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Mary Poppins - the Complete Collection

Год написания книги
2018
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But what Mary Poppins thought about it nobody ever knew, for she kept her thoughts to herself and never told anyone anything. . .

Chapter Two (#ulink_cfe236c7-5464-5236-bc4c-0119e36ba4fe)

MISS ANDREW’S LARK (#u04aade0d-4976-535b-8355-955ef6105899)

IT WAS SATURDAY afternoon.

In the hall of Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane, Mr Banks was busy tapping the barometer and telling Mrs Banks what the weather was going to do.

“Moderate South wind; average temperature: local thunder; sea slight,” he said. “Further outlook unsettled. Hullo – what’s that?”

He broke off as a bumping, jumping, thumping noise sounded overhead.

Round the bend in the staircase Michael appeared, looking very bad-tempered and sulky as he bumped heavily down. Behind him, with a Twin on each arm, came Mary Poppins, pushing her knee into his back and sending him with a sharp thud from one stair to the next. Jane followed, carrying the hats.

“Well begun is half done. Down you go, please!” Mary Poppins was saying tartly.

Mr Banks turned from the barometer and looked up as they appeared.

“Well, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded.

“I don’t want to go for a walk! I want to play with my new engine!” said Michael, gulping as Mary Poppins’ knee jerked him one stair lower.

“Nonsense, darling!” said Mrs Banks. “Of course you do. Walking makes such long, strong legs.”

“But I like short legs best,” grumbled Michael, stumbling heavily down another stair.

“When I was a little boy,” said Mr Banks, “I loved going for walks. I used to walk with my Governess down to the second lamp-post and back every day. And I never grumbled.”

Michael stood still on his stair and looked doubtfully at Mr Banks.

“Were you ever a little boy?” he said, very surprised.

Mr Banks seemed quite hurt.

“Of course I was. A sweet little boy with long yellow curls and a lace collar and velvet breeches and button-up boots.”

“I can hardly believe it,” said Michael, hurrying down the stairs of his own accord and staring up at Mr Banks.

“What was the name of your Governess?” asked Jane, running downstairs after Michael. “And was she nice?”

“She was called Miss Andrew, and she was a Holy Terror!”

“Hush!” said Mrs Banks reproachfully.

“I mean –” Mr Banks corrected himself – “she was – er – very strict. And always right. And she loved putting everybody else in the wrong and making them feel like a worm. That’s what Miss Andrew was like!”

Mr Banks mopped his brow at the mere memory of his Governess.

Ting! Ting! Ting!

The front door bell pealed and echoed through the house.

Mr Banks went to the door and opened it. On the step, looking very important, stood the Telegraph Boy.

“Urgent Telegram. Name of Banks. Any answer?” He handed over an orange-coloured envelope.

“If it’s good news I’ll give you sixpence,” said Mr Banks as he tore the Telegram open and read the message. His face grew pale.

“No answer!” he said shortly.

“And no sixpence?”

“Certainly not!” said Mr Banks bitterly. The Telegraph Boy gave him a reproachful look and went sorrowfully away.

“Oh, what is it?” asked Mrs Banks. “Is somebody ill?”

“Worse than that!” said Mr Banks miserably.

“Have we lost all our money?” By this time Mrs Banks, too, was pale and very anxious.

“Worse still! Didn’t the barometer say thunder? And further outlook unsettled? Listen!”

He smoothed out the telegram and read aloud:

Coming to stay with you for a month. Arriving this afternoon three o’clock. Please light fire in bedroom.

EUPHEMIA ANDREW

“Andrew? Why, that’s the same name as your Governess!” said Jane.

“It is my Governess!” said Mr Banks, striding up and down and running his hands nervously through what was left of his hair. “Her other name is Euphemia. And she’s coming today at three!”

He groaned loudly.

“But I don’t call that bad news,” said Mrs Banks, feeling very relieved. “It will mean getting the spare room ready, of course, but I don’t mind. I shall like having the dear old soul—”

“Dear old soul!” roared Mr Banks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Dear old – my Jumping Godfathers, wait till you see her, that’s all. Just wait till you see her!”

He seized his hat and waterproof.

“But, my dear!” cried Mrs Banks. “You must be here to meet her. It looks so rude. Where are you going?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Tell her I’m dead!” he replied bitterly. And he hurried away from the house looking very nervous and depressed.

“My goodness, Michael, what can she be like?” said Jane.

“Curiosity killed the Cat,” said Mary Poppins. “Put your hats on, please!”
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