d, "Who is Tinker Bell?"

"O Peter," she said, shocked; but even when she explained he could not
remember.

"There are such a lot of them," he said. "I expect she is no more."

I expect he was right, for fairies don't live long, but they are so
little that a short time seems a good while to them.

Wendy was pained too to find that the past year was but as yesterday
to Peter; it had seemed such a long year of waiting to her. But he was
exactly as fascinating as ever, and they had a lovely spring cleaning in
the little house on the tree tops.

Next year he did not come for her. She waited in a new frock because the
old one simply would not meet; but he never came.

"Perhaps he is ill," Michael said.

"You know he is never ill."

Michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, "Perhaps there
is no such person, Wendy!" and then Wendy would have cried if Michael
had not been crying.

Peter came next spring cleaning; and the strange thing was that he never
knew he had missed a year.

That was the last time the girl Wendy ever saw him. For a little longer
she tried for his sake not to have growing pains; and she felt she was
untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge. But the years
came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again
Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little
dust in the box in which she had kept her toys. Wendy was grown up. You
need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow
up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other
girls.

All the boys were grown up and done for by this time; so it is scarcely
worth while saying anything more about them. You may see the twins and
Nibs and Curly any day going to an office, each carrying a little bag
and an umbrella. Michael is an engine-driver [train engineer]. Slightly
married a lady of title, and so he became a lord. You see that judge in
a wig coming out at the iron door? That used to be Tootles. The bearded
man who doesn't know any story to tell his children was once John.

Wendy was married in white with a pink sash. It is strange to think
that Peter did not alight in the church and forbid the banns [formal
announcement of a marriage].

Years rolled on again, and Wendy had a daughter. This ought not to be
written in ink but in a golden splash.

She was called Jane, and always had an odd inquiring look, as if from
the moment she arri