Sometimes he looked longingly at his mother, and sometimes he
looked longingly at the window. Certainly it would be pleasant to be
her boy again, but, on the other hand, what times those had been in
the Gardens! Was he so sure that he would enjoy wearing clothes
again? He popped off the bed and opened some drawers to have a look
at his old garments. They were still there, but he could not remember
how you put them on. The socks, for instance, were they worn on the
hands or on the feet? He was about to try one of them on his hand,
when he had a great adventure. Perhaps the drawer had creaked; at any
rate, his mother woke up, for he heard her say "Peter," as if it was
the most lovely word in the language. He remained sitting on the
floor and held his breath, wondering how she knew that he had come
back. If she said "Peter" again, he meant to cry "Mother" and run to
her. But she spoke no more, she made little moans only, and when next
he peeped at her she was once more asleep, with tears on her face.
It made Peter very miserable, and what do you think was the first
thing he did? Sitting on the rail at the foot of the bed, he played a
beautiful lullaby to his mother on his pipe. He had made it up
himself out of the way she said "Peter," and he never stopped playing
until she looked happy.
He thought this so clever of him that he could scarcely resist
wakening her to hear her say, "Oh, Peter, how exquisitely you play.
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