"And they were ours, ours! and now they are gone?"

  The romp had ended with the appearance of Nana, and most unluckily
Mr. Darling collided against her, covering his trousers with hairs.
They were not only new trousers, but they were the first he had ever
had with braid on them, and he had to bite his lip to prevent the
tears coming. Of course Mrs. Darling brushed him, but he began to talk
again about its being a mistake to have a dog for a nurse.

  "George, Nana is a treasure."

  "No doubt, but I have an uneasy feeling at times that she looks upon
the children as puppies."

  "Oh no, dear one, I feel sure she knows they have souls."

  "I wonder," Mr. Darling said thoughtfully, "I wonder." It was an
opportunity, his wife felt, for telling him about the boy. At first he
pooh-poohed the story, but he became thoughtful when she showed him
the shadow.

  "It is nobody I know," he said, examining it carefully, "but he does
look a scoundrel."

  "We were still discussing it, you remember," says Mr. Darling, "when
Nana came in with Michael's medicine. You will never carry the
bottle in your mouth again, Nana, and it is all my fault."

  Strong man though he was, there is no doubt that he had behaved
rather foolishly over the medicine. If he had a weakness, it was for
thinking that all his life he had taken medicine boldly, and so now,
when Michael dodged the spoon in Nana's mouth, he had said
reprovingly, "Be a man, Michael."

  "Won't; won't!" Michael cried naughtily. Mrs. Darling left the
room to get a chocolate for him, and Mr. Darling thought this showed
want of firmness.

  "Mother, don't pamper him," he called after her. "Michael, when I
was your age I took medicine without a murmur. I said 'Thank you, kind
parents, for giving me bottles to make me well.'"

  He really thought this was true, and Wendy, who was now in her
night-gown, believed it also, and she said, to encourage Michael,
"That medicine you sometimes take, father, is much nastier, isn't it?"

  "Ever so much nastier," Mr. Darling said bravely, "and I would
take it now as an example to you, Michael, if I hadn't lost the
bottle."

  He had not exactly lost it; he had climbed in the dead of night to
the top of the wardrobe and hidden it there. What he did not know
was that the faithful Liza had found it, and put it back on his
wash-stand.

  "I know where it is, father," Wendy cried, always glad to be of
service. "I'll bring it," and she was off before he could stop her.
Immediately his spirits sank in the strangest way.

  "John," he said, shuddering, "it's most beastly stuff. It's that
nasty, sticky, sweet kind."

  "It will soon be over, father," John said cheerily, and then in
rushed Wendy with the medicine in a glass.

  "I have been as quick as I could," she panted.

  "You have been wonderfully quick," her father retorted, with a
vindictive politeness that was quite thrown away upon her. "Michael
first," he said doggedly.

  "Father first," said Michael, who was of a suspicious nature.

  "I shall be sick, you know," Mr. Darling said threateningly.

  "Come on, father," said John.

  "Hold your tongue, John," his father rapped out.

  Wendy was quite puzzled. "I thought you took it quite easily,
father."

  "That is not the point," he retorted. "The point is, that there is
more in my glass than in Michael's spoon." His proud heart was
nearly bursting. "And it isn't fair; I would say it though it were
with my last breath; it isn't fair."

  "Father, I am waiting," said Michael coldly.

  "It's all very well to say you are waiting; so am I waiting."

  "Father's a cowardy custard."

  "So are you a cowardy custard."

  "I'm not frightened?"

  "Neither am I frightened."

  "Well, then, take it."