Mary Poppins: Chapters 6–7

“I won’t,” he said slowly, his voice muffled by the blanket.

“Meant to? You meant—well, then, you’re a very bad heathen boy, and I’ll tell your Ma, so I will—”

Through the bars of the fence he could see Miss Lark’s Andrew daintily sniffing at the Next Door lawn and choosing for himself the best blades of grass.

“Don’t dawdle,” said Mary Poppins, looking back at him.

“Every bed has a right and a wrong side,” said Mary Poppins, primly.
“Not mine—it’s next the wall.”
“That makes no difference. It’s still a side,” scoffed Mary Poppins.

“Off you go—in front of me, please. I'm not going to have you stravaiging behind any longer. You’ll oblige me by going on ahead.”

From that distance it looked very interesting and its sparkling rays of light seemed to beckon him.

He walked on, swaggering a little, going as slowly as he dared and pretending that he didn’t really want to see what it was.

When they opened them the Park had entirely disappeared—not a tree nor a green-painted seat nor an asphalt footpath was in sight.

He sprang into the blue-green water and came up with a herring.

He lifted a spread wing cautiously, disclosing a nest with two white eggs.

“Well, well, keep it if you must. But what madness to go gallivanting round the world when you could stay and bring up our nestlings. Why should we spend our time sitting when you could do it as well?”

Then, to Jane and Michael’s disappointment—they would dearly have liked some tropical fruit—she shook her head decisively and said, “East!”

Green paper-like leaves rustled in the breeze.

“Very well, then, we will go away. And then perhaps”—Mary Poppins’s voice was at its most priggish—“you’ll be sorry you missed us.”

“Traipsing wildly round the world when you could stay here with me. Never mind, my dear Mary, you always do what you want to do, however absurd and foolish. Pluck a few young bamboo shoots. They’ll sustain you till you get home. And you two”—he nodded at Jane and Michael—“tickle me gently behind the ears. That always sends me to sleep.”

“Traipsing wildly round the world when you could stay here with me. Never mind, my dear Mary, you always do what you want to do, however absurd and foolish. Pluck a few young bamboo shoots. They’ll sustain you till you get home. And you two”—he nodded at Jane and Michael—“tickle me gently behind the ears. That always sends me to sleep.”

“Well, what about those young ones, dear? Couldn’t they do with a bit of scouring?”

Amelia grinned at Jane and Michael, displaying a splendid array of teeth.

Mary Poppins held the fish aloft.

The Dolphins were after it in a second, two dark striving shapes rippling through the water.

“What do you think you’re doing, Michael?” Mary Poppins sounded ferocious.

Nothing but a neat green lawn; Jane, agog, beside him; the Twins in the perambulator; and Mary Poppins pushing it in the middle of the Park.

“Jumping up and down and shouting! Making a nuisance of yourself. One would think you had done enough for one day. Step along at once, please!”

Their terrible angry faces loomed nearer.

“Oh! Oh!" Michael dropped the compass. “Mary Poppins, help me!” he screamed and shut his eyes in terror.
And then something enveloped him.

The great creatures and their greater shadows, with a mingled roar or squawk of triumph, flung themselves upon him.

What was it that held him, soft and warm, in its smothering embrace?

“Mary Poppins!” he wailed, as he felt himself carried through the air and set down in something still softer.

He opened one eye. He could see no sign of the four gigantic figures of the compass. He opened the other eye to make sure. No—not a glint of any of them.

From the things she said, she was thinking about the Laundry Bill and Michael’s new overcoat and where was Aunt Flossie’s address, and why did that wretched Mrs. Jackson ask her to tea on the second Thursday of the month when she knew that was the very day Mrs. Banks had to go to the Dentist’s?

Mary Poppins walked between them, wearing her new hat and looking very distinguished.

Every time she stopped to make sure, Jane and Michael would sigh, but they did not dare say anything for fear she would spend even longer looking at herself in the windows, and turning this way and that to see which attitude was the most becoming.

Mary Poppins always called them “sparrers,” because, she said conceitedly, all birds were alike to her.

There were fussy and chatty grey doves like Grandmothers; and brown, rough-voiced pigeons like Uncles; and greeny, cackling, no-I’ve-no-money-today pigeons like Fathers.