One of her arms moved as if it wanted to go round something , and he knew what it wanted to go round . `` Oh , mother , '' said Peter to himself , `` if you just knew who is sitting on the rail at the foot of the bed . '' Very gently he patted the little mound that her feet made , and he could see by her face that she liked it . He knew he had but to say `` Mother '' ever so softly , and she would wake up . They always wake up at once if it is you that says their name . Then she would give such a joyous cry and squeeze him tight . How nice that would be to him , but oh , how exquisitely delicious it would be to her . That I am afraid is how Peter regarded it . In returning to his mother he never doubted that he was giving her the greatest treat a woman can have . Nothing can be more splendid , he thought , than to have a little boy of your own . How proud of him they are ; and very right and proper , too . But why does Peter sit so long on the rail , why does he not tell his mother that he has come back ? I quite shrink from the truth , which is that he sat there in two minds . Sometimes he looked longingly at his mother , and sometimes he looked longingly at the window . Certainly it would be pleasant to be her boy again , but , on the other hand , what times those had been in the Gardens ! Was he so sure that he would enjoy wearing clothes again ? He popped off the bed and opened some drawers to have a look at his old garments . They were still there , but he could not remember how you put them on . The socks , for instance , were they worn on the hands or on the feet ? He was about to try one of them on his hand , when he had a great adventure .
Perhaps the drawer had creaked ; at any rate , his mother woke up , for he heard her XXXXX `` Peter , '' as if it was the most lovely word in the language .
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