"But I think it is rather nice to be like one," she said in a woman's contradictory way. "And, Peter, dear, though I can't give them my fur, I wouldn't mind their building in it. Fancy a nest in my neck with little spotty eggs in it! Oh, Peter, how perfectly lovely!"But as they drew near the Serpentine, she shivered a little, and said, "Of course I shall go and see mother often, quite often.
It is not as if I was saying good-bye for ever to mother, it is not in the least like that.""Oh, no," answered Peter, but in his heart he knew it was very like that, and he would have told her so had he not been in a quaking fear of losing her. He was so fond of her, he felt he could not live without her. "She will forget her mother in time, and be happy with me," he kept saying to himself, and he hurried her on, giving her thimbles by the way.
But even when she had seen the boat and exclaimed ecstatically over its loveliness, she still talked tremblingly about her mother. "You know quite well, Peter, don't you," she said, "that I wouldn't come unless I knew for certain I could go back to mother whenever I want to? Peter, say it!"He said it, but he could no longer look her in the face.
"If you are sure your mother will always want you," he added rather sourly.
"The idea of mother's not always wanting me!" Maimie cried, and her face glistened.
"If she doesn't bar you out," said Peter huskily.
"The door," replied Maimie, "will always, always be open, and mother will always be waiting at it for me.""Then," said Peter, not without grimness, "step in, if you feel so sure of her," and he helped Maimie into the Thrush's Nest.
"But why don't you look at me?" she asked, taking him by the arm.
Peter tried hard not to look, he tried to push off, then he gave a great gulp and jumped ashore and sat down miserably in the snow.
She went to him. "What is it, dear, dear Peter?" she said, wondering.
"Oh, Maimie," he cried, "it isn't fair to take you with me if you think you can go back. Your mother"--he gulped again--"you don't know them as well as I do."And then he told her the woful story of how he had been barred out, and she gasped all the time. "But my mother," she said, "my mother"--"Yes, she would," said Peter, "they are all the same. I daresay she is looking for another one already."Maimie said aghast, "I can't believe it. You see, when you went away your mother had none, but my mother has Tony, and surely they are satisfied when they have one."Peter replied bitterly, "You should see the letters Solomon gets from ladies who have six."Just then they heard a grating creak, followed by creak, creak, all round the Gardens. It was the Opening of the Gates, and Peter jumped nervously into his boat. He knew Maimie would not come with him now, and he was trying bravely not to cry. But Maimie was sobbing painfully.
"If I should be too late," she called in agony, "oh, Peter, if she has got another one already!"Again he sprang ashore as if she had called him back. "I shall come and look for you to-night," he said, squeezing close, "but if you hurry away I think you will be in time."Then he pressed a last thimble on her sweet little mouth, and covered his face with his hands so that he might not see her go.
"Dear Peter!" she cried.
"Dear Maimie!" cried the tragic boy.
She leapt into his arms, so that it was a sort of fairy wedding, and then she hurried away. Oh, how she hastened to the gates!
Peter, you may be sure, was back in the Gardens that night as soon as Lock-out sounded, but he found no Maimie, and so he knew she had been in time. For long he hoped that some night she would come back to him; often he thought he saw her waiting for him by the shore of the Serpentine as his bark drew to land, but Maimie never went back. She wanted to, but she was afraid that if she saw her dear Betwixt-and-Between again she would linger with him too long, and besides the ayah now kept a sharp eye on her. But she often talked lovingly of Peter and she knitted a kettle- holder for him, and one day when she was wondering what Easter present he would like, her mother made a suggestion.
"Nothing," she said thoughtfully, "would be so useful to him as a goat.""He could ride on it," cried Maimie, "and play on his pipe at the same time!""Then," her mother asked, "won't you give him your goat, the one you frighten Tony with at night?""But it isn't a real goat," Maimie said.
"It seems very real to Tony," replied her mother.
