Peter Pan 10

Tonight, I am reading Peter Pan by James Matthew Barrie. Chapter 10, "The Happy Home," describes a pleasant evening the Darlings have with Peter and the Lost Boys. This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax, discover magic, or embark on an adventure before a great night's sleep.

Transcript

Chapter 10. The Happy Home One important result of the brush in the lagoon was that it made the natives their friends. Peter had saved Tiger Lily from a dreadful fate, And now there was nothing she and her braves would not do for him. All night they sat above, Keeping watch over the home under the ground, And awaiting the big attack by the pirates, Which obviously could not be much longer delayed. Even by day they hung about, Smoking the pipe of peace, And looking almost as if they wanted tidbits to eat. They called Peter the Great White Father, Prostrating themselves before him, And he liked this tremendously, So that it was not really good for him. The Great White Father, He would say to them in a very lordly manner, As they groveled at his feet, Is glad to see the Picaninny warriors protecting his wigwam from the pirates. Me, Tiger Lily, The lovely creature would reply, Peter Pan saved me, Me his velly nice friend, Me no let pirates hurt him. She was far too pretty to cringe in this way, But Peter thought it his due, And he would answer condescendingly, It is good, Peter Pan has spoken. Always when he said, Peter Pan has spoken, It meant that they must be quiet, And they must accept it humbly, In that spirit. But they were by no means so respectful to the other boys, Whom they looked upon as just ordinary braves. They said, How do, To them, And things like that, And what annoyed the boys was that Peter seemed to think this was all right. Secretly, Wendy sympathized with them a little, But she was far too loyal a housewife to listen to any complaints against Father. Father knows best, She always said, Whatever her private opinion must be. Her private opinion was that the natives should not call her a squaw. We have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the night of knights, Because of its adventures and their upshot. The day, As if quietly gathering its forces, Had been almost uneventful, And now the natives in their blankets were at the posts above, While below the children were having their evening meal, All except Peter, Who had gone out to get the time. The way you got the time on the island was to find the crocodile, And then stay near him till the clock struck. The meal happened to be a make-believe tea, And they sat around the board guzzling in their greed, And really, What with their chatter and recriminations, The noise, As Wendy said, Was positively deafening. To be sure, She did not mind noise, But she simply would not have them grabbing things, And then excusing themselves by saying that Tootles had pushed their elbow. There was a fixed rule that they must never hit back at meals, But should refer the matter of dispute to Wendy, By raising the right arm politely, And saying, I complain of so-and-so, But what usually happened was they forgot to do this, Or did it too much. Silence, Cried Wendy, One for the twentieth time she had told them they were not to speak at once. Is your mug empty, Slightly, Darling? Not quite empty, Mummy, Slightly said, After looking into an imaginary mug. He hasn't even begun to drink his milk, Nibs interposed. This was telling, And Slightly seized his chance. I complain of Nibs, He cried promptly. John, However, Had held up his hand first. Well, John, May I sit in Peter's chair, As he is not here? Sit in father's chair, John? Wendy was scandalized. Certainly not. He is not really our father, John answered. He didn't even know how a father does till I showed him. This was grumbling. We complain of John, Cried the twins. Tootles held up his hand. He was so much the humblest of them, Indeed, He was the only humble one, That Wendy was specially gentle with him. I don't suppose Tootles said defiantly that I could be the father. No Tootles. Once Tootles began, Which is not very often, He had a silly way of going on. As I can't be father, He said heavily, I don't suppose, Michael, You would let me be baby? No, I won't, Michael rapped out. He was already in his basket. As I can't be baby, Tootles said, Getting heavier and heavier and heavier, Do you think I could be a twin? No indeed, Replied the twins. It's awfully difficult to be a twin. As I can't be anything important, Said Tootles, Would any of you like to see me do a trick? No, They all replied. Then at last he stopped. I hadn't really any hope, He said. The hateful telling broke out again. Slightly is coughing on the table. The twins began with the cheesecakes. Curly is taking both butter and honey. Nibs is speaking with his mouth full. I complain of the twins. I complain of Curly. I complain of Nibs. Oh dear, Oh dear, Cried Wendy. I'm sure I sometimes think that spinsters are to be envied. She told them to clear away and sat down to her work basket, A heavy load of stockings and every knee with a hole in it as usual. Wendy remonstrated Michael. I'm too big for a cradle. I must have somebody in a cradle, She said almost tartly, And you are the littlest. A cradle is such a nice homely thing to have in a house. While she sewed, They