Mary Poppins Comes Back mp-2

by P. L. Travers

  Mary Poppins, with a furious glance at them all, stooped and lifted Annabel out of the cradle and sat down with her in the old arm-chair.

  "Gently, please, gently!" she warned, as they crowded about her. "This is a baby, not a battle-ship!"

  "A boy-baby?" asked Michael.

  "No, a girl — Annabel."

  Michael and Annabel stared at each other. He put his finger into her hand and she clutched it tightly.

  "My doll!" said John, pushing up against Mary Poppins' knee.

  "My rabbit!" said Barbara, tugging at Annabel's shawl.

  "Oh!" breathed Jane, touching the hair that the

  She sat down in the old arm-chair

  wind had curled. "How very small and sweet. Like a star. Where did you come from, Annabel?"

  Very pleased to be asked, Annabel began her story again.

  "I came from the Dark—" she recited softly.

  Jane laughed. "Such funny little sounds!" she cried. "I wish she could talk and tell us."

  Annabel stared.

  "But I am telling you," she protested, kicking.

  "Ha-ha!" shrieked the Starling rudely from the window. "What did I say? Excuse me laughing!"

  The Fledgling giggled behind his wing.

  "Perhaps she came from a Toy-Shop," said Michael.

  Annabel, with a furious movement, flung his finger from her.

  "Don't be silly!" said Jane. "Doctor Simpson must have brought her in his little brown bag!"

  "Was I right or was I wrong?" The Starling's old dark eyes gleamed tauntingly at Annabel.

  "Tell me that!" he jeered, flapping his wings in triumph.

  But for answer Annabel turned her face against Mary Poppins' apron and wept. Her first cries, thin and lonely, rang piercingly through the house.

  "There! There!" said the Starling gruffly. "Don't take on! It can't be helped. You're only a human child after all. But next time, perhaps, you'll believe your Betters! Elders and Betters! Elders and Betters!" he screamed, prancing conceitedly up and down.

  "Michael, take my feather duster please, and sweep those birds off the sill!" said Mary Poppins ominously.

  A squawk of amusement came from the Starling.

  "We can sweep ourselves off, Mary Poppins, thank you! We were just going, anyway! Come along, Boy!"

  And with a loud clucking chuckle he flicked the Fledgling over the sill and swooped with him through the window….

  In a very short time, Annabel settled down comfortably to life in Cherry Tree Lane. She enjoyed being the centre of attraction and was always pleased when somebody leant over her cradle and said how pretty she was, or how good or sweet-tempered.

  "Do go on admiring me!" she would say, smiling. "I like it so much!"

  And then they would hasten to tell her how curly her hair was and how blue her eyes, and Annabel would smile in such a satisfied way that they would cry, "How intelligent she is! You would almost think she understood!"

  But that always annoyed her and she would turn away in disgust at their foolishness. Which was silly because when she was disgusted she looked so charming that they became more foolish than ever.

  She was a week old before the Starling returned. Mary Poppins, in the dim glow of the night-light, was gently rocking the cradle when he appeared.

  "Back again?" snapped Mary Poppins, watching him prance in. "You're as bad as a bad penny!" She gave a long disgusted sniff.

  "I've been busy!" said the Starling. "Have to keep my affairs in order. And this isn't the only Nursery I have to look after, you know!" His beady black eyes twinkled wickedly.

  "Humph!" she said shortly, "I'm sorry for the others!"

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  "Nobody like her!" he remarked chirpily to the blind-tassel. "Nobody like her! She's got an answer for everything!" He cocked his head towards the cradle. "Well, how are things? Annabel asleep?"

  "No thanks to you, if she is!" said Mary Poppins.

  The Starling ignored the remark. He hopped to the end of the sill.

  "I'll keep watch," he said, in a whisper. "You go down and get a cup of tea!"

  Mary Poppins stood up.

  "Mind you don't wake her, then!"

  The Starling laughed pityingly.

  "My dear girl, I have in my time brought up at least twenty broods of fledglings. I don't need to be told how to look after a mere baby."

