Hook. There is my hand on it, they both said, and here is my Hook, swear. They all swore. By this time they were on the rock, and suddenly Hook remembered Tiger Lily. Where is the red skin? he demanded abruptly. He had a playful humor at moments, and they thought this was one of the moments. That is all right, Captain. Smee answered complacently. We let her go. Let her go? cried Hook. It was your own orders, the bosson faltered. You called over the water to us to let her go, said Storky. Bremstone and gall, thundered Hook. What cozening is going on here? His face had gone black with rage, but he saw that they believed their words and he was startled. Lads! he said, shaking a little. I gave no such order. It is passing queer, Smee said, and they all fidgeted uncomfortably. Hook raised his voice, but there was a quiver in it. Spirit that haunts this dark lagoon tonight! he cried. Dost hear me? Of course Peter should have kept quiet, but of course he did not. He immediately answered in Hook's voice. Odds, bods, hammer and tongs, I hear you. In that supreme moment Hook did not blanch even at the gills, but Smee and Storky flung to each other in terror. Who are you, stranger? Speak, Hook demanded. I am James Hook, replied the voice, Captain of the Jolly Roger. You are not, you are not, Hook cried hoarsely. Bremstone and gall, the voice retorted, say that again and I'll cast anchor in you. Hook tried a more ingratiating manner. If you are Hook, he said almost humbly. Come, tell me who am I? A Godfish, replied the voice, only a Godfish. A Godfish? Hook echoed blankly, and it was then, but not till then, that his proud spirit broke. He saw his men draw back from him. Have we been captained all this time by a Godfish, they muttered? It is lowering to our pride. They were his dogs snapping at him, but tragic figure though he had become, he scarcely heeded them. Against such fearful evidence, it was not their belief in him that he needed, it was his own. He felt his ego slipping from him. Don't desert me, bully! he whispered hoarsely to it. In his dark nature there was a touch of the feminine, as in all the great pirates, and it sometimes gave him intuitions. Suddenly he tried the guessing game. Hook, he called, have you another voice? Now Peter could never resist a game, and he answered blithely in his own voice. I have. And another name? Hi, hi. Vegetable? asked Hook. No. Mineral? No. Animal? Yes. Man? No. This answer rang out scornfully. Boy? Yes. Ordinary boy? No. Wonderful boy. To Wendy's pain the answer that rang out this time was yes. Are you in England? No. Are you here? Yes. Hook was completely puzzled. You ask him some questions, he said to the others wiping his damp row, Smee reflected, I can't think of a thing, he said regretfully. Can't guess, can't guess, crowed Peter. Do you give it up? Of course in his pride he was carrying the game too far, and the miscreants saw their chance. Yes, yes, they answered eagerly. Well then, he cried, I am Peter Pan. Pan! In a moment Hook was himself again, and Smee and Starkey were his faithful henchmen. Now we have him, Hook shouted, into the water Smee, Starkey, mind the boat, take him dead or alive.  Are you ready boys? Aye, aye, from various parts of the lagoon. Then lamb into the pirates. The fight was short and sharp. First to draw blood was John, who gallantly climbed into the boat and held Starkey. There was fierce struggle in which the cutlass was torn from the pirate's grasp. He wriggled overboard and John leapt after him. The dinghy drifted away. Here and there they had bobbed up in the water, and there was a flash of steel followed by a cry or a whoop. In the confusion some struck at their own side. The corkscrew of Smee got toodles in the fourth rib, but he was himself pinked in turn by Curly. Further from the rock Starkey was pressing slightly in the twins hard. Where all this time was Peter? He was seeking bigger game. The others were all brave boys, and they must not be blamed for backing from the pirate captain. His iron claw made a circle of dead water round him, from which they fled like affrighted fishes. But there was one who did not fear him. There was one prepared to enter that circle. Strangely, it was not in the water that they met. Hook rose to the rock to breathe, and at the same moment Peter scaled in on the opposite side. The rock was slippery as a ball, and they had to crawl rather than climb. Neither knew that the other was coming. Each, feeling for a grip, met the other's arm. In surprise they raised their heads. Their faces were almost touching, so they met. Some of the greatest heroes have confessed that just before they fell to, they had a sinking. Had it been so with Peter at that moment, I would admit it. After all, he was the only man that the sea-cook had feared. But Peter had no sinking. He had one feeling only, gladness, and he gnashed his pretty teeth with joy. Quick as thought he snatched the knife from Hook's belt and was about to drive it home when he saw that he was higher up the rock than his foe. It would not have been fighting fair. He gave the pirate a hand to help him up. It was then that Hook bit him. Not the pain of this, but its unfairness was what dazed Peter. It made him quite helpless. He could only stare horrified. Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly. All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness. No one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot it. I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest. So when he met it now it was like the first time and he could just stare helpless. Twice the iron hand clawed him. A few moments afterwards the other boys saw Hook in the water striking wildly for the ship. No elation in the pestle and face now. Only white fear for the crocodile was in dogged pursuit of him. On ordinary occasions the boys would have swum alongside cheering, but now they were uneasy, for they had lost both Peter and Wendy and were scouring t