Wendy, soon dressed and blushing only a bit, hurried the boys along. If she had not done it, I fear they would have continued laughing at Peter until they all grew old and died, for they thought they had never seen anything so funny in their lives. Which seeming as they were all quite young, could have been very possible.
Once the boys were dressed, Wendy lined them up once more, entrancing Peter with their queer order of doing things in such a neat and organized fashion. Wendy made sure they all had their shirts tucked in, their trousers buttoned, their hair brushed, their face washed, and last of all, their hands. It had been a horror of a trial to teach the Lost Boys to wash their hands. Even John and Michael, not Lost Boys by heart, were not troubled by dirty hands or faces. They did not care. Wendy, on the other hand, cared quite a lot. As any good mother would know, it is a reflection upon themselves when their children are shown in public with dirty hands and faces. Wendy, ever the maternal older sister, would have been dreadfully ashamed of herself if it seemed that she were not taking sufficient care of the boys in the nursery, and feared that a discovery such as that would make them think her ill fit to stay in the nursery, being that she was a girl of her age, and that she was too wrapped up in her own issues to deal with their little boy nonsense.
Which of course, that was entirely not the case. She cared deeply for the boys, and loved playing to their needs. Her stay in Neverland had not left her mind since their return, and her short time as their "mother" had stuck with her. But she was very glad to leave the position to someone experienced and very good at it - Mrs.Darling.
Now, Peter, thinking he would join this odd train, lined up right with them. He stuck out of the bunch like a sore thumb, with his tousled hair, leaves for clothing, and dirty hands, face, and feet. A part of him would have liked to have pretended to be clean and proper for London as the other boys, but another part of him remembered a time when he ordered the Lost Boys to abandon weaving cloth of leaves, for that would leave them to resemble his attire, which in his little boy's mind meant that they would be just like him, erasing his individuality as Peter Pan. Although that sort of logic may seem a little insecure (alright, it is insecure), Peter had mixed feelings on the subject now.
"Peter, do you plan on attending school?" Wendy smiled in spite of herself at the question.
"I do not want to go to school, but if you wish me to go with you, then I shall." Peter answered, once again crossing his legs and floating a few feet above ground in such a position.
"Oh, Peter, you cannot go with me! I go to a school for girls!" Wendy laughed, imagining Peter attending her girls' school.
"Why must you go to school? Can you not go to Kensington Gardens with me, all of you? I can show you the secrets that only the fairies know!" Peter smiled broadly, his eyes lighting up as he told tales of his adventures in Kensington Gardens, and where the fairies dwelled.
"Fairies, but fairies don't -" Peter cupped his hand over Michael's mouth before the words came out.
"Never say that. Every time a person says that a fairy somewhere drops down dead." Peter's light was gone from his eyes and a dark seriousness had replaced it. "Never say that."
"Peter, Michael has forgotten some things. He sometimes forgets them, but then when I am telling them a story, he will remember clear as day." Wendy told him, trying to comfort the sullen boy. "He will remember the fairies later."
She turned to the boys. "Now, in order to apologize to the fairy king and queen for almost killing one of their folk, you all must repeat after me: 'I do believe in fairies, I do, I do'. Now you must all say it twice."
The boys replied with gusto, Tootles getting so excited he nearly lost his breath. Poor Tootles was always getting into some sort of trouble. As you may or maynot know, he was not the brightest chap, but he had a good heart, and always tried to do the right thing. Once Wendy was sure that Peter was satisfied with their apology, she continued scrutinizing their dress.
Once she was satisfied, she smiled and nodded, and the boys, taking this signal, tromped through the hallway and the stairs to the dining room, where Mrs.Darling and Aunt Millicent awaited them, with nine bowls of hot oatmeal. Wendy waited until they had all left the room before she turned and addressed Peter.
"I would so love to go to Kensington Gardens with you, really, I would. But how am I to escape school without Mother finding me out?" Wendy asked, her brow wrinkled in thought.
