The days passed merrily in the underground home, where Wendy was the
sweetest little mother, and Peter the bravest father you could ever
have found anywhere. The cave was large and roomy, and the rocks out
of which it was hollowed were of a deep brown colour. There was a fine
large fireplace, and overhead, near the ceiling, were hung baskets and
fishing-tackle and all sorts of things likely to be useful to
cave-dwellers.
Wendy had not been long there before she had improved the home and
made it as comfortable as her own nursery. It is wonderful what
clever girls can do, even with the poorest materials. There was now a
huge bed for all the Boys, and a basket for Michael, because he was
the littlest and because a cradle is such a homely thing to have about
the house. And in a corner of the room, hidden behind a tiny crimson
curtain, there was a wee little room for Tinker Bell, daintily
furnished to suit the tastes of girl fairy. There were stools made of
mushrooms for the Boys, and two comfortable chairs made of pumpkins,
where Peter and Wendy could sit in state, as was fitting the father
and mother of the little family.
One Saturday night, Wendy and the Boys were all downstairs together,
waiting for Peter to come back from a hunting expedition. Outside, the
faithful Tiger Lily and her Red Indian band were keeping guard against
the Pirates.
Presently the crackling of branches indicated Peter's approach through
the underwood. Tiger Lily sprang up to meet him, and the Lost Boys ran
to the tree-trunk stairways to welcome him on his return. He was the
best of fathers; and never forgot to be a little boy, for he had
filled his pockets with fruit for the boys who had been good, and he
let them rummage through and through his coat like rats in a corn
sack.
Then he turned towards Wendy, who was very busy mending the children's
socks by the fireside. She looked very charming in her pretty brown
frock the colour of autumn leaves, with scarlet berries in her hair,
and she made Peter very happy as they exchanged thimbles and talked
over the boys and their doings as if they had really been their father
and mother. When the children clamoured for a dance, Peter even said
that he was too old for such a game, and that his old bones would
simply rattle, and Wendy also thought that the mother of such an
armful could not go skipping about with her children. So Peter sang
"Sally in our Alley," which song Wendy thought no one else in all the
world could sing so sweetly as the darling of her heart, while the
others danced pillow dances, and bolster dances, and turned
somersaults on the beds, and did all the other jolly and lively things
that everyone wants to do just about bedtime, when one ought to be
thinking of going to sleep.
At last they quietened down for Wendy to tell them just one more story
before they were tucked in for the night. They clustered eagerly
round, interrupting every sentence, as children always do, even the
best of them, while Wendy told her story. And the story somehow seemed
familiar to John, and Michael, and Peter, for it was the tale of Mr.
and Mrs. Darling, poor dears, who had lost their children one winter
night; and how sad they were about it, how lonely they felt, and how
the nursery window would always be kept open, ready for the children,
if ever they should come flying home again.
When she had finished, Peter stood up sadly. "No, Wendy," he said, "I
thought so once, but you cannot be sure that the window will be kept
open. When I went back to my mother, the window was barred, and there
was another little boy sleeping in my cradle." At that thought, Wendy
started up with a look of horror in her face: "Perhaps by this time,
Mother may be in half-mourning," she exclaimed, and John and Michael
felt they dared not stay another moment in the Never-Never-Never Land.
What would they do if they were too late in coming back, and found
other children in their beds, other children being bathed and dressed
by Nana? They must go home at once.
The Boys crowded round Wendy, imploring her not to leave them, but she
was firm. Not only would she return with John and Michael, but she
would take all the Boys with her, for her mother to adopt. The Boys,
as soon as they heard themselves invited to come too, were as happy as
larks. For now each of them would have a true mother in Mrs. Darling,
and would live in a house like other boys. In a moment they were
packing their baby clothes, and were ready to start on their journey.
Peter alone refused. He was miserable at the thought of losing Wendy,
but he couldn't consent to grow old and have a beard, as he knew he
must do if he left the Never-Never-Never Land. Never, never, could he
do that! There was nothing for him, then, but to stay behind. Wendy
was as careful as a little mother in pouring out Peter's medicine, and
made him promise faithfully to take it every night.
