Пітер Пен і Венді

The Flight

           

           

           

           WendyandJohnandMichaelstoodontiptoeintheairtogettheirfirstsightoftheisland.Strangetosay,theyallrecogniseditatonce,anduntilfearfelluponthemtheyhailedit,notassomethinglongdreamtofandseenatlast,butasafamiliarfriendtowhomtheywerereturninghomefortheholidays.

           ’John,there’sthelagoon.’

           ’Wendy,lookattheturtlesburyingtheireggsinthesand.’

           ’Isay,John,Iseeyourflamingowiththebrokenleg.’

           ’Look,Michael,there’syourcave.’

           ’John,what’sthatinthebrushwood?’

           ’It’sawolfwithherwhelps.Wendy,Idobelievethat’syourlittlewhelp.’

           ’There’smyboat,John,withhersidesstovein.’

           ’No,itisn’t.Why,weburnedyourboat.’

           ’That’sher,atanyrate.Isay,John,Iseethesmokeoftheredskincamp.’

           ’Where?Showme,andI’lltellyoubythewaythesmokecurlswhethertheyareonthewar-path.’

           ’There,justacrosstheMysteriousRiver.’

           ’Iseenow.Yes,theyareonthewar-pathrightenough.’

           Peterwasalittleannoyedwiththemforknowingsomuch;butifhewantedtolorditoverthemhistriumphwasathand,forhaveInottoldyouthatanonfearfelluponthem?

           Itcameasthearrowswent,leavingtheislandingloom.

           IntheolddaysathometheNeverlandhadalwaysbeguntolookalittledarkandthreateningbybedtime.Thenunexploredpatchesaroseinitandspread;blackshadowsmovedaboutinthem;theroarofthebeastsofpreywasquitedifferentnow,andaboveall,youlostthecertaintythatyouwouldwin.Youwerequitegladthatthenight-lightswerein.

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