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Peter Pan (Peter and Wendy)
Chapter 2
THE SHADOW
Mrs. Darling screamed, and, as if in answer to a bell, the door
opened, and Nana entered, returned from her evening out. She growled
and sprang at the boy, who leapt lightly through the window. Again
Mrs. Darling screamed, this time in distress for him, for she thought
he was killed, and she ran down into the street to look for his little
body, but it was not there; and she looked up, and in the black night
she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star.
She returned to the nursery, and found Nana with something in her
mouth, which proved to be the boy's shadow. As he leapt at the window
Nana had closed it quickly, too late to catch him, but his shadow had
not had time to get out; slam went the window and snapped it off.
You may be sure Mrs. Darling examined the shadow carefully, but it was
quite the ordinary kind.
Nana had no doubt of what was the best thing to do with this shadow.
She hung it out at the window, meaning "He is sure to come back for
it; let us put it where he can get it easily without disturbing the
children."
But unfortunately Mrs. Darling could not leave it hanging out at the
window, it looked so like the washing and lowered the whole tone of
the house. She thought of showing it to Mr. Darling, but he was
totting up winter great-coats for John and Michael, with a wet towel
around his head to keep his brain clear, and it seemed a shame to
trouble him; besides, she knew exactly what he would say: "It all
comes of having a dog for a nurse."
She decided to roll the shadow up and put it away carefully in a
drawer, until a fitting opportunity came for telling her husband. Ah
me!
The opportunity came a week later, on that never-to-be- forgotten
Friday. Of course it was a Friday.
"I ought to have been specially careful on a Friday," she used to say
afterwards to her husband, while perhaps Nana was on the other side of
her, holding her hand.
"No, no," Mr. Darling always said, "I am responsible for it all. I,
George Darling, did it. MEA CULPA, MEA CULPA." He had had a
classical education.
They sat thus night after night recalling that fatal Friday, till
every detail of it was stamped on their brains and came through on the
other side like the faces on a bad coinage.
"If only I had not accepted that invitation to dine at 27," Mrs.
Darling said.
"If only I had not poured my medicine into Nana's bowl," said Mr.
Darling.
"If only I had pretended to like the medicine," was what Nana's wet
eyes said.
"My liking for parties, George."
"My fatal gift of humour, dearest."
"My touchiness about trifles, dear master and mistress."
Then one or more of them would break down altogether; Nana at the
thought, "It's true, it's true, they ought not to have had a dog for a
nurse." Many a time it was Mr. Darling who put the handkerchief to
Nana's eyes.
"That fiend!" Mr. Darling would cry, and Nana's bark was the echo of
it, but Mrs. Darling never upbraided Peter; there was something in the
right-hand corner of her mouth that wanted her not to call Peter
names.
They would sit there in the empty nursery, recalling fondly every
smallest detail of that dreadful evening. It had begun so
uneventfully, so precisely like a hundred other evenings, with Nana
putting on the water for Michael's bath and carrying him to it on her
back.
"I won't go to bed," he had shouted, like one who still believed that
he had the last word on the subject, "I won't, I won't. Nana, it
isn't six o'clock yet. Oh dear, oh dear, I shan't love you any more,
Nana. I tell you I won't be bathed, I won't, I won't!"
Then Mrs. Darling had come in, wearing her white evening-gown. She had
dressed early because Wendy so loved to see her in her evening-gown,
with the necklace George had given her. She was wearing Wendy's
bracelet on her arm; she had asked for the loan of it. Wendy loved to
lend her bracelet to her mother.
She had found her two older children playing at being herself and
father on the occasion of Wendy's birth, and John was saying:
"I am happy to inform you, Mrs. Darling, that you are now a mother,"
in just such a tone as Mr. Darling himself may have used on the real
occasion.
Wendy had danced with joy, just as the real Mrs. Darling must have
done.
Then John was born, with the extra pomp that he conceived due to the
birth of a male, and Michael came from his bath to ask to be born
also, but John said brutally that they did not want any more.
Michael had nearly cried. "Nobody wants me," he said, and of course
the lady in the evening-dress could not stand that.
"I do," she said, "I so want a third child."
"Boy or girl?" asked Michael, not too hopefully.
"Boy."
Then he had leapt into her arms. Such a little thing for Mr. and Mrs.
Darling and Nana to recall now, but not so little if that was to be
Michael's last night in the nursery.
They go on with their recollections.
"It was then that I rushed in like a tornado, wasn't it?" Mr. Darling
would say, scorning himself; and indeed he had been like a tornado.
Perhaps there was some excuse for him. He, too, had been dressing for
the party, and all had gone well with him until he came to his tie.
It is an astounding thing to have to tell, but this man, though he
knew about stocks and shares, had no real mastery of his tie.
Sometimes the thing yielded to him without a contest, but there were
occasions when it would have been better for the house if he had
swallowed his pride and used a made-up tie.
This was such an occasion. He came rushing into the nursery with the
crumpled little brute of a tie in his hand.
"Why, what is the matter, father dear?"
"Matter!" he yelled; he really yelled. "This tie, it will not tie."
