"That's mine!" said Jane, with a crow of delight. "It's 'Oranges and Lemons.'"
"Of course it is!" twinkled Mr. Twigley. And gaily seizing the children's hands he swept them away across the attic. The three little platforms turned and spun and the three tunes mingled in the air.
"London Bridge is Falling Down,
Dance over, my Lady Leigh!"
sang Michael.
"Oranges and Lemons,
Said the Bells of St. Clements."
sang Jane.
And Mr. Twigley whistled like a happy blackbird.
The feet of the children were light as wings as they danced to their own true music. Never before, they told themselves, had they felt so light and merry.
Bang! The front door slammed and shook the house. Mr. TVigley paused on one toe and listened. Thump! Thump! came the footsteps on the stairs. A loud voice rumbled across the landing.
Mr. Twigley gave a gasp of horror, and swung his coat-tails over his ears.
"She's coming!" he shrieked. "Oh, dear! Oh, my! I wish I were in a nice safe place!"
A blast of music came from the trumpets. And then a strange thing happened.
Mr. Twigley, as though by an unseen hand, was snatched from the floor of the attic. Off he went, hurtling past the children, like a seed of thistledown tossed by the wind. Then choking and gasping, shaking and panting, he landed upon his musical box. He did not seem to have grown smaller nor the box larger. Yet, somehow, they fitted perfectly together.
Round and round Mr. Twigley spun and upon his face spread a smile of triumph.
"I'm safe!" he yelled, as he waved to the children, "She'll never catch me now!"
"Hooray!" they were just about to shout but the word was caught in their throats, like a hiccup. For something had seized them by the hair and was flinging them both across the attic. Their arms and legs went sprawling wildly as they landed upon their musical boxes. They wobbled a little for a moment, but soon they were steadily whirling round.
"Oh!" panted Jane. "What a lovely surprise!"
"I feel like a spinning top!" shouted Michael.
Mr. Twiglev gave a little start and stared at them in astonishment.
"Did I do that? Good Gracious me! I'm getting quite clever at wishing."
"Clever!" said Mary Poppins sniffing. "Ridiculous—that's what I call it!"
"Well, at least it's safe," said Mr. Twigley. "And rather pleasant. Why don't you try it?"
"Wish!" urged Michael, with a wave of his hand.
"Ah! She doesn't need to," said Mr. Twigley, with a curious glance at Mary Poppins.
"Well, if you insist..." she said with a sniff. And placing her two feet neatly together she rose from the floor and swept past the rafters. Then, without a smile, not even a wobble, she alighted upon a musical box. Immediately, though no one had wound it, the tune broke gaily out.
"Round and round the Cobbler's bench,
The Monkey chased the Weasel,
The Monkey said it was all in fun—
Pop goes the Weasel!"
it sang.
And round and round went Mary Poppins, as calmly as though she had turned and spun from the very day she was born.
"Now we're all together!" Jane cried happily. She glanced at the window and waved her hand to draw Michael's attention.
Outside in the street the little houses were revolving on their foundations. Above in the sky spun two white clouds. And the attic itself, like the musical boxes, was turning round and round.
But loudly though the four tunes rang, another sound could be heard above them. Thump! Thump! The heavy steps came nearer.
And the next moment somebody banged on the door.
"Open, I say, in the name of the Law!" cried a voice that was somehow familiar.
A strong hand twisted the rickety lock. And then, with a crash, the door burst open. On the threshold stood Mrs. Clump and the Policeman. They stared.
She alighted upon a musical box
Their eyes popped. Their mouths fell open with astonishment.
"Well, of all the shameful sights!" cried Mrs. Clump. "I never thought to see this house turned into an Amusement Park!" She shook her fist at Mary Poppins. "You're going to get your reward, my girl. The Policeman here will deal with you! And as for you, Mr. Twigley, down you get from that silly razzle-dazzle and comb your hair and put on your hat. We're going off to be married!"
Mr. Twigley shuddered. But he swung his coat-tails jauntily.
"Don't shout and thump
Please, Mrs. Clump,
It makes me jump!"
he sang, as he sped round. The Policeman took out notebook and pencil.
"Come on! Stop spinning, all of you. I'm as giddy as a Garden Goat. And I want an Explanation!"
Mr. Twigley gave a gleeful cackle.
"You've come to the wrong place, Officer dear! I've never yet made an Explanation. And what's more, as I used to say to my boy, Methuselah, I don't believe in 'em!"
