Mr Slumber Retires - A Sleep Story

Tonight’s story follows Mr. Slumber, the longtime keeper of the Hotel of Sleep, as he steps into a quieter chapter of his life. After years spent welcoming guests and guiding them gently toward rest, he has now retired.
He settles by the sea, in a small beach hut where the days are simple and unhurried. The rhythm of his life softens.
As evening deepens, the waves continue their slow, familiar pattern. Then, gently, rain begins to fall — soft at first, then settling into a steady presence alongside the sea. The two sounds blend together, creating a calm, unbroken backdrop to the night.
Inside the hut, Mr. Slumber finds one of the old magical books from the Hotel of Sleep — the kind that reads itself aloud. He settles in, and without effort, the book begins to speak.
The voice carries him into the world of Peter Pan, unfolding slowly as the rain taps softly outside and the sea continues beyond it.

Transcript

Hello, My friend. Welcome to your sleep story. My name is Stephen Dalton. I'm an Irish storyteller, And it's my great privilege to be the voice that you listen to as you go to sleep tonight. A hotel, And you are the only guest, And every whim and need you have are catered to by a man named Mr. Slumber. Well, In tonight's story, Mr. Slumber has retired, And he's living on a beach. It's time for him to let go, And to find the peace he deserves. Special evening in his retirement. And if you're a fan of the wonderful book, Peter Pan, Keep listening. You may be in for a little surprise. But first, Let's do the relaxation session, Which will take a few minutes before tonight's sleep story. I'm going to count down from ten to one. And as I do, Allow yourself to let go. More and more. Ten. Feel the support. Of the bed beneath you. Through the floor. Or whatever you lie upon tonight And beneath what you lie upon. Feel a deeper support. The support of the earth. Our home. Our constant support. And as you become aware of that support, See if you can. . . Sink into this moment a little more now. Yes. Let go. A little more now. You? Are safe. Allow my voice. To be an anchor of safety tonight. To be a friend. To be a gentle guide. A guide that only ever brings you. To safe places. To warm and cozy places. To places that enable and support your sleep. Trust. That my voice is a friend tonight. Feel into your body now. Notice where you might still be holding tonight. Notice where you may have pain. Or tingling Retention notice anything. Maybe you feel something in your feet. Or in your lower legs Resize. Or your belly. Your chest. Shoulders your neck You're back Arms. Hands. Or maybe you're like me. And you hold tension in your face. Just see if you can soften a little now. This is a time. For kindness to yourself. And to your body. Seven. The day is. . . Whatever has been. Has been. Whatever will be. Will be. But right now. . . All you have Is this moment. Your thoughts can't change what has gone before. Your thoughts can't change. What will come tomorrow. Your brain. . . Needs rest now. So, As thoughts come and go now. Don't fight them. Don't chase them away. See them for what they are. Sorts. Then just. . . Watch them go. Like leaves. Floating away. On a moonlit river. Or a cloud. Passing through a starlit sky. Six. This is your moment. This. Is your time. You have earned This moment of kindness to yourself. You deserve. To have peace in your life. We all do. So As you become aware of that fact as you come to the understanding. That we all deserve peace. See? If you can settle into this moment. . . A little more now. Letting your body know. That it's really time for rest. Five. Peace. Lives within you. It is a constant friend. Waiting to be found. Waiting to be felt. Where does it live within you? Maybe it's in your heart. Maybe it's in your head. It's up to you to find it. But I promise you it's there. Forward. Perhaps allow a little gratitude now. Gratitude. For the simple things. For you buddy. For the shelter you have tonight. For the ones you love. And who love you. For the beauty and wonder of this world. Of this planet. That you can find. When you look for it. 3. Begin to engage with your imagination now. Begin to see the beautiful beach. The waves lapping at the shore Palm trees. Sunset. The first stars appearing in the sky above. To Checking in with your body one more time now. Finding the places you are holding still. And allowing yourself to give in. To allow the tension to ease away Your body has worked hard for you today. It's time. To give it rest. And one. Completely letting go now. As I tell you. Tonight's sleep story. There was once a man called Mr. Slumber. You would have known him, If you ever found yourself at the Hotel of Sleep. Even just once? You would remember the way he opened the door for you. The way he looked at you. As though he had been expecting you all along. And the truth is, He had. . . You were always the only guest there. It was your room. Your. . . Your rest. Everything in that hotel. Was arranged just for you. And Mr. Slumber saw to every bit of it himself. He would take your coat gently, Like it mattered. He would ask you how you were? Not in a rushed way. Not as a habit. But as though the answer was something worth hearing. Then he would walk with you. Down the corridor. Past the crackling fire. Slow and easy. His shoes making the softest sound on the floor. He would show you your room. Open the door. And step slightly to the side. So you could go in first. It's all ready. He would say. And it always was. The bed. Just as you needed it. The air just right. The quay. Settled. And let's not forget. . . That depending on which hotel of sleep you were in You may have experienced all sorts of wonders