Peter Pan
THE HAPPY HOME
One result of the on the was that it the their friends. Peter had saved Tiger Lily from a fate, and now there was nothing she and her would not do for him. All night they sat above, watch over the home under the ground and the big attack by the which not be much longer delayed. Even by day they about, the pipe of peace, and looking almost as if they wanted tit-bits to eat.
They called Peter the Great White Father, themselves him; and he liked this tremendously, so that it was not good for him.
“The great white father,” he would say to them in a very manner, as they at his feet, “is to see the Piccaninny protecting his from the pirates.”
“Me Tiger Lily,” that would reply. “Peter Pan save me, me his friend. Me no let him.”
She was too to in this way, but Peter it his due, and he would answer condescendingly, “It is good. Peter Pan has spoken.”
Always when he said, “Peter Pan has spoken,” it meant that they must now up, and they it in that spirit; but they were by no means so to the other boys, they looked upon as just ordinary braves. They said “How-do?” to them, and like that; and what the boys was that Peter to think this all right.
Secretly Wendy with them a little, but she was too a to to any against father. “Father best,” she always said, her private opinion must be. Her private opinion was that the should not call her a squaw.
We have now the that was to be among them as the Night of Nights, of its and their upshot. The day, as if its forces, had been almost uneventful, and now the in their were at their above, while, below, the children were having their meal; all Peter, who had gone out to the time. The way you got the time on the was to the crocodile, and then near him till the clock struck.
The to be a make-believe tea, and they sat around the board, in their greed; and really, what with their and recriminations, the noise, as Wendy said, was positively deafening. To be sure, she did not mind noise, but she would not have them things, and then themselves by saying that Tootles had pushed their elbow. There was a that they must at meals, but should the of to Wendy by the right arm and saying, “I complain of so-and-so;” but what was that they to do this or did it too much.
“Silence,” Wendy when for the time she had told them that they were not all to speak at once. “Is your empty, Slightly darling?”
“Not empty, mummy,” Slightly said, after looking into an mug.
“He hasn’t to drink his milk,” Nibs interposed.
This was telling, and Slightly his chance.
“I complain of Nibs,” he promptly.
John, however, had up his hand first.
“Well, John?”
“May I in Peter’s chair, as he is not here?”
“Sit in father’s chair, John!” Wendy was scandalised. “Certainly not.”
“He is not our father,” John answered. “He didn’t know how a father till I him.”
This was grumbling. “We complain of John,” the twins.
Tootles up his hand. He was so much the of them, he was the only one, that Wendy was with him.
“I don’t suppose,” Tootles said diffidently, “that I be father.”
“No, Tootles.”
Once Tootles began, which was not very often, he had a way of going on.
“As I can’t be father,” he said heavily, “I don’t suppose, Michael, you would let me be baby?”
“No, I won’t,” Michael out. He was already in his basket.
“As I can’t be baby,” Tootles said, and and heavier, “do you think I be a twin?”
“No, indeed,” the twins; “it’s difficult to be a twin.”
“As I can’t be anything important,” said Tootles, “would any of you like to see me do a trick?”
“No,” they all replied.
Then at last he stopped. “I hadn’t any hope,” he said.
The telling out again.
“Slightly is on the table.”
“The with cheese-cakes.”
“Curly is taking and honey.”
“Nibs is speaking with his mouth full.”
“I complain of the twins.”
“I complain of Curly.”
“I complain of Nibs.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” Wendy, “I’m sure I sometimes think that are to be envied.”
She told them to clear away, and sat to her work-basket, a of and every with a in it as usual.
“Wendy,” Michael, “I’m too big for a cradle.”
“I must have somebody in a cradle,” she said almost tartly, “and you are the littlest. A is such a thing to have about a house.”
While she they played around her; such a group of happy and dancing up by that fire. It had a very familiar scene, this, in the home under the ground, but we are looking on it for the last time.