"I shall think of a plan." Peter replied confidently, although he had no idea as to how to rescue Wendy from school.
Downstairs, the dining room was full of activity. The nine boys were all telling the tale of Peter Pan's reappearance to an amused Mrs.Darling and a very baffled Aunt Millicent. Aunt Millicent had long forgotten the adventures of Wendy, Michael, and John, upon which they returned with eight little boys. She was convinced that Mrs.Darling had given birth to them all, and could not be convinced otherwise.
"Children, really. I thought you had grown of such nonsense." Aunt Millicent told them sharply, earning a disapproving look from Mrs.Darling.
"Now, Millicent, they are children. A healthy imagine is just that - healthy." Mrs.Darling countered, smiling lovingly upon her children, the hidden kiss shining.
"Mother, really, he's here! He's upstairs, right now! With Wendy!" Twin told her, the other Twin nodding all the while.
"If he's really up there, then I shall have to tell him it is not polite to not introduce oneself to the mother of the house." She smiled a teasing smile, turning her flowing skirts towards the stairs. "Wendy? Breakfast is ready!"
Wendy quickly tied her ribbon in her hair. "Coming Mother!" She called. "Peter, I will meet you outside when we leave for school. Nanna takes the boys to their school, and I walk alone. Get dressed in these," She laid out a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt, "And wait up here. When you see me leave in a different direction than the boys, you can come down. No sooner. Nanna would like to have eaten you."
Peter absorbed this all, concentrating on not being disgusting by the trousers and shirt. He nodded, and waved her off. He had learned enough in that morning of privacy to believe that he too needed to be left alone for dressing.
Wendy skipped down the stairs, smiling, trying not to reveal the fact that she had an adolescent boy dressing in her nursery.
"Good morning, Mother, good morning, Aunt." Wendy nodded politely, before sitting down at the table.
"So, the boys tell me that we have a visitor. Where is he?" Mother smiled, winking at Wendy.
Wendy, who was quite flustered initially, calmed as she realized her mother did not believe that Peter was indeed in their house.
"OH, they're so silly sometimes. I told them stories last night, and well, you know. Their imaginations get the best of them!" She laughed nervously, before hungrily sweeping down her oatmeal.
Mrs.Darling smiled, not the slightest bit reassured. She knew that the boys had imaginations (she could swear she had seen them flying once) but occasionally she remembered odd things about before the children had disappeared to places unknown. She remembered when they had gone, and when they had reappeared, with the Lost Boys in tow. But she seemed to have forgotten all that was in between. She did not remember the odd swords she had found, nor the jewels and gold and pearls that Michael had produced out of his hat - in fact, she did not know where he had gotten the hat!
"Hurry now, you'll be late for school." Mrs.Darling said, sashaying to the entryway. "Coats!" She called, all eight boys leaving their places at the table and lining up (single file, of course) in the entry way.
Mrs.Darling helped each one with their coats, kissed each of their foreheads, and told them that she loved them. Nanna waited patiently by the door, until all of the kisses had been given, and all of the coats were being worn.
Then they set out for the new day. The London fog clouded the sun from view, leaving a mystical white glow to the day. Wendy followed soon after, her mother giving her an extra hug, before setting out for her school. Or at least so it seemed.
Wendy left the house and turned to the right, as she always did on her way to school. But instead of continuing this path until she reached the London Girls Academy. She checked behind her, to see that no one was looking, before calling out to the window.
"Peter!" She recieved no answer. "Peter, come down! We have to go!"
Meanwhile, Peter was hiding on the ceiling.
You see, as soon as the children left for school, Mrs.Darling had went upstairs to the nursery. Peter had heard her motherly footsteps (he could identify those doting steps from a mile away), giving him time to hide. He had already dressed in the atrocious (his opinion, my choice of words) clothes that Wendy had set out for him. As soon as he heard her steps, he darted to the ceiling. The door of the nursery opened into a small semi-entryway, before fanning out into the actual room. He had curled himself into the farthest corner of the semi-entryway, so that she would not see him when she entered, for he would be behind her.
