"Whatever do you mean, Wendy?"

"It is so naughty of him not to wipe his feet," Wendy said,
sighing. She was a tidy child.

She explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought
Peter sometimes came to the nursery in the night and sat on the
foot of her bed and played on his pipes to her. Unfortunately
she never woke, so she didn't know how she knew, she just knew.

"What nonsense you talk, precious. No one can get into the
house without knocking."

"I think he comes in by the window," she said.

"My love, it is three floors up."

"Were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother?"

It was quite true; the leaves had been found very near the
window.

Mrs. Darling did not know what to think, for it all seemed so
natural to Wendy that you could not dismiss it by saying she had
been dreaming.

"My child," the mother cried, "why did you not tell me of this
before?"

"I forgot," said Wendy lightly. She was in a hurry to get her