must now
shut up, and they accepted it humbly in that spirit; but they were by no
means so respectful to the other boys, whom they looked upon as just
ordinary braves. They said 'How-do?' to them, and things like that; and
what annoyed the boys was that Peter seemed to think this all right.

Secretly Wendy sympathised with them a little, but she was far too loyal
a housewife to listen to any complaints against father. 'Father knows
best,' she always said, whatever her private opinion must be. Her
private opinion was that the redskins should not call her a squaw.

We have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the
Night of Nights, because of its adventures and their upshot. The day, as
if quietly gathering its forces, had been almost uneventful, and now the
redskins in their blankets were at their posts above, while, below, the
children were having their evening meal; all except Peter, who had gone
out to get the time. The way you got the time on the island was to find
the crocodile, and then stay near him till the clock struck.

This meal happened to be a make-believe tea, and they sat round the
board, guzzling in their greed; and really, what with their chatter and
recriminations, the noise, as Wendy said, was positively deafening. To
be sure, she did not mind noise, but she simply would not have them
grabbing things, and then excusing themselves by saying that Tootles had
pushed their elbow. There was a fixed rule that they must never hit back
at meals, but should refer the matter of dispute to Wendy by raising the
right arm politely and saying, 'I complain of so-and-so'; but what
usually happened was that they forgot to do this or did it too much.

'Silence,' cried Wendy when for the twentieth time she had told them
that they were not all to speak at once. 'Is your calabash empty,
Slightly darling?'

'Not quite empty, mummy,' Slightly said, after looking into an imaginary
mug.

'He hasn't even begun to drink his milk,' Nibs interposed.

This was telling, and Slightly seized his chance.

'I complain of Nibs,' he cried promptly.

John, however, had held up his hand first.

'Well, John?'

'May I sit in Peter's chair, as he is not here?'

'Sit in father's chair, John!' Wendy was scandalised. 'Certainly not.'

'He is not really our father,' John answered. 'He didn't even know how a
father does till I showed him.'

This was grumbling. 'We complain of John,' cried the twins.

Tootles he