“We’ve made the roses peeping out,

The babes are at the door,

We cannot make ourselves, you know,

’Cos we’ve been made before.”

“We’ve made the roses peeping out, The babes are at the door, We cannot make ourselves, you know, ’Cos we’ve been made before.”

Peter, seeing this to be a good idea, at once pretended that it was his own. The house was quite beautiful, and no doubt Wendy was very cosy within, though, of course, they could no longer see her. Peter strode up and down, ordering finishing touches. Nothing escaped his eagle eye. Just when it seemed absolutely finished,