‘It is sweet, Peter, isn’t it?’ Wendy said, frightfully gratified. ‘Peter, I think Curly has your nose.’

‘Michael takes after you.’

She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

‘Dear Peter,’ she said, ‘with such a large family, of course, I have now passed my best, but you don’t want to change me, do you?’

‘No, Wendy.’

Certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably; blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep.

‘Peter, what is it?’

‘I was just thinking,’ he said, a little scared. ‘It is only make-believe, isn’t it, that I am their father?’

‘Oh yes,’ Wendy said primly,

‘You see,’ he continued apologetically, ‘it would make me seem so old to be their real father.’

‘But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine.’

‘But not really, Wendy?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Not if you don’t wish it,’ she replied; and she distinctly heard his sigh of relief. ‘Peter’, she asked, trying to speak firmly, ‘What are your exact feelings for me?’

‘Those of a devoted son, Wendy.’

‘I thought so,’ she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room.

‘You are so queer,’ he said, frankly puzzled, ‘and Tiger Lily is just the same. There is something she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother.’

‘No, indeed, it is not,’ Wendy replied with frightful emphasis. Now we know why she was prejudiced against the redskins.

‘Then, what is it?’

‘It isn’t for a lady to tell.’

‘Oh, very well,’ Peter said, a little nettled. ‘Perhaps Tinker Bell will tell me.’

‘Oh yes, Tinker Bell will tell you,’ Wendy retorted scornfully. ‘She is an abandoned little creature.’

Here Tink, who was in her boudoir, eavesdropping, squeaked out something impudent.

‘She says she glories in being abandoned,’ Peter interpreted.

He had a sudden idea. ‘Perhaps Tink wants to be my mother?’

‘You silly ass!’ cried Tinker Bell in a passion.

She had said it so often that Wendy needed no translation.