and beauty. During your stay. And Mr. Slumber never made a fuss about what he did. He simply stayed nearby. If your mind wandered. He seemed to know. If the night felt long. He would appear at the right moment. Perhaps adjusting a pillow. Perhaps just sitting for a whirl. In that calm, Steady way of his. Until things began to soften. You never had to ask. That was his gift. And he did this. For a very long time. After night. For more people than could ever be counted. Though each one felt. . . To him. Like the only one. Like you. One evening. Something. . . Change. Not in a certain way. But Mr. Slumber. Started to have a feeling. It came to him as he stood in the hallway. After seeing a guest safely to their room. Essence. That his work It had been done. Complete. He stood there for a moment. Hands loosely by his side Listening to the stillness of the hotel. Every door closed Every room at rest. Everything exactly. As it should be. And he gave a small knot. It was time. He didn't leave the hotel empty, Nor any of the hotels of sleep around the world. Oh no. Mr. Slumber would never do that He made sure very carefully. That the hotel of sleep would always be there for you. He appointed a new manager. Who you might meet one day in the future. And he made sure that they would welcome anyone who should arrive. And that they be guided, Be looked after. With the same quiet care that the hotel of sleep had become renowned for. You would never be without it. You would never be without rest. And once he knew that. . . Be stepped outside. Closed the door gently behind him. And worked on. He walked through the rain. And that's you who is working. He decided to. . . Travel for a little while. He wasn't sure where he would go. You would just. . . Rest. And move again. He let the days unfold. As they wish. And during this. . . Brief period of travel. He started to Learn a little about himself. He started. To realize. That it was time for him. To find the peace inside himself. And then Good evening. After a lot of walking and a lot of raining. He came to a beach. It was quiet there. The sea moving. In its slow, Steady way. The sky opening wide above it. The air. Soft and cool. Mr. Slumber stood for a while looking out at the water. Then he smiled. Slightly And decided. . . Yes. This would do. He stayed. He found a small cottage nearby. Nothing grand. Just a place with a chair. A table. And window that looked out across the sea. It was enough. More than enough. And for the first time in a long while. Mr. Slumber At nowhere he needed to be. He settled in quickly and would sit out in the open air each evening. One particular evening after a warm day. The kind of warmth that lingers. Even after the sun. It began to slip away. Mr. Slumber was already outside. He'd carried his chair down to the edge of the beach as he sometimes did. And placed it in a spot he seemed to like very much Not too close to the water. Not too far back either. Just where the sand was firm beneath the legs of the chair, And the sound of the sea could be heard clearly. This was no ordinary beach, By the way. The sand was pale and fine. Smooth beneath the feet. With the faintest trace of warmth. Do hold from the day The sea stretched out, Wide and calm Its surface gently moving catching what little light remained in the sky. Further along the shoreline. You could see the dark shapes of palm trees. Their leaves shifting ever so slightly in the evening air. Every now and then. The small wave would reach the shore and slide back again with a soft Steady sound. Mr. Slumber sat down carefully as he always did. And let out a quiet breath. He didn't speak. There was no one to speak to. And yes. Somehow. It felt as though the place itself understood him perfectly well. His hands rested loosely on his lap. For a worm. He simply looked out. Out across the water. Out towards the horizon. Where the last of the light was slowly fading. Into that wide open space. Where there was nothing to organize. Nothing to prepare. Nothing to gently manage for someone else. And something in him. . . . Suffen. Leso by leso. The sort of softening that comes. When a person realises truly realizes. That there is nothing expected of them. No one waiting. No door to answer. He sat there with that feeling. Letting it settle. Letting it. Spread. His shoulders dropped just slightly. His breathing found its own easy rhythm. Even his face. Which had for so long held that quiet attentiveness of a man always ready to help. Began to rest into itself. He was not on Juicy. Many more He did not need to be ready. He could simply be. And he found. As he sat there. That this was something he was only just learning. For a man like Mr. Slumber. Was quite a thing. After some time. He did not measure it. He leaned slightly to one side. And reached down beside his chair. Resting against one of the legs Where's his journal? It was a small thing. Worn at the edges. The cover softened from years of being opened and closed carried from one place to another. It fit easily into his hands. He picked it up gently. Held it there for a moment. Not opening it just yet. Holding it. And the sea continued its steady rhythm. And the first stars began. Quietly. To appear overhead. Then Mr. Slumber. Placed the journal on his knee. And run his hand over the cover before opening it. It was an old journal by now. With a little bend at one corner. And a faint mark on the front where, Years ago, He had once set down a teacup without thinking. The pages inside had gone slightly cream with a He liked that white pages could feel a bit severe. Cream pages seemed friendlier. He opened to a blank one and held his pen just above it. Listening for a moment to the sea. A small wave came in. A