Mary Poppins Opens the Door

by P. L. Travers

  In terror, Michael glanced about him. But no help came from the other children. And he knew he would have to go through with it.

  "But you did, Mary Poppins!" he protested bravely. "The rocket went pop! and there you were, coming out of it down the sky!"

  She seemed to grow larger as she came towards him.

  "Pop?" she repeated, furiously. "I popped—and came out of a rocket?"

  He shrank back feebly against the pillow. "Well—that's what it looked like—didn't it, Jane?"

  "Hush!" whispered Jane, with a shake of her head. She knew it was no good arguing.

  "I have to say it, Mary Poppins! We saw you!" Michael wailed. "And if you didn't come out of the rocket, what did! There weren't any stars!"

  "Pop!" said Mary Poppins again. "Out of a rocket with a pop! You have often insulted me, Michael Banks, but this is the Very Worst. If I hear any more about Pops—or Rockets——" She did not tell him what she would do but he knew it would be dreadful.

  "Wee-twee! Wee-twee!"

  A small voice sounded from the window-sill. An old Starling peered into the Nursery and flapped his wings excitedly.

  Mary Poppins bounded to the window.

  "Be off, you sparrer!" she said fiercely. And as the Starling darted away she switched out the light and pounced into bed. They heard her angrily muttering "Pop!" as she pulled the blankets up.

  Then silence settled over them like a soft comforting cloud. It had almost folded them to sleep when the faintest murmur came from Jane's bed.

  "Michael!" she said, in a careful whisper.

  He sat up cautiously and looked in the direction of her pointing finger.

  From the corner by the fireplace came a little glow of light. And they saw that the folds of the parrot umbrella were full of coloured stars—the kind of stars you expect to see when a rocket breaks in the sky. Their eyes grew wide with astonishment as the parrot's head bent down. Then, one by one, its beak plucked the stars from the silken folds and threw them on the floor. They gleamed for a moment, gold and silver, then faded and went out. Then the parrot head straightened upon the handle, and Mary Poppins' black umbrella stood stiff and still in its corner.

  The children looked at each other and smiled. But they said nothing. They could only wonder and be silent. They knew there were not enough words in the Dictionary for the things that happened to Mary Poppins.

  "Tick-tock!" said the clock on the mantelpiece. "Go to sleep, children! Tick, tock, tick!"

  Then they closed their eyes on the happy day and the clock kept time with their quiet breathing.

  Mr. Banks sat and snored in his study with a newspaper over his face.

  Mrs. Banks was sewing new black buttons on his old overcoat.

  "Are you still thinking what you might have done if you hadn't got married?" she asked.

  "Eh, what?" said Mr. Banks, waking up. "Well, no. It's much too much trouble. And now that Mary Poppins is back, I shan't have to think about anything."

  "Good," said Mrs. Banks, sewing briskly. "And I'll try and teach Robertson Ay."

  "Teach him what?" Mr. Banks said, sleepily.

  "Not to give you one black and one brown, of course!"

  "You'll do nothing of the kind," Mr. Banks insisted. "The mixture was much admired at the Office. I shall always wear them that way in future."

  "Indeed?" said Mrs. Banks, smiling happily. On the whole, she felt glad Mr. Banks had married. And now that Mary Poppins was back, she would tell him so more often....

  Downstairs in the kitchen sat Mrs. Brill. The Policeman had just brought Ellen home and was staying for a Cup of Tea.

  "That Mary Poppins!" he said, sipping. "She's 'ere today and gone tomorrer, just like them Willy-the-Wisps!"

  "Ow! Don't say that!" said Ellen, sniffling. "I thought she was come to stay."

  The Policeman gave her his handkerchief.

  "Maybe she will!" he told her fondly. "You never can tell, you know."

  "Well, I'm sure I hope so," sighed Mrs. Brill. "This 'ouse is a Model Residence whenever she's in it."

  "I hope so, too. I need a rest," said Robertson Ay to the brooms. And he snuggled down under Mrs. Banks' shawl and went to sleep again.

  But what Mary Poppins hoped, none of them knew. For Mary Poppins, as everyone knows, never told anyone anything....

  CHAPTER 2

  MR. TWIGLEY'S WISHES

  OH, DO come on, Mary Poppins!" said Michael impatiently, as he danced up and down on the pavement.

