by J. M. Barrie
XIX. An Interloper
David and I had a tremendous adventure. It was this, he passed the nightwith me. We had often talked of it as a possible thing, and at last Maryconsented to our having it.
The adventure began with David's coming to me at the unwonted hour ofsix P.M., carrying what looked like a packet of sandwiches, but provedto be his requisites for the night done up in a neat paper parcel. Wewere both so excited that, at the moment of greeting, neither of uscould be apposite to the occasion in words, so we communicated ourfeelings by signs; as thus, David half sat down in a place where therewas no chair, which is his favourite preparation for being emphatic, andis borrowed, I think, from the frogs, and we then made the extraordinaryfaces which mean, "What a tremendous adventure!"
We were to do all the important things precisely as they are done everyevening at his own home, and so I am in a puzzle to know how it was suchan adventure to David. But I have now said enough to show you what anadventure it was to me.
For a little while we played with my two medals, and, with the delicacyof a sleeping companion, David abstained on this occasion from askingwhy one of them was not a Victoria Cross. He is very troubled because Inever won the Victoria Cross, for it lowers his status in the Gardens.He never says in the Gardens that I won it, but he fights any boy ofhis year who says I didn't. Their fighting consists of challenging eachother.
At twenty-five past six I turned on the hot water in the bath, andcovertly swallowed a small glass of brandy. I then said, "Half-pastsix; time for little boys to be in bed." I said it in the matter-of-factvoice of one made free of the company of parents, as if I had said itoften before, and would have to say it often again, and as if there wasnothing particularly delicious to me in hearing myself say it. I triedto say it in that way.
And David was deceived. To my exceeding joy he stamped his little foot,and was so naughty that, in gratitude, I gave him five minutes with amatchbox. Matches, which he drops on the floor when lighted, are thegreatest treat you can give David; indeed, I think his private heaven isa place with a roaring bonfire.
Then I placed my hand carelessly on his shoulder, like one a triflebored by the dull routine of putting my little boys to bed, andconducted him to the night nursery, which had lately been my privatechamber. There was an extra bed in it tonight, very near my own,but differently shaped, and scarcely less conspicuous was the newmantel-shelf ornament: a tumbler of milk, with a biscuit on top of it,and a chocolate riding on the biscuit. To enter the room without seeingthe tumbler at once was impossible. I had tried it several times,and David saw and promptly did his frog business, the while, with anindescribable emotion, I produced a night-light from my pocket andplanted it in a saucer on the wash-stand.
David watched my preparations with distasteful levity, but anon made anoble amend by abruptly offering me his foot as if he had no longeruse for it, and I knew by intuition that he expected me to take off hisboots. I took them off with all the coolness of an old hand, and thenI placed him on my knee and removed his blouse. This was a delightfulexperience, but I think I remained wonderfully calm until I camesomewhat too suddenly to his little braces, which agitated meprofoundly.
I cannot proceed in public with the disrobing of David.
Soon the night nursery was in darkness, but for the glimmer from thenight-light, and very still save when the door creaked as a man peeredin at the little figure on the bed. However softly I opened the door, aninch at a time, his bright eyes turned to me at once, and he always madethe face which means, "What a tremendous adventure!"
"Are you never to fall asleep, David?" I always said.
"When are you coming to bed?" he always replied, very brave but ina whisper, as if he feared the bears and wolves might have him. Whenlittle boys are in bed there is nothing between them and bears andwolves but the night-light.
I returned to my chair to think, and at last he fell asleep withhis face to the wall, but even then I stood many times at the door,listening.
Long after I had gone to bed a sudden silence filled the chamber, and Iknew that David had awaked. I lay motionless, and, after what seemeda long time of waiting, a little far-away voice said in a cautiouswhisper, "Irene!"
"You are sleeping with me to-night, you know, David," I said.
"I didn't know," he replied, a little troubled but trying not to be anuisance.
"You remember you are with me?" I asked.
After a moment's hesitation he replied, "I nearly remember," andpresently he added very gratefully, as if to some angel who hadwhispered to him, "I remember now."
I think he had nigh fallen asleep again when he stirred and said, "Is itgoing on now?"
"What?"
"The adventure."
"Yes, David."
Perhaps this disturbed him, for by-and-by I had to inquire, "You are notfrightened, are you?"
"Am I not?" he answered politely, and I knew his hand was groping in thedarkness, so I put out mine and he held on tightly to one finger.
"I am not frightened now," he whispered.
"And there is nothing else you want?"
"Is there not?" he again asked politely. "Are you sure there's not?" headded.
"What can it be, David?"
"I don't take up very much room," the far-away voice said.
"Why, David," said I, sitting up, "do you want to come into my bed?"
"Mother said I wasn't to want it unless you wanted it first," hesqueaked.
"It is what I have been wanting all the time," said I, and then withoutmore ado the little white figure rose and flung itself at me. For therest of the night he lay on me and across me, and sometimes his feetwere at the bottom of the bed and sometimes on the pillow, but he alwaysretained possession of my finger, and occasionally he woke me to saythat he was sleeping with me. I had not a good night. I lay thinking.
Of this little boy, who, in the midst of his play while I undressed him,had suddenly buried his head on my knees.
Of the woman who had been for him who could be sufficiently daring.
Of David's dripping little form in the bath, and how when I essayed tocatch him he had slipped from my arms like a trout.
Of how I had stood by the open door listening to his sweet breathing,had stood so long that I forgot his name and called him Timothy.