Mary Poppins in the Park

CHAPTER FIVE The Park in the Park

Another sandwich, please!" said Michael, sprawling across Mary Poppins' legs as he reached for the picnic basket.

It was Ellen's Day Out and Mrs. Brill had gone to see her cousin's niece's new baby. So the children were having tea in the Park, away by the Wild Corner.

This was the only place in the Park that was never mown or weeded. Clover, daisies, buttercups, bluebells, grew as high as the children's waists. Nettles and dandelions flaunted their blossoms, for they knew very well that the Park Keeper would never have time to root them out. None of them observed the rules. They scattered their seeds across the lawns, jostled each other for the best places, and crowded together so closely that their stems were always in shadowy darkness.

Mary Poppins, in a sprigged cotton dress, sat bolt upright in a clump of bluebells.

She was thinking, as she darned the socks, that pretty though the Wild Corner was, she knew of something prettier. If it came to a choice between, say, a bunch of clover and herself, it would not be the clover she would choose.

The four children were scattered about her.

Annabel bounced in the perambulator.

And not far off, among the nettles, the Park Keeper was making a daisy-chain.

Birds were piping on every bough, and the Ice Cream Man sang cheerfully as he trundled his barrow along.

The notice on the front said:

THE DAY IS HOT

BUT ICE CREAM'S NOT

"I wonder if he's coming here," Jane murmured to herself.

She was lying face downwards in the grass, making little plasticine figures.

"Where have those sandwiches gone?" cried Michael, scrabbling in the basket.

"Be so kind, Michael, as to get off my legs. I am not a Turkey carpet! The sandwiches have all been eaten. You had the last yourself."

Mary Poppins heaved him on to the grass and took up her darning needle. Beside her, a mug of warm tea, sprinkled with grass seed and nettle flowers, sent up a delicious fragrance.

"But, Mary Poppins, I've only had six!"

"That's three too many," she retorted. "You've eaten your share and Barbara's."

"Takin the food from 'is sister's mouth — what next?" said the Park Keeper.

He sniffed the air and licked his lips, just like a thirsty dog.

"Nothin' to beat a 'ot cup o' tea!" he remarked to Mary Poppins.

With dignified calm she took up the mug. "Nothing," she answered, sipping.

"Exactly what a person needs at the 'eight of the h'afternoon!" He gave the teapot a wistful glance.

"Exactly," she agreed serenely, as she poured herself another cup.

The Park Keeper sighed and plucked a daisy. The pot, he knew, was now empty.

"Well — another sponge cake, then, Mary Poppins!"

"The cakes are finished, too, Michael. What are you, pray — a boy or a crocodile?"

He would have liked to say he was a crocodile, but a glance at her face was enough to forbid it.

"John!" he coaxed, with a crocodile smile. "Would you like me to eat your crusts?"

"No!" said John, as he gobbled them up.

"Shall I help you with your biscuit, Barbara?"

"No!" she protested through the crumbs.

Michael shook his head in reproach and turned to Annabel.

There she sat, like a queen in her carriage, clutching her little mug. The perambulator groaned loudly as she bounced up and down. It was looking more battered than ever today. For Robertson Ay, after doing nothing all the morning, had leaned against it to take a rest and broken the wooden handle.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" Mrs. Banks had cried. "Why couldn't he lean on something stronger? Mary Poppins, what shall we do? We can't afford a new one!"

"I'll take it to my cousin, ma'am. He'll make it as good as new."

"Well — if you think he really can—" Mrs. Banks cast a doubtful eye on the bar of splintered wood.

Mary Poppins drew herself up.

"A member of my family, ma'am—" Her voice seemed to come from the North Pole.

"Oh, yes! Indeed! Quite so! Exactly!" Mrs. Banks nervously backed away.

"But why," she silently asked herself, "is her family so superior? She is far too vain and self-satisfied. I shall tell her so some day."

But, looking at that stern face and listening to those reproving sniffs, she knew she would never dare.

Michael rolled over among the daisies, hungrily-chewing a blade of grass.

"When are you going to take the perambulator to your cousin, Mary Poppins?"

"Everything comes to him who waits. All in my own good time!"

"Oh! Well, Annabel isn't taking her milk. Would you like me to drink it for her?"

But at that moment Annabel lifted her mug and drained the last drop.

"Mary Poppins!" he wailed. "I'll starve to death — just like Robinson Crusoe."

