Пітер Пен і Венді
Wendy’s Story
Now,ifPeterhadeverquitehadamother,henolongermissedher.Hecoulddoverywellwithoutone.Hehadthoughtthemout,andrememberedonlytheirbadpoints.
’No,no,’hetoldWendydecisively;’perhapsshewouldsayIwasold,andIjustwantalwaystobealittleboyandtohavefun.’
’But,Peter——’
’No.’
Andsotheothershadtobetold.
’Peterisn’tcoming.’
Peternotcoming!Theygazedblanklyathim,theirsticksovertheirbacks,andoneachstickabundle.TheirfirstthoughtwasthatifPeterwasnotgoinghehadprobablychangedhismindaboutlettingthemgo.
Buthewasfartooproudforthat.’Ifyoufindyourmothers,’hesaiddarkly,’Ihopeyouwilllikethem.’
Theawfulcynicismofthismadeanuncomfortableimpression,andmostofthembegantolookratherdoubtful.Afterall,theirfacessaid,weretheynotnoodlestowanttogo?
’Nowthen,’criedPeter,’nofuss,noblubbering;good-bye,Wendy’;andheheldouthishandcheerily,quiteasiftheymustreallygonow,forhehadsomethingimportanttodo.
Shehadtotakehishand,astherewasnoindicationthathewouldpreferathimble.
’Youwillrememberaboutchangingyourflannels,Peter?’shesaid,lingeringoverhim.Shewasalwayssoparticularabouttheirflannels.
’Yes.’
’Andyouwilltakeyourmedicine?’
’Yes.’
Thatseemedtobeeverything;andanawkwardpausefollowed.Peter,however,wasnotthekindthatbreaksdownbeforepeople.’Areyouready,TinkerBell?’hecalledout.
’Ay,ay.’
’Thenleadtheway
