Mary Poppins Comes Back mp-2

by P. L. Travers

  "Ah!" cried the Constellations, enviously, "The Kiss! The Kiss!"

  But as she received it, Mary Poppins' hand flew to her cheek protectingly, as though the kiss had burnt it. A look of pain crossed her face for a moment. Then, with a smile, she lifted her head to the Sun.

  "Farewell!" she said softly, in a voice Jane and Michael had never heard her use.

  "Away!" cried the Sun, stretching out his whip. And obediently the Constellations began to rush from the ring. Castor and Pollux joined arms protectingly about the children, that the Great Bear might not brush them as he lumbered by, nor the Bull's horns graze them, nor the Lion do them harm. But in Jane's ears and Michael's the sounds of the ring were growing fainter. Their heads fell sideways, dropping heavily upon their shoulders. Other arms came round them and, as in a dream, they heard the voice of Venus saying—"Give them to me! I am the Homeward Star. I bring the lamb to the fold and the child to its Mother."

  They gave themselves up to her rocking arms, swinging lightly with her as a boat swings with the tide.

  To-and-fro, to-and-fro.

  A light flickered across their eyes. Was that the Dragon going brightly by or the nursery candle held guttering above them?

  To-and-fro, to-and-fro.

  They nestled down into soft, sweet warmth. Was it the lapping heat of the Sun? Or the eiderdown on a nursery bed?

  "I think it is the Sun," thought Jane, dreamily.

  "I think it is my eiderdown," thought Michael.

  And a far-away voice, like a dream, like a breath, cried faintly, faintly—"It is whatever you think it is. Farewell… Farewell…"

  Michael woke with a shout. He had suddenly remembered something.

  "My overcoat! My overcoat! I left it under the Royal Box!"

  He opened his eyes. He saw the painted duck at the end of his bed. He saw the mantel-piece with the clock and the Royal Doulton Bowl and the jam-jar full of green leaves. And he saw, hanging on its usual hook, his overcoat with his hat just above it.

  "But where are the stars?" he called, sitting up in bed and staring. "I want the stars and Constellations!"

  "Oh? Indeed?" said Mary Poppins, coming into the room and looking very stiff and starched in her clean apron. "Is that all? I wonder you don't ask for the Moon, too!"

  "But I did!" he reminded her reproachfully. "And I got it, too! But I squeezed it too tight and it bust!"

  "Burst!"

  "Well, burst, then!"

  "Stuff!" said Mary Poppins, tossing him his dressing-gown.

  "Is it morning already?" said Jane, opening her eyes and gazing round the room very surprised to find herself in her own bed. "But how did we get back? I was dancing with the Twin stars, Castor and Pollux."

  "You two and your stars," said Mary Poppins crossly, pulling back the blankets. "I'll star you. Spit-spot out of bed, please. I'm late already."

  "I suppose you danced too long last night," said Michael, bundling unwillingly out on to the floor.

  "Danced? Humph, a lot of dancing I get a chance for, don't I — looking after the five worst children in the world!"

  Mary Poppins sniffed and looked very sorry for herself and as if she had not had enough sleep.

  "But weren't you dancing — on your Evening Out?" said Jane. For she was remembering how Mary Poppins and the Sun had waltzed together in the centre of the star-dust ring.

  Mary Poppins opened her eyes wide.

  "I hope," she remarked, drawing herself up haughtily, "I have something better to do with my Evening Out than to go round and round like a Careering Whirligig."

  "But I saw you!" said Jane. "Up in the sky. You jumped down from the Royal Box and went to dance in the ring."

  Holding their breaths, she and Michael gazed at Mary Poppins as her face slowly flushed red with fury.

  "You," she said shortly, "have been having a nice sort of a nightmare, I must say. Who ever heard of me, a person in my position, jumping down from—"

  "But I had the nightmare, too," interrupted Michael, "and it was lovely. I was in the sky with Jane and I saw you!"

  "What, jumping?"

  "Er — yes — and dancing."

  "In the sky?" He trembled as she came towards him. Her face was dark and terrible.

  "One more insult—" she said threateningly, "Just one more and you'll find yourself dancing in the corner. So I warn you!"