"He didn't starve to death," said Jane. She was busily clearing a space in the weeds.

"Well, the Swiss Family Robinson, then," said Michael.

"The Swiss Family always had plenty to eat. But I'm not hungry, Michael. You can have my cake if you like."

"Dear, kind, sensible Jane!" he thought, as he took the cake.

"What are you making?" he enquired, flinging himself on the grass beside her.

"A Park for Poor People," she replied. "Everyone is happy there. And nobody ever quarrels."

She tossed aside a handful of leaves and he saw, amid the wildweed, a tidy square of green. It was threaded with little pebbled paths as wide as a fingernail. And beside them were tiny flower-beds made of petals massed together. A summer-house of nettle twigs nestled on the lawn; flowers were stuck in the earth for trees; and in their shade stood twig benches, very neat and inviting.

On one of these sat a plasticine man, no more than an inch high. His face was round, his body was round and so were his arms and legs. The only pointed thing about him was his little turned-up nose. He was reading a plasticine newspaper and a plasticine tool-bag lay at his feet.

"Who's that?" asked Michael. "He reminds me of someone. But I can't think who it is!"

Jane thought for a moment.

"His name is Mr. Mo," she decided. "He is resting after his morning labours. He had a wife sitting next to him, but her hat went wrong, so I crumbled her up. I'll try again with the last of the plasticine—"

She glanced at the shapeless, coloured lump that lay behind the summer-house.

"And that?" He pointed to a feminine figure that stood by one of the flower-beds.

"That's Mrs. Hickory," said Jane. "She's going to have a house, too. And after that I shall build a Fun Fair."

He gazed at the plump little plasticine woman and admired the way her hair curled and the two large dimples in her cheeks.

"Do she and Mr. Mo know each other?"

"Oh, yes. They meet on the way to the Lake."

And she showed him a little pebbly hollow where, when Mary Poppins' head was turned, she had poured her mug of milk. At the end of the lake a plasticine statue reminded Michael of Neleus.

"Or down by the swing—" She pointed to two upright sticks from which an even smaller stick hung on a strand of darning wool.

Michael touched the swing with his finger-tip and it swayed backwards and forwards.

"And what's that under the buttercup?"

A scrap of cardboard from the lid of the cake-box had been bent to form a table. Around it stood several cardboard stools and upon it was spread a meal so tempting that a king might have envied it.

In the centre stood a two-tiered cake and around it were bowls piled high with fruit — peaches, cherries, bananas, oranges. One end of the table bore an apple-pie and the other a chicken with a pink frill. There were sausages, and currant buns, and a pat of butter on a little green platter. Each place was set with a plate and a mug and a bottle of ginger wine.

The buttercup-tree spread over the feast. Jane had set two plasticine doves in its branches and a bumble-bee buzzed among its flowers.

"Go away, greedy fly!" cried Michael, as a small black shape settled on the chicken. "Oh, dear! How hungry it makes me feel!"

Jane gazed with pride at her handiwork. "Don't drop your crumbs on the lawn, Michael. They make it look untidy."

"I don't see any litter-baskets. All I can see is an ant in the grass." He swept his eyes round the tiny Park, so neat amid the wildweed.

"There is never any litter," said Jane. "Mr. Mo lights the fire with his paper. And he saves his orange peel for Christmas puddings. Oh, Michael, don't bend down so close, you're keeping the sun away!"

His shadow lay over the Park like a cloud.

"Sorry!" he said, as he bent sideways. And the sunlight glinted down again as Jane lifted Mr. Mo and his tool-bag and set them beside the table.

"Is it his dinner-time?" asked Michael.

"Well — no!" said a little scratchy voice. "As a matter of fact, it's breakfast!"

"How clever Jane is!" thought Michael admiringly. "She can not only make a little old man, she can talk like one as well."

But her eyes, as he met them, were full of questions.

"Did you speak, Michael, in that squeaky way?"

"Of course he didn't," said the voice again.

And, turning, they saw that Mr. Mo was waving his hat in greeting. His rosy face was wreathed in smiles and his turned-up nose had a cheerful look.

"It isn't what you call the meal. It's how it tastes that matters. Help yourself!" he cried to Michael. "A growing lad is always hungry. Take a piece of pie!"

"I'm having a beautiful dream," thought Michael, hurriedly helping himself.

"Don't eat it, Michael. It's plasticine!"