"Now, now, joking'11 only make things worse. You can't tell me you're Methuselah's father!" The Policeman smiled a knowing smile.
"Grandfather!" Mr. Twigley retorted, as he sailed gracefully round.
"Now, that's enough. You just come down! This spinning and twirling is bad for the 'Ealth. And not permitted in Private Dwellings. 'Ere! 'Oo's that pulling me! Let me go!" The Policeman gave a frightened shriek as he shot off his feet and through the air. A music box broke into noisy song as he dropped like a stone upon it.
"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!
I've gone crazy, all for the love of you!"
it shouted.
"'Elp! 'Elp! It's me—PC. 32 calling!" The Policeman wildly snatched at his whistle and blew a resounding blast.
"Officer!" shouted Mrs. Clump. "You do your duty or I'll have the Law on you, too. Get down and arrest that woman!" She thrust a huge finger at Mary Poppins. "I'll have you put behind bars, my girl. I'll have you——Here! Stop spinning me round!" Her eyes grew wide with angry amazement. For a curious thing was happening.
Slowly, on the spot where she stood, Mrs. Clump began to revolve. She had no musical box, no platform, she simply went round and round on the floor. The boards gave a loud protesting creak as the huge shape turned upon them.
"Well, that's fixed you!" cried Mr. Twigley.
"Try and jump
Dear Mrs. Clump!"
he advised her, with a gleeful shriek.
A shudder of horror shook Mrs. Clump as she tried to move her large black boots. She struggled. She writhed. She wriggled her body. But her feet were firmly glued to the floor.
"Clever girl, Mary! I'd never have thought of it!" Mr. Twigley smiled at Mary Poppins with pride and admiration.
"This is your doing—you wilful, wicked, cold-hearted Varmint!" Mrs. Clump gave an angry shout as she tried to clutch at Mary Poppins. "But I'll get even with you yet—or my name's not Sarah Clump!"
"It'll never be Twigley, anyway!" shrieked Mr. Twigley joyously.
"I want to go home! I want the Police Station!" wailed the Policeman, spinning madly.
"Well, nobody's keeping you, I'm sure!" said Mary Poppins, sniffing. As she spoke the Policeman's box came to a standstill and he stumbled off it, panting.
"Scotland Yard!" he cried, staggering to the door. "I must see the Chief! I must make a Report." And, blowing a frantic peal on his whistle, he fled downstairs and out of the house.
"Come back, you Villain!" screamed Mrs. Clump. "He's gone!" she went on, as the front door banged. "Oh, what shall I do? Help! Murder! Fire!"
Her face grew red as she tried to free herself. But it was no good. Her feet were firmly fixed to the floor, and she flung out her arms with a cry of anguish.
"Mr. Twigley!" she begged. "Please help me, Sir! I've always cooked you tasty meals. I've always kept you clean and tidy. You won't have to marry me, I promise. If you'll only wish something to set me free!"
"Be careful, Fred!" warned Mary Poppins, as she twirled i
n a dignified manner.
"A Wish in Time saves Nine! Now, let me think!" murmured Mr. Twigley.
He pressed his fingers to his eyes. Jane and Michael could see he was making an effort to wish Something Really Useful. For a moment he spun round, deep in thought. Then he looked up, smiling, and clapped his hands.
"Mrs. Clump," he cried gaily. "You shall be free! I wish for you a Golden Palace and Peacock Pie every day for dinner. But—" he winked across at Mary
Poppins, "my kind of palace, Mrs. Clump! And my kind of pie!"
A roll of drums boomed through the attic.
Mrs. Clump looked at Mary Poppins and smiled a smile of triumph.
"Aha!" she said smugly. "What did I tell you?"
But even as she spoke the proud smile faded. It changed to a look of purest terror.
For Mrs. Clump was no longer a large fat woman. Her buxom body was rapidly shrinking. Her feet as they spun on the creaking floor grew smaller with every turn.
"What's this?" she panted. "Oh, what can it be?" Her arms and her legs grew short and skinny as her figure dwindled to half its size.
"Police! Fire! Murder! S.O.S." Her voice grew thinner as she shrank.
"Oh, Mr. Twigley! What have you done? Police! Police!" squeaked the tiny voice.
