the world and back in a minute – what a wonderful box!” said Jane.
“It’s a compass. Not a box. And it’s mine,” said Michael. “I found it. Give it to me!”
“My compass, thank you,” said Mary Poppins, as she slipped it into her pocket.
He looked as if he would like to kill her. But he shrugged his shoulders and stalked off taking no notice of anyone.
The burning weight still hung heavily within him. After the adventure with the compass it seemed to grow worse, and towards the evening he grew naughtier and naughtier. He pinched the Twins when Mary Poppins was not looking, and when they cried he said in a falsely kind voice:
“Why, darlings, what is the matter?”
But Mary Poppins was not deceived by it.
“You’ve got something coming to you!” she said significantly. But the burning thing inside him would not let him care. He just shrugged his shoulders and pulled Jane’s hair. And after that he went to the supper table and upset his bread-and-milk.
“And that,” said Mary Poppins, “is the end. Such deliberate naughtiness I never saw. In all my born days I never did, and that’s a fact. Off you go! Straight into bed with you and not another word!” He had never seen her look so terrible.
But still he didn’t care.
He went into the Night-nursery and undressed. No, he didn’t care. He was bad, and if they didn’t look out he’d be worse. He didn’t care. He hated everybody. If they weren’t careful he would run away and join a circus. There! Off went a button. Good – there would be fewer to do up in the morning. And another! All the better. Nothing in all the world could ever make him feel sorry. He would get into bed without brushing his hair or his teeth – certainly without saying his prayers.
He was just about to get into bed and, indeed, had one foot already in it, when he noticed the compass lying on top of the chest of drawers.
Very slowly he withdrew his foot and tiptoed across the room. He knew now what he would do. He would take the compass and spin it and go round the world. And they’d never find him again. And it would serve them right. Without making a sound he lifted a chair and put it against the chest of drawers. Then he climbed up on it and took the compass in his hand.
He moved it.
“North, South, East, West!” he said very quickly, in case anybody should come in before he got well away.
A noise behind the chair startled him and turned round guiltily, expecting to see Mary Poppins. But instead, there were four gigantic figures bearing down upon him – the bear with his fangs showing, the Macaw fiercely flapping his wings, the Panda with his fur on end, the Dolphin thrusting out her snout. From all quarters of the room they were rushing upon him, their shadows huge on the ceiling. No longer kind and friendly, they were now full of revenge. Their terrible angry faces loomed nearer. He could feel their hot breath on his face.
“Oh! Oh!” Michael dropped the compass. “Mary Poppins, help me!” he screamed and shut his eyes in terror.
And then something enveloped him. The great creatures and their greater shadows, with a mingled roar or squawk of triumph, flung themselves upon him. What was it that held him, soft and warm, in its smothering embrace? The Polar Bear’s fur coat? The Macaw’s feathers? The Panda’s fur he had stroked so gently? The mother Dolphin’s flippers? And what was he – or it might be she – planning to do to him? If only he had been good – if only!
“Mary Poppins!” he wailed, as he felt himself carried through the air and set down in something still softer.
“Oh, dear Mary Poppins!”
“All right, all right. I’m not deaf, I’m thankful to say – no need to shout,” he heard her saying calmly.
He opened one eye. He could see no sign of the four gigantic figures of the compass. He opened the other eye to make sure. No – not a glint of any of them. He sat up. He looked round the room. There was nothing there.
Then he discovered that the soft thing that was round him was his own blanket, and the soft thing he was lying on was his own bed. And oh, the heavy burning thing that had been inside him all day had melted and disappeared. He felt peaceful and happy, and as if he would like to give everybody he knew a birthday present.
“What – what happened?” he said rather anxiously to Mary Poppins.
“I told you that was my compass, didn’t I? Be kind enough not to touch my things, if you please,” was all she said as she stooped and picked up the compass and put it in her pocket. Then she began to fold the clothes that he had thrown down on the floor.
“Shall I do it?” he said.
“No, thank you.”
He watched her go into the next room, and presently she returned and put something warm into his hands. It was a cup of milk.
Michael sipped it, tasting every drop several times with his tongue, making it last as long as possible so that Mary Poppins should stay beside him.
She stood there without saying a word, watching the milk slowly disappear. He could smell her crackling white apron and the faint flavour of toast that always hung about her so deliciously. But try as he would, he could not make the milk last for ever, and presently, with a sigh of regret, he handed her the empty cup and slipped down into the bed. He had never known it be so comfortable, he thought. And he thought, too, how warm he was and how happy he felt and how lucky he was to be alive.
“Isn’t it a funny thing, Mary Poppins,” he said drowsily. “I’ve been so very naughty and I feel so very good.”
“Humph!” said Mary Poppins as she tucked him in and went away to wash up the supper things. . .
“PERHAPS SHE WON’T be there,” said Michael.
“Yes, she will,” said Jane. “She’s always there for ever and ever.”
They were walking up Ludgate Hill on the way to pay a visit to Mr Banks in the City. For he had said that morning to Mrs Banks:
“My dear, if it doesn’t rain I think Jane and Michael might call for me at the Office today – that is, if you are agreeable. I have a feeling I should like to be taken to Tea and Shortbread Fingers and it’s not often I have a Treat.”
And Mrs Banks had said she would think about it.
But all day long, though Jane and Michael had watched her anxiously, she had not seemed to be thinking about it at all. From the things she said, she was thinking about the