  "Humph!" Mary Poppins walked to the cupboard and very pointedly put the biscuit-tin under her arm before she went out and shut the door.

  The Starling marched up and down the window-sill, backwards and forwards, with his wing-tips under his tail-feathers.

  There was a small stir in the cradle. Annabel opened her eyes.

  "Hullo!" she said. "I was wanting to see you."

  "Ha!" said the Starling, swooping across to her.

  "There's something I wanted to remember," said Annabel frowning, "and I thought you might remind me."

  He started. His dark eye glittered.

  "How does it go?" he said softly. "Like this?"

  And he began in a husky whisper—"I am earth and air and fire and water—"

  "No, no!" said Annabel impatiently. "Of course it doesn't."

  "Well," said the Starling anxiously. "Was it about your journey? You came from the sea and its tides, you came from the sky and—"

  "Oh, don't be so silly!" cried Annabel. "The only journey I ever took was to the Park and back again this morning. No, no — it was something important. Something beginning with B."

  She crowed suddenly.

  "I've got it!" she cried. "It's Biscuit. Half an Arrowroot Biscuit on the mantel-piece. Michael left it there after tea!"

  "Is that all?" said the Starling sadly.

  "Yes, of course," Annabel said fretfully. "Isn't it enough? I thought you'd be glad of a nice piece of biscuit!"

  "So I am, so I am!" said the Starling hastily. "But—"

  She turned her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.

  "Don't talk any more now, please!" she said. "I want to go to sleep."

  The Starling glanced across at the mantel-piece, and down again at Annabel.

  "Biscuits!" he said, shaking his head. "Alas, Annabel, alas!"

  Mary Poppins came in quietly and closed the door.

  "Did she wake?" she said in a whisper.

  The Starling nodded.

  "Only for a minute," he said sadly. "But it was long enough."

  Mary Poppins' eyes questioned him.

  "She's forgotten," he said, with a catch in his croak. "She's forgotten it all. I knew she would. But, ah, my dear, what a pity!"

  "Humph!"

  Mary Poppins moved quietly about the Nursery, putting the toys away. She glanced at the Starling. He was standing on the window-sill with his back to her, and his speckled shoulders were heaving.

  "Caught another cold?" she remarked sarcastically.

  He wheeled around.

  "Certainly not! It's — ahem — the night air. Rather chilly, you know. Makes the eyes water. Well — I must be off!"

  He waddled unsteadily to the edge of the sill. "I'm getting old," he croaked sadly. "That's what it is! Not so young as we were. Eh, Mary Poppins?"

  "I don't know about you—" Mary Poppins drew herself up haughtily. "But I'm quite as young as I was, thank you!"

  "Ah," said the Starling, shaking his head. "You're a Wonder. An absolute, Marvellous, Wonderful Wonder!" His round eye twinkled wickedly.

  "I don't think!" he called back rudely, as he dived out of the window.

  "Impudent Sparrer!" she shouted after him and shut the window with a bang….

  CHAPTER SIX

  Robertson Ay's Story

  Step along, please!" said Mary Poppins, pushing the perambulator, with the Twins at one end of it and Annabel at the other, towards her favourite seat in the Park.

  It was a green one, quite near the Lake, and she chose it because she could bend sideways, every now and again, and see her own reflectio
n in the water. The sight of her face gleaming between two water-lilies always gave her a pleasant feeling of satisfaction and contentment.

  Michael trudged behind.

  "We're always stepping along," he grumbled to Jane in a whisper, taking care that Mary Poppins did not hear him, "but we never seem to get anywhere."

  Mary Poppins turned round and glared at him.

  "Put your hat on straight!"

  Michael tilted his hat over his eyes. It had "H.M.S. Trumpeter" printed on the band and he thought it suited him very well.

  But Mary Poppins was looking with contempt at them both.

  "Humph!" she said. "You two look a picture, I must say! Stravaiging along like a couple of tortoises and no polish on your shoes."

  "Well, it's Robertson Ay's Half-day," said Jane. "I suppose he didn't have time to do them before he went out."

