LITMIR.BIZ

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you did.'

      'The dear old days when I could fly!'

      'Why can't you fly now, mother?'

      'Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way.'

      'Why do they forget the way?'

      'Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly.'

      'What is gay and innocent and heartless? I do wish I was gay and innocent and heartless.'

      Or perhaps Wendy admits that she does see something. 'I do believe,' she says, 'that it is this nursery.'

      'I do believe it is,' says Jane. 'Go on.'

      They are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when Peter flew in looking for his shadow.

      'The foolish fellow,' says Wendy, 'tried to stick it on with soap, and when he could not he cried, and that woke me, and I sewed it on for him.'

      'You have missed a bit,' interrupts Jane, who now knows the story better than her mother. 'When you saw him sitting on the floor crying what did you say?'

      'I sat up in bed and I said, "Boy, why are you crying?"'

      'Yes, that was it,' says Jane, with a big breath.

      'And then he flew us all away to the Neverland and the fairies and the pirates and the redskins and the mermaids' lagoon, and the home under the ground, and the little house.'

      'Yes! which did you like best of all?'

      'I think I liked the home under the ground best of all.'

      'Yes, so do I. What was the last thing Peter ever said to you?'

      'The last thing he ever said to me was, "Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing."'

      'Yes.'

      'But, alas, he forgot all about me.' Wendy said it with a smile. She was as grown up as that.

      'What did his crow sound like?' Jane asked one evening.

      'It was like this,' Wendy said, trying to imitate Peter's crow.

      'No, it wasn't,' Jane said gravely, 'it was like this'; and she did it ever so much better than her mother.

      Wendy was a little startled. 'My darling, how can you know?'

      'I often hear it when I am sleeping,' Jane said.

      'Ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but I was the only one who heard it awake.'

      'Lucky you,' said Jane.

      And then one night came the tragedy. It was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now asleep in her bed. Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow. Then the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped on the floor.

      He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.

      He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.

      'Hullo, Wendy,' he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the night-gown in which he had seen her first.

      'Hullo, Peter,' she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible. Something inside her was crying 'Woman, woman, let go of me.'

      'Hullo, where is John?' he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.

      'John is not here now,' she gasped.

      'Is Michael asleep?' he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.

      'Yes,' she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to Jane as well as to Peter.

      'That is not Michael,' she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.

      Peter looked. 'Hullo, is it a new one?'

      'Yes.'

      'Boy or girl?'

      'Girl.'

      Now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.

      'Peter,' she said, faltering, 'are you expecting me to fly away with you?'

      'Of course that is why I have come.' He added a little sternly, 'Have you forgotten that this is spring-cleaning time?'

      She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring-cleaning times pass.

      'I can't come,' she said apologetically, 'I have forgotten how to fly.'

      'I'll soon teach you again.'

      'O Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me.'

      She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him. 'What is it?' he cried, shrinking.

      'I will turn up the light,' she said, 'and then you can see for yourself.'

      For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid. 'Don't turn up the light,' he cried.

      She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy. She was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet smiles.

      Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw. He gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.

      'What is it?' he cried again.

      She had to tell him.

      'I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long ago.'

      'You promised not to!'

      'I couldn't help it. I am a married woman, Peter.'

      'No, you're not.'

      'Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby.'

      'No, she's not.'

      But he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child with his dagger upraised. Of course he did not strike. He sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and Wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once. She was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think.

      Peter continued to cry, and soon his sobs woke Jane. She sat up in bed, and was interested at once.

      'Boy,' she said, 'why are you crying?'

      Peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed.

      'Hullo,' he said.

      'Hullo,' said Jane.

      'My name is Peter Pan,' he told her.

      'Yes, I know.'

      'I came back for my mother,' he explained; 'to take her to the Neverland.'

      'Yes, I know,' Jane said, 'I been waiting for you.'

      When Wendy returned diffidently she found Peter sitting on the bed-post crowing gloriously, while Jane in her nighty was flying round the room in solemn ecstasy.

      'She is my mother,' Peter explained; and Jane descended and stood by his side, with the look on her face that he liked to see on ladies when they gazed at him.

      'He does so need a mother,' Jane said.

      'Yes, I know,' Wendy admitted rather forlornly; 'no one knows it so well as I.'

      'Good-bye,' said Peter to Wendy; and he rose in the air, and the shameless Jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way of moving about.

      Wendy rushed to the window.

      'No, no,' she cried.

      'It is just for spring-cleaning time,' Jane said; 'he wants me always to do his spring cleaning.'

      'If

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