“I was just thinking,” he said, a little scared. “It is only make-believe, isn’t it, that I am their father?” “Oh yes,” Wendy said primly. “You see,” he continued apologetically, “it would make me seem so old to be their real father.” “But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine.” “But not really, Wendy?” he asked anxiously. “Not if you don’t wish it,” she replied; and she distinctly heard his sigh of relief. “Peter,” she asked, trying to speak firmly, “what are your exact feelings for me?” “Those of a devoted son, Wendy.” “I thought so,” she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end
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