MICHAEL. Who is that lady?
JOHN. H’sh! It’s mother.
MICHAEL. Then are you not really our mother, Wendy?
WENDY (with conviction). Oh dear, it is quite time to be back!
JOHN. Let us creep in and put our hands over her eyes.
WENDY (more considerate). No, let us break it to her gently.
(She slips between the sheets of her bed; and the others, seeing the idea at once, get into their beds. Then when the music stops they cover their heads. There are now three distinct bumps in the beds. MRS. DARLING. sees the bumps as soon as she comes in, but she does not believe she sees them.)
MRS. DARLING. I see them in their beds so often in my dreams that I seem still to see them when I am awake! I’ll not look again. (She sits down and turns away her face from the bumps, though of course they are still reflected in her mind.) So often their silver voices
