"Lucky you," said Jane.

And then one night came the tragedy. It was the spring of the
year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now
asleep in her bed. Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to
the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in
the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow. Then
the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the
floor.

He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he
still had all his first teeth.

He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the
fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.

"Hullo, Wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he
was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white
dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her
first.

"Hullo, Peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small
as possible. Something inside her was crying Woman, Woman, let
go of me."

"Hullo, where is John?" he asked, suddenly missing the third
bed.

"John is not here now," she gasped.

"Is Michael asleep?" he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.

"Yes," she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to
Jane as well as to Peter.

"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should
fall on her.

Peter looked. "Hullo, is it a new one?"

"Yes."

"Boy or girl?"