"It's not! It's apple!" he cried, with his mouth full.

"But I know! I made it myself!" Jane turned to Mr. Mo.

"You did?" Mr. Mo seemed very surprised. "I suppose you mean you helped to make it. Well, I'm very glad you did, my girl. Too many cooks make delicious broth!"

"They spoil it, you mean," corrected Jane.

"Oh, no, no! Not in my opinion. One puts one thing, one another — oatmeal, cucumber, pepper, tripe. The merrier the more, you know!"

"The more of what?" asked Michael, staring.

"Everything!" Mr. Mo replied. "There's more of everything when one's merry. Take a peach!" He turned to Jane. "It matches your complexion."

From sheer politeness — for she could not disappoint that smiling face — Jane took the fruit and tasted. Refreshing juice ran over her chin, the peach-stone grated against her teeth.

"Delicious!" she cried in astonishment.

"Of course it is!" crowed Mr. Mo. "As my dear wife always used to say—'You can't go by the look of a thing, it's what's inside that matters.'"

"What happened to her?" asked Michael politely, as he helped himself to an orange. He had quite forgotten, in the joy of finding more to eat, that Jane had crumbled her up.

"I lost her," murmured Mr. Mo. He gave his head a sorrowful shake as he popped the orange peel into his pocket.

Jane felt herself blushing.

"Well — her hat wouldn't sit on straight," she faltered. But now it seemed to her that this was hardly a good enough reason for getting rid of the hat's owner.

"I know, I know! She was always rather an awkward shape. Nothing seemed to fit her. If it wasn't her hat it was her boots. Even so — I was fond of her." Mr. Mo heaved a heavy sigh. "However," he went on gloomily, "I've found another one!"

"Another wife?" cried Jane in surprise. She knew she had not made two Mrs. Mo's. "But you haven't had time for that!"

"No time? Why, I've all the time in the world. Look at those dandelions!" He waved his chubby hand round the Park. "And I had to have someone to care for the children. Can't do everything myself. So — I troubled trouble before it troubled me and got myself married just now. This feast here is our wedding-breakfast. But, alas—" He glanced around him nervously. "Every silver lining has a cloud. I'm afraid I made a bad choice."

"Coo-roo! Coo-roo!

We told you so!"

cried the plasticine doves from their branch.

"Children?" said Jane, with a puzzled frown. She was sure she had made no children.

"Three fine boys," Mr. Mo said proudly. "Surely you two have heard of them! Hi!" he shouted, cupping his hands. "Eenie, Meenie, Mynie — where are you?"

Jane and Michael stared at each other and then at Mr. Mo.

"Oh, of course we've heard of them," agreed Michael.

"Eenie, Meenie, Mynie, Mo,

Catch an Indian by the—

But I thought they were only words in a game."

Mr. Mo smiled a teasing smile.

"Take my advice, my dear young friend, and don't do too much thinking. Bad for the appetite. Bad for the brain. The more you think, the less you know, as my dear — er — first wife used to say. But I can't spend all day chattering, much as I enjoy it!" He plucked a dandelion ball and blew the seeds on the air.

"Goodness, yes, it's four o'clock. And I've got a job to do."

He took from his tool-bag a piece of wood and began to polish it with his apron.

"What kind of work do you do?" asked Michael.

"Can't you read?" cried the chubby man, waving towards the summer-house.

They turned to Jane's little shelter of twigs and saw to their surprise that it had grown larger. The sticks were solid logs of wood and instead of the airy space between them there were now white walls and curtained windows, Above them rose a new thatched roof, and a sturdy chimney puffed forth smoke. The entrance was closed by a red front door bearing a white placard.

S. MO (it said)

BUILDER

AND

CARPENTER

"But I didn't build the house like that! Who altered it?" Jane demanded.

"I did, of course." Mr. Mo grinned. "Couldn't live in it as it was — far too damp and draughty. What did you say—you built my house?" He chuckled at the mere idea. "A little wisp of a lass like you, not as high as my elbow!"

This was really too much for Jane.

"It's you who are little," she protested. "I made you of straw and plasticine! You're not as big as my thumb!"

"Ha, ha! That's a good one. Made me of hay while the sun shone — is that what you're telling me? Straw, indeed!" laughed Mr. Mo. "You're just like my children — always dreaming. And wonderful dreams they are!"