Indeed, she did not see him when she entered. She peeked cautiously around the door, before lifting her skirts and deciding to go in. Peter, who had no visual recollection of his mother, or any recollection of the one time he had set eyes upon Mrs.Darling, was intrigued by her maternal air. He was fascinated by the flowing skirts of lavender, with white lace petticoats peeking from beneath. He had never seen such devices, these petticoats, or at least he had not seen them to his knowledge.
Mrs.Darling poked about the room, smoothing bedspreads, replacing toys in their chests, all the while searching for any sign of an unknown visitor. When she reached the final bed, Wendy's (for she went in a circle with things of this matter), she noticed an odd frock lying upon the spread. It was green of color, but the texture was what puzzled her so. It was cloth, to be sure, but it looked as if it were woven of moss, with leaves as the chosen attachements. It had worn bare on the right side, as though something had ripped through it. She picked up the threadbare article, holding it in her hands, before neatly folding it and tucking it under her arm. Peter was horrified.
So horrified, in fact, that he nearly lost his concentration. He scraped his foot (bare, of course) against the door frame to maintain balance. Mrs.Darling swiveled on her heels to try and identify the cause of this mysterious noise.
Luckily, Peter slid himself down behind the door. He felt quite odd, hiding like a child. He had never had to hide for fear of being found before. He had always hid for fear of being killed. But he hid anyway, for he knew that Wendy would not want him to be discovered.
Mrs.Darling was sure she had heard the noise, but she shrugged her petite shoulders and went to leave the room. When she passed the doorway, she leaned on it, ever so gently. Not gently enough, I suppose, considering Peter felt as if his knees were to be crushed against eachother. She relented her lean when she heard a muffled grunt. She felt sure that someone was present behind the door. She turned and acted as if she were to leave the room, so as to catch this person by surprise.
Of course, Mrs.Darling had no idea that this was not any ordinary intruder. Peter was not really an intruder at all, and he was most definitely not ordinary.
Peter, hearing no footsteps, foolish pushed the door away, and went to leave through the window. Mrs.Darling cried out, dropping Peter's frock, when she turned to see this boy flying around her nursery. All in a wave, the memories came flooding back to her. She remembered where the children had gone and she remembered who they had been with.
Peter Pan.
Peter flew out of the window and down to sidewalk as fast as he could. His heart beat so fast it nearly leapt out of his chest. He spotted Wendy anxiously waiting behind a tree.
"Peter! Get down here! Boys do not fly in London!" Wendy whispered hoarsely; the cold was getting to her. "Peter, your feet! You have no shoes!"
"Do I need them?" Peter asked, landing quietly, nervously glancing back towards the open window.
"Peter, why is the nursery window open?" Wendy asked him slowly, sure that the answer would send them both running.
"Your mother was there, I think she may have seen me." Peter replied, his eyes darting from Wendy to the nursery window.
"GEORGE!" The name shrieked through the open window to where the two children stood, causing them both to glance at eachother first, and then to take flight.
Of course I do not mean flight as in flying. That is only a figure of speech. In actuality, the two children ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Peter struggled with the weight of gravity, his body yearning to be free of its bonds once more. But he knew that Wendy expected him to behave, so he did. They ran, and ran, until they found themselves at the Kensington Garden gates.
Back at home, Mr. and Mrs.Darling were already discussing what to do about "that Peter character".
"He has taken my daughter once, I shall not let it happen again!" Mr.Darling thundered, his usual nervous, jumpy persona gone.
"George, should we wait until the other children return from school?" Mrs.Darling asked him, her own worry overwhelming, but she tried to stay calm for the sake of her empassioned husband.
"No, I don't think that would be wise...We should go to the police. Go to the police now." Mr.Darling replied, his thundering rage gone, he now wrung his hands, nervously pacing. "Tell them we believe our daughter has runaway."
