ved on the mainland she wanted to ask questions. When
she was old enough to ask them they were mostly about Peter Pan. She
loved to hear of Peter, and Wendy told her all she could remember in the
very nursery from which the famous flight had taken place. It was
Jane's nursery now, for her father had bought it at the three per cents
[mortgage rate] from Wendy's father, who was no longer fond of stairs.
Mrs. Darling was now dead and forgotten.

There were only two beds in the nursery now, Jane's and her nurse's; and
there was no kennel, for Nana also had passed away. She died of old age,
and at the end she had been rather difficult to get on with; being very
firmly convinced that no one knew how to look after children except
herself.

Once a week Jane's nurse had her evening off; and then it was Wendy's
part to put Jane to bed. That was the time for stories. It was Jane's
invention to raise the sheet over her mother's head and her own, this
making a tent, and in the awful darkness to whisper:

"What do we see now?"

"I don't think I see anything to-night," says Wendy, with a feeling that
if Nana were here she would object to further conversation.

"Yes, you do," says Jane, "you see when you were a little girl."

"That is a long time ago, sweetheart," says Wendy. "Ah me, how time
flies!"

"Does it fly," asks the artful child, "the way you flew when you were a
little girl?"

"The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever
did really fly."

"Yes, you did."

"The dear old days when I could fly!"

"Why can't you fly now, mother?"

"Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the
way."

"Why do they forget the way?"

"Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only
the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."

"What is gay and innocent and heartless? I do wish I were gay and
innocent and heartless."

Or perhaps Wendy admits she does see something.

"I do believe," she says, "that it is this nursery."

"I do believe it is," says Jane. "Go on."

They are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when Peter
flew in looking for his shadow.

"The foolish fellow," says Wendy, "tried to stick it on with soap, and
when he could not he cried, and that woke me, and I sewed it on for
him."

"You have missed a bit," interrupts Jane, who now knows the story better
than her mother. "When you saw him sitting on the floor crying, what did
y