Читать книгу Mary Poppins - the Complete Collection - Памела Трэверс, P.L. Travers - Страница 36

IT WAS ONE of those mornings when everything looks very neat and bright and shiny as though the world had been tidied up overnight.

In Cherry Tree Lane the houses blinked as their blinds went up, and the thin shadows of the Cherry Trees fell in dark stripes across the sunlight. But there was no sound anywhere, except for the tingling of the Ice Cream Man’s bell as he wheeled his cart up and down.

STOP ME AND BUY ONE

said the placard in front of the cart. And presently a Sweep came round the corner of the Lane and held up his black, sweepy hand.

The Ice Cream Man went tingling up to him.

“Penny one,” said the Sweep. And he stood leaning on his bundle of brushes as he licked out the Ice Cream with the tip of his tongue. When it was all gone, he gently wrapped the cone in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.

“Don’t you eat cones?” asked the Ice Cream Man, very surprised.

“No. I collect them!” said the Sweep. And he picked up his brushes and went in through Admiral Boom’s front gate, because there was no Tradesman’s Entrance.

The Ice Cream Man wheeled his cart up the Lane again and tingled, and the stripes of shadow and sunlight fell on him as he went.

“Never knew it so quiet before!” he murmured, gazing from right to left, and looking out for customers.

At that very moment, a loud voice sounded from Number Seventeen. The Ice Cream Man cycled hurriedly up to the gate, hoping for an order.

“I won’t stand it! I simply will not stand any more!” shouted Mr Banks, striding angrily from the front door to the foot of the stairs and back again.

“What is it?” said Mrs Banks anxiously, hurrying out of the Dining-room. “And what is that you are kicking up and down the hall?”

Mr Banks lunged out with his foot and something black flew halfway up the stairs.

“My hat!” he said between his teeth. “My Best Bowler Hat!”

He ran up the stairs and kicked it down again. It spun for a moment on the tiles and fell at Mrs Banks’ feet.

“Is there anything wrong with it?” said Mrs Banks nervously. But to herself she wondered whether there was not something wrong with Mr Banks.

“Look and see!” he roared at her.

Trembling, Mrs Banks stooped and picked up the hat. It was covered with large, shiny, sticky patches, and she noticed it had a peculiar smell.

She sniffed at the brim.

“It smells like boot-polish,” she said.

“It is boot-polish,” retorted Mr Banks. “Robertson Ay has brushed my hat with the boot-brush – in fact, he has polished it.”

Mrs Banks’ mouth fell with horror.

“I don’t know what’s come over this house!” Mr Banks went on. “Nothing ever goes right – hasn’t for ages! Shaving-Water too hot, Breakfast Coffee too cold. And now – this!”

He snatched his hat from Mrs Banks and caught up his bag.

“I am going!” he said. “And I don’t know that I shall ever come back. I shall probably take a long sea-voyage.”

Then he clapped the hat on his head, banged the front door behind him and went through the gate so quickly that he knocked over the Ice Cream Man, who had been listening to the conversation with interest.

“It’s your own fault!” said Mr Banks crossly. “You’d no right to be there!” And he went striding off towards the City, his polished hat shining like a jewel in the sun.

The Ice Cream Man got up carefully and, finding there were no bones broken, he sat down on the kerb and made it up to himself by eating a large Ice Cream. . .

“Oh, dear!” said Mrs Banks as she heard the gate slam. “It is quite true. Nothing does go right nowadays. First one thing and then another. Ever since Mary Poppins left without a Word of Warning everything has gone wrong.”

She sat down at the foot of the stairs, and took out her handkerchief and cried into it.

And, as she cried, she thought of all that had happened since that day when Mary Poppins had so suddenly and so strangely disappeared.

“Here one night and gone the next – most upsetting!” said Mrs Banks, gulping.

Nurse Green had arrived soon after and had left at the end of the week because Michael had spat at her. She was followed by Nurse Brown, who went out for a walk one day and never came back. And it was not until later that they discovered that all the silver spoons had gone with her.

And after Nurse Brown came Miss Quigley, the Governess, who had to be asked to leave because she played scales for three hours every morning before breakfast, and Mr Banks did not care for music.

“And then,” sobbed Mrs Banks to her handkerchief, “there was Jane’s attack of measles, and the bathroom geyser bursting, and the Cherry Trees ruined by frost and. . .”

