Presently he noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon
the lagoon with some definite purpose, for it was fighting the tide,
and sometimes winning; and when it won, Peter, always sympathetic to
the weaker side, could not help clapping; it was such a gallant piece
of paper.
It was not really a piece of paper; it was the Never bird, making
desperate efforts to reach Peter on the nest. By working her wings, in
a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water, she was able
to some extent to guide her strange craft, but by the time Peter
recognised her she was very exhausted. She had come to save him, to
give him her nest, though there were eggs in it. I rather wonder at the
bird, for though he had been nice to her, he had also sometimes
tormented her. I can suppose only that, like Mrs. Darling and the rest
of them, she was melted because he had all his first teeth.
She called out to him what she had come for, and he called out to her
what she was doing there; but of course neither of them understood the
other s language. In fanciful stories people can talk to the birds
freely, and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this were such a
story, and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Never bird; but
truth is best, and I want to tell you only what really happened. Well,
not only could they not understand each other, but they forgot their
manners.
I want you to get into the nest, the bird called, speaking as slowly
and distinctly as possible, and then you can drift ashore,
but I am too tired to bring it any nearer so you must try
to swim to it.
What are you quacking about? Peter answered. Why don t you let the
nest drift as usual?
I want you the bird said, and repeated it all over.
Then Peter tried slow and distinct.
What are you quacking about? and so on.
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