Пітер Пен у Кенсінгтонському Саді

           Perhapsahumanvoicefrightenedthelittlehouse,ormaybeitnowknewthatitsworkwasdone,fornosoonerhadMaimiespokenthanitbegantogrowsmaller;itshranksoslowlythatshecouldscarcebelieveitwasshrinking,yetshesoonknewthatitcouldnotcontainhernow.Italwaysremainedascompleteasever,butitbecamesmallerandsmaller,andthegardendwindledatthesametime,andthesnowcreptcloser,lappinghouseandgardenup.Nowthehousewasthesizeofalittledog’skennel,andnowofaNoah’sArk,butstillyoucouldseethesmokeandthedoor-handleandtherosesonthewall,everyonecomplete.Theglow-wormlightwaswaningtoo,butitwasstillthere.’Darling,loveliest,don’tgo!’Maimiecried,fallingonherknees,forthelittlehousewasnowthesizeofareelofthread,butstillquitecomplete.Butasshestretchedoutherarmsimploringlythesnowcreptuponallsidesuntilitmetitself,andwherethelittlehousehadbeenwasnowoneunbrokenexpanseofsnow.

           Maimiestampedherfootnaughtily,andwasputtingherfingerstohereyes,whensheheardakindvoicesay,’Don’tcry,prettyhuman,don’tcry,’andthensheturnedroundandsawabeautifullittlenakedboyregardingherwistfully.SheknewatoncethathemustbePeterPan.