Note from the author: Ok, so I've been proofing all of the other chapters and have found some things that simply need to be changed. They haven't been changed yet, but I will edit things such as how Peter came to Mary's family in the first place and more. I'll keep you posted when I've made changes on the other chapters as I add more to Thanks for all of your comments in my e-mail and on this website. They really, sincerely help!

Peter and I were growing up, whether we liked it or not. Of course, we were each only five years old, so we weren't quite there, but when a child turns five it's almost as if they've reached a turning point. Their speech is more developed and they are starting to look like children rather than babies. I myself had grown an impressive head of brown hair that never quite stayed as combed as it should, though Peter's was easily tamed against his will by our nurse, who kept it short enough that if he tried to mess it up it still wouldn't look that bad.

Peter truly tried everything in his power to keep himself from aging, but I think either he gave up or just relented. Being bigger wasn't so terribly bad. He was capable of doing more things, but with each positive aspect of growing up was a new responsibility he had to deal with. Fanny had been instructed to educate us a little bit before we went to grammar school, which would start when we turn six, but he refused to cooperate in the learning process. If he learned to read and write, he would have to grow up and work in an office someday. If he didn't learn, how could he grow up and work in an office? It was a perfect line of reasoning.

But this plan started to fail, as all of his attempts at ceasing his growth did. Little did I know that some day soon he would find the way, much to my horror. I had begun to believe that growing up wasn't as bad as he made it out to be. I loved learning the alphabet and how to read music, loved being able to do something he could not. Even this didn't motivate him to learn and grow. My parents could not understand him, but they weren't worried and figured he was just a "slow learner". This thought of theirs was a great blow to Peter's pride, I could tell, but he never let it show. I truly admired his perseverance through all of this, though his behavior grew more and more strange as time went on.

I had been sleeping soundly one night when suddenly, I awoke. I turned to look at the bed across from mine, but it was empty. The nursery window was open, and Peter was standing at it, staring at something very particular but as I drew nearer to him, I could not figure out what it was. All I saw was the street below, the tops of houses, and the clear night sky above. As a shooting star shot across the sky, Peter sighed. It was the sigh of one who has made a wish, or prayed a prayer, so many times that they have given up hope it will ever be answered.

"It's cold, Peter, why don't you go back to sleep?" I asked. He seemed startled. Apparently, he hadn't realized I was there. Usually he could hear my footsteps approaching no matter how quiet I was and would acknowledge my presence, but something else was occupying his mind.

"I'm not sleepy," he said, his eyelashes fluttering a little. His nose wrinkled from the failed attempt to stifle a yawn. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I was trying to be as quiet as possible."

"It's all right. How long have you been here?"

"Not long."

"What's bothering you?"

I received a reply of silence.

"Peter..."

"I was just thinking."

I knew I wouldn't get a better reply, so I went back to bed, but was not able to sleep.

Over the next year, I woke up many times during the middle of the night because of Peter standing at that window; watching, waiting. But for what? He wouldn't tell me anything. Before, it didn't matter what it was, he would tell me everything, but perhaps even he didn't know the answer to my questions.

For at least the first couple of years of our education, we would be going to the same school with some of the other children in our neighborhood. He was very upset at the prospect of going to school, and he was... dare I say it? Frightened. My parents and nurse did everything in their power to stir excitement in his heart for the next stage in his life, but he refused to look forward to it at all.

"Mother," he said the night before we were to start school, "what will I learn when I go to school?"

Mother had a pained expression on her face, knowing that anything she said would be wrong, but she mustered her courage and answered him. "Well, darling, you will learn arithmetic, to read, write, speak different languages, and all sorts of things!"

"Why should I know them?"

"So you may be educated, dear."

"I know, but why?" he demanded, growing impatient.

"When you become a man, you'll need to get a job to support your family. You must have a job that is good enough to feed and clothe them, and let them live a comfortable life."

"What if I don't want a family?"

Mother laughed, glancing at my father who was reading a book by the fire. "Trust me darling, you will. Having a family is the greatest pleasure in my life."

"What if I'm not good enough to get a job to support my family?"

"You should get a job before you start a family, Peter. But why all of these questions now? You won't have to worry about these things for at least another fourteen years, maybe even more!"

"Fourteen years is a long time," I commented. "I remember you saying that we grow up so quickly, Mother."

"Oh, dearest, you do! Why, just look at the photographs of you that we have from only a year ago!"

Peter's and my gaze turned to the mantel, where there was a picture of us on my fifth birthday. We had, indeed, changed quite a bit. Peter's face fell.

"Maybe fourteen years isn't as long as it sounds. We are growing up so quickly, Mary," Peter said that night, as we were getting ready for bed.

"Then we must make the most of it," I said, picking up the clothes he had tossed on the floor and folding them. "Just go to bed, Peter. Get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow."

"Mary, I'm not going."

"Peter."

"I'm not!" He paused and began to say something, but hesitated, a nervous expression on his face. After what seemed like great deliberation happening in his mind, he said, "Let's run away, Mary. Let's run away so we will not have to go to school, and so we will not grow up."

I couldn't believe it, but he was serious. He sincerely wanted to carry on with this extraordinary plan.

"Think of it, Mary. It'd be the greatest adventure! Who knows what we would be facing? We could go anywhere and do anything we ever wanted to do. Please say yes!" He had me by the shoulders; the most fervent and desperate look in his eyes.

I shook my head. "Oh, Peter, you know I couldn't. I could never leave Mother like that! Peter, we can get through this together. Don't be frightened."

"I'm not frightened!" he said defensively. He paused, a look of stubborn determination on his face. "Well, then, if you're not going to run away, I will.

I just shook my head. He had a stubborn, petty nature, but it would pass. It always did, but now it had started to take its toll on me. Peter was never afraid of anything, and he was afraid of school? I pretended to be much more confidant than I really was. After one last, hopeless attempt to sway him, I bade him good night and went to bed, but didn't fall asleep until Peter did. He breathed, slow and rhythmically, but uneasily. Even in his breath I could detect restlessness, discontent, but it soon lulled me to sleep.

In the middle of the night I awoke. Something was wrong. I turned and looked at Peter's bed, but the covers were too jumbled for me to tell if he were there. I got up, felt around his bed to see if I could find him in the cluttered mass of pillows and blankets, and seeing that he wasn't in bed, I ran to the window. But he was nowhere to be found.

Since then, I have not been able to sleep with my window shut, and I haven't once. Peter ran away and took my lullaby with him, and I have nothing but the wind's breath to sing me to sleep.