“If you please, m’m!” Mrs Banks looked up to find Mrs Brill, the cook, at her side.

“The kitchen flue’s on fire!” said Mrs Brill gloomily.

“Oh, dear. What next?” cried Mrs Banks. “You must tell Robertson Ay to put it out. Where is he?”

“Asleep, m’am, in the broom cupboard. And when that boy’s asleep, nothing’ll wake him – not if it’s an Earthquake or a regiment of Tom-toms!” said Mrs Brill, as she followed Mrs Banks down the kitchen stairs.

Between them they managed to put out the fire, but that was not the end of Mrs Banks’ troubles.

She had no sooner finished Luncheon than a crash, followed by a loud thud, was heard from upstairs.

“What is it now?” Mrs Banks rushed out to see what had happened.

“Oh, my leg, my leg!” cried Ellen, the housemaid.

She sat on the stairs, surrounded by a ring of broken china, groaning loudly.

“What is the matter with it?” said Mrs Banks sharply.

“Broken!” said Ellen dismally, leaning against the banisters.

“Nonsense, Ellen! You’ve sprained your ankle, that’s all!”

But Ellen only groaned again.

“My leg is broken! What shall I do?” she wailed, over and over again.

At that moment the shrill cries of the Twins sounded from the Nursery. They were fighting for the possession of a blue celluloid Duck. Their screams rose thinly above the voices of Jane and Michael, who were painting pictures on the wall and arguing as to whether a green horse should have a purple or a red tail. And through this uproar there sounded, like the steady beat of a drum, the groans of Ellen, the housemaid. “My leg is broken! What shall I do?”

“This,” said Mrs Banks, rushing upstairs, “is the Last Straw!”

She helped Ellen to bed, and put a cold water bandage round her ankle. Then she went up to the Nursery.

Jane and Michael rushed at her.

“It should have a red tail, shouldn’t it?” demanded Michael.

“Oh, Mother, don’t let him be so stupid! No horse has a red tail, has it?”

“Well, what horse has a purple tail? Tell me that!” he screamed.

“My Duck!” shrieked John, snatching the Duck from Barbara.

“Mine, mine, mine!” cried Barbara, snatching it back again.

“Children! Children!” Mrs Banks was wringing her hands in despair. “Be quiet or I shall Go Mad!”

There was silence for a moment as they stared at her with interest. Would she really, they wondered? And what would she be like, if she did?

“Now,” said Mrs Banks, “I will not have this behaviour. Poor Ellen has hurt her ankle, so there is nobody to look after you. You must all go into the Park and play there till Tea-time. Jane and Michael, you must look after the little ones. John, let Barbara have the Duck now and you can have it when you go to bed. Michael, you may take your new Kite. Now, get your hats, all of you!”

“But I want to finish my horse—” began Michael crossly.

“Why must we go to the Park?” complained Jane. “There’s nothing to do there!”

“Because,” said Mrs Banks, “I must have peace. And if you will go quietly and be good children there will be Coconut Cakes for tea.”

And before they had time to break out again, she had put on their hats and was hurrying them down the stairs.

“Look both ways!” she called as they went through the gate, Jane pushing the Twins in the perambulator and Michael carrying his Kite.

They looked to the right. There was nothing coming.

They looked to the left. There was nobody there but the Ice Cream Man, who was jingling his bell at the end of the Lane.

Jane hurried across. Michael trailed after her.

“I hate this life!” he said miserably to his Kite. “Everything always goes wrong always.”

Jane pushed the perambulator as far as the Lake.

“Now,” she said,” give me the Duck!”

The Twins shrieked and clutched it at either end. Jane uncurled their fingers.

“Look!” she said, throwing the Duck into the Lake. “Look, darlings, it’s going to India!”

The Duck drifted off across the water. The Twins stared at it and sobbed.

Jane ran round the Lake and caught it and sent it off again.

“Now,” she said brightly, “it’s off to Southampton!”

The Twins did not appear to be amused.

“Now to New York!” They wept harder than ever.

Jane flung out her hands. “Michael, what are we to do with them? If we give the Duck to them they’ll fight over it, and if we don’t they’ll go on crying.”

“I’ll fly the Kite for them,” said Michael. “Look, children, look!”

He held up the beautiful green-and-yellow Kite and began to unwind the string. The Twins eyed it tearfully and without interest. He lifted the Kite above his head and ran a little way. It flapped along the air for a moment and then collapsed hollowly on the grass.

