«Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she replied solemnly. "What's your name?” "Peter Pan.”
"Is that all?"
“Yes," he said rather anxiously. He felt for the first time that it was a
tremendously short name.
She asked where he lived.
"Second to the right,” said Peter, "and then straight on till morning."
“What a funny address!”
“No, it isn't,” he said firmly.
“I mean,” Wendy said nicely, remembering she was hostess, "is that what
they put on the letters?”
"Don't get any letters,” he said with regret.
"But your mother gets letters?”
"Don't have a mother,” he mumbled. Not only had he no mother, but he
had not the slightest wish to have one. Wendy, however, felt at once that
she was in the presence of tragedy.
“O Peter, no wonder you were crying,” she said and got out of bed and
ran to him.
"I asn't crying about mothers,” he said staring at her. "I was crying
because I can't get my shadow to stick on. Besides, I wasn't crying."
"It has come off?” asked Wendy pop-eyed.
“Yes."

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