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.