  He hurriedly looked the other way, tying the cord of his dressing-gown, and Mary Poppins, her very apron crackling with anger, flounced across the room to wake up the Twins.

  Jane sat on her bed staring at Mary Poppins as she bent over the cots.

  Michael slowly put on his slippers and sighed.

  "We must have dreamt it after all," he said sadly. "I wish it had been true."

  "It was true," said Jane in a cautious whisper, her eyes still fixed on Mary Poppins.

  "How do you know? Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure. Look!"

  Mary Poppins' head was bent over Barbara's cot. Jane nodded towards it. "Look at her face," she whispered in his ear.

  Michael regarded Mary Poppins' face steadily. There was the black hair looped back behind the ears, there the familiar blue eyes so like a Dutch doll's, and there were the turned-up nose and the bright red shiny cheeks.

  "I can't see anything—" he began and broke off suddenly. For now, as Mary Poppins turned her head, he saw what Jane had seen.

  Burning bright, in the very centre of her cheek, was a small fiery mark. And, looking closer, Michael saw that it was curiously shaped. It was round, with curly, flame-shaped edges and like a very small sun.

  "You see?" said Jane softly. "That's where he kissed her."

  Michael nodded — once, twice, three times.

  "Yes," he said, standing very still and staring at Mary Poppins. "I do see. I do…"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Balloons

  and

  Balloons

  I wonder, Mary Poppins," said Mrs. Banks, hurrying into the Nursery one morning, "if you will have time to do some shopping for me?"

  And she gave Mary Poppins a sweet, nervous smile as though she were uncertain what the answer would be.

  Mary Poppins turned from the fire where she was airing Annabel's clothes.

  "I might," she remarked, not very encouragingly.

  "Oh, I see—" said Mrs. Banks, and she looked more nervous than ever.

  "Or again — I might not," continued Mary Poppins, busily shaking out a woollen jacket and hanging it over the fire-guard.

  "Well — in case you did have time, here is the List and here is a Pound Note. And if there is any change left over you may spend it!"

  Mrs. Banks put the money on the chest of drawers.

  Mary Poppins said nothing. She just sniffed.

  "Oh!" said Mrs. Banks, suddenly remembering something. "And the Twins must walk to-day, Mary Poppins. Robertson Ay sat down on the perambulator this morning. He mistook it for an arm-chair. So it will have to be mended. Can you manage without it — and carry Annabel?"

  Mary Poppins opened her mouth and closed it again with a snap.

  "I," she remarked tartly, "can manage anything — and more, if I choose."

  "I–I know!" said Mrs. Banks, edging towards the door. "You are a Treasure — a perfect Treasure — an absolutely wonderful and altogether suitable Treas—" Her voice died away as she hurried down the stairs.

  "And yet — and yet — I sometimes wish she wasn't!" Mrs. Banks remarked to her great-grandmother's portrait as she dusted the Drawing-room. "She makes me feel small and silly, as though I were a little girl again. And I'm not!" Mrs. Banks tossed her head and flicked a speck of dust from the spotted cow on the mantel-piece. "I'm a very important person and the Mother of five children. She forgets that!" And she went on with her work thinking out all the things she would like to say to Mary Poppins but knowing all the time that she would never dare.

  Mary Poppins put the list and the Pound Note into her bag and in no time she had pinn
ed on her hat and was hurrying out of the house with Annabel in her arms and Jane and Michael, each holding the hand of a Twin, following as quickly as they could.

  "Best foot forward, please!" she remarked, turning sternly upon them.

  They quickened their pace, dragging the poor Twins with a shuffling sound along the pavement. They forgot that John's arm and Barbara's were being pulled nearly out of their sockets. Their only thought was to keep up with Mary Poppins and see what she did with the change from the Pound Note.

  "Two packets of candles, four pounds of rice, three of brown sugar and six of castor; two tins of tomato soup and a hearth-brush, a pair of housemaid's gloves, half-a-stick of sealing-wax, one bag of flour, one fire-lighter, two boxes of matches, two cauliflowers and a bundle of rhubarb!"

  Mary Poppins, hurrying into the first shop beyond the Park, read out the list.