played around her. Such a group of happy faces and dancing limbs lit up by the romantic fire. It had become a very familiar scene, This, In the home under the ground, But we are looking on for it, The last time. There was a step above, And Wendy, You may be sure, Was the first to recognize it. Children, I hear your father's step. He likes you to meet them at the door. Above, The natives crouched before Peter. Watch well, Braves, I have spoken. And then, As so often before, The gay children dragged him from his tree. And so often before, But never again. He had brought nuts for the boys, As well as the correct time for Wendy. Peter, You just spoil them, You know, Wendy simpered. Ah, Old lady, Said Peter, Hanging up his gun. It was me told the mothers are called old lady, Michael whispered to Curly. I complain of Michael, Said Curly instantly. The first twin came to Peter. Father, We want to dance. Dance away, My little man, Said Peter, Who was in a good humor. But we want you to dance. Peter was really the best dancer among them, But he pretended to be scandalized. Me, My old bones would rattle. And mummy, Too. What, Cried Wendy, The mother of such an harmful dance? But on a Saturday night, Slightly insinuated. It was not really Saturday night. At least it may have been, For they had lost count of the days. But always if they wanted to do anything special, They said this was Saturday night. And then they did it. Of course it is Saturday night, Peter, Wendy said, Relenting. People of our figure, Wendy. But it is only among our own progeny. True, True. So they were told they could dance, But they must first put on their nighties. Ah, Old lady, Peter said aside to Wendy, Warming himself by the fire. And looking down at her, She sat turning a heel. There is nothing more pleasant of an evening for you and me, When the day's toil is over, Than to rest by the fire with the little ones nearby. It is sweet, Peter, Isn't it? Wendy said, Frightfully gratified. Peter, I think Curly has your nose. Michael takes after you. She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. Dear Peter, She said, With such a large family. Of course, I have now passed my best. But you don't want to change me, Do you? No, Wendy. Certainly, He did not want to change. But he looked at her uncomfortably, Blinking, You know, Like one not sure whether he was asleep or awake. Peter, What is it? I was just thinking, He said, A little scared. It is only make-believe, Isn't it? That I'm their father. Oh, Yes, Wendy said, Primly. You see, He continued apologetically. It would make me seem so old to be their real father. But they are ours, Peter, Yours and mine. But not really, Wendy, He asked anxiously. Not if you don't wish it, She replied. And she distinctively heard his sigh of relief. Peter, She asked, Trying to speak firmly. What are your exact feelings to me? Those of a devoted son, Wendy. I thought so, She said, And went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room. You are so queer, He said frankly, Puzzled. And Tiger Lily is just the same. There is something she wants me to be. But, She says, It is not my mother. No, Indeed, It is not, Wendy replied with frightful emphasis. And now we know why she was prejudiced against the natives. Then what is it? It isn't for a lady to tell. Oh, Very well, Peter said a little nettled. Perhaps Tinkerbell will tell me. Oh, Yes, Tinkerbell will tell you, Wendy retorted scornfully. She isn't an abandoned little creature. Here Tink, Who was in her bedroom, Eavesdropping, Squeaked out something impudent. She said she glories in being abandoned, Peter interpreted. He had a sudden idea. Perhaps Tink wants to be my mother. You silly little boy, Cried Tinkerbell 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 knew little what was to happen before the night was out. If she had only known, She would have never snapped. None of them knew. Perhaps it was best not to know. Their ignorance gave them one more glad hour. And as it was to be their last hour on the island, Let us rejoice that there were sixty glad minutes in it. They sang and danced in their nightgowns. Such a deliciously creepy song it was, In which they pretended to be frightened at their own shadows. Little witting that so soon shadows would close in upon them, From whom they would shrink in real fear. So gay was the dance, And how they buffeted each other on the bed and out of it. It was a pillow fight rather than a dance. And when it was finished, The pillows insisted on one bout more, Like partners who know that they may never meet again. The stories they told, Before it was time for Wendy's goodnight story. Even Slightly tried to tell a story that night. But the beginning was so fearfully dull, That it appalled not only the others, But himself. And he said gloomily, Yes, It is a dull beginning. I say, Let us pretend that it was the end. And then at last, They all got into bed for Wendy's story. The story they loved best. The story Peter hated. Usually when she began to tell this story, He left the room or put his hands over his ears. And possibly if he had done either of those things this time, They might all still be on the island. But tonight, He remained on his stool, And we shall see what happened.

Reviews

Thank you, Hilary. I only heard about 5 minutes of it! 💙