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whatever part of London he was in search of he always went to the
General Post…office first as a starting…point。 Him we carried in
triumph to our other friend； with the story of that Saturday to
Monday； and never shall I forget the gloating joy with which Mr。
Salford leapt at him。 They have been cronies ever since； and I
notice that Mr。 Salford； who naturally does most of the talking；
keeps tight grip of the other old man's coat。
The two last places before you come to our gate are the Dog's
Cemetery and the chaffinch's nest； but we pretend not to know
what the Dog's Cemetery is； as Porthos is always with us。 The
nest is very sad。 It is quite white； and the way we found it was
wonderful。 We were having another look among the bushes for
David's lost worsted ball； and instead of the ball we found a
lovely nest made of the worsted； and containing four eggs； with
scratches on them very like David's handwriting； so we think they
must have been the mother's love…letters to the little ones
inside。 Every day we were in the Gardens we paid a call at the
nest； taking care that no cruel boy should see us； and we dropped
crumbs； and soon the bird knew us as friends； and sat in the nest
looking at us kindly with her shoulders hunched up。 But one day
when we went； there were only two eggs in the nest； and the next
time there were none。 The saddest part of it was that the poor
little chaffinch fluttered about the bushes； looking so
reproachfully at us that we knew she thought we had done it； and
though David tried to explain to her； it was so long since he had
spoken the bird language that I fear she did not understand。 He
and I left the Gardens that day with our knuckles in our eyes。
XIV
Peter Pan
If you ask your mother whether she knew about Peter Pan when she
was a little girl she will say； 〃Why； of course； I did； child；〃
and if you ask her whether he rode on a goat in those days she
will say； 〃What a foolish question to ask； certainly he did。〃
Then if you ask your grandmother whether she knew about Peter Pan
when she was a girl； she also says； 〃Why； of course； I did；
child；〃 but if you ask her whether he rode on a goat in those
days； she says she never heard of his having a goat。 Perhaps she
has forgotten； just as she sometimes forgets your name and calls
you Mildred； which is your mother's name。 Still； she could
hardly forget such an important thing as the goat。 Therefore
there was no goat when your grandmother was a little girl。 This
shows that； in telling the story of Peter Pan； to begin with the
goat （as most people do） is as silly as to put on your jacket
before your vest。
Of course； it also shows that Peter is ever so old； but he is
really always the same age； so that does not matter in the least。
His age is one week； and though he was born so long ago he has
never had a birthday； nor is there the slightest chance of his
ever having one。 The reason is that he escaped from being a
human when he was seven days' old； he escaped by the window and
flew back to the Kensington Gardens。
If you think he was the only baby who ever wanted to escape； it
shows how completely you have forgotten your own young days。
When David heard this story first he was quite certain that he
had never tried to escape； but I told him to think back hard；
pressing his hands to his temples； and when he had done this
hard； and even harder； he distinctly remembered a youthful desire
to return to the tree…tops； and with that memory came others； as
that he had lain in bed planning to escape as soon as his mother
was asleep； and how she had once caught him half…way up the
chimney。 All children could have such recollections if they
would press their hands hard to their temples； for； having been
birds before they were human； they are naturally a little wild
during the first few weeks； and very itchy at the shoulders；
where their wings used to be。 So David tells me。
I ought to mention here that the following is our way with a
story： First； I tell it to him； and then he tells it to me； the
understanding being that it is quite a different story； and then
I retell it with his additions； and so we go on until no one
could say whether it is more his story or mine。 In this story of
Peter Pan； for instance； the bald narrative and most of the moral
reflections are mine； though not all； for this boy can be a stern
moralist； but the interesting bits about the ways and customs of
babies in the bird…stage are mostly reminiscences of David's；
recalled by pressing his hands to his temples and thinking hard。
Well； Peter Pan got out by the window； which had no bars。
Standing on the ledge he could see trees far away； which were
doubtless the Kensington Gardens； and the moment he saw them he
entirely forgot that he was now a little boy in a nightgown； and
away he flew； right over the houses to the Gardens。 It is
wonderful that he could fly without wings； but the place itched
tremendously； and； perhaps we could all fly if we were as dead…
confident…sure of our capacity to do it as was bold Peter Pan
that evening。
He alighted gaily on the open sward； between the Baby's Palace
and the Serpentine； and the first thing he did was to lie on his
back and kick。 He was quite unaware already that he had ever
been human； and thought he was a bird； even in appearance； just
the same as in his early days； and when he tried to catch a fly
he did not understand that the reason he missed it was because he
had attempted to seize it with his hand； which； of course； a bird
never does。 He saw； however； that it must be past Lock…out Time；
for there were a good many fairies about； all too busy to notice
him； they were getting breakfast ready； milking their cows；
drawing water； and so on； and the sight of the water…pails made
him thirsty； so he flew over to the Round Pond to have a drink。
He stooped； and dipped his beak in the pond； he thought it was
his beak； but； of course； it was only his nose； and； therefore；
very little water came up； and that not so refreshing as usual；
so next he tried a puddle； and he fell flop into it。 When a real
bird falls in flop； he spreads out his feathers and pecks them
dry； but Peter could not remember what was the thing to do； and
he decided； rather sulkily； to go to sleep on the weeping beech
in the Baby Walk。
At first he found some difficulty in balancing himself on a
branch； but presently he remembered the way； and fell asleep。 He
awoke long before morning； shivering； and saying to himself； 〃I
never was out in such a cold night；〃 he had really been out in
colder nights when he was a bird； but； of course； as everybody
knows； what seems a warm night to a bird is a cold night to a boy
in a nightgown。 Peter also felt strangely uncomfortable； as if
his head was stuffy； he heard loud noises that made him look
round sharply； though they were really himself sneezing。 There
was something h