he jeered and shook his wing-feathers at her.
Mary Poppins snorted.
The sunlight moved on through the room, drawing its long gold shaft after it. Outside a light wind had sprung up and was whispering gently to the cherry trees in the Lane.
“Listen, listen, the wind’s talking,” said John, tilting his head on one side. “Do you really mean we won’t be able to hear that when we’re older, Mary Poppins?”
“You’ll hear all right,” said Mary Poppins, “but you won’t understand.” At that Barbara began to weep gently. There were tears in John’s eyes, too. “Well, it can’t be helped. It’s how things happen,” said Mary Poppins sensibly.
“Look at them, just look at them!” jeered the Starling. “Crying fit to kill themselves! Why, a starling in the egg’s got more sense. Look at them!”
For John and Barbara were now crying piteously in their cots – long-drawn sobs of deep unhappiness.
Suddenly the door opened and in came Mrs Banks.
“I thought I heard the babies,” she said, Then she ran to the Twins. “What is it, my darlings? Oh, my Treasures, my Sweets, my Love-birds, what is it? Why are they crying so, Mary Poppins? They’ve been so quiet all afternoon – not a sound out of them. What can be the matter?”
“Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. I expect they’re getting their teeth, ma’am,” said Mary Poppins, deliberately not looking in the direction of the Starling.
“Oh, of course – that must be it,” said Mrs Banks brightly.
“I don’t want teeth if they make me forget all the things I like best,” wailed John, tossing about in his cot.
“Neither do I,” wept Barbara, burying her face in her pillow.
“My poor ones, my pets – it will be all right when the naughty old teeth come through,” said Mrs Banks soothingly, going from one cot to the other.
“You don’t understand!” roared John furiously. “I don’t want teeth.”
“It won’t be all right, it will be all wrong!” wailed Barbara to her pillow.
“Yes – yes. There – there. Mother knows – Mother understands. It will be all right when the teeth come through,” crooned Mrs Banks tenderly.
A faint noise came from the window. It was the Starling hurriedly swallowing a laugh. Mary Poppins gave him one look. That sobered him, and he continued to regard the scene without the hint of a smile.
Mrs Banks was patting her children gently, first one and then the other, and murmuring words that were meant to be reassuring. Suddenly John stopped crying. He had very good manners, and he was fond of his Mother and remembered what was due to her. It was not her fault, poor woman, that she always said the wrong thing. It was just, he reflected, that she did not understand. So, to show that he forgave her, he turned over on his back, and very dolefully, sniffing back his tears, he picked up his right foot in both hands and ran his toes along his open mouth.
“Clever One, oh, Clever One,” said his Mother admiringly. He did it again and she was very pleased.
Then Barbara, not to be outdone in courtesy, came out of her pillow and with her tears still wet on her face, sat up and plucked off both her socks.
“Wonderful girl,” said Mrs Banks proudly, and kissed her.
“There, you see, Mary Poppins! They’re quite good again. I can always comfort them. Quite good, quite good,” said Mrs Banks, as though she were singing a lullaby. “And the teeth will soon be through.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Mary Poppins quietly; and smiling to the Twins, Mrs Banks went out and closed the door.
The moment she had disappeared the Starling burst into a peal of rude laughter.
“Excuse me smiling!” he cried. “But really – I can’t help it. What a scene! What a scene!”
John took no notice of him. He pushed his face through the bars of his cot and called softly and fiercely to Barbara:
“I won’t be like the others. I tell you I won’t. They,” he jerked his head towards the Starling and Mary Poppins, “can say what they like. I’ll never forget, never!”
Mary Poppins smiled, a secret, I-know-better-than-you sort of smile, all to herself.
“Nor I,” answered Barbara. “Ever.”
“Bless my tail-feathers – listen to them!” shrieked the Starling, as he put his wings on his hips and roared with mirth. “As if they could help forgetting! Why, in a month or two – three at the most – they won’t even know what my name is – silly cuckoos! Silly half-grown featherless cuckoos! Ha! Ha! Ha!” And with another loud peal of laughter he spread his speckled wings and flew out of the window.
It was not very long afterwards that the teeth, after much trouble, came through as all teeth must, and the Twins had their first birthday.
The day after the birthday party the Starling, who had been away on holiday at Bournemouth, came back to Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane.
“Hullo, hullo, hullo! Here we are again!” he screamed joyfully, landing with a little wobble upon the windowsill.
“Well, how’s the girl?” he enquired cheekily of Mary Poppins, cocking his little head on one side and regarding her with bright, amused, twinkling eyes.
“None the better for your asking,” said Mary Poppins, tossing her head.
The Starling laughed.
“Same old Mary P.,” he said. “No change out of you! How are the other ones – the cuckoos?” he asked, and looked across at Barbara’s cot.
“Well, Barbarina,” he began in his soft, wheedling voice, “anything for the old fellow today?”
“Be-lah-belah-belah-belah!” said Barbara, crooning gently as she continued to eat her arrowroot biscuit.
The Starling, with a start of surprise, hopped a little nearer.
“I said,” he repeated more distinctly, “is there anything for the old fellow today, Barbie dear?”
“Ba-loo – ba-loo – ba-loo!” murmured Barbara, gazing up at the ceiling as she swallowed the last sweet crumb.
The Starling stared at her.
“Ha!” he said suddenly, and turned and looked enquiringly at Mary Poppins. Her quiet glance met his in a long look.
Then with a darting movement the Starling flew over to John’s cot and alighted on the rail. John had a large woolly lamb hugged close in his arms.
“What’s my name? What’s my name? What’s my name?” cried the Starling in a shrill anxious voice.
