PETER. The Great White Father is glad to see the Piccaninny braves protecting his wigwam from the pirates.
TIGER LILY. The Great White Father save me from pirates. Me his velly nice friend now; no let pirates hurt him.
BRAVES. Ugh, ugh, wah!
TIGER LILY. Tiger Lily has spoken.
PANTHER. Loola, loola! Great Big Little Panther has spoken.
PETER. It is well. The Great White Father has spoken.
(This has a note of finality about it, with the implied ,'And now shut up' which is never far from the courteous receptions of well-meaning inferiors by born leaders of men. He descends his tree, not unheard by WENDY.)
WENDY. Children, I hear your father's step. He likes you to meet him at the door. (PETER scatters pretend nuts among them and watches sharply to see that they crunch with relish.) Peter, you just spoil them, you know!
JOHN (who would be incredulous if he dare). Any sport, Peter?
PETER. Two tigers and a pirate.
JOHN (boldly). Where are their heads?
PETER (contracting his little brows.) In the bag.
JOHN. (No, he doesn't say it. He backs away.)
WENDY (peeping into the bag). They are beauties'. (She has learned her lesson.)
FIRST TWIN. Mummy, we all want to dance.
WENDY. The mother of such an armful dance!
SLIGHTLY. As it is Saturday night?
(They have long lost count of the days, but always if they want to do anything special they say this is Saturday night, and then they do it.)
WENDY. Of course it is Saturday night, Peter? (He shrugs an indifferent assent.) On with your nighties first.
(They disappear into various recesses, and PETER and WENDY with her darning are left by the fire to dodder parentally. She emphasises it by humming a verse of 'John Anderson my Jo,' which has not the desired effect on PETER. She is too loving to be ignorant that he is not loving enough, and she hesitates like one who knows the answer to her question.)
What is wrong, Peter?
PETER (scared). It is only pretend, isn't it, that I am their father?
WENDY (drooling). Oh yes.
(His sigh of relief is without consideration for her feelings.)
But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine.
PETER (determined to get at facts, the only things that puzzle him). But not really?
WENDY. Not if you don't wish it.
PETER. I don't.
WENDY (knowing she ought not to 'probe but driven to it by something within.) What are your exact feelings for me, Peter?
PETER (in the class-room). Those of a devoted son,Wendy.
WENDY (turning away). I thought so.
PETER. You are so puzzling. Tiger Lily is just the same; there is something or other she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother.
WENDY (with spirit). No, indeed it isn't.
PETER. Then what is it?
WENDY. It isn't for a lady to tell.
(The curtain of the fairy chamber opens slightly, and TINK, who has doubtless been eavesdroping, tinkles a laugh of scorn.)
PETER (badgered). I suppose she means that she wants to be my mother.
(TINK'S comment is 'You silly ass.')
WENDY (who has picked up some of the fairy words). I almost agree with her!
(The arrival of the boys in their nightgowns turns WENDY'S mind to practical matters, for the children have to be arranged in line and passed or not passed for cleanliness. SLIGHTLY is the worst. At last we see how they sleep, for in a babel the great bed which stands on end by day against the wall is unloosed from custody and lowered to the floor. Though large, it is a tight fit for so many boys, and WENDY has made a rule that there is to be no turning round until one gives the signal, when all turn at once.
FIRST TWIN is the best dancer and performs mightily on the bed and in it and out of it and over it to an accompaniment of pillow fights by the less agile; and then there is a rush at WENDY.)
NIBS. Now the story you promised to tell us as soon as we were in bed!
WENDY (severely). As far as I can see you are not in bed yet.
(They scramble into the bed, and the effect is as of a boxful of sardines.)
WENDY (drawing up her stool). Well, there was once a gentleman———
CURLY. I wish he had been a lady.
NIBS. I wish he had been a white rat.
WENDY. Quiet! There was a lady also. The gentleman's name was Mr. Darling and the lady's name was Mrs. Darling———
JOHN. I knew them!
MICHAEL (who has been allowed to join the circle). I think I knew them.
WENDY. They were married, you know; and what do you think they had?
NIBS. White rats?
WENDY. No, they had three descendants. White rats are descendants also. Almost everything is a descendant. Now these three children had a faithful nurse called Nana.
MICHAEL (alas). What a funny name!
WENDY. But Mr. Darling—(faltering) or was it Mrs.Darling?—was angry with her and chained her up in the yard; so all the children flew away. They flew away to the Never Land, where the lost boys are.
CURLY. I just thought they did; I don't know how it is, but I just thought they did.
TOOTLES. Oh, Wendy, was one of the lost boys called Tootles.
WENDY. Yes, he was.
TOOTLES (dazzled). Am I in a story? Nibs, I am in a story!
PETER (who is by the fire making Pan's pipes with his knife, and is determined that WENDY shall have fair play, however beastly a story he may think it). A little less noise there.
WENDY (melting over the beauty of her present performance, but without any real qualms). Now I want you to consider the feelings of the unhappy parents with all their children flown away. Think, oh think, of the empty beds. (The heartless ones think of them with glee.)
FIRST TWIN (cheerfully). It's awfully sad.
WENDY. But our heroine knew that her mother would always leave the window open for her progeny to fly back by; so they stayed away for years and had a lovely time.
(PETER is interested at last.)
FIRST TWIN. Did they ever go back?
WENDY (comfortably). Let us now take a peep into the future. Years have rolled by, and who is this elegant lady of uncertain age alighting at London station?
(The tension is unbearable.)
NIBS. Oh, Wendy, who is she?
WENDY (swelling). Can it be—yes—no—yes, it is the fair Wendy!
TOOTLES. I am glad.
WENDY. Who are the two noble portly figures accompanying her? Can they be John and Michael? They are. (Pride of MICHAEL.) 'See, dear brothers,' says Wendy, pointing upward, 'there is the window standing open.' So up they flew to their loving parents, and pen cannot inscribe the happy scene over which we draw a veil. (Her triumph is spoilt by a groan from PETER and she hurries to him.) Peter, what is it? (Thinking he is ill, and looking lower than his chest.) Where is it?
PETER. It isn't that kind of pain. Wendy, you are wrong about mothers. I thought like you about the