As she spoke the floor gave an angry heave and flung her, spinning, into the air. She bounced back with a frantic shriek and stumbled away across the room. And as she ran she grew smaller than ever and her movements more and more jerky. One moment she was the size of a kitten and the next no bigger than a small-sized mouse. Away she went, stumbling and bouncing and tripping, till at the end of the attic she dashed into a tiny golden palace that had suddenly appeared.
"Oh, why did I speak to him? What has he done?" Mrs. Clump cried out in a tinny voice.
And looking through one of the golden windows, the children saw her collapse on a chair before a small tin pie. She began to cut it with jerky movements as the palace door closed with a bang.
At that moment the boxes ceased to spin. The music stopped and the attic was silent.
Down from his box sprang Mr. Twigley and ran to the golden palace. With a cry of delight he picked it up and gazed at the scene within.
"Very clever! I really must congratulate myself. All it needs now is a penny-in-the-slot and then it will do for Brighton Pier. One Penny, Only One Penny, folks! To see the Fat Woman Eating the Pie! Roll up! Roll up! Only one Penny!"
Waving the palace, Mr. Twigley went gaily capering round the room. Jane and Michael, leaping down from their boxes, ran after him and caught his coat-tails. They peered through the windows at Mrs. Clump. There was a look of horror on her mechanical face as she cut her mechanical pie.
"That was your sixth wish!" Michael reminded him.
"It was indeed!" Mr. Twigley agreed. "A Really useful idea, for once! Where there's a wish, there's a way, you see! Especially if she's around!" He nodded at Mary Poppins, who was stepping off her musical box in the most majestic manner.
"Get your hats, please!" she commanded sharply. "I want to get home for a Cup of Tea. I am not a Desert Camel."
"Oh, just one moment, please, Mary Poppins! Mr. Twigley's got one more wish!"
Jane and Michael, both talking at once, were tugging at her hands.
"Why, so I have! I'd quite forgotten. Now, what shall I——?"
"Cherry-Tree Lane, remember, Fred!" Mary Poppins' voice had a warning note.
"Oh, I'm glad you reminded me. Just a second!" Mr. Twigley put his hand to his brow and a scale of music sounded.
"What did you wish?" asked Jane and Michael.
But Mr. Twigley seemed suddenly to have become deaf, for he took no notice of the question. He shook hands hurriedly as though, having wished all his wishes, he was now anxious to be alone.
"You have to be going, you said? How sad! Is this your hat? Well, delighted you came! I hope—are these your gloves, dear Mary?—I hope you'll pay me another visit when my wishes come round again!"
"When will that be?" demanded Michael.
"Oh, in about ninety years or so." Mr. Twigley answered airily.
"But we'll be quite old by then!" said Jane.
"Maybe," he replied, with a little shrug. "But at least not as old as I am!"
And with that he kissed Mary Poppins on both cheeks and hustled them out of the room.
The last thing they saw was his jubilant smile as he began to fix a Penny-in-the-Slot to Mrs. Clump's palace....
Later, when they came to think about it, Jane and Michael could never remember how they got out of Mr. Twigley's house and into Cherry-Tree Lane. It seemed as though at one moment they were on the dusty stairs and the next were following Mary Poppins through the pearly evening light.
Jane glanced back for one last look at the little house.
"Michael!" she said in a startled whisper. "It's gone. Everything's gone!"
He looked round. Yes! Jane was right. The little street and the old-fashioned houses were nowhere to be seen. There was only the shadowy Park before them and the well-known curve of Cherry-Tree Lane.
"Well, where have we been all the afternoon?" said Michael, staring about him.
But it needed someone wiser than Jane to answer that question truly.
"We must have been somewhere," she said sensibly.
But that was not enough for Michael. He rushed away to Mary Poppins and pulled at her best blue skirt.
"Mary Poppins, where have we been today? What's happened to Mr. Twigley?"
"How should I know?" snapped Mary Poppins. "I'm not an Encyclopaedia."
"But he's gone! And the street's gone! And I suppose the musical box has gone, too—the one he went round on this afternoon!"
Mary Poppins stood still on the kerb, and stared.
"A cousin of mine on a musical box? What nonsense you do talk, Michael Banks!"
"But he did!" cried Jane and Michael together. "We all went round on musical boxes. Each of us to our own true music. And yours was 'Pop Goes the Weasel.'"
Her eyes blazed sternly through the darkness. She seemed to grow larger as she glared.
"Each to our—weasel? Round and round?" Really, she was so angry she could hardly get the words 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 br
anches 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
MICHAEL 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.