  "Tch, tch! Lazy, idle, Good-for-nothing — that's what he is. Always was and always will be!" Mary Poppins said, savagely pushing the perambulator up against her own green seat.

  She lifted out the Twins, and tucked the shawl tightly around Annabel. She glanced at her sunlit reflection in the Lake and smiled in a superior way, straightening the new bow of ribbon at her neck. Then she took her bag of knitting from the perambulator.

  "How do you know he's always been idle?" asked Jane. "Did you know Robertson Ay before you came here?"

  "Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies!" said Mary Poppins priggishly, as she began to cast on stitches for a woollen vest for John.

  "She never tells us anything!" Michael grumbled.

  "I know!" sighed Jane.

  But very soon they forgot about Robertson Ay and began to play Mr.-and-Mrs.-Banks-and-Their-Two-Children. Then they became Red Indians with John and Barbara for Squaws. And after that they changed into Tight-Rope-Walkers with the back of the green seat for a rope.

  "Mind my hat—if you please!" said Mary Poppins. It was a brown one with a pigeon's feather stuck into the ribbon.

  Michael went carefully, foot over foot, along the back of the seat. When he got to the end he took off his hat and waved it.

  "Jane," he cried, "I'm the King of the Castle and you're the—"

  "Stop, Michael!" she interrupted and pointed across the Lake. "Look over there!"

  Along the path at the edge of the Lake came a tall, slim figure, curiously dressed. He wore stockings of red striped with yellow, a red-and-yellow tunic scalloped at the edges, and on his head was a large-brimmed red-and-yellow hat with a high peaked crown.

  Jane and Michael watched with interest as he came towards them, moving with a lazy swaggering step, his hands in his pockets and his hat pulled down over his eyes.

  He was whistling loudly and as he drew nearer they saw that the peaks of his tunic, and the brim of his hat, were edged with little bells that jingled musically as he moved. He was the strangest person they had ever seen and yet — there was something about him that seemed familiar.

  "I think I've seen him before," said Jane, frowning and trying to remember.

  "So have I. But I can't think where." Michael balanced on the back of the seat and stared.

  Whistling and jingling, the curious figure slouched up to Mary Poppins and leaned against the perambulator.

  "Day, Mary!" he said, putting a finger lazily to the brim of his hat. "And how are you keeping?"

  Mary Poppins looked up from her knitting.

  "None the better for your asking," she said, with a loud sniff.

  Jane and Michael could not see the man's face for the brim of his hat was well pulled down, but from the way the bells jingled they knew he was laughing.

  "Busy as usual, I see!" he remarked, glancing at the knitting. "But then, you always were, even at Court. If you weren't dusting the Throne you'd be making the King's bed, and if you weren't doing that you were polishing the Crown Jewels. I never knew such a one for work!"

  "Well, it's more than anyone could say for you," said Mary Poppins crossly.

  "Ah," laughed the Stranger, "that's just where you're wrong! I'm always busy. Doing nothing takes a great deal of time! All the time, in fact!"

  Mary Poppins pursed up her lips and made no reply.

  The Stranger gave an amused chuckle. "Well, I must be getting along." He said. "See you again some day!"

  He brushed a finger along the bells of his hat and sauntered lazily away, whistling as he went.

  Jane and Michael watched until he was out of sight.

  "The Dirty Rascal!"

  Mary Poppins' voice rapped out behind them, and they turned to find that she, too, was staring after the Stranger.

  "Who was that man, Mary Poppins?" asked Michael, bouncing excitedly up and down on the seat.

  "I've just told you," she snapped. "You said you were the King of the Castle — and you're not, not by any means! But that's the Dirty Rascal."

  "You mean the one in the Nursery Rhyme?" demanded Jane breathlessly.

  "But Nursery Rhymes aren't true, are they?" protested Michael, "And if they are, who is the King of the Castle."

  "Hush!" said Jane, laying her hand on his arm.

  Mary Poppins had put down her knitting and was gazing out across the Lake with a far-away look in her eyes.

  Jane and Michael sat very still hoping, if they made no sound, she would tell them the whole story. The Twins huddled together at one end of the perambulator, solemnly staring at Mary Poppins. Annabel, at the other end, was sound asleep.

