so we go on until no one could say whether it is more
his story or mine. In this story of Peter Pan, for instance, the bald
narrative and most of the moral reflections are mine, though not all,
for this boy can be a stern moralist, but the interesting bits about the
ways and customs of babies in the bird-stage are mostly reminiscences
of David's, recalled by pressing his hands to his temples and thinking
hard.

Well, Peter Pan got out by the window, which had no bars. Standing
on the ledge he could see trees far away, which were doubtless the
Kensington Gardens, and the moment he saw them he entirely forgot that
he was now a little boy in a nightgown, and away he flew, right over the
houses to the Gardens. It is wonderful that he could fly without wings,
but the place itched tremendously, and, perhaps we could all fly if we
were as dead-confident-sure of our capacity to do it as was bold Peter
Pan that evening.

He alighted gaily on the open sward, between the Baby's Palace and the
Serpentine, and the first thing he did was to lie on his back and kick.
He was quite unaware already that he had ever been human, and thought he
was a bird, even in appearance, just the same as in his early days, and
when he tried to catch a fly he did not understand that the reason he
missed it was because he had attempted to seize it with his hand, which,
of course, a bird never does. He saw, however, that it must be past
Lock-out Time, for there were a good many fairies about, all too busy
to notice him; they were getting breakfast ready, milking their cows,
drawing water, and so on, and the sight of the water-pails made him
thirsty, so he flew over to the Round Pond to have a drink. He stooped,
and dipped his beak in the pond; he thought it was his beak, but, of
course, it was only his nose, and, therefore, very little water came up,
and that not so refreshing as usual, so next he tried a puddle, and he
fell flop into it. When a real bird falls in flop, he spreads out his
feathers and pecks them dry, but Peter could not remember what was
the thing to do, and he decided, rather sulkily, to go to sleep on the
weeping beech in the Baby Walk.

At first he found some difficulty in balancing himself on a branch, but
presently he remembered the way, and fell asleep. He awoke long before
morning, shivering, and saying to himself, "I never was out in such a
cold night;" he had really been out in colder nights when he was a bird,
but, of course,