"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.