  Mary Poppins took no notice. She was standing in the Lane admiring her reflection in the brass plate on Dr. Simpson's gate.

  "You look quite tidy!" Jane assured her.

  "Tidy!" Mary Poppins snorted. Tidy in her new black hat with the blue bow? Tidy indeed! Handsome, she thought, would be nearer the mark. Tossing her head, she strode on quickly and they had to run to keep up with her.

  The three of them were walking through the fine May afternoon to find Mr. Twigley. For the Drawing-room piano was out of tune and Mrs. Banks had asked Mary Poppins to find a piano-tuner.

  "There's my cousin, Ma'am, Mr. Twigley. Just three blocks from here." Mary Poppins had announced. And when Mrs. Banks said she had never heard of him, Mary Poppins, with her usual sniff, had reminded Mrs. Banks that her relatives were composed of the Very Best People.

  And now Jane and Michael, who had already met two members of Mary Poppins' family, were wondering what Mr. Twigley would be like.

  "I think he will be tall and thin, like Mr. Thrvy," said Michael.

  "I think he will be round and fat, like Mr. Wigg," said Jane.

  "I never knew such a pair for thinking!" said Mary Poppins. "You'll wear your brains out. Turn here, please!"

  They hurried along and turned a corner and found themselves standing in a narrow street lined with small, old-fashioned houses.

  "Why, what street is this? I never saw it before! And I've been here lots of times!" cried Jane.

  "Well, don't blame me!" Mary Poppins snapped. "You don't suppose I put it there!"

  "I shouldn't wonder if you did!" said Michael, as he gazed at the strange little houses. Then he added, with a flattering smile, "You're so very clever, you know!"

  "Humph!" she said tartly, though her mouth took on a conceited look. "Clever is as clever does. And it's more than you are, anyway!" And, sniffing, she led them down the street and rang the bell of one of the houses.

  "Pang!" said the bell loudly. And at the same moment an upstairs window swung open. A large head, with a knob of hair at the back, popped out like a Jack-in-the-Box.

  "Well, what's the matter now?" a harsh voice cried. Then the woman looked down and spied Mary Poppins. "Oh, it's you, is it?" she said angrily. "Well, you can just turn round and go back to wherever you came from. He isn't in!" The window swung to and the head disappeared.

  The children felt very disappointed.

  "Perhaps we can come again tomorrow," said Jane anxiously.

  "Today—or Never. That's my motto!" snapped Mary Poppins. And she rang the bell again.

  This time it was the front door that burst open. The owner of the head stood before them glowering. She wore large black boots, a blue-and-white checked apron and a black shawl round her shoulders. Jane and Michael thought she was the ugliest person they had ever seen. And they felt very sorry for Mr. Twigley.

  "What—you again!" the huge woman shouted. "I told you he wasn't in. And in he is not, or my name's not Sarah Clump!"

  "Then you aren't Mrs. Twigley!" exclaimed Michael, with relief.

  "Not yet," she remarked, with an ominous smile. "Here! Down you come, all of you!" she added. For Mary Poppins, with the speed of a serpent, had slipped through the doorway and was dragging the children up the stairs. "Do you hear me? I'll have the Law on you, bursting into a decent woman's house like a set of Vampires!"

  "Decent!" said Mary Poppins, snorting. "If you're decent I'm a Dromedary!" And she rapped three times on a door at her right.

  "Who's the
re?" called an anxious voice from within. Jane and Michael trembled with excitement. Perhaps Mr. Twigley was at home, after all!

  "It's me, Cousin Fred. Unlock the door, please!"

  There was a moment's silence. Then the sound of a key being turned in the lock. The door opened and Mary Poppins, pulling the children after her, shut it and locked it again.

  "Let me in—you Pirate!" roared Mrs. Clump, angrily rattling the handle.

  Mary Poppins laughed quietly. The children glanced about them. They were in a large attic littered with scraps of wood, tins of paint and bottles of glue. Every available space in the room was filled with musical instruments. A harp stood in one corner and in another was a pile of drums. Ttumpets and violins hung from the rafters; flutes and tin-whistles were stacked on the shelves. A dusty table by the window was littered with carpenter's tools. And on the edge of the bench was a small polished box with a tiny screw-driver tossed beside it.