He gave her head a little pat. And as he did so she realised that she was not, indeed, as high as his elbow. Beneath the branch of yellow blossoms Mr. Mo towered above her. The lawns that she herself had plucked now stretched to a distant woodland. And beyond that nothing could she see. The big Park had entirely disappeared, as the world outside disappears when we cross the threshold of home.

She looked up. The bumble-bee seemed like a moving cloud. The shimmering fly that darted past was about the size of a starling and the ant that gave her a bright black stare was nearly as high as her ankle.

What had happened? Had Mr. Mo grown taller or was it that she herself had dwindled? It was Michael who answered the question.

"Jane! Jane!" he cried. "We're in your Park. I thought it was just a tiny patch, but now it's as big as the world!"

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Mr. Mo observed. "It only stretches as far as the forest, but it's big enough for us."

Michael turned, at his words, towards the woodland. It was dense and wild and mysterious, and some of the trees had giant blooms.

"Daisies the size of umbrellas!" he gasped. "And bluebells large enough to bathe in!"

"Yes, it's a wonderful wood," Mr. Mo agreed, eyeing the forest with a carpenter's eye. "My — er — second wife wants me to cut it down and sell it to make my fortune. But this is a Park for Poor People. What would I do with a fortune? My own idea — but that was before the wedding, of course — was to build a little Fun Fair—"

"I thought of that, too," Jane broke in, smiling.

"Well, happy minds think alike, you know! What do you say to a merry-go-round? A coconut-shy, and some swinging-boats? And free to all, friends and strangers alike? Hurrah, I knew you'd agree with me!" He clapped his hands excitedly. But suddenly the eager look died away from his face.

"Oh, it's no good planning," he went on sadly. "She doesn't approve of Fun Fairs — too frivolous and no money in them. What a terrible mistake I've made — married in haste to repent at leisure! But it's no good crying over spilt milk!"

Mr. Mo's eyes brimmed up with tears, and Jane was just about to offer him her handkerchief, when a clatter of feet sounded on the lawn and his face suddenly brightened.

"Papa!" cried a trio of squeaky voices. And three little figures sprang over the path and flung themselves into his arms. They were all alike, as peas in a pod; and the image of their father.

"Papa, we caught an Indian! We caught him by the toe, papa! But he hollered, papa, so we let him go!"

"Quite right, my lads!" smiled Mr. Mo. "He'll be happier in the forest."

"Indians?" Michael's eyes widened. "Among those daisy trees?"

"He was looking for a squaw, papa, to take care of his wigwam!"

"Well, I hope he finds one," said Mr. Mo. "Oh, yes, of course there are Indians! And goodness only knows what else. Quite like a jungle, you might say. We never go very far in, you know. Much too dangerous. But — let me introduce my sons. This is Eenie, this is Meenie, and this is Mynie!"

Three pairs of blue eyes twinkled, three pointed noses turned up to the sky and three round faces grinned.

"And these—" said Mr. Mo, turning. Then he chuckled and flung up his hands. "Well! Here we are, old friends already, and I don't even know your names!"

They told him, shaking hands with his children.

"Banks? Not the Banks of Cherry Tree Lane? Why, I'm doing a job for you!" Mr. Mo rummaged in his tool-bag.

"What kind of job?" demanded Michael.

"It's a new — ah, there you are, Mrs. Hickory!"

Mr. Mo turned and waved a greeting as a dumpy little feminine figure came hurrying towards them. Two dimples twinkled in her cheeks, two rosy babies bounced in her arms and she carried in her looped-up apron a large bulky object.

"But she had no children!" said Jane to herself, as she stared at the two fat babies.

"We've brought you a present, Mr. Mo!" Mrs. Hickory blushed and opened her apron. "I found this lovely loaf on the lawn — somebody dropped it, I expect. My twins — this is Dickory, this is Dock," she explained to the astonished children—"are far too young to eat fresh bread. So here it is for the breakfast!"

"That's not a loaf, it's a sponge-cake crumb. I dropped it myself," said Michael. But he could not help feeling that the crumb was a good deal larger than he remembered it.

"Tee-hee!"

Mrs. Hickory giggled shyly and her dimples went in and out. You could see she thought he was joking and that she liked being joked with.

"A neighbourly thought!" said Mr. Mo. "Let's cut it in two and have half each. Half a loaf's better than no bread! And, in return, Mrs. Hickory, may I give you a speck of butter?"