“Try again!” said Jane encouragingly.

“You hold it up while I run,” said Michael.

This time the Kite rose a little higher. But, as it floated, its long, tasselled tail caught in the branches of a Lime Tree and the Kite dangled limply among the leaves.

The Twins howled lustily.

“Oh, dear,” said Jane. “Nothing goes right nowadays.”

“Hullo, hullo, hullo! What’s all this?” said a voice behind them.

They turned and saw the Park Keeper, looking very smart in his uniform and peaked cap. He was prodding up stray pieces of paper with the sharp end of his walking-stick.

Jane pointed to the Lime Tree. The Keeper looked up. His face became very stern.

“Now, now, you’re breaking the rules! We don’t allow Litter here, you know – not on the ground nor in the trees neither. This won’t do at all!”

“It isn’t Litter. It’s a Kite,” said Michael.

A mild, soft, foolish look came over the Keeper’s face. He went up to the Lime Tree.

“A Kite? So it is. And I haven’t flown a Kite since I was a boy!” He sprang up into the tree and came down holding the Kite tenderly under his arm.

“Now,” he said excitedly, “we’ll wind her up and give her a run and away she’ll go!” He put out his hand for the winding-stick.

Michael clutched it firmly.

“Thank you, but I want to fly it myself.”

“Well, but you’ll let me help, won’t you?” said the Keeper humbly. “Seeing as I got it down and I haven’t flown a Kite since I was a boy.”

“All right,” said Michael, for he didn’t want to seem unkind.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried the Keeper gratefully. “Now, I take the Kite and walk ten paces down the green. And when I say ‘Go!’ you run! See?”

The Keeper walked away, counting his steps out loud.

“Eight, nine, ten.”

He turned and raised the Kite above his head.

“Go!”

Michael began to run.

There was a tug at the string as the winding-stick turned in his hand.

“She’s afloat!” cried the Keeper.

Michael looked back. The Kite was sailing through the air, plunging steadily upwards. Higher and higher it dived, a tiny wisp of green-and-yellow bounding away into the blue. The Keeper’s eyes were popping.

“I never saw such a kite. Not even when I was a boy,” he murmured, staring upwards.

A light cloud came up over the sun and puffed across the sky.

“It’s coming towards the Kite,” said Jane in an excited whisper.

Up and up went the tossing tail, darting through the air until it seemed but a faint, dark speck on the sky. The cloud moved slowly towards it. Nearer, nearer. . .

“Gone!” said Michael, as the speck disappeared behind the thin grey screen.

Jane gave a little sigh. The Twins sat quietly in the perambulator. A curious stillness was upon them all. The taut string running up from Michael’s hand seemed to link them all to the cloud, and the earth to the sky. They waited, holding their breaths, for the Kite to appear again.

Suddenly Jane could bear it no longer.

“Michael,” she cried. “Pull it in! Pull it in!”

Michael turned the stick and gave a long, strong pull. The string remained taut and steady. He pulled again, puffing and panting.

“I can’t,” he said. “It won’t come.”

“I’ll help!” said Jane. “Now – pull!”

But, hard as they tugged, the string would not give, and the Kite remained hidden behind the cloud.

“Let me!” said the Keeper importantly. “When I was a boy we did it this way.”

And he put his hand on the string, just above Jane’s, and gave it a short, sharp jerk. It seemed to give a little.

“Now – all together – pull!”

The Keeper tossed off his hat, and planting their feet firmly on the grass, Jane and Michael pulled with all their might.

“It’s coming!” panted Michael.

Suddenly the string slackened, and a small whirling shape shot through the grey cloud and came floating down.

“Wind her up!” the Keeper spluttered, glancing at Michael.

But the string was already winding round the stick of its own accord.

Down, down came the Kite, turning over and over in the air, wildly dancing at the end of the jerking string.

Jane gave a little gasp.

“Something’s happened,” she cried. “That’s not our Kite! It’s quite a different one!”

They stared.

It was quite true. The Kite was no longer green-and-yellow. It had turned colour and was not navy-blue. Down it came, tossing and bounding.

Suddenly Michael gave a shout.

“Jane! Jane! It isn’t a Kite at all. It looks like – oh, it looks like—”

“Wind, Michael, wind quickly!” gasped Jane. “I can hardly wait!”