  The Grocer, who was fat and bald and rather short of breath, took down the order as quickly as he could.

  "One bag of housemaid's gloves—" he wrote, nervously licking the wrong end of his blunt little pencil.

  "Flour, I said!" Mary Poppins reminded him tartly.

  The Grocer blushed as red as a mulberry.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. No offense meant, I'm sure. Lovely day, isn't it? Yes. My mistake. One bag of house — er — flour."

  He hurriedly scribbled it down and added—

  "Two boxes of hearth-brushes—"

  "Matches!" snapped Mary Poppins.

  The Grocer's hands trembled on his pad.

  "Oh, of course. It must be the pencil — it seems to write all the wrong things. I must get a new one. Matches, of course! And then you said—?" He looked up nervously and then down again at his little stub of pencil.

  Mary Poppins, unfolded the list, read it out again in an angry, impatient voice.

  "Sorry," said the Grocer, as she came to the end. "But rhubarb's off. Would damsons do?"

  "Certainly not. A packet of tapioca."

  "Oh, no, Mary Poppins — not Tapioca. We had that last week," Michael reminded her.

  She glanced at him and then at the Grocer, and by the look in her eye they both knew that there was no hope. Tapioca it would be. The Grocer, blushing redder than ever, went away to get it.

  "There won't be any change left if she goes on like this," said Jane, watching the pile of groceries being heaped upon the counter.

  "She might have enough left over for a bag of acid-drops — but that's all," Michael said mournfully, as Mary Poppins took the Pound Note out of her bag.

  "Thank you," she said, as the Grocer handed her the change.

  "Thank you!" he remarked politely, leaning his arms on the counter. He smiled at her in a manner that was meant to be pleasant and continued, "Keeps nice and fine, doesn't it?" He spoke proudly as though he, himself, had complete charge of the weather and had made it fine for her on purpose.

  "We want rain!" said Mary Poppins, snapping her mouth and her hand-bag at the same time.

  "That's right," said the Grocer hurriedly, trying not to offend her. "Rain's always pleasant."

  "Never!" retorted Mary Poppins, tossing Annabel into a more comfortable position on her arm.

  The Grocer's face fell. Nothing he said was right.

  "I hope," he remarked, opening the door courteously for Mary Poppins, "that we shall be favoured with your further custom, Madam."

  "Good-day!" Mary Poppins swept out.

  The Grocer sighed.

  "Here," he said, scrabbling hurriedly in a box near the door. "Take these. I meant no harm, truly I didn't. I only wanted to oblige."

  Jane and Michael held out their hands. The Grocer slipped three chocolate drops into Michael's and two into Jane's.

  "One for each of you, one for the two little ones and one for—" he nodded towards Mary Poppins' retreating figure—"her!"

  They thanked the Grocer and hurried after Mary Poppins, munching their chocolate drops.

  "What's that you're eating?" she demanded, looking at the dark rim round Michael's mouth.

  "Chocolates. The Grocer gave us one each. And one for you." He held out the last drop. It was very sticky.

  "Like his impudence!" said Mary Poppins, but she took the chocolate drop and ate it in two bites as though she thoroughly enjoyed it.

  "Is there much change left?" enquired Michael anxiously.

  "That's as may be."

  She swept into the Chemist's and came out with a cake of soap, a mustard plaster and a tube of toothpaste.

  Jane and Michael, waiting with the Twins at the door, sighed heavily.

  The Pound Note, they knew, was disappearing fast.

  "She'll hardly have enough left over for a stamp and, even if she has, that won't be very interesting," said Jane.

  "Now to Mr. Tip's!" snapped Mary Poppins, swinging the Chemist's packages and her bag from one hand and holding Annabel tightly with the other.

  "But what can we buy there?" said Michael in despair. For there was not much jingle in Mary Poppins' purse.

  "Coal — two tons and a half," she said, hurrying ahead.

  "How much is coal?"

  "Two pounds a ton."

  "But — Mary Poppins! We can't buy that!" Michael stared at her, appalled.

  "It will go on the bill."

  This was such a relief to Jane and Michael that they bounded beside her, dragging John and Barbara behind them at a trot.

