a mermaid.

"And if he forgets them so quickly," Wendy argued, "how can we expect
that he will go on remembering us?"

Indeed, sometimes when he returned he did not remember them, at least
not well. Wendy was sure of it. She saw recognition come into his eyes
as he was about to pass them the time of day and go on; once even she
had to call him by name.

"I'm Wendy," she said agitatedly.

He was very sorry. "I say, Wendy," he whispered to her, "always if you
see me forgetting you, just keep on saying 'I'm Wendy,' and then I'll
remember."

Of course this was rather unsatisfactory. However, to make amends he
showed them how to lie out flat on a strong wind that was going their
way, and this was such a pleasant change that they tried it several
times and found that they could sleep thus with security. Indeed they
would have slept longer, but Peter tired quickly of sleeping, and soon
he would cry in his captain voice, "We get off here." So with occasional
tiffs, but on the whole rollicking, they drew near the Neverland; for
after many moons they did reach it, and, what is more, they had been
going pretty straight all the time, not perhaps so much owing to the
guidance of Peter or Tink as because the island was looking for them. It
is only thus that any one may sight those magic shores.

"There it is," said Peter calmly.

"Where, where?"

"Where all the arrows are pointing."

Indeed a million golden arrows were pointing it out to the children, all
directed by their friend the sun, who wanted them to be sure of their
way before leaving them for the night.

Wendy and John and Michael stood on tip-toe in the air to get their
first sight of the island. Strange to say, they all recognized it at
once, and until fear fell upon them they hailed it, not as something
long dreamt of and seen at last, but as a familiar friend to whom they
were returning home for the holidays.

"John, there's the lagoon."

"Wendy, look at the turtles burying their eggs in the sand."

"I say, John, I see your flamingo with the broken leg!"

"Look, Michael, there's your cave!"

"John, what's that in the brushwood?"

"It's a wolf with her whelps. Wendy, I do believe that's your little
whelp!"

"There's my boat, John, with her sides stove in!"

"No, it isn't. Why, we burned your boat."

"That's her, at any rate. I say, John, I see the smoke of the redskin
camp!"

"Where? Show me, and I'll tell you by the way smoke curls whether the