small wave went out again. Above Him. The stars were beginning to gather in proper numbers. And a warm breeze moved through the palms behind him. With this self. Papery zone. Of someone turning the pages of a very large book He was happy, In a way he had not quite known how to be before. For so many years. His happiness had been tied up with other people. Had they arrived safely? Had the room pleased them. Had the fire been lit at the right time? Had the water been warm enough. . . The blankets. Soft enough. The evening gentle enough. And now here he was. On a beat. With a sky full of stars. And nobody needing anything at all from him. It was a strange feeling at first. Retirement A man like Mr. Slumber could easily have become fussy with it. He could have started inventing little tasks for himself. Marching about with a pencil. And making unnecessary lists. Something in the air there. And something in the sea. And something. In the deep hush. Of those tropical nights. Had begun to teach him another way. He could sit still. He could breathe. He could let the evening hold him for once. Very slowly. The old familiar pictures began to come back to him. The hotel. By the wild sea. Rain tapping at the windows. Firelight. Moving across the carpets and up the walls. The front door is opening. A guest arriving with that tired look people had. When the world had been asking too much of them for too long. Mr. Slumber smiled to himself. He remembered how often the same thing happened. They would step in. Trying to be polite. Trying to seem quite all right. While he could see at once that they were exhausted to the bone. Poor things, You would think. Always in a kind way. Never a pitying one. They needed looking after. Properly looking after. And that, Of course. Was exactly what he liked to do. At last. He lowered the pen to the page. And began to write. In his knee. Careful hand. I am thinking of the old hotel by this stormy sea. I remember the sound of the rain on the glass And the fire going well in the lobby I remember waiting at the door for my guest. I always liked that moment best. Before they arrive. When everything was ready. The umbrella by the stun The lamps glowing. The staff in place. The tea, Warm. The whole hotel feeling awake and kind. Then the car would appear through the dark and I would step outside to greet them. Welcome. I would say. We have been expecting you. Even now. Sitting here by this beach I can remember the look on their face. When they first heard those words. Such relief. Such. . . Tired. Relief It always pleased me more than I can say. He paused there. And looked out over the water again. Holding the pen lightly between his fingers. Somewhere beyond the beat. In the dark line of trees A night bird gave a low call Mr Slumberer listened to it. And gave the tiniest nod. Yes. He saw it. That was where he sure to begin. At the door. At the welcome. At the first moment a weary soul understood that For one whole night. They did not have to carry anything alone. He bent over the page once more. And with the sea breathing softly before him. It went on. He dipped the pen again. Just a little. And continue I would take their coat. He wrote, And I always made sure to do it properly. No rushing. No tugging. Just a simple careful movement. So they felt they could begin to let go of the day. It is a small thing taking a coat. But I learned long ago that small things matter very much. When a person is tired He paused for a moment. As though seeing it happen again. I would ask them how they were. And I would wait for the answer. Sometimes they would say, I'm fine. Because that is what people often say. But after a second or two. . . Something in their face would change. Their shoulders would lower a touch and they would realise They did not need to pretend here. Mr. Slumber smiled to himself at that. He'd always liked that moment. The exact point. When someone stopped holding everything so tightly. Then I would show them around. He wrote, You could see the corridor clearly now. The long carpet. The soft lighting. The quiet that lived there. We would walk slowly. I never hurried anyone. There is no need to hurry a person who is on their way to rest. I would tell them about the rooms. The night garden room. With the rain above and the flowers in bloom The Ocean Room May the water hold you gently. The library. Where stories are read. So you do not have to do the work of reading them yourself. He gave a small satisfied nod. They always listen. Even if they were tired they listened. People like to be guided. When they are ready to rest. The waves rolled in and out again Steady as ever. I remember one guest in particular. He went down. They'd arrived carrying a great deal. You could feel it straight away. It was in the way they stood. As though they were still holding on to something. That had already finished. I've seen that many times. He rested the pen briefly against the page. I did not ask them what it was. That is not my job. My job. Is to prepare the space where they can put it down. Mr Slumber leaned back slightly in his chair. The journal still open on his knee. I brought them first to the night garden room. The rain was gentle that evening. A good kind of rain. They lay down for the massage. And I could see. . . Even before it had properly begun. That something in them had started to soften. He tapped the pen lightly once, Thinking. . . After that. . . The Ocean Room They floated for quite a while. Longer than most? I remember thinking that was a good sign. And then. . . The library. He smiled again. A little more this time. They chose Peter Pan. He wrote it down carefully. As though it mattered that it be recorded just so. They did not get very far