It was poisoned, Peter, she told him softly; and now I am going to
be dead.
O Tink, did you drink it to save me?
Yes.
But why, Tink?
Her wings would scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on
his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite. She whispered in his ear
You silly ass, and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on the
bed.
His head almost filled the fourth wall of her little room as he knelt
near her in distress. Every moment her light was growing fainter; and
he knew that if it went out she would be no more. She liked his tears
so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.
Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said.
Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well
again if children believed in fairies.
Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was
night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the
Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys
and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung
from trees.
Do you believe? he cried.
Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.
She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she
wasn t sure.
What do you think? she asked Peter.
If you believe, he shouted to them, clap your hands; don t let Tink
die.
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