"Indeed you may NOT!" said a furious voice. And the door of Mr. Mo's house burst open.

Jane and Michael fell back a pace. For there stood the largest and ugliest woman they had ever seen in their lives. She seemed to be made of a series of knobs, rather like a potato. A knob of a nose, a knob of hair, knobbly hands, knobbly feet, and her mouth had only two teeth.

She was more like a lump of clay than a human being and Jane was reminded of the scrap of plasticine that had lain behind the summer-house. A dingy pinafore covered her body and in one of her large knobbly hands she held a rolling-pin.

"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 Turvys—"

"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-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 together. 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 the 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. Nowyou're 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!"

"Let me go, you savage!

"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 — on 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.

"My goodness, I'd forgotten. Here — fruit, cake, sausages, buns!" He took a piece from every dish and thrust it into Michael's hands.

Mary Poppins looked on disapprovingly.

"Now, Michael, not another bite! You will have no room for your supper."

"Enough's as good as a feast, my lad!" Mr. Mo grinned at Michael as he watched the food disappearing.

"Enough is too much!" said Mary Poppins. "Come along, both of you!"

"Oh, I cannot bear to leave it!" cried Jane. Her little Park seemed brighter than ever, as it shone in the setting sun.

"You never will!" Mr. Mo declared. "As long as you remember it, you can always come and go. And I hope you're not going to tell me that you can't be in two places at once. A clever girl who makes parks and people surely knows how to do that!" He smiled his twinkling, teasing smile.

Mary Poppins stepped out from under the buttercup, with a homeward look in her eye.

"Say goodbye politely, Jane!" She sent the perambulator rolling along the pebbled path.

"Goodbye, Mr. Mo!" said Jane softly, as she stood on tip-toe and held out her arms.

"Oh, luck! Oh, joy!" He patted his cheek. "This is no Park for Poor People! I'm rich — she's given me a kiss! Share and share alike!" he cried, as he kissed Mrs. Hickory right on a dimple.

"Remember, Sam!" warned Mary Poppins. "Look before you leap!"

"Oh, I shan't do any leaping, Mary! A little dance and a hop or two — nothing more serious, I assure you!"

She gave a disbelieving sniff, but Mr. Mo did not hear it. He was skipping beside Mrs. Hickory and seizing her apron-strings.

"May I have the pleasure?" they heard him saying.

"Me, too!" cried Eeenie, Meenie and Mynie, as they flew to join their father.

And there they all were, prancing round the table, helping themselves to pie and wine and hanging the cherries behind their ears. Mrs. Hickory's dimples were twinkling gaily and her babies were bobbing about in her arms.

"It's a poor heart that never rejoices!" cried Mr. Mo, as he whirled her about. He seemed to have quite forgotten his guests in the gaiety of the moment.

"It's love that makes the world go round!" yelled Eenie, Meenie and Mynie.

And, indeed, the world did seem to be spinning, turning for joy upon its axis, as the little Park spun round its buttercup tree. Round and round and round it went in a steady, stately movement.

The wedding-party was waltzing and singing, and the Ice Cream Man was singing, too, as he pedalled back along the path. A cluster of Fruit Bars was in his hand and he tossed them on to the table.

"Three for luck and free for luck!" he cried, as he trundled by.

"Step up, if you please," said Mary Poppins, hustling them along before her as a hen hustles her chicks. "And what are you doing, Jane and Michael, walking backwards like that?"

"I'b wadching the weddig-feast!" mumbled Michael, with his mouth full of his last cherry. He gave a long lugubrious sigh as each creak of the perambulator drew him farther from that wonderful meal.

"Taking one more look at my Park, Mary Poppins," said Jane, as she gazed at the happy scene.

"Well, you're not a pair of crabs! Turn round — and walk in the right direction."

The sunset dazzled their eyes as they turned. And the afternoon seemed to be turning with them, from two o'clock till five. Tick-tock! said every clock. Ding-dong! said the bells in the steeples.

Then the spinning world slowed down and was still, and they blinked as though coming out of a dream. Had it taken them seconds, minutes or hours to walk down that pebbly path? They looked about them curiously.

The blossoms of clover were now at their feet, instead of above their heads, and the grasses of the Wild Corner brushed against their knees. The bumble-bee went buzzing by, no larger, it seemed, than usual. And the fly on a near-by bluebell was about the size of a fly. As for the ant — it was hiding under a grass-seed and was therefore invisible.