into this story. Before sleep began to find them. It often happens like that. People think they need to stay awake. To receive something. But rest. Comes its own way. He stopped writing then. And looked out at the sea again. For a moment. He said nothing. Then quietly. We added one more line. I remember thinking. . . As I closed the door behind them. That everything was as it should be. He set the pen down across the page. And let that sit there. The waves continued. This love. Patient rhythm. And mr slumber Sitting under the white night sky Felt that same quiet sense again. Settling gently into him now. We sat there for a little while longer. The journal opened on his knee. The last line resting on the page. I remember thinking. As I closed the door behind them. That everything was as it should be. Mr. Slumber looked at those words again And gave a small, Thoughtful nod Then he closed the journal. Not with any finality. Just. . . Closing it for now. He rested his hand on the cover for a moment. As though to keep the memory there. Safe and settled. And then placed it beside him in the sand. The sea continued on as it always did. Amen. And out. And And out. After some time he stood. He picked up his chair. As he always did. And made his way slowly back towards the cottage. The sand was still warm beneath his feet. The air had cooled just a touch. Enough to notice. Though not enough to matter. Inside. The cottage was quiet. He did not light a lamp straight away. There was enough light from the moon through the window. And it suited him just fine. He moved about in that calm, Familiar way of his. . . No wasted movement. No noise that didn't need to be made. As he passed the small shelf near his bed. Something caught his attention. He paused. Resting where he must have placed it some time ago. I suppose. He looked at it for a moment. He gave the faintest smile. Peter Pan. Of course. He hadn't thought about it in a while. Not properly. Not like this. He reached out and picked it up. Holding it in both hands. It felt just as it should. Solid. For a moment. He simply stood there with it. Without any particular reason. Other than that it felt right. He sat down on the edge of his bed. He opened the book. And as he did. Something gentle happened. The pages. Seemed to settle themselves. The room. Grew just a little softer. And then. . . In a steady familiar voice The book began to read itself. Mr. Slumber did not react. With surprise. Not with questions. He simply adjusted himself on the bed. Lay back slowly and let the sound of the words reach him and as it begins to rain outside for the first time in a very long while. Mr. Slumber. Was the one being read to. Chapter 1 Pizzer breaks through. All children. Except one grower. 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. 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 you must grow up. You always know. After you are two. Two is the beginning of the end. Of course. They lived at 14. 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 came 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 a 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 all of her. 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. Mrs. 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. Old cauliflower has 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. Than Michael. For a week or two after Wendy came. It was doubtful 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 honourable. 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 be. 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 £1. 17 here. Two and six at the office. I can cut off my coffee at the office. Say ten shillings making 2, 9 and 6 With your eighteen. . . And three. . . Makes 397 With five nought nought in my checkbook makes. Eight nine seven Who is that moving? Eight, Nine, Seven, Dot, And curry seven. Don't speak, My own. And the pound you lent to that man who came to the door? Quiet, Child. Dot and carry the child There, You've done it. Did I say? 997 Yes, I said 997. The question is. . . Can we try it for a year? On 997. Of course we can, George. She cried. But she was prejudiced in Wendy's favor. 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 I dare say it will be more like thirty shillings. Measles, One five. German measles, Half a guinea, Makes two fifteen six. Don't wag your finger. Whooping 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. Treat it 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. Mrs. Darling loved to have everything just so. And Mr. Darling. Had a passion for being exactly like his neighbours. Of course. They had a nurse. As they were poor. Owing to the amount of milk the children drank. This nurse. Was a prim, Newfound land 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 Kensington 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 stalking around your throat. She believed to her last day. In old fashioned remedies. Like rhubarb leaf. And made sounds of contempt. Over all this new-fangled 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. And 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 School. Where the nurses wait They sat on forms. While Nana lay on the floor. But that was the only difference. They affect it to ignore her. As of an inferior social status to themselves. And she despised their light talk. She resented visits to the nursery. From Mrs. Darling's friends. But if they did come, She first whipped off Michael's pinafore. And put him into 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 neighbor is told. He had his positions in the city to consider. Nana also troubled him in another way. He had sometimes a feeling that she did not admire him. I know she admires you tremendously, George. Mrs. 