THE LITTLE WHITE BIRD OR ADVENTURES IN KENSINGTON GARDENS By J.M. Barrie CONTENTS I. David and I Set Forth Upon a Journey II. The Little Nursery Governess III. Her Marriage, Her Clothes, Her Appetite, and an Inventory of Her Furniture. IV. A Night-Piece V. The Fight For Timothy VI. A Shock VII. The Last of Timothy VIII. The Inconsiderate Waiter IX. A Confirmed Spinster X. Sporting Reflections XI. The Runaway Perambulator XII. The Pleasantest Club in London XIII. The Grand Tour of the Gardens XIV. Peter Pan XV. The Thrush's Nest XVI. Lock-Out Time XVII. The Little House XVIII. Peter's Goat XIX. An Interloper XX. David and Porthos Compared XXI. William Paterson XXII. Joey XXIII. Pilkington's XXIV. Barbara XXV. The Cricket Match XXVI. The Dedication THE LITTLE WHITE BIRD I. David and I Set Forth Upon a Journey Sometimes the little boy who calls me father brings me an invitation from his mother: “I shall be so pleased if you will come and see me,” and I always reply in some such words as these: “Dear madam, I decline.” And if David asks why I decline, I explain that it is because I have no desire to meet the woman. “Come this time, father,” he urged lately, “for it is her birthday, and she is twenty-six,” which is so great an age to David, that I think he fears she cannot last much longer. “Twenty-six, is she, David?” I replied. “Tell her I said she looks more.” I had my delicious dream that night. I dreamt that I too was twenty-six, which was a long time ago, and that I took train to a place called my home, whose whereabouts I see not in my waking hours, and when I alighted at the station a dear lost love was waiting for me, and we went away together. She met me in no ecstasy of emotion, nor was I surprised to find her there; it was as if we had been married for years and parted for a day. I like to think that I gave her some of the things to carry. Were I to tell my delightful dream to David's mother, to whom I have never in my life addressed one word, she would droop her head and raise it bravely, to imply that I make her very sad but very proud, and she would be wishful to lend me her absurd little pocket handkerchief. And then, had I the heart, I might make a disclosure that would startle her, for it is not the face of David's mother that I see in my dreams.