Outside the little house, the lost boys discussed how Wendy, as the only girl, was going to be their Mother. No one had asked Wendy what she was in Neverland for; they had decided by committee that she was to serve as the maternal figure.

“She was ever so lovely,” said Curly, in defiance of observation, “all dressed in white and cuddly looking. Peter must have brought her here to be our mother, and tell us stories.”

“O yes,” said Slightly, “she looks just like mothers ought to. I remember.”

The house was quite beautiful, and no doubt Wendy was very cosy within, though, of course, they could no longer see her. Peter strode up and down, ordering finishing touches. Nothing escaped his eagle eyes. Just when it seemed absolutely finished:

“There’s no knocker on the door,” he said.

They were very ashamed, but Tootles provided them with the sole of a shoe stolen from a dead man’s body, and it made an excellent knocker.

Absolutely finished now, they thought.

Not of bit of it. “There’s no chimney,” Peter said; “We must have a chimney.”

“It certainly does need a chimney,” said John importantly. This gave Peter an idea. He snatched the hat off John’s head, punched out the top, and put the hat on the roof. The little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that, as if to say thank you, smoke immediately began to come out of the hat. John was horrified at this treatment of his headgear, but had just enough sense not to protest.

Now really and truly it was finished. Nothing remained to do but to knock, and meet Wendy properly, in the hopes that she would forget about such a trifling occurrence as their attempted murder of her.

“All look your best,” Peter warned them; “first impressions are awfully important.”

He was glad no one asked him what first impressions are; they were all too busy looking their best.

He knocked politely, and now the wood was as still as the children, not a sound to be heard except from Tinker Bell, who had slunk back and was watching from a branch and openly sneering.

What the boys were wondering was, would any one answer the knock? If a lady, what would she be like?

The door opened and a girl came out. It was Wendy. They all whipped off their hats immediately.

She looked properly surprised by this, and this was just how they had hoped she would look. It was only that she had not expected them to have hats, let alone take them off in the niceties of introduction, but luckily for them she was kind enough not to say as much.

“Where am I?” she asked.

Of course Slightly had to be the first to get a word in. “O Wendy,” he said rapidly, “for you we built this house.”

“O, say you’re pleased,” cried Nibs, clutching his hands before him.

“It’s a lovely house,” Wendy said, and they were the very words they had hoped she would say.

“And now that you are here, we are going to be your children,” cried the twins, “and you shall tell us stories and care for us!”

Then all went on their knees, and holding out their arms cried, “O Wendy lady, be our Mother.”

It seemed that all of Neverland held its breath for a moment then, to hear the response. Even Peter looked on with interest, though he generally disapproved of parents of either gender.

Wendy’s cheeks went quite red with indignation. “Not very likely – just because one is a girl does not mean she’s obliged to be anyone’s mother! Why you wretches, go and mother yourselves! I shall go on grand adventures!”

Here I must say, the twins and Curly burst into tears of disappointment, for they had convinced themselves so strongly that they had been certain Wendy was going to be their mother.

Peter laughed at them.

“And where’s the boy who shot me?” Wendy demanded.

The hangdog Tootles presented himself.

“If you wish to take your revenge, strike now,” said Tootles, holding out the arrow that had been the vehicle of her downfall, and baring his chest bravely.

Wendy slapped it out of his hand, and bunched a fist. “I’m not going to kill you, you silly.” And then she slung back her arm, and punched him hard on the nose.

It was a lovely, square hit, and Tootles sat down abruptly, both hands over his nose, tears springing unwonted to his eyes and running down his cheeks.

“We’re even now,” Wendy said stoutly, hiding her hand behind her back and flexing her fingers – for she didn’t often punch people, and it hurt, “I don’t want to hear it mentioned again. Stand up and shake on it.”

She offered him her hand, helping him up, and then they shook hands solemnly.

“What is your name, lost boy?”

“Tootles.”

She gave him a long, steady look which made him hers forever. “I think we shall be fast friends, Tootles.”

“Very well,” said Peter, unimpressed, “inside, boys!”

There was a joyful stampede, and Michael and John squeezed down a hole in the trunk after the rest of the boys. Peter showed Wendy to the entrance of her little house, saying, “I should have killed Tootles for that.”

“Then that is the difference between you and I, Peter,” Wendy replied, “for I don’t mind forgiving him the mistake, and I was only bruised a little.”

Peter gave her a slightly scornful look at this, but bowed her inside very politely without making any comments about silly girls and their silly ideas about mercy. He was a little disappointed that she had not slain Tootles; the bloodshed would have been the perfect end to a night of adventuring.

By and by the boys tucked themselves up in the great bed in the home under the trees; Wendy slept soundly in the little house, and Peter kept watch outside with a drawn sword, for the pirates could be heard carousing far away and the wolves were on the prowl. The little house looked so cosy and safe in the darkness, with a little firelight seeping through its blinds, the chimney smoking beautifully, and Peter standing on guard.

After a time he fell asleep, and some unsteady fairies had to climb over him on their staggering way home from an orgy. Any of the other boys obstructing the fairy path at night they would have mischiefed with hexes, but they just tweaked Peter’s nose and passed on, leaving a glittering trail behind them. By the morning, it had sprouted into a trail of mushrooms, their pearly caps glimmering in the dawn, ringing Wendy’s house.