“But on a Saturday night,” Slightly insinuated.
It was not really Saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long lost count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was Saturday night, and then they did it.
“Of course it is Saturday night, Peter,” Wendy said, relenting.
“People of our figure, Wendy!”
“But it is only among our own progeny.”
“True; true.”
So they were told they could dance, but they must put on their nighties first.
“Ah, old lady,” Peter said aside to Wendy, warming himself by the fire and looking down at her as she sat turning a heel, “there is nothing more pleasant of an evening for you and me when the day’s toil is over than to rest by the fire with the little ones near by.”
“It is sweet, Peter, isn’t it?” Wendy said, frightfully gratified. “Peter, I think Curly has your nose.”
“Michael takes after you.”
