style="font-size:15px;"> “Mary Poppins is the only person I want in the world!” Michael wailed, and flung himself on to the floor.
“Really, children, really! I don’t understand you. Do be good, I beg of you. There’s nobody to look after you tonight. I have to go out to dinner and it’s Ellen’s Day Off. I shall have to send Mrs Brill up.” And she kissed them absentmindedly, and went away with an anxious little line on her forehead. . .
“Well, if I ever did! Her going away and leaving you pore dear children in the lurch like that,” said Mrs Brill, a moment later, bustling in and setting to work on them.
“A heart of stone, that’s what that girl had and no mistake, or my name’s not Clara Brill. Always keeping herself to herself, too, and not even a lace handkerchief or a hatpin to remember her by. Get up, will you please, Master Michael!” Mrs Brill went on, panting heavily.
“How we stood her so long, I don’t know – with her airs and graces and all. What a lot of buttons, Miss Jane! Stand still do now, and let me undress you, Master Michael. Plain she was, too, nothing much to look at. Indeed, all things considered, I don’t know that we won’t be better off, after all. Now, Miss Jane, where’s your nightgown – why, what’s this under your pillow—?”
Mrs Brill had drawn out a small nobbly parcel.
“What is it? Give it to me – give it,” said Jane, trembling with excitement, and she took it from Mrs Brill’s hands very quickly. Michael came and stood near her and watched her undo the string and tear away the brown paper. Mrs Brill, without waiting to see what emerged from the package, went into the Twins.
The last wrapping fell to the floor and the thing that was in the parcel lay in Jane’s hand.
“It’s her picture,” she said in a whisper, looking closely at it.
And it was!
Inside a little curly frame was a painting of Mary Poppins, and underneath it was written, “Mary Poppins by Bert”.
“That’s the Match Man – he did it,” said Michael, and took it in his hand so that he could have a better look.
Jane found suddenly that there was a letter attached to the painting. She unfolded it carefully. It ran:
DEAR JANE,
Michael had the compass so the picture is for you. Au revoir.
MARY POPPINS
She read it out loud till she came to the words she couldn’t understand.
“Mrs Brill!” she called. “What does ‘au revoir’ mean?”
“Au revore, dearie?” shrieked Mrs Brill from the next room. “Why, doesn’t it mean – let me see, I’m not up in these foreign tongues – doesn’t it mean ‘God bless you’? No. No, I’m wrong. I think, Miss Jane dear, it means ‘To Meet Again’.”
Jane and Michael looked at each other. Joy and understanding shone in their eyes. They knew what Mary Poppins meant.
Michael gave a long sigh of relief. “That’s all right,” he said shakily. “She always does what she says she will.” He turned away.
“Michael, are you crying?” Jane asked.
He twisted his head and tried to smile at her.
“No, I am not,” he said. “It is only my eyes.”
She pushed him gently towards his bed, and as he got in she slipped the portrait of Mary Poppins into his hand – hurriedly, in case she should regret it.
“You have it for tonight, darling,” whispered Jane, and she tucked him in just as Mary Poppins used to do. . .
To
PIP
this Keepsake
Contents
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