But suddenly there was a stamping overhead, and banging and a
clashing, and a shouting, and a sound of heavy people wrestling and
struggling to and fro. The Pirates had taken the Red Indians by
surprise. The children heard the fighting, and listened like mice to
the squalling of cats, as frightened as could be, while Peter waited
with his sword. The battle was very soon over. The Redskins were
beaten and ran like hares, or crawled dangerously wounded into the
thickets. The triumphant Pirates were left victorious, though a little
out of breath, close above the children's heads.
Hook, their captain, more wicked-looking than ever, listened at the
mushroom chimney. "If the Indians have won," Peter was saying,
"they'll beat the tom-tom."
"Aha!" thought Hook, and he picked up a tom-tom that one of the flying
Indians had left behind, and sounded it loudly; "rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub,
dub, dub, dub."
"Hurrah!" shouted the children down below. "An Indian victory!"
"All will be safe," said Peter. "You may go now! Tink will show you
the way," and bidding a hurried good-bye to Peter, away they all
went up the stairways in the tree-trunks, out into the forest.
The Pirates were ready for them. As each child came above the ground,
he was seized by one of the swarthy ruffians who stood waiting. One by
one, and silently, they were captured and flung into boats and
transported to the pirate ship, which had anchored in the lake close
by.
[Illustration: SEIZED BY ONE OF THE SWARTHY RUFFIANS]
Everything had been done so quietly that Peter was quite unaware of
his friends' sad fate. He only knew that he was all alone, that Wendy
had left him, and that she, and Michael, and John, and all the Lost
Boys who had been his companions were on their way from the
Never-Never-Never Land to the country of the ordinary people who wear
tall hats and tail-coats as soon as they are old enough, and grow up
one after the other. Poor Peter threw himself on his bed and sobbed
himself to sleep.
Hook was still lurking about, for the one thing that annoyed him most
was that Peter had not left the cave with the rest, and was as yet
safe.
But in his wicked heart a wicked scheme had already risen by which he
hoped to kill his enemy. He had carefully listened to Wendy's last
words: "Be sure and take your medicine, Peter." Here was the Captain's
last chance. Creeping down to the door of the cave, he stretched his
long arm round the ledge just inside, and poured a few drops of deadly
poison into the glass, and, with a grin of triumph on his ugly face,
he threw his cloak over his shoulder and stole away.
"Tap, tap, tap." Somebody was knocking at the door. "Who's there?"
asked Peter sleepily.
"Tap, tap, tap."
He got up and opened the door. Tinker Bell, tinkling excitedly, flew
into the room. "The Pirates have captured them!" she tinkled, "the
Pirates have captured them!" As Peter excitedly snatched up his sword
and sharpened it very sharply on the grindstone, he perceived Tinker
Bell in his glass of medicine. He soon learnt the reason, when his
little fairy told him, in a weak voice, that it was poisoned, and that
she had drunk the poison as the only way to save his life. It was
indeed an act of self-sacrifice; for too well did Tink know how much
Peter loved Wendy, and that no warning of hers would prevent him from
keeping his promise.
Poor Tinker Bell was dying, and die she would have done were it not
that Peter, in a frenzy of grief and with tears in his eyes, made this
passionate appeal to all children: "Do you believe in fairies? If you
do, clap your hands, and that will save poor Tinker Bell." As his cry
rang round the world, there came an echo of sound as of millions of
little hands clapping, as if all the children throughout the world
knew suddenly that of course they believed in fairies.
The result was magical. Tinker Bell was saved; her light, which had
been getting fainter and fainter, grew brighter and brighter again;
the merry sound of tinkling (her way of speaking to Peter) which had
almost become inaudible, now grew stronger and stronger. She was once
more the bright little fairy that escorted Peter to the Darling
nursery, and again, under her guidance, Peter set forth to rescue the
Boys and Wendy.
[Illustration: HE PERCEIVED TINKER BELL IN HIS GLASS.]