There were only two beds in the nursery now, Jane's and her nurse's; and there was no kennel, for Nana also had passed away. She died of old age, and at the end she had been rather difficult to get on with; being very firmly convinced that no one knew how to look after children except herself.
Once a week Jane's nurse had her evening off; and then it was Wendy's part to put Jane to bed. That was the time for stories. It was Jane's invention to raise the sheet over her mother's head and her own, thus making a tent, and in the awful darkness to whisper:
'What do we see now?'
'I don't think I see anything to-night,' says Wendy, with a feeling that if Nana were here she would object to further conversation.
'Yes, you do,' says Jane, 'you see when you were a little girl.'
'That is a long time ago, sweetheart,' says Wendy. 'Ah me, how time flies!'
'Does it fly,' asks the artful child, 'the way you flew when you were a little girl?'
'The way I flew! Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever did really fly.'
'Yes, you did.'