  In the middle of the floor stood five half-finished musical boxes. Brightly they shone in their fresh new colours and round them, chalked on the boards in large white letters, were the words

  WET PAINT

  The whole attic smelt deliciously of wood-shavings, paint and glue. There was only one thing missing from it. And that was Mr. Twigley.

  "Will you let me in or shall I go for the Police?" shouted Mrs. Clump, banging again. Mary Poppins took no notice. And presently they heard her thumping downstairs, muttering furiously as she went.

  "Has she gone?" a thin voice cackled anxiously.

  "She's gone downstairs and I've locked the door! Now, what have you done with yourself, please, Fred?" Mary Poppins gave an impatient sniff.

  "I've wished, Mary!" chirped the voice again.

  Jane and Michael stared round the dusty attic. Where could Mr. Twigley be?

  "Oh, Fred! Don't tell me it's the——! Well, wish again, please, wherever you are! I haven't all day to waste."

  "All right! I'm coming! No need for excitement!"

  The violins played a stave of music. Then, out of the air—as it seemed to the children—came two short legs clad in baggy trousers. They were followed by a body in an old frock-coat. And last of all came a long white beard, a wrinkled face with glasses on its nose and a bald head in a smoking cap.

  "Really, Cousin Fred!" said Mary Poppins crossly. "You're old enough to know better!"

  "Nonsense, Mary!" said Mr. Twigley, beaming. "Nobody's ever old enough to know better! I'm sure you agree with me, young man!" He looked at Michael with his twinkly eyes. And Michael couldn't help twinkling back.

  "But where were you hiding?" he demanded. "You couldn't have just come out of the air."

  "Oh, yes, I could!" said Mr. Twigley. "If I wished," he added, as he skipped round the room.

  "You mean, you just wished—and you disappeared?"

  With a glance at the door, Mr. Twigley nodded.

  "I had to—to get away from her!"

  "Why? What would she do to you?" asked Jane.

  "Why? Because she wants to marry me! She wants to get my wishes."

  "Do you get everything you wish for?" asked Michael enviously.

  "Oh, everything. That is, if I wish on the first New Moon, after the Second Wet Sunday, after the Third of May. And she——" Mr. Twigley waved at the door. "She wants me to wish for a Golden Palace and Peacock Pie every day for dinner. What would I do with a golden palace? All that I want is——"

  "Be careful, Fred!" warned Mary Poppins.

  Mr. Twigley clapped his hand to his mouth. "Tut, tut! I really must remember! I've used up two wishes already!"

  "How many do you get?" asked Jane.

  "Seven," said Mr. Twigley, sighing. "My Godmother thought that a suitable number. I know the old lady meant it kindly. But I'd rather have had a Silver Mug. More useful. And much less trouble."

  "I'd rather have wishes," said Michael, stoutly.

  "Oh, no, you wouldn't!" cried Mr. Twigley. "They're tricky. And hard to handle. You think out the loveliest things to ask for—then Supper Time comes and you're feeling hungry and you find yourself wishing for Sausage and Mashed!"

  "What about the two you've already had? Were they any good?" demanded Michael.

  "Well, not so bad, now I come to think of it. I was working on my Birdie there—" Mr. Twigley nodded towards his bench——" when I heard her coming up the stairs. 'Oh, Goodness!' I thought, 'I wish I could vanish!' And—when I looked round, I wasn't there! It gave me quite a turn for a moment. No wonder she told you I was out!"

  Mr. Twigley gave a happy cackle as he beamed at the children and swung his coat-tails. They had never seen such a twinkly person. He seemed to them more like a star than a man.

  "Then, of course," Mr. Twigley went on blandly, "I had to wish myself back again in order to see Mary Poppins! Now, Mary, what can I do for you?"

  "Mrs. Banks would like her piano tuned, please, Fred. Number Seventeen, Cherry-Tree Lane, Opposite the Park," Mary Poppins said primly.

  "Ah! Mrs. Banks. Then these must be——?" Mr. Twigley waved his hand at the children.

  "They're Jane and Michael Banks," she explained, glancing at them with a look of disgust.

  "Delighted. I call this a very great honour!" Mr. Twigley bowed and flung out his hands. "I wish I could offer you something to eat but I'm all at sixes and sevens today."

  A flute rang gaily through the attic.

  "What's this?" Mr. TWigley staggered back. In each of his upturned, outstretched hands lay a dish of Peaches-and-Cream.

