‘They flew away,’ Wendy continued, ‘to the Neverland, where the lost children are.’

‘I just thought they did,’ Curly broke in excitedly. ‘I don’t know how it is, but I just thought they did.’

‘O Wendy,’ cried Tootles, ‘was one of the lost children called Tootles?’

‘Yes, he was.’

‘I am in a story. Hurrah, I am in a story, Nibs.’

‘Hush. Now, I want you to consider the feelings of the unhappy parents with all their children flown away.’

‘Oo!’ they all moaned, though they were not really considering the feelings of the unhappy parents one jot.

‘Think of the empty beds!’

‘Oo!’

‘It’s awfully sad,’ the first twin said cheerfully.

‘I don’t see how it can have a happy ending,’ said the second twin. ‘Do you, Nibs?’

‘I’m frightfully anxious.’

‘If you knew how great is a mother’s love,’ Wendy told them triumphantly, ‘you would have no fear.’ She had now come to the part that Peter hated.

‘I do like a mother’s love,’ said Tootles, hitting Nibs with a pillow. ‘Do you like a mother’s love, Nibs?’

‘I do just,’ said Nibs, hitting back.

‘You see,’ Wendy said complacently, ‘our heroine knew that the mother would always leave the window open for her children to fly back by; so they stayed away for years and had a lovely time.’

‘Did they ever go back?’

‘Let us now,’ said Wendy, bracing herself for her finest effort, ‘take a peep into the future’; and they all gave themselves the twist that makes peeps into the future easier. ‘Years have rolled by; and who is this elegant lady of uncertain age alighting at London Station?’

‘O Wendy, who is she?’ cried Nibs, every bit as excited as if he didn’t know.

‘Can it be—yes—no—it is—the fair Wendy!’

‘Oh!’

‘And who are the two noble portly figures accompanying her, now grown to man’s estate? Can they be John and Michael? They are!’

‘Oh!’

“‘See, dear brothers,” says Wendy, pointing upwards, “there is the window still standing open. Ah, now we are rewarded for our sublime faith in a mother’s love.” So up they flew to their mummy and daddy; and pen cannot describe the happy scene, over which we draw a veil.’