She went from bed to bed singing enchantments over them, and
little Michael flung his arms round her. "Mother," he cried, "I'm glad
of you." They were the last words she was to hear from him for a
long time.

  No. 27 was only a few yards distant, but there had been a slight
fall of snow, and Father and Mother Darling picked their way over it
deftly not to soil their shoes. They were already the only persons
in the street, and all the stars were watching them. Stars are
beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must
just look on forever. It is a punishment put on them for something
they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the
older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the
star language), but the little ones still wonder. They are not
really friendly to Peter, who has a mischievous way of stealing up
behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun
that they were on his side to-night, and anxious to get the
grown-ups out of the way. So as soon as the door of 27 closed on Mr.
and Mrs. Darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the
smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out:

  "Now, Peter!"

                             CHAPTER III.

                        COME AWAY, COME AWAY!

  For a moment after Mr. and Mrs. Darling left the house the
night-lights by the beds of the three children continued to burn
clearly. They were awfully nice little night-lights, and one cannot
help wishing that they could have kept awake to see Peter; but Wendy's
light blinked and gave such a yawn that the other two yawned also, and
before they could close their mouths all the three went out.

  There was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter
than the night-lights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it
has been in all the drawers in the nursery, looking for Peter's
shadow, rummaged the wardrobe and turned every pocket inside out. It
was not really a light; it made this light by flashing about so
quickly, but when it came to rest for a second you saw it was a fairy,
no longer than your hand, but still growing. It was a girl called
Tinker Bell exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square,
through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage. She
was slightly inclined to embonpoint.

  A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the
breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in. He had carried
Tinker Bell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the
fairy dust.

  "Tinker Bell," he called softly, after making sure that the children
were asleep. "Tink, where are you?" She was in a jug for the moment,
and liking it extremely; she had never been in a jug before.

  "Oh, do come out of that jug, and tell me, do you know where they
put my shadow?"

  The loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered him. It is the
fairy language. You ordinary children can never hear it, but if you
were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before.

  Tink said that the shadow was in the big box. She meant the chest of
drawers, and Peter jumped at the drawers, scattering their contents to
the floor with both hands, as kings toss ha'pence to the crowd. In a
moment he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight he forgot
that he had shut Tinker Bell up in the drawer.

  If he thought at all, but I don't believe he ever thought, it was
that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join
like drops of water, and when they did not he was appalled. He tried
to stick it on with soap from the bathroom, but that also failed. A
shudder passed through Peter, and he sat on the floor and cried.

  His sobs woke Wendy, and she sat up in bed. She was not alarmed to
see a stranger crying on the nursery floor; she was only pleasantly
interested.

  "Boy," she said courteously, "why are you crying?"

  Peter could be exceedingly polite also, having learned the grand
manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her
beautifully. She was much pleased, and bowed beautifully to him from
the bed.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she replied with some satisfaction.
"What's your name?"

  "Peter Pan."

  She was already sure that he must be Peter, but it did seem a
comparatively short name.

  "Is that all?"

  "Yes," he said rather sharply. He felt for the first time that it
was a shortish name.