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 servant Lisa. Was sometimes allowed to join. Such a midget she looked in her long skirt. And maid's cup. Though she had sworn. When engaged. That she would never see ten again. The gaiety of those rumps. And Gaius Devour was Mrs. 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 was never a simpler, Happier family. Until the coming of Peter Pan. Mrs. 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 proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake. But of course you can. 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 discoveries 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 prettier 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 colour. Here and there. And coral reefs. And rakish 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. Needle work. Murders. Hangings. Verbs that take the dative. Chocolate pudding day. Getting into braces. Say 99. Three pence for pulling out your 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. Had a lagoon with flamingos flying over it. At which John was shooting. Well, 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 caracals. 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 crowned. 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 night lights. 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. 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. He is rather cocky. Wendy admitted with regret. Her mother had been questioning her. But who is he, My pet? He is Peter Pan. You know, Mother At first. Mrs. Darling did not know. But after thinking back into her childhood. . . She just remembered a Peter Pan. It was said to live with the fairies. There were odd stories about him. As that when children die. 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 mine. And body. She didn't know how she knew. She just knew it. Mrs. Darling consulted Mr. Darling. But he smiled poo poo. Mark 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 woods 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 puzzling 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. Saying 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. My child. The mother cried. Why did you not tell me of this before? I forgot. Said Wendy lightly. She was in a hurry to get her breakfast. Oh, Shirley. She must have been dreaming. 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 of. . . And Mrs. Darling had bathed them. And sung to them. To one by one. They had let go her hand. And slid away into the land of sleep. Oh, We're looking so safe and cozy. That she smiled at her fears now. And sat down tranquilly. By the fire to sow. It was something for Michael. Who on his birthday? Was getting into shirts The fire was warm, However. And the nursery dimly lit by three night lights. And presently. The sewing lay on Mrs. Darling's lap. Then her head nodded. Oh, So gracefully. 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 the 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 a 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 wakened, 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. Chapter 2 this 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. Slam went 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 greatcoats. 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 of 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. Amen. The opportunity came a week later. On that. Never to be forgotten Friday. Of course it was a Friday. I ought to have been specially 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. Mayor Kauper. 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 coinage. If only I had not accepted that invitation to dine at twenty-seven. Mrs. 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 Nanny's wet eyes said. My liking for parties, George My fatal gift of humor, Dearest. My touchiness about trifles. Dear master and mistress, 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 Mr. Darling would cry. And Nana's bark was the echo of it. But Mrs. Darling never upbraided 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 uneventfully. So precisely. Like a hundred other evenings. With Nana putting on the water for 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. 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 pump 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. Then he had leapt into her arms. Such a little thing for Mr. And Mrs. Darling. And Nana to recall now. But not so little. If that was to be Michael's last night in the nursery. They go on with their recollections. It was then. That I rushed in like a tornado, Wasn't it? Mr Darling would say. Scorning 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. At 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 round my neck. Round the bedpost. Oh yes. Twenty times have I made it up round the bedpost, But round my neck. . . Oh dear, No. Begs to be excused. He thought, Mrs. Darling. 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 this street. Even then. . . Mrs. Darling 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. Darling had far too fine a nature for that. He thanked her carelessly. At once forgot his rage. And in another moment. Was dancing round the room with Michael on his back. How wildly we run. Says Mrs. Darling now, Recalling it. Our last romp, Mr. Darling groaned. Oh, George. Do you remember Michael suddenly said to me, How did you get to know me, Mother? I remember. They were rather sweet. Don't you think, George? And they were ours. Hours. And now they are gone. The romp had ended with the appearance of Nana. Most unluckily. Mr Darling 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, Mrs. Darling brushed him. But he began to talk again. About its being a mistake. To have a dog for a nurse. George, Nana 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. Darling said thoughtfully. I won. 