She was called Jane, and always had an odd inquiring look, as if from
the moment she arrived on the mainland she wanted to ask questions.
When she was old enough to ask them they were mostly about Peter Pan.
She loved to hear of Peter, and Wendy told her all she could remember
in the very nursery from which the famous flight had taken place. It
was Jane s nursery now, for her father had bought it at the three per
cents from Wendy s father, who was no longer fond of stairs. Mrs.
Darling was now dead and forgotten.
There were only two beds in the nursery now, Jane s and her nurse s;
and there was no kennel, for Nana also had passed away. She died of old
age, and at the end she had been rather difficult to get on with; being
very firmly convinced that no one knew how to look after children
except herself.
Once a week Jane s nurse had her evening off; and then it was Wendy s
part to put Jane to bed. That was the time for stories. It was Jane s
invention to raise the sheet over her mother s head and her own, thus
making a tent, and in the awful darkness to whisper:
What do we see now?
I don t think I see anything to-night, says Wendy, with a feeling
that if Nana were here she would object to further conversation.
Yes, you do, says Jane, you see when you were a little girl.
That is a long time ago, sweetheart, says Wendy. Ah me, how time
flies!
Does it fly, asks the artful child, the way you flew when you were a
little girl?
The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever
did really fly.
Yes, you did.
The dear old days when I could fly!
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