neck. It
was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to
save her life.

When people in our set are introduced, it is customary for them to ask
each other's age, and so Wendy, who always liked to do the correct
thing, asked Peter how old he was. It was not really a happy question to
ask him; it was like an examination paper that asks grammar, when what
you want to be asked is Kings of England.

'I don't know,' he replied uneasily, 'but I am quite young.' He really
knew nothing about it; he had merely suspicions, but he said at a
venture, 'Wendy, I ran away the day I was born.'

Wendy was quite surprised, but interested; and she indicated in the
charming drawing-room manner, by a touch on her night-gown, that he
could sit nearer her.

'It was because I heard father and mother,' he explained in a low voice,
'talking about what I was to be when I became a man.' He was
extraordinarily agitated now. 'I don't want ever to be a man,' he said
with passion. 'I want always to be a little boy and to have fun. So I
ran away to Kensington Gardens and lived a long long time among the
fairies.'

She gave him a look of the most intense admiration, and he thought it
was because he had run away, but it was really because he knew fairies.
Wendy had lived such a home life that to know fairies struck her as
quite delightful. She poured out questions about them, to his surprise,
for they were rather a nuisance to him, getting in his way and so on,
and indeed he sometimes had to give them a hiding. Still, he liked them
on the whole, and he told her about the beginning of fairies.

'You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its
laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about,
and that was the beginning of fairies.'

Tedious talk this, but being a stay-at-home she liked it.

'And so,' he went on good-naturedly, 'there ought to be one fairy for
every boy and girl.'

'Ought to be? Isn't there?'

'No. You see children know such a lot now, they soon don't believe in
fairies, and every time a child says, 'I don't believe in fairies,'
there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead.

Really, he thought they had now talked enough about fairies, and it
struck him that Tinker Bell was keeping very quiet. 'I can't think where
she has gone to,' he said, rising, and he called Tink by name. Wendy's
heart went flutter with a sudden thrill.

'Peter,' she cried, clutching him, 'yo