The big Park spread serenely round them, just the same as ever. The Ice Cream Man, who had come to the last verse of his song—

"I'll sing you twelve-o

Green grow the rushes-o,"

was wheeling away from the Wild Corner. And the Park Keeper, with the finished daisy-chain round his neck, was lumbering towards them.

They glanced down. Below them lay the little Park, hemmed in by its walls of weed. They blinked again and smiled at each other as they fell on their knees among the flowers.

The little lawns were now in shadow. Long patterns of daisy and bluebell lay black across the paths. The tiny flowers in Jane's garden were bending on their stems. By lake and swing the seats were deserted.

"They've eaten every bit of the feast. Look!" whispered Michael. "Empty plates!"

"And not a sign of anyone. I expect they've all gone home to bed." Jane sighed. She would like to have seen Mr. Mo again, and to measure herself against his elbow.

"They're lucky, then, 'ooever they are! Let's to bed, says Sleepy-'Ead — as they told me when I was a boy!" The Park Keeper stooped above them and surveyed Jane's handiwork.

"No Parks allowed in the Park!" he observed. Then he eyed the two rapt faces. "Well, you seem very preh'occupied! What are you lookin' for?"

Jane gave him an absent-minded glance.

"Mary Poppins' cousin," she murmured, as she searched through the little Park.

The Park Keeper's face was a sight to see.

"Cousin! Down there — among the weeds? You'll be tellin' me next 'e's a beetle!"

"I'll be telling you something in a minute!" said a wrathful voice beside him. Mary Poppins regarded him frostily. "Did I or didn't I hear you referring to me as an insect?"

"Well — not to you," the Park Keeper faltered. "But if your cousin's down in that grass, what can 'e be but a beetle?"

"Oh, indeed! And if he's a beetle, what am I?"

He looked at her uneasily and wished that something would strike him dumb.

"Hum," he said, fumbling for a word. "I may be as mad as a March Hatter—"

"May be!" she gave a disdainful sniff.

"But I don't see 'ow you can 'ave a cousin sittin' under a buttercup!"

"I can have a cousin anywhere — and no business of yours!"

"You can't!" he cried. "T'isn't natural. I suppose," he added sarcastically, "you're related to the Man in the Moon!"

"My uncle!" said Mary Poppins calmly, as she turned the perambulator into the path that led from the Wild Corner.

The Park Keeper opened his mouth in surprise and shut it again with a snap.

"Ha, ha! You will 'ave your little joke. 'Owsumever, I don't believe it!"

"Nobody asked you to," she replied. "Come, Jane! Come, Michael! Quick march, please!"

Night had now come to the little Park. The wildweed, thickly clustered about it, looked very like a forest. No light came through the trackless stems, it was dark as any jungle. With a last glance at the lonely lawns, they turned away regretfully and ran after the perambulator.

"Mary Poppins! They've all gone home," cried Michael. "There's nothing left on the plates."

"East, West, home's best. And who are 'they,' I'd like to know?"

"I meant your funny little cousin — and all his family!"

She pulled up sharply and looked at him with a calm that was worse than anger.

"Did you say 'funny'?" she enquired. "And what was so funny about him, pray?"

"Well — at first he wasn't as big as a beetle and then he stretched out to the usual s-s-size!" He trembled as he looked at her.

"Beetles again! Why not grasshoppers? Or perhaps you'd prefer a grub! Stretching, indeed! Are you trying to tell me, Michael Banks, that my cousin is made of elastic?"

"Well — no, not elastic. Plasticine!" There! It was out. He had said it at last.

She drew herself up. And now it seemed as if she were stretching, for her rage seemed to make her twice as tall.

"Well!" she began, in a voice that told him clearly she had never been so shocked in her life. "If anyone had ever warned me—" But he interrupted wildly.

"Oh, don't be angry, please, Mary Poppins — not in your tulip hat! I didn't mean he was funny to laugh at, but funny in the nicest way. And I won't say another word — I promise!"

"Humph!" She subsided. "Silence is golden."

And as she stalked along beside him, with her heels going click-clack on the path, he wondered where he had heard that before.

He glanced at Jane carefully from the corner of his eye.

"But it happened, didn't it?" he whispered. "We did go into the little Park and join them at the feast? I'm sure it was true, because I'm not hungry. All I want for supper is a hard-boiled egg and a piece of buttered toast. And rice pudding and two tomatoes and perhaps a cup of milk!"

