"Tink, where are you?" he whispered, and as then the light shone on the jug he went on: "Tink, do you know where they have put it?"

Now this little ball of light was really a fairy girl who knew everything worth knowing. Most fairies do. All you could see of her was the little flame, but you could hear her distinctly, she made a tinkling noise like a little silver bell, and that was why she was called Tinker Bell. Tinker Bell at last rested a few moments on the second drawer of the nursery dresser; instantly the boy ran joyfully to it, and pulling open the drawer snatched out his shadow neatly rolled up, just as Mrs. Darling had left it. He had found it certainly, but the next trouble was to put it on again. A happy thought struck him; he would stick it on with soap! Sitting on the hearthrug, he soaped his feet and then he soaped his shadow, but whichever way he soaped they would not stick together. There is no use in having a shadow if it will not stick to you. After trying and trying in vain the poor little fellow gave up the attempt, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed despairingly.

It was then that Wendy awoke. She sat right up in bed, and, not at all frightened, said: "Little boy, why are you crying?"

The elfin creature sprang to his feet, and taking off his cap, bowed very politely. Wendy curtsied in return, though she found it a difficult thing to do in bed.

"What's your name?" asked the little boy.

"Wendy Moira Angela Darling. What's yours?"

"Peter Pan."

"Where do you live?"

"Second turning to the right, and straight on till morning."

This seemed to Wendy a very funny address, but she was all sympathy when she heard that Peter had no mother. No wonder he was crying! But that was not the reason for Peter's tears; he was crying because he could not get his shadow to stick on. This made Wendy smile, and she emphatically declared that soap was no good. It must be sewn on.

"Shall I do it for you?" she suggested, and, jumping out of bed to get her work-basket, she set to work at once. It hurts a good deal to have a shadow sewn on to your feet, but Peter bore it bravely. It was the right thing to do, for the shadow held on beautifully, and Peter was so delighted that he danced up and down the nursery watching it making patterns on the floor as he flung his arms and legs about.

"Oh! the cleverness of me!" cried Peter, overcome with joy, and he crowed with pleasure, for all the world just as a cock would crow.

"You conceit," exclaimed Wendy indignantly, "of course I did nothing!"

"Oh! you did a little!"

"A little! If I am no use I can at least withdraw," she said, jumping back into bed and covering her head in a dignified way with the bedclothes.

"Oh! Wendy, please don't withdraw," Peter exclaimed in great distress. "I can't help crowing when I'm pleased with myself. One girl is more use than twenty boys."

This was rather clever of Peter, and at these sensible words Wendy got up again. She even offered to give Peter a kiss if he liked. Peter looked puzzled, but seeing the thimble on Wendy's finger he thought she meant to give him that, and held out his hand for it. Now Wendy saw at a glance that the poor boy did not even know what a kiss was, but being a nice little girl of motherly disposition, she did not hurt his feelings by laughing at him, but simply placed the thimble on his finger.

THE SHADOW HELD ON BEAUTIFULLY

Peter admired the thimble very much. "Shall I give you a kiss?" he asked and, jerking a button off his coat, solemnly presented it to her.

Wendy at once fastened it on a chain which she wore round her neck, and, forgetting the puzzle in his mind, she once more asked him for a kiss.

Immediately he returned the thimble. "Oh! I didn't mean a kiss, I meant a thimble!"

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's like this," replied Wendy, and gently kissed his cheek.

WENDY GENTLY KISSED HIS CHEEK.

"Oh!" cried Peter, "how nice!" and he began to give her thimbles in return, and ever afterwards he called a kiss a thimble, and a thimble a kiss.

"But Peter, how old are you?" continued Wendy.

"I don't know, but quite young. I ran away the day I was born."

"Ran away—why?"

"Because I heard my father and mother talking about what I was to be when I became a man. I don't want to be a man. I want always to be a little boy and have fun. So I ran away and lived among the fairies."

Wendy was almost speechless with delight at the thought of sitting beside a boy who knew fairies, and after a minute said: "Peter, do you really know fairies?"

"Yes, but they're nearly all dead now. 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. And now, whenever a new baby is born, its first laugh becomes a fairy. So there ought to be a fairy for every little boy and girl, but there isn't. You see children know such a lot now. They soon won't believe in fairies, and whenever a child says: 'I don't believe in fairies,' there's a fairy somewhere that falls down dead."

Peter suddenly looked about the room, as though he were searching for something. Tinker Bell had disappeared! Before he could grow anxious, however, a tinkling of bells was heard, and Peter, who knew the fairy language, of course understood it. He pulled open the drawer in which his shadow had been hidden, and out sprang Tinker Bell, very angry with him for shutting her up accidentally in the drawer. She skipped about the room, but Wendy gave such a cry of delight that Tink was frightened and hid behind the clock.

"But Peter," continued Wendy, "if you don't live with the fairies, where do you live?"

"I live with the Lost Boys."

"Who are they?"

"Why, they are the children who fall out of their perambulators when their nurses are looking the other way. If they are not claimed within seven days, they are sent far away to the Never-Never-Never Land to defray expenses. I'm their Captain."

"Oh! what fun! But, Peter, why did you come to our nursery window?"

Peter told her that he came to listen to the lovely stories Wendy's mother related to her children, for the Lost Boys had no mothers, and no one to tell them any stories. He also told her how he led them against their enemies, the pirates and the wolves, and how they enjoyed bathing in the Lagoon, where beautiful mermaids sang and swam all day long.

"I must go back now," he went on, "the boys