Wendy and John had been taken aback somewhat at finding their father in the kennel.
“Surely,” said John, like one who had lost faith in his memory, “he used not to sleep in the kennel?”
“John,” Wendy said falteringly, “perhaps we don’t remember the old life as well as we thought we did.”
A chill fell upon them; and serve them right.
“It is very careless of mother,” said that young scoundrel John, “not to be here when we come back.”
It was then that Mrs. Darling began playing again.
“It’s mother!” cried Wendy, peeping.
“So it is!” said John.
“Then are you not really our mother, Wendy?” asked Michael, who was surely sleepy.
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Wendy, with her first real twinge of remorse, “it was quite time we came back.”
“Let us creep in,” John suggested, “and put our hands over her eyes.”
But Wendy, who saw that they must break the joyous news more gently, had a better plan.
“Let us all slip into our beds, and be there when she comes in, just as if we had never been away.”