  "The King of the Castle," began Mary Poppins, folding her hands over her ball of wool and gazing right through the children as though they were not there. "The King of the Castle lived in a country so far away that most people have never heard of it. Think as far as you can, and it's even further than that; think as high as you can, and it's higher than that; think as deep as you can, and it's even deeper.

  "And," she said, "if I were to tell you how rich he was we'd be sitting here till next year and still be only half-way through the list of his treasures. He was enormously, preposterously, extravagantly rich. In fact, there was only one thing in the whole world that he did not possess.

  "And that thing was wisdom."

  And so Mary Poppins went on—

  His land was full of gold mines, his people were polite and prosperous and generally splenderiferous. He had a good wife and four fat children — or perhaps it was five. He never could remember the exact number because his memory was so bad.

  His Castle was made of silver and granite and his coffers were full of gold and the diamonds in his crown were as big as duck's eggs.

  He had many marvellous cities and sailing-ships at sea. And for his right-hand-man he had a Lord High Chancellor who knew exactly What was What and What was Not and advised the King accordingly.

  But the King had no wisdom. He was utterly and absolutely foolish and, what was more, he knew it! Indeed, he could hardly help knowing it, for everybody, from the Queen and the Lord High Chancellor downwards, was constantly reminding him of the fact. Even bus-conductors and engine-drivers and the people who served in shops could hardly refrain from letting the King know they knew he had no wisdom. They didn't dislike him, they merely felt a contempt for him.

  It was not the King's fault that he was so stupid. He had tried and tried to learn wisdom ever since he was a boy. But, in the middle of his lessons, even when he was grown up, he would suddenly burst into tears and, wiping his eyes on his ermine train, would cry—

  "I know I shall never be any good at it — never! So why nag at me?"

  But still his teachers continued to make the effort. Professors came from all over the world to try to teach the King of the Castle something — even if it was only Twice-Times-Two or C-A-T cat. But none of them had the slightest effect on him.

  Then the Queen had an idea.

  "Let us," she said to the Lord High Chancellor, "offer a reward to the Professor who can teach the King a little wisdom! And if, at the end of a month, he has not succeeded, his head shall be cut of
f and spiked on the Castle gates as a warning to other Professors of what will happen if they fail."

  And, as most of them were rather poor and the reward was a large money-prize, the Professors kept on coming and failing and losing hope, and also their heads. And the spikes of the Castle gates became rather crowded.

  Things went from bad to worse. And at last the Queen said to the King—

  "Ethelbert," (That was the King's private name) "I really think you had better leave the government of the Kingdom to me and the Lord High Chancellor, as we both know a good deal about everything!"

  "But that wouldn't be fair!" said the King, protesting. "After all, it's my Kingdom!"

  However, he gave in at last because he knew she was cleverer than he. But he so much resented being ordered about in his own Castle and having to use the bent sceptre because he always chewed the knob of the best one, that he went on receiving the Professors and trying to learn wisdom and weeping when he found he couldn't. He wept for their sakes as well as his own for it made him unhappy to see their heads on the gate.

  Each new Professor arrived full of hope and assurance and began with some question that the last had not asked.

  "What are six and seven, Your Majesty?" enquired a young and handsome Professor who had come from a great distance.

  And the King, trying his hardest, thought for a moment. Then he leant forward eagerly and answered—

  "Why, twelve, of course!"

  "Tch, tch, tch!" said the Lord High Chancellor, standing behind the King's Chair.

  The Professor groaned.

  "Six and seven are thirteen, Your Majesty!"

  "Oh, I'm so sorry! Try another question, please, Professor! I am sure I shall get the next one right."

  "Well, then, what are five and eight?"

  "Um — er — let me see! Don't tell me, it's just at the tip of my tongue. Yes! Five and eight are eleven!"

  "Tch, tch, tch!" said the Lord High Chancellor.

  "THIRTEEN," cried the young Professor hopelessly.

  "But, my dear fellow, you just said that six and seven were thirteen, so how can five and eight be? There aren't two thirteens, surely?"