Mary Poppins--the Complete Collection

by P. L. Travers

  “Why, darlings, what is the matter?”

  But Mary Poppins was not deceived by it.

  “You’ve got something coming to you!” she said significantly. But the burning thing inside him would not let him care. He just shrugged his shoulders and pulled Jane’s hair. And after that he went to the supper table and upset his bread-and-milk.

  “And that,” said Mary Poppins, “is the end. Such deliberate naughtiness I never saw. In all my born days I never did, and that’s a fact. Off you go! Straight into bed with you and not another word!” He had never seen her look so terrible.

  But still he didn’t care.

  He went into the Night-nursery and undressed. No, he didn’t care. He was bad, and if they didn’t look out he’d be worse. He didn’t care. He hated everybody. If they weren’t careful he would run away and join a circus. There! Off went a button. Good – there would be fewer to do up in the morning. And another! All the better. Nothing in all the world could ever make him feel sorry. He would get into bed without brushing his hair or his teeth – certainly without saying his prayers.

  He was just about to get into bed and, indeed, had one foot already in it, when he noticed the compass lying on top of the chest of drawers.

  Very slowly he withdrew his foot and tiptoed across the room. He knew now what he would do. He would take the compass and spin it and go round the world. And they’d never find him again. And it would serve them right. Without making a sound he lifted a chair and put it against the chest of drawers. Then he climbed up on it and took the compass in his hand.

  He moved it.

  “North, South, East, West!” he said very quickly, in case anybody should come in before he got well away.

  A noise behind the chair startled him and turned round guiltily, expecting to see Mary Poppins. But instead, there were four gigantic figures bearing down upon him – the bear with his fangs showing, the Macaw fiercely flapping his wings, the Panda with his fur on end, the Dolphin thrusting out her snout. From all quarters of the room they were rushing upon him, their shadows huge on the ceiling. No longer kind and friendly, they were now full of revenge. Their terrible angry faces loomed nearer. He could feel their hot breath on his face.

  “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? The Polar Bear’s fur coat? The Macaw’s feathers? The Panda’s fur he had stroked so gently? The mother Dolphin’s flippers? And what was he – or it might be she – planning to do to him? If only he had been good – if only!

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

  “Oh, dear Mary Poppins!”

  “All right, all right. I’m not deaf, I’m thankful to say – no need to shout,” he heard her saying calmly.

  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. He sat up. He looked round the room. There was nothing there.

  Then he discovered that the soft thing that was round him was his own blanket, and the soft thing he was lying on was his own bed. And oh, the heavy burning thing that had been inside him all day had melted and disappeared. He felt peaceful and happy, and as if he would like to give everybody he knew a birthday present.

  “What – what happened?” he said rather anxiously to Mary Poppins.

  “I told you that was my compass, didn’t I? Be kind enough not to touch my things, if you please,” was all she said as she stooped and picked up the compass and put it in her pocket. Then she began to fold the clothes that he had thrown down on the floor.

  “Shall I do it?” he said.

  “No, thank you.”

  He watched her go into the next room, and presently she returned and put something warm into his hands. It was a cup of milk.

  Michael sipped it, tasting every drop several times with his tongue, making it last as long as possible so that Mary Poppins should stay beside him.

  She stood there without saying a word, watching the milk slowly disappear. He could smell her crackling white apron and the faint flavour of toast that always hung about her so deliciously. But try as he would, he could not make the milk last for ever, and presently, with a sigh of regret, he handed her the empty cup and slipped down into the bed. He had never known it be so comfortable, he thought. And he thought, too, how warm he was and how happy he felt and how lucky he was to be alive.

  “Isn’t it a funny thing, Mary Poppins,” he said drowsily. “I’ve been so very naughty and I feel so very good.”

  “Humph!” said Mary Poppins as she tucked him in and went away to wash up the supper things. . .

  Chapter Seven

  THE BIRD WOMAN

  “PERHAPS SHE WON’T be there,” said Michael.

  “Yes, she will,” said Jane. “She’s always there for ever and ever.”

  They were walking up Ludgate Hill on the way to pay a visit to Mr Banks in the City. For he had said that morning to Mrs Banks:

  “My dear, if it doesn’t rain I think Jane and Michael might call for me at the Office today – that is, if you are agreeable. I have a feeling I should like to be taken to Tea and Shortbread Fingers and it’s not often I have a Treat.”

  And Mrs Banks had said she would think about it.

  But all day long, though Jane and Michael had watched her anxiously, she had not seemed to be thinking about it at all. 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?

  Suddenly, when they felt quite sure she would never think about Mr Banks’ treat, she said:

  “Now, children, don’t stand staring at me like that. Get your things on. You are going to the City to have tea with your Father. Had you forgotten?”

  As if they could have forgotten! For it was not as though it were only the Tea that mattered. There was also the Bird Woman, and she herself was the best of all Treats.

  That is why they were walking up Ludgate Hill and feeling very excited.

