“There are always a lot of young ones,” explained Wendy, who was now quite an authority, “because you see when a new baby laughs for the first time a new fairy is born, and as there are always new babies there are always new fairies. They live in nests on the tops of trees; and the mauve ones are boys and the white ones are girls, and the blue ones are just little sillies who are not sure what they are.”
“I shall have such fun,” said Peter, with eye on Wendy.
“It will be rather lonely in the evening,” she said, “sitting by the fire.”
“I shall have Tink.”
“Tink can’t go a twentieth part of the way round,” she reminded him a little tartly.
“Sneaky tell-tale!” Tink called out from somewhere round the corner.
“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said.
“O Peter, you know it matters.”
“Well, then, come with me to the little house.”
“May I, mummy?”
“Certainly not. I have got you home again, and I mean to keep you.”
“But he does so need a mother.”
“So do you, my love.”