"Runaway?" Mrs.Darling looked stricken at the thought.
"Would you rather we tell them a flying boy who wears leaves took her?"
Once the boys were dressed, Wendy lined them up once more, entrancing Peter with their queer order of doing things in such a neat and organized fashion. Wendy made sure they all had their shirts tucked in, their trousers buttoned, their hair brushed, their face washed, and last of all, their hands. It had been a horror of a trial to teach the Lost Boys to wash their hands. Even John and Michael, not Lost Boys by heart, were not troubled by dirty hands or faces. They did not care. Wendy, on the other hand, cared quite a lot. As any good mother would know, it is a reflection upon themselves when their children are shown in public with dirty hands and faces. Wendy, ever the maternal older sister, would have been dreadfully ashamed of herself if it seemed that she were not taking sufficient care of the boys in the nursery, and feared that a discovery such as that would make them think her ill fit to stay in the nursery, being that she was a girl of her age, and that she was too wrapped up in her own issues to deal with their little boy nonsense.
Which of course, that was entirely not the case. She cared deeply for the boys, and loved playing to their needs. Her stay in Neverland had not left her mind since their return, and her short time as their "mother" had stuck with her. But she was very glad to leave the position to someone experienced and very good at it - Mrs.Darling.
Now, Peter, thinking he would join this odd train, lined up right with them. He stuck out of the bunch like a sore thumb, with his tousled hair, leaves for clothing, and dirty hands, face, and feet. A part of him would have liked to have pretended to be clean and proper for London as the other boys, but another part of him remembered a time when he ordered the Lost Boys to abandon weaving cloth of leaves, for that would leave them to resemble his attire, which in his little boy's mind meant that they would be just like him, erasing his individuality as Peter Pan. Although that sort of logic may seem a little insecure (alright, it is insecure), Peter had mixed feelings on the subject now.
"Peter, do you plan on attending school?" Wendy smiled in spite of herself at the question.
"I do not want to go to school, but if you wish me to go with you, then I shall." Peter answered, once again crossing his legs and floating a few feet above ground in such a position.
"Oh, Peter, you cannot go with me! I go to a school for girls!" Wendy laughed, imagining Peter attending her girls' school.
"Why must you go to school? Can you not go to Kensington Gardens with me, all of you? I can show you the secrets that only the fairies know!" Peter smiled broadly, his eyes lighting up as he told tales of his adventures in Kensington Gardens, and where the fairies dwelled.
"Fairies, but fairies don't -" Peter cupped his hand over Michael's mouth before the words came out.
"Never say that. Every time a person says that a fairy somewhere drops down dead." Peter's light was gone from his eyes and a dark seriousness had replaced it. "Never say that."
"Peter, Michael has forgotten some things. He sometimes forgets them, but then when I am telling them a story, he will remember clear as day." Wendy told him, trying to comfort the sullen boy. "He will remember the fairies later."
She turned to the boys. "Now, in order to apologize to the fairy king and queen for almost killing one of their folk, you all must repeat after me: 'I do believe in fairies, I do, I do'. Now you must all say it twice."
The boys replied with gusto, Tootles getting so excited he nearly lost his breath. Poor Tootles was always getting into some sort of trouble. As you may or maynot know, he was not the brightest chap, but he had a good heart, and always tried to do the right thing. Once Wendy was sure that Peter was satisfied with their apology, she continued scrutinizing their dress.
Once she was satisfied, she smiled and nodded, and the boys, taking this signal, tromped through the hallway and the stairs to the dining room, where Mrs.Darling and Aunt Millicent awaited them, with nine bowls of hot oatmeal. Wendy waited until they had all left the room before she turned and addressed Peter.
"I would so love to go to Kensington Gardens with you, really, I would. But how am I to escape school without Mother finding me out?" Wendy asked, her brow wrinkled in thought.
"I shall think of a plan." Peter replied confidently, although he had no idea as to how to rescue Wendy from school.