  Mary Poppins walked between them, wearing her new hat and looking very distinguished. Every now and then she would look into the shop window just to make sure the hat was still there and that the pink roses on it had not turned into common flowers like marigolds.

  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.

  But at last they came to St Paul’s Cathedral, which was built a long time ago by a man with a bird’s name. Wren it was, but he was no relation to Jenny. That is why so many birds live near Sir Christopher Wren’s Cathedral, which also belongs to St Paul, and that is why the Bird Woman lives there, too.

  “There she is!” cried Michael suddenly, and he danced on his toes with excitement.

  “Don’t point,” said Mary Poppins, giving a last glance at the pink roses in the window of a carpet shop.

  “She’s saying it! She’s saying it!” cried Jane, holding tight to herself for fear she would break in two with delight.

  And she was saying it. The Bird Woman was there and she was saying it.

  “Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag! Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag! Feed the Birds, Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag, Tuppence a Bag!” Over and over again, the same thing, in a high chanting voice that made the words seem like a song.

  And as she said it she held out little bags of breadcrumbs to the passers-by.

  All round her flew the
birds, circling and leaping and swooping and rising. Mary Poppins always called them “sparrers” because, she said conceitedly, all birds were alike to her. But Jane and Michael knew that they were not sparrows, but doves and pigeons. 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. And the silly, anxious, soft blue doves were like Mothers. That’s what Jane and Michael thought, anyway.

  They flew round and round the head of the Bird Woman as the children approached, and then, as though to tease her, they suddenly rushed away through the air and sat on the top of St Paul’s, laughing and turning their heads away and pretending they didn’t know her.

  It was Michael’s turn to buy a bag. Jane had bought one last time. He walked up to the Bird Woman and held out four halfpennies.

  “Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag!” said the Bird Woman, as she put a bag of crumbs into his hand and tucked the money away into the folds of her huge black skirt.

  “Why don’t you have penny bags?” said Michael. “Then I could buy two.”

  “Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag!” said the Bird Woman, and Michael knew it was no good asking her any more questions. He and Jane had often tried, but all she could say, and all she had ever been able to say, was, “Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag!” Just as a cuckoo can only say “Cuckoo,” no matter what questions you ask him.

  Jane and Michael and Mary Poppins spread the crumbs in a circle on the ground, and presently, one by one at first, and then in twos and threes, the birds came down from St Paul’s.

  “Dainty David,” said Mary Poppins with a sniff, as one bird picked up a crumb and dropped it again from its beak.

  But the other birds swarmed upon the food, pushing and scrambling and shouting. At last there wasn’t a crumb left, for it is not really polite for a pigeon or a dove to leave anything on the plate. When they were quite certain that the meal was finished the birds rose with one grand, fluttering movement and flew round the Bird Woman’s head, copying in their own language the words she said. One of them sat on her hat and pretended he was a decoration for the crown. And another of them mistook Mary Poppins’ new hat for a rose garden and pecked off a flower.

  “You sparrer!” cried Mary Poppins, and shook her umbrella at him. The pigeon, very offended, flew back to the Bird Woman, and to pay out Mary Poppins, stuck the rose in the ribbon of the Bird Woman’s hat.

  “You ought to be in a pie – that’s where you ought to be,” said Mary Poppins to him very angrily. Then she called to Jane and Michael.

  “Time to go,” she said, and flung a parting glance of fury at the pigeon. But he only laughed and flicked his tail and turned his back on her.

  “Goodbye,” said Michael to the Bird Woman.

  “Feed the Birds,” she replied, smiling.

  “Goodbye,” said Jane.

  “Tuppence a Bag!” said the Bird Woman and waved her hand.

  They left her then, walking one on either side of Mary Poppins.

  “What happens when everybody goes away – like us?” said Michael to Jane.

  He knew quite well what happened, but it was the proper thing to ask Jane because the story was really hers.

  So Jane told him and he added the bits she had forgotten.

  “At night when everybody goes to bed—” began Jane.

  “And the stars come out,” added Michael.

  “Yes, and even if they don’t – all the birds come down from the top of St Paul’s and run very carefully all over the ground just to see there are no crumbs left, and to tidy it up for the morning. And when they have done that—”

  “You’ve forgotten the baths.”

  “Oh, yes – they bath themselves and comb their wings with their claws. And when they have done that they fly three times round the head of the Bird Woman and then they settle.”

  “Do they sit on her shoulders?”

  “Yes, and on her hat.”

  “And on her basket with the bags in it?”

  “Yes, and some on her knee. Then she smooths down the head-feathers of each one in turn and tells it to be a good bird—”

  “In the bird language?”

  “Yes. And when they are all sleepy and don’t want to stay awake any longer, she spreads out her skirts, as a mother hen spreads out her wings, and the birds go creep, creep, creeping underneath. And as soon as the last one is under she settles down over them, making little brooding, nesting noises and they sleep there till morning.”

  Michael sighed happily. He loved the story and was never tired of hearing it.