  Mr. Twigley stared. Then he sniffed at the peaches.

  "There goes my third wish!" he said ruefully, as he handed the dishes to the children. "Well, it can't be helped. I've still got four more. And now I shall have to be really careful!"

  "If you must waste wishes, Cousin Fred, I wish you would waste them on Bread and Butter. You'll spoil their Supper!" snapped Mary Poppins.

  Jane and Michael spooned up their peaches hurriedly. They were not going to give Mr. Twigley the chance of wishing them away again.

  "And now," said Mary Poppins, as the last mouthful disappeared. "Say Thank You to Mr. Twigley and we'll get along home."

  "Oh, no, Mary! Why, you've only just come!" Mr. Twigley was so shocked that for once he stood quite still.

  "Oh, do stay a little longer, Mary Poppins!" Jane and Michael begged. The thought of leaving Mr. Twigley all alone with his wishes was too much for them.

  Mr. Twigley took Mary Poppins' hand.

  "I feel so much safer when you're here, Mary! And it's ages since we've seen each other! Why not stay for a while—I wish you would!"

  Jug, jug, jug, jug!

  A shower of bird notes broke on the air. At the same moment the determined look on Mary Poppins' face changed to a polite smile. She took off her hat and laid it on the bench beside the glue-pot.

  "Oh, my!" Mr. Twigley gasped in horror. "I've been and gone and done it again!"

  "That's four!" cried Jane and Michael gaily, shouting with laughter at his look of surprise.

  Four, four, four, four! The bird notes echoed.

  "Dear me! How careless! I'm ashamed of myself!" For a moment Mr. Twigley looked almost sad. Then his face and his feet began to twinkle. "Well, it's no good crying over spilt wishes. We must just take care of the ones that are left. I'm coming, my Duckling! I'm coming, my Chick!" he called in the direction of the bird notes.

  And, tripping to the dusty table, he took up the little polished box. His fingers touched a hidden spring. The lid flew open and the smallest, brightest bird the children had ever seen leapt up from a nest of gold. Clear jets of music poured from its beak. Its small throat throbbed with the stream of notes.

  Jug, jug, jug, jug—tereu! it sang. And when the burning song was ended the bird dropped back to its golden nest.

  "Oh, Mr. Twigley, what bird is that?" Jane looked at the box with shining eyes.

  "A Nightingale," Mr. Twigley told her. "I was working on him when you came in. He has to be fini
shed tonight, you see. Such lovely weather for nightingales."

  "Why don't you just wish?" suggested Michael. "Then you needn't do any work."

  "What! Wish on my Birdie? Certainly not! You see what happens when I start wishing. Why—he might turn into a Bald-headed Eagle!"

  "Will you keep him to sing to you always?" Jane asked enviously. She wished she could have a bird like that.

  "Keep him? Oh, dear, no! I'll set him free! Can't litter the place up with finished work. I've more things to do than take care of a bird. I have to put figures on those——" he nodded at the half-finished musical boxes. "And I've got a rush order that must be finished—a music box playing 'A Day in the Park.'"

  "A Day in the Park?" The children stared.

  "The Band, you know!" Mr. Twigley explained. "And the sound of the fountains. And gossiping ladies. Rooks caw-cawing, and children laughing, and the slow, soft murmur of trees as they grow."

  Mr. Twigley's eyes glowed behind his spectacles as he thought of all the lovely things he would put in the musical box.

  "But you can't hear trees growing," protested Michael. "There's no music for that!"

  "Tut!" said Mr. Twigley impatiently. "Of course there is! There's a music for everything. Didn't you ever hear the earth spinning? It makes a sound like a humming-top. Buckingham Palace plays 'Rule Britannia'; the River Thames is a drowsy flute. Dear me, yes! Everything in the world—trees, rocks and stars and human beings—they all have their own true music."

  As he spoke Mr. Twigley tripped across the floor and wound up a musical box. Immediately the little platform at the top began to turn. And from within came a clear high piping like the sound of a penny whistle.

  "That's mine!" said Mr. Twigley proudly, as he cocked his head to listen. He wound up another musical box and a new tune fell on the air.

  "That's 'London Bridge Is Falling Down'! It's my favourite song!" cried Michael.

  "What did I tell you?" smiled Mr. Twigley, as he turned another handle. The tune broke gaily from the box.