in the little house on the tree tops.
Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because
the old one simply would not meet; but he never came.
Perhaps he is ill, Michael said.
You know he is never ill.
Michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, Perhaps there
is no such person, Wendy! and then Wendy would have cried if Michael
had not been crying.
Peter came next spring cleaning; and the strange thing was that he
never knew he had missed a year.
That was the last time the girl Wendy ever saw him. For a little longer
she tried for his sake not to have growing pains; and she felt she was
untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge. But the years
came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met
again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a
little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys. Wendy was grown
up. You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes
to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker
than other girls.
All the boys were grown up and done for by this time; so it is scarcely
worth while saying anything more about them. You may see the twins and
Nibs and Curly any day going to an office, each carrying a little bag
and an umbrella. Michael is an engine-driver. Slightly married a lady
of title, and so he became a lord. You see that judge in a wig coming
out at the iron door? That used to be Tootles. The bearded man who
doesn t know any story to tell his children was once John.
Wendy was married in white with a pink sash. It is strange to think
that Peter did not alight in the church and forbid the banns.
Years rolled on again, and Wendy had a daughter. This ought not to be
written in ink but in a golden splash.
150