He became dangerously sarcastic. "Not round my neck! Round the
bed-post! Oh yes, twenty times have I made it up round the bed-post,
but round my neck, no! Oh dear no! begs to be excused!"
He thought Mrs. Darling was not sufficiently impressed, and he went on
sternly, "I warn you of this, mother, that unless this tie is round my
neck we don't go out to dinner to-night, and if I don't go out to
dinner to-night, I never go to the office again, and if I don't go to
the office again, you and I starve, and our children will be flung
into the streets."
Even then Mrs. Darling was placid. "Let me try, dear," she said, and
indeed that was what he had come to ask her to do, and with her nice
cool hands she tied his tie for him, while the children stood around
to see their fate decided. Some men would have resented her being
able to do it so easily, but Mr. Darling had far too fine a nature for
that; he thanked her carelessly, at once forgot his rage, and in
another moment was dancing round the room with Michael on his back.
"How wildly we romped!" says Mrs. Darling now, recalling it.
"Our last romp!" Mr. Darling groaned.
"O George, do you remember Michael suddenly said to me, `How did you
get to know me, mother?'"
"I remember!"
"They were rather sweet, don't you think, George?"
"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 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 it 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 we 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 that 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 cowardly custard."
"So are you a cowardly custard."
"I'm not frightened."
"Neither am I frightened."
"Well, then, take it."
"Well, then, you take it."
Wendy had a splendid idea. "Why not both take it at the same time?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Darling. "Are you ready, Michael?"
Wendy gave the words, one, two, three, and Michael took his medicine,
but Mr. Darling slipped his behind his back.
There was a yell of rage from Michael, and "O father!" Wendy
exclaimed.
"What do you mean by `O father'?" Mr. Darling demanded. "Stop that
row, Michael. I meant to take mine, but I -- I missed it."
It was dreadful the way all the three were looking at him, just as if
they did not admire him. "Look here, all of you," he said
entreatingly, as soon as Nana had gone into the bathroom. "I have
just thought of a splendid joke. I shall pour my medicine into Nana's
bowl, and she will drink it, thinking it is milk!"
It was the colour of milk; but the children did not have their
father's sense of humour, and they looked at him reproachfully as he
poured the medicine into Nana's bowl. "What fun!" he said doubtfully,
and they did not dare expose him when Mrs. Darling and Nana returned.
"Nana, good dog," he said, patting her, "I have put a little milk
into your bowl, Nana."
Nana wagged her tail, ran to the medicine, and began lapping it. Then
she gave Mr. Darling such a look, not an angry look: she showed him
the great red tear that makes us so sorry for noble dogs, and crept
into her kennel.
Mr. Darling was frightfully ashamed of himself, but he would not give
in. In a horrid silence Mrs. Darling smelt the bowl. "O George," she
said, "it's your medicine!"
"It was only a joke," he roared, while she comforted her boys, and
Wendy hugged Nana. "Much good," he said bitterly, "my wearing myself
to the bone trying to be funny in this house."
And still Wendy hugged Nana. "That's right," he shouted. "Coddle her!
Nobody coddles me. Oh dear no! I am only the breadwinner, why should
I be coddled--why, why, why!"
"George," Mrs. Darling entreated him, "not so loud; the servants will
hear you." Somehow they had got into the way of calling Liza the
servants.
"Let them!" he answered recklessly. "Bring in the whole world. But I
refuse to allow that dog to lord it in my nursery for an hour longer."
The children wept, and Nana ran to him beseechingly, but he waved her
back. He felt he was a strong man again. "In vain, in vain," he
cried; "the proper place for you is the yard, and there you go to be
tied up this instant."
"George, George," Mrs. Darling whispered, "remember what I told you
about that boy."
Alas, he would not listen. He was determined to show who was master
in that house, and when commands would not draw Nana from the kennel,
he lured her out of it with honeyed words, and seizing her roughly,
dragged her from the nursery. He was ashamed of himself, and yet he
did it. It was all owing to his too affectionate nature, which craved
for admiration. When he had tied her up in the back-yard, the
wretched father went and sat in the passage, with his knuckles to his
eyes.
In the meantime Mrs. Darling had put the children to bed in unwonted
silence and lit their night-lights. They could hear Nana barking, and
John whimpered, "It is because he is chaining her up in the yard," but
Wendy was wiser.
"That is not Nana's unhappy bark," she said, little guessing what was
about to happen; "that is her bark when she smells danger."
Danger!
"Are you sure, Wendy?"
"Oh, yes."
Mrs. Darling quivered and went to the window. It was securely
fastened. She looked out, and the night was peppered with stars. They
were crowding round the house, as if curious to see what was to take
place there, but she did not notice this, nor that one or two of the
smaller ones winked at her. Yet a nameless fear clutched at her heart
and made her cry, "Oh, how I wish that I wasn't going to a party
to-night!"
Even Michael, already half asleep, knew that she was perturbed, and he
asked, "Can anything harm us, mother, after the night- lights are
lit?"
"Nothing, precious," she said; "they are the eyes a mother leaves
behind her to guard her children."
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 for ever. 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 had 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!"