  “And it’s all quite true, isn’t it?” he said, just as he always did.

  “No,” said Mary Poppins, who always said “No.”

  “Yes,” said Jane, who always knew everything. . .

  Chapter Eight

  MRS CORRY

  “TWO POUNDS OF sausages – Best Pork,” said Mary Poppins. “And at once, please. We’re in a hurry.”

  The Butcher, who wore a large blue-and-white striped apron, was a fat and friendly man. He was also large and red and rather like one of his own sausages. He leant upon his chopping-block and gazed admiringly at Mary Poppins. Then he winked pleasantly at Jane and Michael.

  “In a Nurry?” he said to Mary Poppins. “Well, that’s a pity. I’d hoped you’d dropped in for a bit of a chat. We Butchers, you know, like a bit of company. And we don’t often get the chance of talking to a nice, handsome young lady like you—” He broke off suddenly, for he had caught sight of Mary Poppins’s face. The expression on it was awful. And the Butcher found himself wishing there was a trap door in the floor of his shop that would open and swallow him up.

  “Oh, well—” he said, blushing even redder than usual. “If you’re in a Nurry, of course. Two pounds, did you say? Best Pork? Right you are!”

  And he hurriedly hooked down a long strip of the sausages that were festooned across the shop. He cut off a length – about three-quarters of a yard – wound it into a sort of garland, and wrapped it up first in white and then in brown paper. He pushed the parcel across the chopping-block.

  “AND the next?” he said hopefully, still blushing.

  “There will be no next,” said Mary Poppins, with a haughty sniff. And she took the sausages and turned the perambulator round very quickly, and wheeled it out of the shop in such a way that the Butcher knew he had mortally offended her. But she glanced at the window as she went so that she could see how her new shoes looked reflected in it. They were bright brown kid with two buttons, very smart.

  Jane and Michael trailed after her, wondering when she would have come to the end of her shopping list but, because of the look on her face, not daring to ask her.

  Mary Poppins gazed up and down the street as if deep in thought, and then, suddenly making up her mind, she snapped:

  “Fishmonger!” and turned the perambulator in at the shop next to the Butcher’s.

  “One Dover Sole, pound and a half of Halibut, pint of Prawns and a Lobster,” said Mary Poppins, talking so quickly that only somebody used to taking such orders could possibly have understood her.

  The Fishmonger, unlike the Butcher, was a long thin man, so thin that he seemed to have no front to him but only two sides. And he looked so sad that you felt he had either just been weeping or was just going to. Jane said that this was due to some secret sorrow that had haunted him since his youth, and Michael thought that the Fishmonger’s Mother must have fed him entirely on bread and water when he was a baby, and that he had never forgotten it.

  “Anything else?” said the Fishmonger hopelessly, in a voice that suggested he was quite sure there wouldn’t be.

  “Not today,” said Mary Poppins.

  The Fishmonger shook his head sadly and did not look at all surprised. He had known all along there would be nothing else.

  Sniffing gently, he tied up the parcel and dropped it into the perambulator.

  “Bad weather,” he observed,
wiping his eye with his hand. “Don’t believe we’re going to get any summer at all – not that we ever did, of course. You don’t look too blooming,” he said to Mary Poppins. “But then, nobody does—”

  Mary Poppins tossed her head.

  “Speak for yourself,” she said crossly, and flounced to the door, pushing the perambulator so fiercely that it bumped into a bag of oysters.

  “The idea!” Jane and Michael heard her say as she glanced down at her shoes. Not looking too blooming in her new brown kid shoes with two buttons – the idea! That was what they heard her thinking.

  Outside on the pavement she paused, looking at her list and ticking off what she had bought. Michael stood first on one leg and then on the other.

  “Mary Poppins, are we never going home?” he said crossly.

  Mary Poppins turned and regarded him with something like disgust.

  “That,” she said briefly, “is as it may be.” And Michael, watching her fold up her list, wished he had not spoken.

  “You can go home, if you like,” she said haughtily. “We are going to buy the gingerbread.”

  Michael’s face fell. If only he had managed to say nothing! He hadn’t known that gingerbread was at the end of the list.

  “That’s your way,” said Mary Poppins shortly, pointing in the direction of Cherry Tree Lane. “If you don’t get lost,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Oh no, Mary Poppins, please, no! I didn’t mean it, really. I – oh – Mary Poppins, please—” cried Michael.

  “Do let him come, Mary Poppins!” said Jane. “I’ll push the perambulator if only you’ll let him come.”

  Mary Poppins sniffed. “If it wasn’t Friday,” she said darkly to Michael, “you’d go home in a twink – in an absolute Twink!”

  She moved onwards, pushing John and Barbara. Jane and Michael knew that she had relented, and followed wondering what a Twink was. Suddenly Jane noticed that they were going in the wrong direction.

  “But, Mary Poppins, I thought you said gingerbread – this isn’t the way to Green, Brown and Johnson’s, where we always get it—” she began, and stopped because of Mary Poppins’ face.