There was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the night-lights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it had been in all the drawers in the nursery, looking for Peter’s shadow, rummaged the wardrobe and turned every pocket inside out.

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It was not really a light; it made this light by flashing about so quickly, but when it came to rest for a second you saw it was a fairy, no longer than your hand, but still growing.  It was a girl called Tinker Bell exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage.

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A moment after the fairy’s entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.  He had carried Tinker Bell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust.

 

“Tinker Bell,” he called softly, after making sure that the children were asleep, “Tink, where are you?”  She was in a jug for the moment, and liking it extremely; she had never been in a jug before.

 

“Oh, do come out of that jug, and tell me, do you know where they put my shadow?”

 

The loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered him.  It is the fairy language. You ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before.

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Peter Pan (Peter and Wendy)

by James Matthew Barrie