For now, above the tallest trees, the shape at the end of the string was clearly visible. There was no sign of the green-and-yellow Kite, but in its place danced a figure that seemed at once strange and familiar, a figure wearing a blue coat with silver buttons and a straw hat trimmed with daisies. Tucked under its arm was an Umbrella with a parrot’s head for a handle, a brown carpet-bag dangled from one hand, while the other held firmly to the end of the shortening string.

“Ah!” Jane gave a shout of triumph. “It is her!”

“I knew it!” cried Michael, his hands trembling on the winding-stick.

“Lumme!” said the Park Keeper, gaping and blinking. “Lumme!”

On sailed the curious figure, its feet neatly clearing the tops of the trees. They could see the face now, and the well-known features – coal-black hair, bright blue eyes, and nose turned upwards like the nose of a Dutch doll.

As the last length of string wound itself round the stick, the figure drifted down between the Lime Trees and alighted primly on the grass.

In a flash Michael dropped the stick. Away he bounded, with Jane at his heels.

“Mary Poppins, Mary Poppins!” they cried, and flung themselves upon her.

Behind them the Twins were crowing like cocks in the morning, and the Park Keeper was opening and shutting his mouth as though he would like to say something but could not find the words.

“At last! At last! At last!” shouted Michael wildly, clutching at her arm, her bag, her umbrella – anything so long as he might touch her and feel that she was really true.

“We knew you’d come back! We found the letter that said au revoir!” cried Jane, flinging her arms round the waist of the blue overcoat.

A satisfied smile flickered for a moment over Mary Poppins’ face – up from the mouth, over the turned-up nose, into the blue eyes. But it died away swiftly.

“I’ll thank you to remember,” she remarked, disengaging herself from their hands, “that this is a Public Park and not a Bear Garden. Such goings on! I might as well be at the Zoo. And where, may I ask, are your gloves?”

They fell back, fumbling in their pockets.

“Humph! Put them on, please!”

Trembling with excitement and delight, Jane and Michael stuffed their hands into their gloves and put on their hats.

Mary Poppins moved towards the perambulator. The Twins cooed happily as she strapped them in more securely and straightened the rug. Then she glanced round.

“Who put that Duck in the pond?” she demanded, in that stern, haughty voice they knew so well.

“I did,” said Jane. “For the Twins. He was going to New York.”

“Well, take him out, then!” said Mary Poppins. “He is not going to New York – wherever that is – but Home to Tea.”

And, slinging her carpet-bag over the handle of the perambulator, she began to push the Twins towards the gate.

The Park Keeper, suddenly finding his voice, blocked her way.

“See here!” he said, staring. “I shall have to report this. It’s against the Regulations. Coming down out of the sky like that. And where from, I’d like to know, where from?”

He broke off, for Mary Poppins was eyeing him up and down in a way that made him feel he would rather be somewhere else.

“If I was a Park Keeper,” she remarked primly, “I should put on my cap and button my coat. Excuse me!”

And, haughtily waving him aside, she pushed past with the perambulator.

Blushing, the Keeper bent to pick up his hat. When he looked up again, Mary Poppins and the children had disappeared through the gate of Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane.

He stared at the path. Then he stared up at the sky and down at the path again.

He took off his hat, scratched his head, and put it on again.

“I never saw such a thing!” he said shakily. “Not even when I was a boy.”

And he went away muttering and looking very upset. . .

“Why, it’s Mary Poppins!” said Mrs Banks, as they came into the hall. “Where did you come from? Out of the blue?”

“Yes,” began Michael joyfully, “she came down on the end—”

He stopped short, for Mary Poppins had fixed him with one of her terrible looks.

“I found them in the Park, ma’am,” she said, turning to Mrs Banks, “so I brought them home!”

“Have you come to stay, then?”

“For the present, ma’am.”

“But, Mary Poppins, last time you were here you left without a Word of Warning. How do I know you won’t do it again?”

“You don’t, ma’am,” replied Mary Poppins calmly.

Mrs Banks looked rather taken aback.

“But – but will you, do you think?” she asked uncertainly.

“I couldn’t say, ma’am, I’m sure.”

“Oh!” said Mrs Banks, because, at the moment, she couldn’t think of anything else.

And before she had recovered from her surprise, Mary Poppins had taken her carpet-bag and was hurrying the children upstairs.

