“May I ask what you think you’re doing, Samuel? Giving away my butter?”
She stepped forward angrily and flourished the rolling-pin.
“I-I thought we could spare it, my – er – dear!” Mr Mo quailed beneath her gaze.
“Not unless she pays for it! Spare, spare and your back will go bare!”
“Oh, no, my dear, you’ve got it wrong! Spare, spare and you’ll know no care. Poor people must share and share alike – that’s what makes them happy!”
“Nobody’s going to share anything that belongs to Matilda Mo! Or spare either, if it comes to that. Last week you spared a footstool for your cousin, Mrs Corry! And what have you got to show for it?”
“A lucky threepenny-piece from her coat!”
“Tush! And you mended a table for the Turvy’s—”
“Well, Topsy gave me a charming smile!” Mr Mo beamed at the sweet recollection.
“Smiles won’t fill a sack with gold! And the week before that it was Albert Wigg who wanted his ceiling raised.”
“Well, he needed more room to bounce about in. And it gave me so much pleasure, Matilda!”
“Pleasure? Where’s the profit in that? In future you can get your pleasure by giving things to me. And you too!” added Mrs Mo, shaking her fist at the boys.
“Alas, alas!” muttered Mr Mo. “No rose without a thorn! No joy without annoy!”
“Eenie!” Mrs Mo shouted. “Get me a wedding-wreath this instant! Look at me – a blushing bride – and nothing on my head.”
“Oh, no!” breathed Jane. “You’ll spoil my garden!”
But Eenie, with a look of alarm, had already darted to the flower-beds and plucked a crown of flowers.
“Not good enough, but better than nothing!” Mrs Mo grunted ungraciously as she planted the garland on her knobbly head.
“Coo, coo!” laughed the doves on the buttercup branch.
“They don’t suit you.
Oo-hoo! Oo-hoo!”
“Meenie!” cried Mrs Mo in a rage. “Up with you quickly and catch those birds! I’ll make them into a pigeon pie!”
But the doves merely ruffled their wings and flew away, giggling.
“Two birds in the bush are worth one in the hand,” said Mr Mo, gazing after them. “I mean,” he added nervously, “they sing more sweetly when they’re free! Don’t you agree, Matilda?”
“I never agree,” snapped Mrs Mo. “And I’ll have no singing here. Mynie! Tell that man to be quiet!”
For a lusty voice was filling the air with the words of a well-known song.
“I’ll sing you one-o,
Green grow the rushes-o!”
It was the Ice Cream Man, cycling along the path.
Jane and Michael had no time to wonder how he had managed to get into the little Park, for Eenie, Meenie and Mynie were shouting.
“Papa! Papa! A penny, please!”
“No ices!” bellowed Mrs Mo. “We haven’t the money to spare!”
“Matilda!” Mr Mo entreated. “There’s my lucky threepenny-piece.”
“That is for a rainy day. Not for mere enjoyment.”
“Oh, it’s not going to rain, I’m sure, Matilda!”
“Of course it will rain. And, anyway, it’s my threepenny-piece. From today, Samuel, what’s yours is mine. Get along,” she yelled to the Ice Cream Man, “and don’t come here making foolish noises.”
“It’s not a noise, it’s a song,” he retorted. “And I’ll sing it as much as I like.”
And away he wheeled, singing
“I’ll sing you two-o”
as loudly as he could.
“Out of sight,” sighed Mr Mo, as the barrow disappeared among the trees, “but not, alas, out of mind! Well, we mustn’t grumble, boys!” He brightened. “We still have the wedding-feast. Now, Mrs Hickory, where will you sit?”
Mrs Hickory’s dimples twinkled gaily.
“She won’t sit anywhere, Samuel. She has not received an invitation.”
The dimples disappeared again.
“Oh, but Matilda!” cried Mr Mo, with a crestfallen look on his rosy face.
“But me no buts!” Mrs Mo retorted, advancing towards the table. “What’s this?” she demanded. “Something’s missing! A peach and an orange have disappeared. And who has been eating my apple-pie?”
“I h-h-have,” said Michael nervously. “B-but only a very small slice.”
“And I took a peach,” Jane said in a whisper. She found it hard to make the confession, Mrs Mo looked so large and fierce.
