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           Allchildrencouldhavesuchrecollectionsiftheywouldpresstheirhandshardtotheirtemples,for,havingbeenbirdsbeforetheywerehuman,theyarenaturallyalittlewildduringthefirstfewweeks,andveryitchyattheshoulders,wheretheirwingsusedtobe.SoDavidtellsme.

           Ioughttomentionherethatthefollowingisourwaywithastory:FirstItellittohim,andthenhetellsittome,theunderstandingbeingthatitisquiteadifferentstory;andthenIretellitwithhisadditions,andsowegoonuntilnoonecouldsaywhetheritismorehisstoryormine.InthisstoryofPeterPan,forinstance,thebaldnarrativeandmostofthemoralreflectionsaremine,thoughnotall,forthisboycanbeasternmoralist;buttheinterestingbitsaboutthewaysandcustomsofbabiesinthebird-stagearemostlyreminiscencesofDavid’s,recalledbypressinghishandstohistemplesandthinkinghard.

           Well,PeterPangotoutbythewindow,whichhadnobars.Standingontheledgehecouldseetreesfaraway,whichweredoubtlesstheKensingtonGardens,andthemomenthesawthemheentirelyforgotthathewasnowalittleboyinanightgown,andawayheflew,rightoverthehousestotheGardens.Itiswonderfulthathecouldflywithoutwings,buttheplaceitchedtremendously,and—and—perhapswecouldallflyifwewereasdead-confident-sureofourcapacitytodoitaswasboldPeterPanthatevening.

           Healightedgailyontheopensward,betweentheBaby’sPalaceandtheSerpentine,andthefirstthinghedidwastolieonhisbackandkick.