Mrs Banks, gazing after them, heard the Nursery door shut quietly. Then, with a sigh of relief, she ran to the telephone.

“Mary Poppins has come back!” she said happily, into the receiver.

“Has she, indeed?” said Mr Banks at the other end. “Then perhaps I will too.”

And he rang off.

Upstairs Mary Poppins was taking off her overcoat. She hung it on a hook behind the Night-Nursery door. Then she removed her hat and placed it neatly on one of the bed-posts.

Jane and Michael watched the familiar movements. Everything about her was just as it had always been. They could hardly believe she had ever been away.

Mary Poppins bent down and opened the carpet-bag.

It was quite empty except for a large Thermometer.

“What’s that for?” asked Jane curiously.

“You!” said Mary Poppins.

“But I’m not ill!” Jane protested. “It’s two months since I had measles.”

“Open!” said Mary Poppins, in a voice that made Jane shut her eyes very quickly and open her mouth. The Thermometer slipped in.

“I want to know how you’ve been behaving since I went away!” remarked Mary Poppins sternly.

Then she took out the Thermometer and held it up to the light.

“Careless, Thoughtless and Untidy,” she read out.

Jane stared.

“I’m not surprised!” said Mary Poppins, and thrust the Thermometer into Michael’s mouth. He kept his lips tightly pressed upon it until she plucked it out and read:

“A very Noisy, Mischievous, Troublesome little Boy.”

“I’m not,” he said angrily.

For answer she thrust the Thermometer under his nose and he spelt out the large red letters.

“A-V-E-R-Y-N-O-I-S. . .”

“You see?” said Mary Poppins, looking at him triumphantly. She opened John’s mouth and popped in the Thermometer.

“Peevish and Excitable.” That was John’s temperature.

And, when Barbara’s was taken, Mary Poppins read out the two words, “Thoroughly Spoilt.”

“Humph!” she snorted. “It’s about time I came back!”

Then she popped it quickly in her own mouth, left it there for a moment, and took it out.

“A very Excellent and Worthy Person, Thoroughly Reliable in every Particular.”

A pleased and conceited smile lit up her face as she read her temperature aloud.

“I thought so,” she said priggishly. “Now – Tea and Bed!”

It seemed to them no more than a minute before they had drunk their milk and eaten their Coconut Cakes and were in and out of the bath. As usual, everything that Mary Poppins did had the speed of electricity. Hooks and eyes rushed apart, buttons darted eagerly out of their holes, sponge and soap ran up and down like lightning, and towels dried with one rub.

Mary Poppins walked along the row of beds tucking them all in. Her starched white apron crackled, and she smelt deliciously of newly-made toast.

When she came to Michael’s bed, she bent down and rummaged under it for a minute. Then she carefully drew out her camp bedstead with her possessions laid upon it in neat piles. The cake of Sunlight soap, the toothbrush, the packet of hairpins, the bottle of scent, the small folding armchair and the box of throat lozenges. Also the seven flannel nightgowns, the four cotton ones, the boots, the dominoes, the two bathing caps and the postcard album.

Jane and Michael sat up and stared.

“Where did they come from?” demanded Michael. “I’ve been under my bed simply hundreds of times and I know they weren’t there before.”

Mary Poppins did not reply. She had begun to undress.

Jane and Michael exchanged glances. They knew it was no good asking, because Mary Poppins never explained anything.

She slipped off her starched white collar and fumbled at the clip of a chain round her neck.

“What’s inside that?” enquired Michael, gazing at a small gold locket that hung on the end of the chain.

“A portrait.”

“Whose?”

“You’ll know when the time comes – not before!” she snapped.

“When will the time come?”

“When I go!”

They stared at her with startled eyes.

“But, Mary Poppins,” cried Jane, “you won’t ever leave us again, will you? Oh, say you won’t!”

Mary Poppins glared at her.

“A nice life I’d have,” she remarked, “if I spent all my days with you!”

“But you will stay?” persisted Jane eagerly.

Mary Poppins tossed the locket up and down on her palm.

“I’ll stay till the chain breaks!” she said briefly.

And, popping a cotton nightgown over her head, she began to undress beneath it.

“That’s all right,” Michael whispered across to Jane. “I noticed the chain and it’s a very strong one.”