"Oh, yes, it was true." Jane sighed for joy as she gazed round the great familiar Park. Within it, she knew, lay another one. And perhaps—

"Do you think, Mary Poppins—" She hesitated. "Do you think that everything in the world is inside something else? My little Park inside the big one and the big one inside a larger one? Again and again? Away and away?" She waved her arm to take in the sky. "And to someone very far out there — do you think we would look like ants?"

"Ants and beetles! Grasshoppers! Grubs! What next, I'd like to know! I can't answer for you, Jane, but I'm not an ant to anyone, thank you!"

Mary Poppins gave a disgusted sniff.

"Of course you're not!" said a cheerful voice, as Mr. Banks — coming back from the City — caught up with the little group.

"You're more like a glow-worm, Mary Poppins, shining to show us the right way home!" He waited for the self-satisfied smile to spread across her face. "Here," he said, "take the evening paper and I'll wheel the perambulator. The exercise will do me good. I think I'm getting a cold."

The Twins and Annabel crowed with delight as Mr. Banks sent them skimming along.

"Dear me," he remarked. "What a fine new handle! That cousin of yours is a good workman. You must let me know what you paid for it."

"I know!" cried Michael eagerly. "She gave Mrs. Mo to the Indian!"

"A-tishoo! I didn't quite hear what you said, Michael. She gave Mr. Rowe two shillings?" Mr. Banks blew his nose with a flourish.

"No, no! She gave Mrs. Mo—! I mean—" He never finished the sentence. For Mary Poppins' eye was on him and he thought it best to drop the subject.

"There will be no charge, sir!" she said politely. "My cousin was pleased to do it."

"That's uncommonly kind of him, Mary Poppins. Hey!" he broke off. "Do look where you're going! Observe the rules of the Park, Smith! You nearly upset the perambulator."

For the Park Keeper, bounding after them, had knocked into the little group and scattered it in all directions.

"Beg pardon all, I'm sure!" he panted. "Sorry, Mr. Banks, sir, but if you'll excuse me, it's 'er I'm after."

He flung out a hand at Mary Poppins. The daisy-chain dangled from his wrist.

"Why, Mary Poppins, what have you done? Broken a bye-law or what?"

The Park Keeper gave a lonely groan.

"Bye-law? She's broken all the laws! Oh, it isn't natural — but it's true!" He turned to Mary Poppins.

"You said you could 'ave one anywhere! Well, 'e's down there under a dandelion. I 'eard 'im with me own ears — laughin' and singin'—just like a party.

'Ere, take it!" he cried in a broken voice, as he flung the daisy-chain over her head. "I meant it for me poor old Mother — but I feel I owe you somethin'."

"You do," said Mary Poppins calmly, as she straightened the daisy-chain.

The Park Keeper stared at her for a moment. Then he turned away with a sigh.

"I shall never h'understand," he muttered, knocking over a litter-basket as he tottered off down the path.

Mr. Banks gazed after him with a look of shocked surprise.

"Somebody under a dandelion? Having a party? What can he mean? Really, I sometimes wonder if Smith is right in the head. Under a dandelion — laughing and singing! Did you ever hear such a thing?"

"Never!" said Mary Poppins demurely, with a dainty shake of her head.

And as she shook it a buttercup petal fell from the brim of her hat.

The children watched it fluttering down and turned and smiled at each other.

"There's one on your head, too, Michael!"

"Is there?" he said, with a happy sigh. "Bend down and let me look at yours."

And sure enough Jane had a petal, too.

"I told you so!" She nodded wisely. And she held her head very high and still so as not to disturb it.

Crowned with the gold of the buttercup tree she walked home under the maple boughs. All was quiet. The sun had set. The shadows of the Long Walk were falling all about her. And at the same time the brightness of the little Park folded her closely round. The dark of one, the light of the other — she felt them both together.

"I am in two places at once," she whispered, "just as he said I would be!"

And she thought again of the little clearing among the thronging weeds. The daisies would grow again, she knew. Clover would hide the little lawns. Cardboard table and swings would crumble. The forest would cover it all.

But somehow, somewhere, in spite of that, she knew she would find it again — as neat and as gay and as happy as it had been today. She only had to remember it and there she would be once more. Time upon time she would return — hadn't Mr. Mo said so? — and stand at the edge of that patch of brightness and never see it fade….