Downstairs, the dining room was full of activity. The nine boys were all telling the tale of Peter Pan's reappearance to an amused Mrs.Darling and a very baffled Aunt Millicent. Aunt Millicent had long forgotten the adventures of Wendy, Michael, and John, upon which they returned with eight little boys. She was convinced that Mrs.Darling had given birth to them all, and could not be convinced otherwise.
"Children, really. I thought you had grown of such nonsense." Aunt Millicent told them sharply, earning a disapproving look from Mrs.Darling.
"Now, Millicent, they are children. A healthy imagine is just that - healthy." Mrs.Darling countered, smiling lovingly upon her children, the hidden kiss shining.
"Mother, really, he's here! He's upstairs, right now! With Wendy!" Twin told her, the other Twin nodding all the while.
"If he's really up there, then I shall have to tell him it is not polite to not introduce oneself to the mother of the house." She smiled a teasing smile, turning her flowing skirts towards the stairs. "Wendy? Breakfast is ready!"
Wendy quickly tied her ribbon in her hair. "Coming Mother!" She called. "Peter, I will meet you outside when we leave for school. Nanna takes the boys to their school, and I walk alone. Get dressed in these," She laid out a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt, "And wait up here. When you see me leave in a different direction than the boys, you can come down. No sooner. Nanna would like to have eaten you."
Peter absorbed this all, concentrating on not being disgusting by the trousers and shirt. He nodded, and waved her off. He had learned enough in that morning of privacy to believe that he too needed to be left alone for dressing.
Wendy skipped down the stairs, smiling, trying not to reveal the fact that she had an adolescent boy dressing in her nursery.
"Good morning, Mother, good morning, Aunt." Wendy nodded politely, before sitting down at the table.
"So, the boys tell me that we have a visitor. Where is he?" Mother smiled, winking at Wendy.
Wendy, who was quite flustered initially, calmed as she realized her mother did not believe that Peter was indeed in their house.
"OH, they're so silly sometimes. I told them stories last night, and well, you know. Their imaginations get the best of them!" She laughed nervously, before hungrily sweeping down her oatmeal.
Mrs.Darling smiled, not the slightest bit reassured. She knew that the boys had imaginations (she could swear she had seen them flying once) but occasionally she remembered odd things about before the children had disappeared to places unknown. She remembered when they had gone, and when they had reappeared, with the Lost Boys in tow. But she seemed to have forgotten all that was in between. She did not remember the odd swords she had found, nor the jewels and gold and pearls that Michael had produced out of his hat - in fact, she did not know where he had gotten the hat!
"Hurry now, you'll be late for school." Mrs.Darling said, sashaying to the entryway. "Coats!" She called, all eight boys leaving their places at the table and lining up (single file, of course) in the entry way.
Mrs.Darling helped each one with their coats, kissed each of their foreheads, and told them that she loved them. Nanna waited patiently by the door, until all of the kisses had been given, and all of the coats were being worn.
Then they set out for the new day. The London fog clouded the sun from view, leaving a mystical white glow to the day. Wendy followed soon after, her mother giving her an extra hug, before setting out for her school. Or at least so it seemed.
Wendy left the house and turned to the right, as she always did on her way to school. But instead of continuing this path until she reached the London Girls Academy. She checked behind her, to see that no one was looking, before calling out to the window.
"Peter!" She recieved no answer. "Peter, come down! We have to go!"
Meanwhile, Peter was hiding on the ceiling.
You see, as soon as the children left for school, Mrs.Darling had went upstairs to the nursery. Peter had heard her motherly footsteps (he could identify those doting steps from a mile away), giving him time to hide. He had already dressed in the atrocious (his opinion, my choice of words) clothes that Wendy had set out for him. As soon as he heard her steps, he darted to the ceiling. The door of the nursery opened into a small semi-entryway, before fanning out into the actual room. He had curled himself into the farthest corner of the semi-entryway, so that she would not see him when she entered, for he would be behind her.
