Пітер Пен і Венді

The Little House

           

           Theygurgledwithjoyatthis,forbythegreatestgoodluckthebranchestheyhadbroughtwerestickywithredsap,andallthegroundwascarpetedwithmoss.Astheyrattledupthelittlehousetheybrokeintosongthemselves:

           ’We’vebuiltthelittlewallsandroof

           Andmadealovelydoor,

           Sotellus,motherWendy,

           Whatareyouwantingmore?’

           Tothissheansweredrathergreedily:

           ’Oh,reallynextIthinkI’llhave

           Gaywindowsallabout,

           Withrosespeepingin,youknow,

           Andbabiespeepingout.’

           Withablowoftheirfiststheymadewindows,andlargeyellowleavesweretheblinds.Butroses?

           ’Roses,’criedPetersternly.

           Quicklytheymade-believetogrowtheloveliestrosesupthewalls.

           Babies?

           TopreventPeterorderingbabiestheyhurriedintosongagain:

           ’We’vemadetherosespeepingout,

           Thebabesareatthedoor,

           Wecannotmakeourselves,youknow,

           ’Coswe’vebeenmadebefore.’

           Peter,seeingthistobeagoodidea,atoncepretendedthatitwashisown.Thehousewasquitebeautiful,andnodoubtWendywasverycosywithin,though,ofcourse,theycouldnolongerseeher.Peterstrodeupanddown,orderingfinishingtouches.Nothingescapedhiseagleeye.Justwhenitseemedabsolutelyfinished,

           ’There’snoknockeronthedoor,’hesaid.

           Theywereveryashamed,butTootlesgavethesoleofhisshoe,anditmadeanexcellentknocker.

           Absolutelyfinishednow,theythought.

           Notabitofit.’There’snochimney,’Petersaid;’wemusthaveachimney.’

           ’Itcertainlydoesneedachimney,’saidJohnimportantly.ThisgavePeteranidea.

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