Mary Poppins Comes Back. P. Travers L.

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!”

      She settled the Twins into the perambulator and pushed it down the garden path. Jane and Michael followed her out into the Lane.

      “Where are we going today, Mary Poppins?”

      “Across the Park and along the Thirty-Nine bus route, up the High Street, and over the Bridge and home through the Railway Arch!” she snapped.

      “If we do that, we’ll be walking all night,” whispered Michael, dropping behind with Jane. “And we’ll miss Miss Andrew.”

      “She’s going to stay for a month,” Jane reminded him.

      “But I want to see her arrive,” he complained, dragging his feet and shuffling along the pavement.

      “Step along, please,” said Mary Poppins briskly. “I might as well be taking a stroll with a couple of snails as you two!”

      But when they caught up with her she kept them waiting for quite five minutes outside a fried-fish shop while she looked at herself in the window.

      She was wearing her new white blouse with the pink spots, and her face, as she beheld herself reflected back from the piles of fried whiting, had a pleased and satisfied air. She pushed back her coat a little so that more of the blouse was visible and she thought that, on the whole, she had never seen Mary Poppins look nicer. Even the fried fish, with their fried tails curled into their mouths, seemed to gaze at her with round, admiring eyes.

      Mary Poppins gave a little conceited nod to her reflection and hurried on. They had passed the High Street now and were crossing the Bridge. Soon they came to the Railway Arch, and Jane and Michael sprang eagerly ahead of the perambulator and ran all the way until they turned the corner of Cherry Tree Lane.

      “There’s a cab!” cried Michael excitedly. “That must be Miss Andrew’s.”

      They stood still at the corner waiting for Mary Poppins and watching for Miss Andrew.

      A Taxi-cab, moving slowly down the Lane, drew up at the gate of Number Seventeen. It groaned and rattled as the engine stopped. And this was not surprising, for from wheel to roof it was heavily weighted with luggage. You could hardly see the cab itself for the trunks on the roof and the trunks at the back and the trunks on either side.

      Suit-cases and hampers could be seen half-in and half-out of the windows. Hat-boxes were strapped to the steps, and two large Gladstone bags appeared to be sitting in the Driver’s seat.

      Presently the Driver himself emerged from under them. He climbed out carefully, as though he were descending a steep mountain, and opened the door.

      A boot-box came bounding out, followed by a large brown-paper parcel, and after these came an umbrella and a walking-stick tied together with string. Last of all, a small weighing-machine clattered down from the rack, knocking the Taxi-man over.

      “Be careful!” a huge, trumpeting voice shouted from inside the Taxi. “This is valuable luggage!”

      “And I’m a valuable driver!” retorted the Taxi-man, picking himself up and rubbing his ankle. “You seem to ’ave forgotten that, ’aven’t you?”

      “Make