Mary Poppins: Chapters 4–5

Jane and Michael always knew when Miss Lark was in the garden or coming along the Lane, because she wore so many brooches and necklaces and earrings that she jingled and jangled just like a brass band.

For in his secret, innermost heart, Andrew longed to be a common dog. He never passed his pedigree (which hung on the wall in Miss Lark’s drawing-room) without a shudder of shame.

For in his secret, innermost heart, Andrew longed to be a common dog. He never passed his pedigree (which hung on the wall in Miss Lark’s drawing-room) without a shudder of shame.

From his friend, Andrew heard all the town gossip, and you could see by the rude way in which the other dog laughed as he told it, that it wasn’t very complimentary.

Then suddenly Miss Lark’s voice would be heard calling from a window, and the other dog would get up, loll out his tongue at Miss Lark, wink at Andrew and wander off, waving his hindquarters as he went just to show that he didn’t care.

And there, sure enough, was Andrew, walking as slowly and as casually as though nothing in the world was the matter; and beside him waltzed a huge dog that seemed to be half an Airedale and half a Retriever, and the worst half of both.

He and his friend marched sedately up to the group, whisking their tails jauntily and keeping their ears well cocked, and you could tell by the look in Andrew’s eye that, whatever he meant, he meant business.

He and his friend marched sedately up to the group, whisking their tails jauntily and keeping their ears well cocked, and you could tell by the look in Andrew’s eye that, whatever he meant, he meant business.

Andrew, however, merely shook his head and gave one or two low growls.

“That can't be what he says. As if I could have a great hulking mongrel like that inside my gate.”

“That can't be what he says. As if I could have a great hulking mongrel like that inside my gate.”

At that the other dog looked at Miss Lark very indignantly, and Andrew barked loudly.

She smoothed her apron and looked at them both very severely.

“It was long ago,” said Mary Poppins, in a brooding, story-telling voice.

The Red Cow—that’s the name she went by. And very important and prosperous she was, too (so my Mother said).

The Red Cow was very respectable, she always behaved like a perfect lady and she knew What was What.

Dandelions were either sweet or sour—there were never any moderately nice ones.

Her mornings were taken up in giving lessons to the Red Calf, her daughter, and in the afternoon she taught the little one deportment and mooing and all the things a really well brought up calf should know.

But at the very moment she was thinking these thoughts, adventure, as she afterwards told my Mother, was stalking her.

They went on capering and prancing and, of course, carrying her with them.

They went on capering and prancing and, of course, carrying her with them.

“Dear me!” she murmured at intervals with a ladylike accent. “How very peculiar!” But she couldn’t stop.

“Dear me!” she murmured at intervals with a ladylike accent. “How very peculiar!” But she couldn’t stop.

All through the day she danced, up and down the meadow and round and round the meadow, with the Red Calf mooing piteously behind her.

He stood up and arranged his ermine cloak very tastefully.

"...And for goodness’ sake stop jigging and jagging about like that!” he added irritably. “It makes me quite giddy.”

"Extraordinary," said the King, and he put his chin on his hand and stared at the Red Cow, pondering on what was the best thing to do.

“Mind my head!” entreated the Red Cow.

“Sire,” said the Red Cow, “I beg you to remember that I am a decent, respectable animal and have been taught from my infancy that jumping was no occupation for a lady.”

The Red Cow thought of the lush sweet taste of dandelions.

Quietly and serenely she moved across the field, beheading her golden soldiers as she went to greet the Red Calf.

She fretted, she lost her appetite, her temper was atrocious.

She fretted, she lost her appetite, her temper was atrocious.

“And that, I suppose, is why she was walking down Cherry-Tree Lane,” Jane prompted gently.

The intent look had gone from her eyes and the stillness from her body.