out.
"On top of a musical box, did you say? So,
this
is what I get for my pains! You spend the afternoon with a well-brought up, self-respecting pair like my cousin and myself. And all you can do afterwards is to make a mock of us. Round and round with a weasel, indeed! For Two Pins I'd leave you—here, on this spot—and never come back! I warn you!"
"On top of a musical weasel!" she fumed, as she stalked through the gathering dusk.
Snap, snap, went her heels along the pavement. Even her back had an angry look.
Jane and Michael hurried after her. It was no good arguing with Mary Poppins, especially when she looked like that. The best thing to do was to say nothing. And be glad there was nobody in the Lane to offer her Two Pins. In silence they walked along beside her, and thought of the afternoon's adventure and looked at each other and wondered....
"Oh, Mary Poppins!" said Mrs. Banks brightly, as she opened the front door. "I'm sorry, but I don't need your cousin, after all. I tried the piano again just now. And it's quite in tune. In fact, better than ever."
"I'm glad of that, ma'am," said Mary Poppins, stealing a glance at herself in the mirror. "My cousin will make no charge."
"Well, I should think not!" cried Mrs. Banks indignantly. "Why, he hasn't even been here."
"Exactly, ma'am," said Mary Poppins. She sniffed as she turned towards the stairs.
Jane and Michael exchanged a secret look.
"That must have been the seventh wish!" Michael whispered. And Jane gave an answering nod.
Jug, jug, jug, jug—tereu!
From the Park came a shower of wild sweet music. It had a familiar sound.
"What can that be?" cried Mrs. Banks as she ran to the door to listen. "Good gracious! It's a Nightingale!"
Down from the branches fell the song, note by note, like plums from a tree. It burnt upon the evening air. It throbbed through the listening dusk.
"How very strange!" said Mrs. Banks. "They never sing in the city!"
Behind her back the children nodded and looked at each other wisely.
"It's Mr. Twigley's," murmured Jane.
"He's set it free!" answered Michael softly.
And they knew, as they listened to the burning song, that somewhere, somehow, Mr. Twigley was true—as true as his little golden bird that was singing now in the Park.
The Nightingale sang once more and was silent.
Mrs. Banks sighed and shut the door. "I wish I knew where he came from!" she said dreamily.
But Jane and Michael, who could have told her, were already half-way up the stairs. So they said nothing. There were things that could be explained, they knew, and things that could not be explained.
Besides, there were Currant Buns for Tea and they knew what Mary Poppins would say if they dared to keep her waiting....
CHAPTER 3
THE CAT THAT LOOKED AT A KING
M ICHAEL had toothache. He lay in bed groaning and looking at Mary Poppins out of the corner of his eye.
There she sat, in the old arm chair, busily winding wool. Jane knelt before her, holding the skein. Up from the garden came the cries of the Twins as they played on the lawn with Ellen and Annabel. It was quiet and peaceful in the Nursery. The clock made a clucking, satisfied sound like a hen that has laid an egg-
"Why should
I
have toothache and not Jane?" complained Michael. He pulled the scarf Mary Poppins had lent him more tightly round his cheek.
"Because you ate too many sweets yesterday," Mary Poppins replied tartly.
"But it was my Birthday!" he protested.
"A Birthday's no reason for turning yourself into a Dustbin!
I
don't have toothache after mine."
Michael glared at her. Sometimes he wished Mary Poppins was not quite so Perfectly Perfect. But he never dared to say so.
"If I die," he warned her, "you'll be sorry. You'll wish you'd been a bit nicer!"
She sniffed contemptuously and went on winding.
Holding his cheek in his two hands he gazed round the Nursery. Everything there had the familiar look of an old friend. The wall paper, the rocking-horse, the worn red carpet. His eyes
"On top of a musical box, did you say? So,
this
is what I get for my pains! You spend the afternoon with a well-brought up, self-respecting pair like my cousin and myself. And all you can do afterwards is to make a mock of us. Round and round with a weasel, indeed! For Two Pins I'd leave you—here, on this spot—and never come back! I warn you!"
"On top of a musical weasel!" she fumed, as she stalked through the gathering dusk.
Snap, snap, went her heels along the pavement. Even her back had an angry look.
Jane and Michael hurried after her. It was no good arguing with Mary Poppins, especially when she looked like that. The best thing to do was to say nothing. And be glad there was nobody in the Lane to offer her Two Pins. In silence they walked along beside her, and thought of the afternoon's adventure and looked at each other and wondered....
"Oh, Mary Poppins!" said Mrs. Banks brightly, as she opened the front door. "I'm sorry, but I don't need your cousin, after all. I tried the piano again just now. And it's quite in tune. In fact, better than ever."
"I'm glad of that, ma'am," said Mary Poppins, stealing a glance at herself in the mirror. "My cousin will make no charge."
"Well, I should think not!" cried Mrs. Banks indignantly. "Why, he hasn't even been here."
"Exactly, ma'am," said Mary Poppins. She sniffed as she turned towards the stairs.
Jane and Michael exchanged a secret look.
"That must have been the seventh wish!" Michael whispered. And Jane gave an answering nod.
Jug, jug, jug, jug—tereu!
From the Park came a shower of wild sweet music. It had a familiar sound.
"What can that be?" cried Mrs. Banks as she ran to the door to listen. "Good gracious! It's a Nightingale!"
Down from the branches fell the song, note by note, like plums from a tree. It burnt upon the evening air. It throbbed through the listening dusk.
"How very strange!" said Mrs. Banks. "They never sing in the city!"
Behind her back the children nodded and looked at each other wisely.
"It's Mr. Twigley's," murmured Jane.
"He's set it free!" answered Michael softly.
And they knew, as they listened to the burning song, that somewhere, somehow, Mr. Twigley was true—as true as his little golden bird that was singing now in the Park.
The Nightingale sang once more and was silent.
Mrs. Banks sighed and shut the door. "I wish I knew where he came from!" she said dreamily.
But Jane and Michael, who could have told her, were already half-way up the stairs. So they said nothing. There were things that could be explained, they knew, and things that could not be explained.
Besides, there were Currant Buns for Tea and they knew what Mary Poppins would say if they dared to keep her waiting....
CHAPTER 3
THE CAT THAT LOOKED AT A KING
M ICHAEL had toothache. He lay in bed groaning and looking at Mary Poppins out of the corner of his eye.
There she sat, in the old arm chair, busily winding wool. Jane knelt before her, holding the skein. Up from the garden came the cries of the Twins as they played on the lawn with Ellen and Annabel. It was quiet and peaceful in the Nursery. The clock made a clucking, satisfied sound like a hen that has laid an egg-
"Why should
I
have toothache and not Jane?" complained Michael. He pulled the scarf Mary Poppins had lent him more tightly round his cheek.
"Because you ate too many sweets yesterday," Mary Poppins replied tartly.
"But it was my Birthday!" he protested.
"A Birthday's no reason for turning yourself into a Dustbin!
I
don't have toothache after mine."
Michael glared at her. Sometimes he wished Mary Poppins was not quite so Perfectly Perfect. But he never dared to say so.
"If I die," he warned her, "you'll be sorry. You'll wish you'd been a bit nicer!"
She sniffed contemptuously and went on winding.
Holding his cheek in his two hands he gazed round the Nursery. Everything there had the familiar look of an old friend. The wall paper, the rocking-horse, the worn red carpet. His eyes
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