  "Well, is that all?" Michael asked, when Mr. Tip and his coals had been left safely behind.

  "Cake shop!" said Mary Poppins, examining her list and darting in at a dark door. Through the window they could see her pointing to a pile of macaroons. The assistant handed her a large bag.

  "She's bought a dozen at least," said Jane sadly. Usually the sight of anybody buying a macaroon filled them with delight, but to-day they wished and wished that there wasn't a macaroon in the world.

  "Now where?" demanded Michael, hopping from one leg to the other in his anxiety to know if there was any of the Pound Note left. He felt sure there couldn't be and yet — he hoped.

  "Home," said Mary Poppins.

  Their faces fell. There was no change, after all, not even a penny or Mary Poppins would surely have spent it. But Mary Poppins, as she dumped the bag of macaroons up on Annabel's chest and strode ahead, had such a look on her face that they did not dare to make any remark. They only knew that, for once, she had disappointed them and they felt they could not forgive her.

  "But — this isn't the way home," complained Michael, dragging his feet so that his toes scraped along the pavement.

  "Isn't the Park on the way home, I'd like to know?" she demanded, turning fiercely upon him.

  "Yes — but—"

  "There are more ways than one of going through a Park," she remarked and led them round to a side of it they had never seen before.

  The sun shone warmly down. The tall trees bowed over the railings and rustled their leaves. Up in the branches two sparrows were fighting over a piece of straw. A squirrel hopped along the stone balustrade and sat up on his hindquarters, asking for nuts.

  But to-day these things did not matter. Jane and Michael were not interested. All they could think of was the fact that Mary Poppins had spent the whole Pound Note on unimportant things and had kept nothing over.

  Tired and disappointed, they trailed after her towards the Gates.

  Over the entrance, a new one they had never seen before, spread a tall stone arch, splendidly carved with a Lion and a Unicorn. And beneath the arch sat an old, old woman, her face as grey as the stone itself and as withered and wrinkled as a walnut. On her little old knees she held a tray piled up with what looked like small coloured strips of rubber and above her head, tied firmly to the Park railings, a cluster of bright balloons bobbed and bounced and bounded.

  "Balloons! Balloons!" shouted Jane. And, loosening her hand from John's sticky fingers, she ran towards the old woman. Michael bounded after her, leaving Barbara alone and lost in the middle of the pavement
.

  "Well, my deary-ducks!" said the Balloon Woman in an old cracked voice. "Which will you have? Take your choice! And take your time!" She leant forward and shook her tray in front of them.

  "We only came to look," Jane explained. "We've got no money."

  "Tch, tch, tch! What's the good of looking at a balloon? You've got to feel a balloon, you've got to hold a balloon, you've got to know a balloon! Coming to look! What good will that do you?"

  The old woman's voice crackled like a little flame. She rocked herself on her stool.

  Jane and Michael stared at her helplessly. They knew she was speaking the truth. But what could they do?

  "When I was a girl," the old woman went on, "people really understood balloons. They didn't just come and look! They took — yes, they took! There wasn't a child that went through these gates without one. They wouldn't have insulted the Balloon Woman in those days by just looking and passing by!"

  She bent her head back and gazed up at the bouncing balloons above her.

  "Ah, my loves and doves!" she cried. "They don't understand you any more — nobody but the old woman understands. You're old-fashioned now. Nobody wants you!"

  "We do want one," said Michael stoutly. "But we haven't any money. She spent the whole Pound Note on—"

  "And who is 'she'?" enquired a voice close behind him.

  He turned and his face went pink.

  "I meant — er — that you — er—" he began nervously.

  "Speak politely of your betters!" remarked Mary Poppins and, stretching her arm over his shoulder, she put half-a-crown on the Balloon Woman's tray.

  Michael stared at it, shining there among the limp un-blown balloons.

  "Then there was some change over!" said Jane, wishing she had not thought so crossly of Mary Poppins.

  The Balloon Woman her old eyes sparkling, picked up the coin, and gazed at it for a long moment.

  "Shiny, shiny, King-and-Crown!" she cried. "I haven't seen one of these since I was a girl." She cocked her head at Mary Poppins. "Do you want a balloon, my lass?"