Some loud noise woke Wendy, and she sat up in bed. Then she searched for the candle and lit it. She was not frightened to see a stranger crying on the floor; she was only pleasantly interested.
"Boy," she said kindly, "why are you crying?"
Peter could be extremely polite, so he rose and bowed1 to her beautifully.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she replied solemnly. "What's your name?"
"Peter Pan."
"Is that all?"
"Yes," he said rather anxiously. He felt for the first time that it
was a tremendously short name.
She asked where he lived.
"Second to the right," said Peter, "and then straight on till morn-
ing."
"What a funny address!"
"No, it isn't," he said firmly.
"I mean," Wendy said nicely, remembering she was hostess, "is
that what they put on the letters?"
"Don't get any letters," he said with regret.
"But your mother gets letters?"
"Don't have a mother," he mumbled. Not only had he no mother,
but he had not the slightest wish to have one. Wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of tragedy.
"O Peter, no wonder you were crying," she said and got out of bed and ran to him.
"I wasn't crying about mothers," he said staring at her. "I was crying because I can't get my shadow to stick on. Besides, I wasn't crying."
"It has come off?" asked Wendy pop-eyed.
"Yes."
Then Wendy saw the shadow on the floor and she was frightfully sorry for Peter and willing to help him. "How awful!" she said. Fortunately she knew at once what to do. "It must be sewn on," she said. "I shall sew it on for you, my little man," she said, though he was as tall as herself, and she got out
her sewing basket and sewed the shadow on to Peter's foot. Peter was so happy that he started bouncing about. He had already forgotten that it was Wendy who helped him. He thought he had sewn the shadow on himself. "How clever I am," he shouted, "oh, the cleverness of me!" he repeated with triumph.
Wendy was taken aback. "Indeed," she exclaimed with sarcasm, "of course I did nothing!" "You did a little," Peter said carelessly and continued to dance.
"A little!" she replied angrily. "If I am no use, I can go to bed," and she got into bed and covered her face with the blankets.
Peter sat on the end of the bed. "Wendy," he said, "don't go to sleep." And then he continued in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist,1 "Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys."
"Do you really think so, Peter?" murmured Wendy.
"Yes, I do. Without any doubt."
"I think it is perfectly sweet of you," she smiled, "and I'll get up
again."
When people are introduced, it is customary for them to ask each
other's age, and so Wendy, who always liked to do the correct thing, asked Peter how old he was. It was not really a happy question to ask him; it was like an examination paper that asked grammar, when what you want to be asked is Kings of England.
"I don't know," he replied gloomily, "but I am quite young." He really knew nothing about it. "Wendy, I ran away the day I was born. It was because I heard father and mother talking about what I was to be when I became a man. I don't want ever to be a man. On the contrary, I want always to be a little boy and to have fun. So I ran away to Kensington Gardens and lived a long, long time among the fairies."
Wendy had lived such a home life that to know fairies struck her as quite wonderful. She poured out questions about fairies and though the questions were rather a nuisance1 to him, Peter told her what he knew. Then Wendy asked him more questions.
"If you don't live in Kensington Gardens now - " "Sometimes I do still," Peter mumbled.
"But where do you live mostly now?"
"With the lost boys."
"Who are they?" Wendy seemed much interested.
"They are the children who fall out of their prams when the nurse is looking the other way. If they are not asked back in seven days, they are sent far away to the Neverland. I'm a captain."
"What fun it must be!" said Wendy in fascination.
"Yes," said cunning2 Peter, "but we are rather lonely. You see we have no girlfriends."
"Are there no girls?"
"Oh no, girls, you know, are much too clever to fall out of their prams."
Wendy was impressed. "I think," she said, "it is perfectly lovely the way you talk about girls; my brother John just despises us."
Wendy felt she was having a real adventure. She was just slightly disappointed when Peter said that he came to her window not to see her but to listen to stories which her mother told every evening.
"You see I don't know any stories for some reason. None of the lost boys knows any stories," said Peter with regret.
"How perfectly awful," Wendy said. "Can you all be under the spell?"
"I am not sure," Peter answered. "O Wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely story."
Wendy agreed to go away with Peter Pan when he asked her to be the "mother" for him and the Lost Boys in Neverland, telling her about the wonderful adventures they would have and the stories she could tell them. Wendy, who had a great love for adventure and storytelling, was thrilled at the prospect of going to Neverland and being a mother to the boys. Additionally, Peter's irresistible charm and persuasive powers likely played a role in convincing Wendy to come with him.