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. Darling. When Nanner came in with Michael's medicine. You will never carry the bottle in your mouth again, Nana. And it is 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 Nana's mouth. He had said reprovingly, Be a man, Michael. Won't, Won't, Michael cried naughtily. Mrs. Darling left the room to get a chocolate for him. And mr darling thought this showed want of firmness Mother, Don't pamper him. He called after her. 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. Darling 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 washstand. 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 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 rapped 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 with my lost 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. Fathers are cowardly casted. So are you a cowardly custard. I'm not frightened. Neither am I frightened. Well, Then. . . 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. . . I missed it. It was dreadful. The way all the three were looking at him. Just as if they did not admire him. Look here, All of you. He said entreatingly. As soon as Nana had gone into the bathroom, I have 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 Mrs. Darling and Nana returned. Nana? Good dog. He said, Patting her. I have put a little milk. Into your bowl, Nana. Nana whacked 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 makes 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. Caudal her. Nobody coddles me. Oh dear, No. 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 refuse 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. In vain, In vain, He cried. The proper place for you is the yard. And there you go to be tied up this instant. George. George. Mrs. Darling whispered. Remember what I told you about that boy? The last. 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 of it. 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. . . To 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 night lights. 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 yeah? 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 us, Mother? After the night lights are lit Nothing precious. They are the eyes a mother leaves behind. To God our children. She went from bed to bed, Singing enchantments over them. And little Michael flung his arms round her. He cried. I'm glad of you. They were the last words she was to hear from him. For a long time. Number 27. Was only a few yards distant but there had been a slight fall of snow and father and mother 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 had a mischievous way of stealing up behind them. And trying to blow them out. But they are so fond of 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 27 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. Chapter 3 Come away. Come away. For a moment after Mr. And Mrs. Darling left the house, The night lights by the beds of the three children. Continued to burn clearly. They were awfully nice little nightlights. And one cannot help wishing. That they could have kept away. 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 night lights. 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 lie. It made this light. By flashing about so quickly. But when it came to rest for a second, You saw it was a fairy tale. No longer than your hand. But still growing. It was a girl. Called Tinkerbell. Exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf Cut low and square. Through which her figure could be seen. To the best advantage. She was slightly inclined to enbonpoint A moment after the fairy's entrance. The window was blown open. By the breathing of the little stars. And Peter dropped in. It carried Tinkerbell part of the way. And his hand was still messy with the fairy dust. Tinkerbell. He called softly. After making sure the children were asleep. Where are you? She was in a jug for the moment. And liking it extremely. She had never been in a jug before. 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 meant the chest of drawers. And Peter jumped at the drawers. Scattering their contents to the floor with both hands as kings toss apents 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 saw it at 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 Wendy. And she sat up in bed. She was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor. She was only pleasantly interested. She said courteously. Why are you crying? Peter could be exceeding 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. Wendy Moira 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? He said rather sharply. He felt for the first time. That it was a shortish name. I'm so sorry. Said wendy mora angela Doesn't matter. Peter, Go. She asked where he lived. Second to the right, Said Peter. And then straight on till morning. What a funny address. Peter had his sinking. For the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address. No it isn't. I mean. . . Wendy 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. But your mother gets letters. 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. Wendy, However. Felt at 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. Then Wendy saw the shadow on the floor. Looking so draggle. 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. Oh, Exactly like a boy. Fortunately. She knew at once what to do. It must be sewn on. She said. Just a little patronisingly. What's sown? He asked. You're dreadfully ignorant. 