it some sort of holiday? I don’t think I had it in my datebook. Is it a birthday? Are the banks closed? Or—no! Oh no, Father. You didn’t lose your job, did you? You and Mother look so radiant, that can’t be it. Is there other news?”
Mr. Darling looked more and more blown back by the torrent of Wendy’s words, as if a wind were physically assaulting him.
“All right, all right,” he said, unable to think of anything better to quiet her.
“Wendy, dear, we’ve brought you something,” Mrs. Darling said through soft laughter. “Show her.”
Mr. Darling moved his arms and revealed the reason he had been cradling them so carefully.
At first Wendy thought it was a rat, which would explain its size (small), its color (white), and Nana’s discomfort (extreme).
But then a fat little pink tongue lolled out of its mouth and large black eyes blinked in excitement. It panted and pawed at Mr. Darling’s arms, excited but obviously unsure what it wanted to do. Its little ears, no larger than the corners of a lady’s pocket handkerchief, were actually quite huge compared to the thing’s head and didn’t seem to be able to move very much, as they would have on a German shepherd or Nana.
“Oh,” Wendy said, blinking. Her carefully read and reread books of Manners for English Girls and Boys had nothing she could draw from for this sort of situation. “Oh. A small dog.”
“It’s a teacup terrier. Isn’t it the most darling thing?” Mrs. Darling said, rubbing her face against its and kissing.
Mr. Darling looked unsettled by this physical display of affection, the dry nose touching the wet one.
“Yes, well, all the girls seem to be into them right now. Carrying them in baskets…bows in their fur…taking them to the park…I don’t know. You don’t hunt with them, I’m fairly certain. We just thought you could use…ah…a little friend.”
“We were afraid you were getting lonely in this big old drafty house,” Mrs. Darling said, taking her daughter’s hands and squeezing them.
Wendy, so talkative before, now had nothing to say. Mr. Darling always complained about how tiny their house was, endlessly comparing it to those of his business associates and of the managers whose ranks he wanted to someday be among. Mrs. Darling never said anything obviously unkind about their home, but did often refer to it in painfully obvious terms: adorable, cozy, manageable, charming, doll-sized.
“Oh…yes…lonely…” Wendy said, seizing on that one point, the one that was most reasonable.
(Nana whuffed indignantly. What was she, a piece of furniture?)
Her parents waited expectantly.
The polite thing to do, Wendy realized, was to walk forward and put a hand out to the tiny dog and let it smell her. She made herself do so.
The teeny puppy snuffled its wet nose all over her hand and seemed to lick—or slurp—her, like a jungle creature from one of her adventure books. Something horrid that ate ants or honey or anything else that required sucking up. It barked several times in a manner that was both strangely too quiet and somehow extremely irritating.
“Thank you, Father,” Wendy said, carefully removing her hand as if for the purpose of hugging him. It wasn’t entirely a lie; she did indeed want to envelop Mr. Darling’s large form and rest her head on his side, smelling his aftershave and his general father-ness. Her mother hugged her on the other side and kissed her on the forehead.
They loved her, that was more than obvious.
They just didn’t understand her.
Wendy did make an effort to try to see what the puppy could do.
(With Nana watching in stern disapproval.)
It would run into the middle of the room and then wag its tail like it had accomplished something truly incredible.
It would run up into her arms and lick her chin.
It would scamper along next to a ball that Wendy rolled.
It would not make any actual attempt to stop the ball, grab the ball, fetch the ball, or do anything with the ball aside from barking at it in that tiny yip that made Wendy want to lean over and say “Pardon me?”
Eventually, with two hours until the boys came home, Mother and Father now nowhere to be seen, and nothing else to do, Wendy found an appropriately sized basket, tied a ribbon around it, tucked in Snowball (really, what else could she name it?), put on her coat, and attempted an outing. She left her notebook behind, encumbered with her new pet and umbrella.
Nana also remained inside, aloof and disapproving.
While she felt a