bald narrative and most of the moral reflections are mine, though not
all, for this boy can be a stern moralist, but the interesting bits
about the ways and customs of babies in the bird-stage are mostly
reminiscences of David's, recalled by pressing his hands to his
temples and thinking hard.

Well, Peter Pan got out by the window, which had no bars. Standing on
the ledge he could see trees far away, which were doubtless the
Kensington Gardens, and the moment he saw them he entirely forgot that
he was now a little boy in a nightgown, and away he flew, right over
the houses to the Gardens. It is wonderful that he could fly without
wings, but the place itched tremendously, and, perhaps we could all
fly if we were as dead-confident-sure of our capacity to do it as was
bold Peter Pan that evening.

He alighted gaily on the open sward, between the Baby's Palace and the
Serpentine, and the first thing he did was to lie on his back and
kick. He was quite unaware already that he had ever been human, and
thought he was a bird, even in appearance, just the same as in his
early days, and when he tried to catch a fly he did not understand
that the reason he missed it was because he had attempted to seize it
with his hand, which, of course, a bird never does. He saw, however,
that it must be past Lock-out Time, for there were a good many fairies
about, all too busy to notice him; they were getting breakfast ready,
milking their cows, drawing water, and so on, and the sight of the
water-pails made him thirsty, so he flew over to the Round Pond to
have a drink. He stooped, and dipped his beak in the pond; he thought
it was his beak, but, of course, it was only his nose, and, therefore,
very little water came up, and that not so refreshing as usual, so
next he tried a puddle, and he fell flop into it. When a real bird