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 tall as herself. And she got out her housewife. And so the shadow. Unto Peter's foot. I dare say it will hurt a little. She warned him. Oh, I shan't cry. Said peter who was already of the opinion. That he had never cried in his life. And he clenched his teeth and did not cry. And soon his shadow was behaving properly. Though still a little creased. Perhaps I should have ironed it. Wendy said thoughtfully. But Peter, Boy-like. Was indifferent to appearances. And he was now jumping about in the wildest glee. At last, He had already forgotten that he owed his bliss to Wendy. 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. Wendy was shocked. You can see 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 hauteur If I am 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 when this failed, He sat on the end of the bed. And tapped her gently with his foot. Wendy. . . He said. Don't withdraw. I can't help growing, Wendy. When I am pleased with myself. Still. She would not look up. Though she was listening eagerly. Wendy. He continued. In a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist. Wendy. . . One girl is more use than twenty boys. Now, Wendy. Was every inch a woman. Though there were not very many inches. And she peeped out of the bedclothes. 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. Surely you know what a kiss is. She asked, A gasp. I shall know when you give it to me. He replied stiffly. And not to hurt his feelings. She gave him a symbol. Now said he. Shall I give you a kiss? And she replied with a slight primness If you please. She made herself rather cheap. By inclining her face toward him. But he merely dropped an acorn button into her hand. So she slowly returned her face to where it had been before. And said nicely that She would wear his kiss. On the chain around her neck. 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 aid. 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 grammar. When what you want to be asked is kings of england i don't know he replied uneasily but i am quite young He really knew nothing about it. He had merely suspicions. But he said, At a venture. 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 exclaimed in a low voice. Talking about what I was to be when I became a man. He was extraordinarily agitated now. I don't ever want to be a man. He said with passion. I want always to be a little boy and to have fun. I ran away to Kensington Gardens. And lived a 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 in the 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. They all went skipping about. And that was the beginning of fairies. Tedious 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? 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. She cried, Clutching him. You don't mean to tell me. That there is a fairy. In this room. She was just here now. He said a little impatiently. You don't hear it, 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 love. He had his first laugh still. He whispered gleefully. I do believe I shut her up in the drawer. He let poor Tink out of the drawer. And she flew about 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 would 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. And the cuckoo club. Oh, They're lovely. She cried. Though Tink's face was still distorted with passion. Ting. 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. She says you are a great ugly girl and that she is my fairy. He tried to argue with Tink. You know you can't be my fairy, Tink, Because I am a gentleman and you are a lady. To this Tink replied in these words. You silly ass. And disappeared into the bathroom. She is quite a common fairy. Peter explained apologetically. She is called Tinkerbell because she mends the pots and kettles. They were together in the armchair by this time. And Wendy plied him with more questions. If you don't live in Kensington Gardens now Sometimes I do still. But where do you live mostly now? With the Lost Boys. Who are they? They are 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'm 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 other's girls? Oh no, Girls, You know, Are much too clever to fall out of their prams. This flattered Wendy immensely. I think she said. It is perfectly lovely the way you talk about girls. John there just despises us. For reply Peter rose and kicked John out of bed. Blankets and 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. 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 the 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 symbol. What's that? It's like this. She kissed him. Said Peter gravely. Now shall I give you a symbol? If you wish to. Said wendy keeping her hair direct 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 never knew her so naughty before. And indeed. Tink was darting about again. Using offensive language. She says she will do that to you, Wendy, Every time I give you a symbol. But why? Again Tink replied, You silly ass 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. How do you know? Peter asked. Why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories. Oh Wendy. Your mother was telling you such a lovely story. 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. 