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Wendy’s Story
’Whereisit,Peter?’
’Itisn’tthatkindofpain,’Peterreplieddarkly.
’Thenwhatkindisit?’
’Wendy,youarewrongaboutmothers.’
Theyallgatheredroundhiminaffright,soalarmingwashisagitation;andwithafinecandourhetoldthemwhathehadhithertoconcealed.
’Longago,’hesaid,’Ithoughtlikeyouthatmymotherwouldalwayskeepthewindowopenforme;soIstayedawayformoonsandmoonsandmoons,andthenflewback;butthewindowwasbarred,formotherhadforgottenallaboutme,andtherewasanotherlittleboysleepinginmybed.’
Iamnotsurethatthiswastrue,butPeterthoughtitwastrue;anditscaredthem.
’Areyousuremothersarelikethat?’
’Yes.’
Sothiswasthetruthaboutmothers.Thetoads!
Stillitisbesttobecareful;andnooneknowssoquicklyasachildwhenheshouldgivein.’Wendy,letusgohome,’criedJohnandMichaeltogether.
’Yes,’shesaid,clutchingthem.
’Notto-night?’askedthelostboysbewildered.Theyknewinwhattheycalledtheirheartsthatonecangetonquitewellwithoutamother,andthatitisonlythemotherswhothinkyoucan’t.
’Atonce,’Wendyrepliedresolutely,forthehorriblethoughthadcometoher:’Perhapsmotherisinhalfmourningbythistime.’
ThisdreadmadeherforgetfulofwhatmustbePeter’sfeelings,andshesaidtohimrathersharply,’Peter,willyoumakethenecessaryarrangements?’
’Ifyouwishit,’,hereplied,ascoollyasifshehadaskedhimtopassthenuts.
