Mary Poppins in the Park

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?'