Indeed, she did not see him when she entered. She peeked cautiously around the door, before lifting her skirts and deciding to go in. Peter, who had no visual recollection of his mother, or any recollection of the one time he had set eyes upon Mrs.Darling, was intrigued by her maternal air. He was fascinated by the flowing skirts of lavender, with white lace petticoats peeking from beneath. He had never seen such devices, these petticoats, or at least he had not seen them to his knowledge.
Mrs.Darling poked about the room, smoothing bedspreads, replacing toys in their chests, all the while searching for any sign of an unknown visitor. When she reached the final bed, Wendy's (for she went in a circle with things of this matter), she noticed an odd frock lying upon the spread. It was green of color, but the texture was what puzzled her so. It was cloth, to be sure, but it looked as if it were woven of moss, with leaves as the chosen attachements. It had worn bare on the right side, as though something had ripped through it. She picked up the threadbare article, holding it in her hands, before neatly folding it and tucking it under her arm. Peter was horrified.
So horrified, in fact, that he nearly lost his concentration. He scraped his foot (bare, of course) against the door frame to maintain balance. Mrs.Darling swiveled on her heels to try and identify the cause of this mysterious noise.
Luckily, Peter slid himself down behind the door. He felt quite odd, hiding like a child. He had never had to hide for fear of being found before. He had always hid for fear of being killed. But he hid anyway, for he knew that Wendy would not want him to be discovered.
Mrs.Darling was sure she had heard the noise, but she shrugged her petite shoulders and went to leave the room. When she passed the doorway, she leaned on it, ever so gently. Not gently enough, I suppose, considering Peter felt as if his knees were to be crushed against eachother. She relented her lean when she heard a muffled grunt. She felt sure that someone was present behind the door. She turned and acted as if she were to leave the room, so as to catch this person by surprise.
Of course, Mrs.Darling had no idea that this was not any ordinary intruder. Peter was not really an intruder at all, and he was most definitely not ordinary.
Peter, hearing no footsteps, foolish pushed the door away, and went to leave through the window. Mrs.Darling cried out, dropping Peter's frock, when she turned to see this boy flying around her nursery. All in a wave, the memories came flooding back to her. She remembered where the children had gone and she remembered who they had been with.
Peter Pan.
Peter flew out of the window and down to sidewalk as fast as he could. His heart beat so fast it nearly leapt out of his chest. He spotted Wendy anxiously waiting behind a tree.
"Peter! Get down here! Boys do not fly in London!" Wendy whispered hoarsely; the cold was getting to her. "Peter, your feet! You have no shoes!"
"Do I need them?" Peter asked, landing quietly, nervously glancing back towards the open window.
"Peter, why is the nursery window open?" Wendy asked him slowly, sure that the answer would send them both running.
"Your mother was there, I think she may have seen me." Peter replied, his eyes darting from Wendy to the nursery window.
"GEORGE!" The name shrieked through the open window to where the two children stood, causing them both to glance at eachother first, and then to take flight.
Of course I do not mean flight as in flying. That is only a figure of speech. In actuality, the two children ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Peter struggled with the weight of gravity, his body yearning to be free of its bonds once more. But he knew that Wendy expected him to behave, so he did. They ran, and ran, until they found themselves at the Kensington Garden gates.
Back at home, Mr. and Mrs.Darling were already discussing what to do about "that Peter character".
"He has taken my daughter once, I shall not let it happen again!" Mr.Darling thundered, his usual nervous, jumpy persona gone.
"George, should we wait until the other children return from school?" Mrs.Darling asked him, her own worry overwhelming, but she tried to stay calm for the sake of her empassioned husband.
"No, I don't think that would be wise...We should go to the police. Go to the police now." Mr.Darling replied, his thundering rage gone, he now wrung his hands, nervously pacing. "Tell them we believe our daughter has runaway."
"Runaway?" Mrs.Darling looked stricken at the thought.
"Would you rather we tell them a flying boy who wears leaves took her?"