“Oh, indeed?”The knobbly woman turned to the children. “And who invited you?”
“Well, you see,” began Jane, “I was making a Park. And suddenly I found myself – I mean, it happened – I mean – I – well. . .” However could she explain?
“Don’t hum and haw, Jane, if you please. Speak when you’re spoken to. Come when you’re called. And, Michael, do not gape like that. The wind may change and where will you be?”
A voice that was welcome as Nuts in May sounded in their ears.
“Mary Poppins!” cried Michael in glad surprise, staring – in spite of the changing wind – from her to Mr Mo.
For there, beneath the buttercup, was the crowded perambulator. And beside it stood a tidy shape with buttoned-shoes, tulip-trimmed hat and parrot-headed umbrella.
“Oh, Mary! At last! Better late than never! How are you?” cried Mr Mo. He darted round the end of the table and kissed her black-gloved hand.
“I knew he reminded me of someone!” said Michael in a careful whisper. “Look, Jane! Their noses are just the same!”
“Nicely, thank you, Cousin Sam! My goodness, how the boys have grown!” With a ladylike air she offered her cheek to Eenie, Meenie and Mynie.
Mr Mo looked on with a fond smile. But it faded as he turned to his wife.
“And this,” he said sadly, “is Matilda!”
Mary Poppins regarded Mrs Mo with a long and searching look. Then she smiled, to the children’s great surprise, and made a dainty bow.
“I hope,” she said, in a well-bred voice, “that we are not intruding? I wanted Sam – with your permission, of course, Matilda –” she bowed again to Mrs Mo – “to make me a new—”
“It’s ready, Mary!” cried Mr Mo, as he seized his piece of polished wood. “All it wants is –” he flew to the perambulator. – “A nail here and a nail there and another one and it’s finished!”
The brand-new handle gleamed in its place and John and Barbara clapped their hands.
“Don’t think you’re going to get it free!” Mrs Mo shook the rolling-pin. “From now on, everything’s got to be paid for. Nothing for nothing – that’s my motto!”
“Oh, I’ll certainly pay him,” said Mary Poppins, with her best society simper. “Everyone gets what he deserves – that’s my motto, Matilda!”
“Well, the quicker the better, please, Miss Poppins. I’ve no intention of waiting!”
“You won’t have to wait, I promise you!” Mary Poppins gave a twirl to her handbag and Jane and Michael watched with interest as she glanced round the little Park. They had never seen her behave like this – such elegant tact, such polished manners.
“What a charming little place you have!” She waved the parrot-headed umbrella towards the summer-house.
Mrs Mo gave a snort of disgust.
“Charming, you call it? I call it a hovel. If Samuel thinks I can live in that, he’ll have to change his mind. He’s not going to knock me down with a feather!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Matilda! I don’t possess such a thing.”
“A castle is what I want, Samuel. You owe it to your handsome bride!”
“Handsome is as handsome does!” said Mr Mo in a whisper.
But Mary Poppins’ smile grew brighter.
“Handsome indeed,” she agreed admiringly. “And you’re wearing such a lovely wreath!”
“Pooh,” Mrs Mo remarked, with contempt. “Two or three flowers twisted tog
ether. A crown of gold would be more to my liking – and I’ll have it too, before I’m finished!”
“Kind hearts are more than coronets,” said Mr Mo meekly.
“Not to me!” snapped Mrs Mo. “I’ll have a beaded band of gold! You mark my words, Miss Mary Poppins, I’ll be Queen of the Forest yet!”
“I do not doubt it,” said Mary Poppins. And her manner was so correct and respectful that Mrs Mo smiled a mollified smile and displayed her two front teeth.
“Well,” she said grudgingly, “now that you’re here, you’d better stay and be useful. You may pass round the food at the wedding-feast. And then you can wash up the dishes.”
The children clapped their hands to their lips and glanced at Mary Poppins. What would she say to that? they wondered.
Mr Mo gave a gasp of horror. “But, Matilda – don’t you realise? Don’t you know who she is?”
“That will do, Sam,” said Mary Poppins. She waved him aside with her parrot umbrella. Her blue eyes had grown a shade more blue, but, to Jane’s and Michael’s astonishment, her smile was broader than ever.
“So pleased to be of use, Matilda. And where do you plan to build your castle?”