He nodded to her reassuringly. They curled up in their beds and lay watching Mary Poppins as she moved mysteriously beneath the tent of her nightgown. And they thought of her first arrival at Cherry Tree Lane and all the strange and astonishing things that had happened afterwards; of how she had flown away on her umbrella when the wind changed; of the long, weary days without her and of her marvellous descent from the sky this afternoon.

Suddenly Michael remembered something.

“My Kite!” he said, sitting up in bed. “I forgot all about it! Where’s my Kite?”

Mary Poppins’ head came up through the neck of her nightgown.

“Kite?” she said crossly. “Which Kite? What Kite?”

“My green-and-yellow Kite with the tassels. The one you came down on, at the end of the string.”

Mary Poppins stared at him. He could not tell if she was more astonished than angry, but she looked as if she was both.

And her voice when she spoke was worse than her look.

“Did I understand you to say that –” she repeated the words slowly, between her teeth – “that I came down from somewhere on the end of a string?”

“But you did!” faltered Michael. “Today. Out of a cloud. We saw you!”

“On the end of a string. Like a Monkey or a Spinning-Top? Me, Michael Banks?”

Mary Poppins, in her fury, seemed to have grown to twice her usual size. She hovered over him in her nightgown, huge and angry, waiting for him to reply.

He clutched the bed-clothes for support.

“Don’t say any more, Michael!” Jane whispered warningly across from her bed. But he had gone too far now to stop.

“Then – where’s my Kite—” he said recklessly. “If you didn’t come down – er, in the way I said – where’s my Kite? It’s not on the end of the string.”

“O-ho? And I am, I suppose?” she enquired with a scoffing laugh.

He saw then that it was no good going on. He could not explain. He would have to give it up.

“N-no,” he said, in a thin voice. “No, Mary Poppins.”

She turned and snapped out the electric light.

“Your manners,” she remarked tartly, “have not improved since I went away! On the end of a string, indeed! I have never been so insulted in my life. Never!”

And with a furious sweep of her arm, she turned down her bed and flounced into it, pulling the blankets right over her head.

Michael lay very quiet, still holding his bed-clothes tightly.

“She did, though, didn’t she? We saw her,” he whispered presently to Jane.

But Jane did not answer. Instead, she pointed towards the Night-Nursery door.

Michael lifted his head cautiously.

Behind the door, on a hook, hung Mary Poppins’ overcoat, its silver buttons gleaming in the glow of the nightlight. And, dangling from the pocket, were a row of paper tassels, the tassels of a green-and-yellow Kite.

They gazed at it for a long time.

Then they nodded across to each other. They knew there was nothing to be said, for there were things about Mary Poppins they would never understand. But – she was back again. That was all that mattered.

The even sound of her breathing came floating across from the camp bed. They felt peaceful and happy and complete.

“I don’t mind, Jane, if it has a purple tail,” hissed Michael presently.

“No, Michael!” said Jane. “I really think a red would be better.”

After that there was no sound in the Nursery but the sound of five people breathing very quietly. . .

“P-p! P-p!” went Mr Banks’ pipe.

“Click-click!” went Mrs Banks’ knitting-needles.

Mr Banks put his feet up on the study mantelpiece and snored a little.

After a while, Mrs Banks spoke.

“Do you still think of taking a long sea-voyage?” she asked.

“Er – I don’t think so. I am rather a bad sailor. And my hat’s all right now. I had the whole of it polished by the Shoe-Black at the corner and it looks as good as new. Even better. Besides, now that Mary Poppins is back, my Shaving-Water will be just the right temperature.”

Mrs Banks smiled to herself and went on knitting.

She felt very glad that Mr Banks was such a bad sailor and that Mary Poppins had come back. . .

Down in the Kitchen, Mrs Brill was putting a fresh bandage round Ellen’s ankle.

“I never thought much of her when she was here,” said Mrs Brill. “But I must say that this has been a different house since this afternoon. As quiet as a Sunday and as neat as Ninepence. I’m not sorry she’s back.”

“Neither am I, indeed!” said Ellen thankfully.

“And neither am I!” thought Robertson Ay, listening to the conversation through the wall of the broom cupboard. “Now I shall have a little peace!”

He settled himself comfortably on the upturned coal-scuttle and fell asleep again with his head against a broom.

But what Mary Poppins thought about it nobody ever knew, for she kept her thoughts to herself and never told anyone anything. . .