Пітер Пен і Венді

           Darlingexaminedthemcarefully;theywereskeletonleaves,butshewassuretheydidnotcomefromanytreethatgrewinEngland.Shecrawledaboutthefloor,peeringatitwithacandleformarksofastrangefoot.Sherattledthepokerupthechimneyandtappedthewalls.Sheletdownatapefromthewindowtothepavement,anditwasasheerdropofthirtyfeet,withoutsomuchasaspouttoclimbupby.

           CertainlyWendyhadbeendreaming.

           ButWendyhadnotbeendreaming,astheverynextnightshowed,thenightonwhichtheextraordinaryadventuresofthesechildrenmaybesaidtohavebegun.

           Onthenightwespeakofallthechildrenwereoncemoreinbed.IthappenedtobeNana’seveningoff,andMrs.Darlinghadbathedthemandsungtothemtillonebyonetheyhadletgoherhandandslidawayintothelandofsleep.

           Allwerelookingsosafeandcosythatshesmiledatherfearsnowandsatdowntranquillybythefiretosew.

           ItwassomethingforMichael,whoonhisbirthdaywasgettingintoshirts.Thefirewaswarm,however,andthenurserydimlylitbythreenight-lights,andpresentlythesewinglayonMrs.Darling’slap.Thenherheadnodded,oh,sogracefully.Shewasasleep.Lookatthefourofthem,WendyandMichaeloverthere,Johnhere,andMrs.Darlingbythefire.Thereshouldhavebeenafourthnight-light.

           Whileshesleptshehadadream.ShedreamtthattheNeverlandhadcometoonearandthatastrangeboyhadbrokenthroughfromit.Hedidnotalarmher,forshethoughtshehadseenhimbeforeinthefacesofmanywomenwhohavenochildren