“Well, I thought –” Mrs Mo fell back a step and swung the rolling-pin – “we’d have the entrance gates here. And here –” she took another large stride backwards – “the main door and the marble stairs.”
“But we can’t dwell in marble halls, Matilda! They’re far too grand for us.”
“For you, perhaps, Samuel. Nothing can be too grand for me. And then –” Mrs Mo fell back again – “a large and lofty reception room where I shall receive my guests.”
“Splendid!” said Mary Poppins brightly, pushing the perambulator before her, as she followed step by step.
And behind her marched Mr Mo and the children, followed by Eenie, Meenie and Mynie, and Mrs Hickory and her babies – all of them gazing, as if in a trance, at the two figures before them.
“The ballroom here!” shouted Mrs Mo, sweeping the rolling-pin about her.
“Ballroom!” Mr Mo groaned. “But who is going to use it?”
“I am,” said Mrs Mo, smirking. “And you’ll please let me do the talking, Samuel!”
“Silence is golden, Matilda, remember!” Mr Mo warned her.
“Oh, pray go on!” urged Mary Poppins, advancing another foot.
“Drawing-room! Dining-room! Pantry! Kitchen!”
Chamber by chamber the castle grew, invisible but imposing. With every word Mrs Mo fell backwards. With every word Mary Poppins stepped forward. And the rest of the party followed. They were almost across the Park now – for Mrs Mo’s rooms were large and airy – and nearing the edge of the woodland.
“My bedroom will be here!” she declared, swinging her arms in a wide circle. “And next to it –” the rolling-pin wheeled again through the air –”I shall have a spacious nursery.”
“That will be nice for the boys, Matilda!” Mr Mo brightened at the thought.
Mrs Mo gave him a scornful glance.
“Eenie, Meenie and Mynie,” she said, “can fend for themselves in the attic. The Nursery will be for my own children. And – if she brings me a reference, saying she is honest and reliable – Mary Poppins may come and look after them!”
“But she’s looking after us!” cried Michael. He seized a fold of the sprigged skirt and pulled her to his side.
“It’s kind of you, I’m sure, Matilda. But I never give references.”
Mary Poppins’ eyes had a curious glint as she thrust the perambulator forward.
“Then you’re no use to me!” declared Mrs Mo, strutting backwards through her invisible mansion.
“Oh, indeed?” Mary Poppins’ balmy tones had now an icy edge.
“Yes, indeed!” retorted Mrs Mo. “I won’t have people in my castle who are likely to steal the silver! And don’t look at me like that!” she added. There was now a note of alarm in her voice, as though there was something frightening in the smiling face that pursued her.
“Like what?” said Mary Poppins softly. And she gave the perambulator another push.
Mrs Mo retreated again and raised her rolling-pin.
“Away with you! Be off!” she cried. “You’re an uninvited guest!” Her face was the colour of her apron and her large body trembled.
“Oh, no, I’m not!” said Mary Poppins, moving forward, like an oncoming storm. “You told me to stay and wash the dishes!”
“Well – I take it back!” quavered Mrs Mo. “You pay us what you owe and be gone. I won’t have you in my Park!” The rolling-pin shivered in her hand as she stumbled back into the forest shade.
“Your Park, did you say?” murmured Mary Poppins, advancing with ever quicker steps.
“Yes, mine! Oh, Samuel, do something – can’t you? I won’t have her smiling at me like that! Ow! Let me go! Oh, what has caught me! I’m stuck, I can’t get free! What is it?”
As she spoke, an arm went round her waist and strong hands gripped her by the wrist.
Behind her stood a stalwart figure smiling triumphantly. A head-dress of feathers was on his brow, a bow and some arrows hung from one shoulder and the other was draped with a striped blanket.
“At last! At last I find my squaw!” He grasped his wriggling captive closer.
“Let me go, you savage!” shrieked Mrs Mo, as she turned and beheld his face.
“Let go? Not I! What I find I keep. You shall come with me to my wigwam.”
“I won’t! Unhand me! Samuel! Tell him to set me free!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare – he’s far too strong. And the best of friends must part, Matilda!”
“Free? Nay, nay, you shall be my slave. There!” said the Indian cheerfully, as he strung some yellow beads round her head and stuck a feather in the knob of her hair. “This I give as a great honour. Now you’re an Indian too!”