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 wind's back, And then away we go. Oh, She exclaimed rapturously. When you are sleeping in your silly bed, You might be flying about with me, Saying funny things to the stars. Oh. And Wendy? There are mermaids? Mermaid. With tails. Such long tails Oh, Cried Wendy. To see a mermaid. He had become frightfully cunning. Wendy 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. Hmm. None of us has ever been tucked in at night. Oh. And her arms went out to him. And you could Darn 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. She cried. Peter Pan has come, And he is to teach us to fly. John rubbed his eyes. Then I shall get up. Of course, He was on the floor already. Michael was up by this time also. Looking as sharp as a knife. With six blades and a saw. But Peter suddenly signed silence. Their faces assumed the awful craftiness. Of children listening for sounds. From the grown-up world. Or was still a soul. Then everything was right. No, Stop. Everything was wrong. Who had been barking distressfully all the evening. It was quiet now. It was her silence they had heard. Out with the light. Hide. Quick. Right, 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. I warn you. The view park again. I shall go straight for master and missus. And bring them home from the party. And then. . . Oh. Won't master whip you just? She tied the unhappy dog up again. But do you think Nana ceased to bark? Bring master and missus home from the party. Bye. 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 27. And flung up her paws to heaven. Her most expressive way of making a communication. Mr. And Mrs. Darling knew at once. That something terrible was happening in their nursery. And without a goodbye 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 Pan can do a great deal in ten minutes. We now return to the nursery. It's alright. 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. Now 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. How do you do it? Asked John, Rubbing his knee. He was quite a practical boy. You just think 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. Though even 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, Just 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 born across the room. I flew. He screamed while still in mid-air. 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. But they could not help kicking a little. But their heads were bobbing against the ceiling. And there is almost nothing so delicious as that. Peter gave Wendy a hand at first but had to desist. Tink was so indignant. Up and down they went. And round and round. Heavenly. With Wendy's words. 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. Mermaid said Peter again. Ooh. And they're a pirate. Pirate! 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 twenty-seven. 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 heart-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 that smallest star of all called out Cave Pita. Then Peter knew. That there was not a moment to lose. He cried imperiously. And sword 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. Chapter 4 the flight. Second to the right and straight on till morning. 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 said 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 objects on the way that took their fancy. John and Michael race. Michael getting a start. They recalled with contempt. That not so long ago. They had thought themselves fine fellows. For being able to fly around a room. Not long ago. But how long ago? They were flying over the sea. Before this 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. Then the birds would follow and snatch it back and they would all go chasing each other, Gaily, For miles. Parting at last with mutual expressions of goodwill. 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 gleefully. 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 he felt it was his cleverness that interested him and not the saving of human life. Or so He was fond of variety. And this sport that engrossed him 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. . . And 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 this 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 up. Especially as he kept looking behind. To see how many tales they missed. You must be nice to him. Wendy impressed on her brothers. What could 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. We don't know how to stop. This was true. Peter had forgotten to show them. Now to stop. John said. That if the 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 20th try. . . Wendy reminded him. And even though he became good at picking up food, See how we bump against clouds and things if 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 recognition come into his eyes as he was about to pass them. The time of day. Then go on. Once even, She 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. 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. 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 may sight those magic shores. There it is. Said Peter calmly. 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. There's the lagoon. 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. What's that in the brushwood? It's a wolf with her whelps, Wendy. I do believe that's your little will. There's my boat John with a 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 redskin camp. And I'll tell you, By the way, Smoke curls, Whether they are on the warpath. Just across the mysterious river. I see now, Yes. They're 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, Anon, 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 night lights were on. You even liked Nana to say that this was just the mantelpiece 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 night lights. And it was getting darker every moment. And where was Nana? 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 center 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.