There was a step above, and Wendy, you may be sure, was the to it.
“Children, I your father’s step. He you to meet him at the door.”
Above, the Peter.
“Watch well, braves. I have spoken.”
And then, as so often before, the children him from his tree. As so often before, but again.
He had nuts for the boys as well as the time for Wendy.
“Peter, you just them, you know,” Wendy simpered.
“Ah, old lady,” said Peter, up his gun.
“It was me told him mothers are called old lady,” Michael to Curly.
“I complain of Michael,” said Curly instantly.
The came to Peter. “Father, we want to dance.”
“Dance away, my little man,” said Peter, who was in high good humour.
“But we want you to dance.”
Peter was the best dancer among them, but he to be scandalised.
“Me! My old would rattle!”
“And too.”
“What,” Wendy, “the mother of such an armful, dance!”
“But on a Saturday night,” Slightly insinuated.
It was not Saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was Saturday night, and then they did it.
“Of it is Saturday night, Peter,” Wendy said, relenting.
“People of our figure, Wendy!”
“But it is only among our own progeny.”
“True, true.”
So they were told they dance, but they must put on their first.
“Ah, old lady,” Peter said to Wendy, himself by the fire and looking at her as she sat a heel, “there is nothing more of an for you and me when the day’s is over than to by the fire with the little ones near by.”
“It is sweet, Peter, isn’t it?” Wendy said, gratified. “Peter, I think Curly has your nose.”
“Michael takes after you.”
She to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Dear Peter,” she said, “with such a large family, of course, I have now passed my best, but you don’t want to me, do you?”
“No, Wendy.”
Certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure he was or asleep.
“Peter, what is it?”
“I was just thinking,” he said, a little scared. “It is only make-believe, isn’t it, that I am their father?”
“Oh yes,” Wendy said primly.
“You see,” he apologetically, “it would make me so old to be their father.”
“But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine.”
“But not really, Wendy?” he asked anxiously.
“Not if you don’t wish it,” she replied; and she his of relief. “Peter,” she asked, trying to speak firmly, “what are your exact to me?”
“Those of a son, Wendy.”
“I so,” she said, and and sat by herself at the end of the room.
“You are so queer,” he said, puzzled, “and Tiger Lily is just the same. There is something she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother.”
“No, indeed, it is not,” Wendy with emphasis. Now we know why she was against the redskins.
“Then what is it?”
“It isn’t for a lady to tell.”
“Oh, very well,” Peter said, a little nettled. “Perhaps Tinker Bell will tell me.”
“Oh yes, Tinker Bell will tell you,” Wendy scornfully. “She is an little creature.”
Here Tink, who was in her bedroom, eavesdropping, out something impudent.
“She says she in being abandoned,” Peter interpreted.
He had a idea. “Perhaps Tink wants to be my mother?”
“You ass!” Tinker Bell in a passion.
She had said it so often that Wendy needed no translation.
“I almost agree with her,” Wendy snapped. Fancy Wendy snapping! But she had been much tried, and she little what was to the night was out. If she had she would not have snapped.
None of them knew. Perhaps it was best not to know. Their gave them one more hour; and as it was to be their last hour on the island, let us that there were sixty minutes in it. They sang and in their night-gowns. Such a song it was, in which they to be at their own shadows, little that so soon would close in upon them, from they would in fear. So was the dance, and how they each other on the and out of it! It was a pillow than a dance, and when it was finished, the on one more, like partners who know that they may meet again. The they told, it was time for Wendy’s good-night story! Even Slightly to tell a that night, but the was so that it not only the others but himself, and he said gloomily:
“Yes, it is a beginning. I say, let us that it is the end.”
And then at last they all got into for Wendy’s story, the they loved best, the Peter hated. Usually when she to tell this he left the room or put his hands over his ears; and possibly if he had done either of those this time they might all still be on the island. But to-night he on his stool; and we shall see what happened.