“I’m not! I won’t! Oh, help! Oh, Sam!”
“Well, you wanted a crown of beaded gold and you seem to have got it, my dear!”
“Wash in the stream, cook over twigs!” The Indian wrinkled his nose at her. “All the wide greenwood for your house and sky above for your roof!”
“That’s larger than the largest castle.” Mr Mo gave her a beaming glance.
“Nay, struggle not,” said the Indian, as Mrs Mo tried to wriggle away. “A good squaw obeys her master. And a queen must do the same!”
“Queen?” cried Mrs Mo, wildly kicking.
The Indian tossed his head proudly. “Did you not know I was King of the Forest?”
“Matilda, how splendid! Just what you wanted!”
“I didn’t, I didn’t! Not in this way!”
“There are more ways than one of being a queen,” said Mary Poppins primly.
Mrs Mo turned on her in a fury. She drummed with her feet on the Indian’s shins and brandished the rolling-pin.
“This is your doing – you wolf in sheep’s clothing! Things were going so nicely until you came. Oh, Samuel, why did you let her in?” Mrs Mo burst into angry tears.
“Nicely for you!” said Mary Poppins. “But not for anyone else!”
“A wolf? A lamb, you mean, Matilda! I didn’t let her in – she came. As if I could keep that wolf from the door!” Mr Mo laughed at his little joke.
“Oh, help me, Samuel! Set me free and I’ll lend you the threepenny-piece. And the boys can have a slice of pie every second Friday!” Mrs Mo, with an imploring gesture, flung out her knobbly arms.
“What?” she cried, glaring at each in turn. “Does nobody want me back?”
There was silence in the little group. Mr Mo glanced at his three sons and then at Mary Poppins. One by one all shook their heads.
“Coo-roo! Coo-roo!
They don’t want you!”
cooed the doves as they fluttered past.
“Oh, what shall I do?” wailed Mrs Mo.
“I want you, Mahtildah!” the Indian cried. “I need you, Mahtildah, to boil the pot! Sweep the
wigwam! Sew the moccasins! Make the arrows! Fill the pipe! And – and every second Monday, Mahtildah,
“You shall sit on the blanket beneath a moonbeam
And feed on wild strawberries, snakes and nut cream!”
“Snakes? Moonbeams? Let me go! I eat nothing but mutton chops. Oh, help! Murder! Ambulance! Fire!”
Her voice rose to an anguished scream as the Indian flung her over his shoulder and stepped back into the woodland. Clasping his struggling burden tightly, he glanced at the three little boys.
“They let me go when I hollered,” he said. “So – one good turn deserves another!”
And, smiling broadly at Mr Mo, he bore the protesting Mrs Mo into the depths of the forest.
“Police! Police!” they heard her shriek, as she and the Indian and the rolling-pin disappeared from view.
Mr Mo gave a sigh of relief.
“Well, it certainly is an ill wind that blows nobody any good! I hope Matilda will settle down and enjoy being a queen. Mary, you’ve paid me well for that handle. I shall always be in your debt.”
“She said she would do it in her own good time – and she has,” said Michael proudly.
“Ah!” said Mr Mo, shaking his head. “She does everything in her own time – it’s a very special kind.”
“You owe me nothing, Cousin Sam!” Mary Poppins turned away from the forest with a conquering shine in her eye. “Except, of course,” she added severely, “not to be so foolish in future.”
“Out of the frying-pan into the fire? Oh, I’ll never marry again, Mary! Once bitten, twice shy. The boys must manage somehow.”
“Perhaps, Mr Mo,” Mrs Hickory dimpled, “you would let me wash and mend for them. It would be no trouble at all.”
“What a beautiful thought!” cried Mr Mo. “All’s well that ends well, Mary, you see! And I in return, Mrs Hickory, will build you a nice little house. Oh, I’ve lost sixpence and found a shilling! Look!” he said, pointing to the sunset. “Red sky at night is the shepherd’s delight! My dears, we are all going to be so happy. I shall start on my Fun Fair at once!”
And away he dashed across the lawn, with the rest of the party at his heels.
“But what about the wedding-breakfast?” Michael panted after him.
Mary Poppins--the Complete Collection Page 58
