Tootles, rose. “Peter,” he said quietly, “I will show her to you,” and when the others would still have hidden her he said, “Back, twins, let Peter see.”
So they all stood back, and let him see, and after he had looked for a little time he did not know what to do next.
“She is dead,” he said uncomfortably. “Perhaps she is frightened at being dead.”
He thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more. They would all have been glad to follow if he had done this.
But there was the arrow. He took it from her heart and faced his band.
“Whose arrow?” he demanded sternly.
“Mine, Peter,” said Tootles on his knees.
“Oh, dastard hand,” Peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger.
Tootles did not flinch. He bared his breast. “Strike, Peter,” he said firmly, “strike true.”