Free Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie, Jack Zipes Page A

companionship.”
    “Are none of the others girls?”
    “Oh no; girls, you know, are much too clever to fall out of their prams.”
    This flattered Wendy immensely. “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. However, John continued to sleep so placidly on the floor that she allowed him to remain there. “And I know you meant to be kind,” she said, relenting, “so you may give me a kiss.”
    For 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 thimble.”
    “What’s that?”
    “It’s like this.” She kissed him.
    “Funny!” said Peter gravely. “Now shall I give you a thimble?”
    “If you wish to,” said Wendy, keeping her head erect this time.
    Peter thimbled her, and almost immediately she screeched. “What is it, Wendy?”
    “It was exactly as if some one 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 thimble.”
    “But why?”
    “Why, Tink?”
    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 know any stories.”
    “How perfectly awful,” Wendy said.
    “Do you know,” Peter asked, “why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories. O 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 happy every after.”
    Peter was so glad that he rose from the floor, where they had been sitting, and hurried to the window. “Where are you going?” she cried with misgiving.
    “To tell the other boys.”
    “Don’t go, Peter,” she entreated, “I know such lots of stories.”
    Those were her precise words, so there can be no denying that it was she who first tempted him.
    He came back, and there was a greedy look in his eyes now which ought to have alarmed her, but did not.
    “Oh, the stories I could tell to the boys!” she cried, and then Peter gripped her and began to draw her toward the window.
    “Let me go!” she ordered him.
    “Wendy, do come with me and tell the other boys.”
    Of course she was very pleased to be asked, but she said, “Oh dear, I can’t. Think of mummy! Besides, I can’t fly.”
    “I’ll teach you.”
    “Oh, how lovely to fly.”
    “I’ll teach you how to jump on the wind’s back, and then away we go.”
    “Oo!” she exclaimed rapturously.
    “Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars.”
    “Oo!”
    “And, Wendy, there are mermaids.”
    “Mermaids! With tails?”
    “Such long tails.”
    “Oh,” cried Wendy, “to see a mermaid!”
    He had become frightfully cunning. “Wendy,” he said, “how we should all respect you.”
    She was wriggling her body in distress. It was quite as if she were trying to remain on the nursery floor.
    But he had no pity for her.
    “Wendy,” he said, the sly one, “you could tuck us in at night.”
    “Oo!”
    “None of us has ever been tucked in at night.”
    “Oo,” and her arms went out to him.
    “And you could darn our clothes, and make pockets for us.